Christmas with Daddy

“Too bad.” Glenn leaned in for a look at the reports strewn over Nick’s deck. Getting a whiff of Glenn’s usual body odor, mixed with a good measure of stale alcohol and cigar smoke, Nick decided it was time to grab a refill of coffee.

Though he and Glenn had been partners for just a few weeks, Nick had already figured out that Glenn’s idea of a good time involved an expensive smoke, one-too-many drinks at his favorite pub, and talking some woman into sharing his bed for the night.

Not that different from Nick’s idea of a good time, perhaps, if you substituted a medium-rare steak for the cigar, but Nick was only thirty-four, while Glenn was pushing fifty.

Nick did not want to be in Glenn’s shoes when he was fifty. But his failed marriage with Jessica wasn’t a step in the right direction. They’d lasted less than a year as a married couple. It was a damn embarrassment. Worse was the potential impact on Mandy. His daughter would never have the security of living with a mother and a father under the same roof. How would that affect her?

As Nick reached for the full coffeepot, his thoughts shifted to Bridget. This morning her hair had been still damp from the shower and he’d been surprised at the way the baby-doll ringlets had framed her face.

He thought about how her house smelled and looked, so warm and inviting. Then about her eyes, that verdant green. Thinking about her gave him the same feeling as breathing in a lungful of cool, crisp air. More alive, yet somehow more relaxed, as well.

Nick filled a second cup, then returned to his desk. He handed a coffee to his partner, who gave him a grunt in return. Glenn shifted aside the report he’d been reading, exposing a family photograph taken for the Langs’ Christmas cards.

The pose was casual. Vincent Lang was wearing a shirt and sweater, probably cashmere. His wife, wearing a silky blouse and pearls, stood behind him, one arm looped around his neck, her chin resting on his full head of silver hair. Just off to one side Tara posed stiffly. Her mother’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, but that was the only thing linking her to the attorney general and his wife.

“The kid doesn’t look too happy,” Glenn said. “I’m betting she didn’t like having her photograph exploited for the sake of her father’s political career.”

Nick laughed. Glenn was on the money with that observation, no doubt about it. He studied the picture closer. “What about the wife? Do you think she minded?”

She had the expensively coiffed appearance of a woman who was used to the rich life. But did her eyes betray a little of the daughter’s resentment? Or was he imagining that?

“Hard to say. Has anyone spoken with her?”

“I interviewed her late Wednesday afternoon.” Nick pulled out his notebook. He’d gone to the Langs’ house, an impressive Tudor home in the Hartford Golf Club neighborhood.

“Mrs. Lang was polite and cooperative, but also quite reserved. I asked her about Tuesday night and the alleged argument between Tara and her father.”

“What did she say?”

Nick read from his notes: “Tara has always hated the obligations that come with her father’s position. Those obligations are especially numerous at Christmas time. There are parties and other functions that Vincent simply must attend and many of them require his family’s attendance, too.”

Glenn snorted. “I’ll just bet. So what did you say next?”

“I told her that I supposed most teenagers would resent having to attend a bunch of stuffy parties.”

“I bet she didn’t like that.”

“You’re right. Mrs. Lang looked offended then said, ‘We’re invited into some of the most beautiful homes in Hartford. Last night we had tickets to the gala performance of the Nutcracker Ballet.’”

“Big, frigging deal.”

Nick nodded. Not too many fourteen-year-olds liked going to the ballet. But neither did they run away from home to escape the obligation. There was more going on in this kid’s head than that.

And perhaps, in the mother’s, too.

CHAPTER FIVE

LOOKING AFTER A six-month-old baby was hard work. A lot harder than looking after a dog. Scooping poop from a snowbank wasn’t pleasant, but it beat changing diapers. And filling dog bowls wasn’t nearly as fussy as spooning warm cereal into an easily distracted baby’s mouth.

“Good thing you’re so cute,” Bridget said to Mandy as she tried again to get her to eat some of the cereal. But Mandy had uncanny timing, managing to push out her tongue at the exact moment Bridget brought the little spoon to her mouth.

Bridget laughed. “Maybe you’re just not that hungry. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” She reached for the damp facecloth and cleaned Mandy’s face. Mandy giggled, obviously finding this game very funny.

By the time she got Mandy down for her afternoon nap, Bridget realized she was going to earn every penny of the generous hourly rate that Nick was paying her.

She gazed at the sleeping baby, unable to resist touching the downy softness of her cheek. You are so much work. But so worth it.

She checked the monitor to make sure it was on, before going into the backyard to play with the dogs for a while. When they were tired, she went on the Internet to research diapers and baby-food recipes.

Baby food. A week ago she never would have guessed she’d be pureeing vegetables and wiping up baby spit. Mandy was adorable, but Bridget had to admit the real reason she’d agreed to the job was the girl’s father.

She didn’t know what it was about Nick that appealed to her. In real life, she didn’t usually go for the playboy type. She liked dependable guys, with solid values and level heads. She’d had two serious relationships in her life. Two men she’d come very close to marrying.

They’d been wonderful men. Nothing like Nick. And yet…ever since he’d moved into the neighborhood she’d been fascinated by him.

She liked to think she saw hidden depths in the man. But maybe she was just kidding herself. Maybe, just maybe, she was as guilty of enjoying a charming, sexy man as the next woman.

Could it be? Was she, Bridget Humphrey, human?

Once Mandy woke up, Bridget went back into full-speed activity. First was Mandy’s bottle, then another walk, which entailed bundling Mandy into the stroller and getting all four dogs on their leads and out the door.

It was later than usual when Bridget returned and soon the owners were coming to pick up their dogs. Foster left first. His owner, Diane House, was a teacher who dropped him off and picked him up on her walk to and from school.

As usual, Foster was waiting by the window and as soon as he spotted Diane, he ran to the front door and began running through his repertoire of tricks: sitting, holding out a paw, lying down, rolling over, then standing on his hind legs to dance.

Bridget opened the door, and Diane stuck her head inside, laughing at Foster’s performance. “Good boy, Foster!”

She gave the little terrier his customary treat, then clipped him onto her leash. “Did you guys have a good day?”

“Sure did.” Bridget explained about Mandy and how the dogs all seemed to enjoy having a baby around.

Before turning to leave, Diane sighed. “Just one more week, then school’s out for the Christmas break. You remember Foster won’t be back until January?”

Bridget nodded. All of her dogs would be staying home for several weeks over Christmas. It was good for them to have extra bonding time with their families. And it was good for her, too, giving her a chance to have a real holiday, as well.

Next to leave were Stanley and Herman. The wealthy couple who owned them had their nanny pick them up at the end of the day and she always arrived promptly at five.

Usually Lefty hated being the last to go home. The boxer would sit by the front door, desolate, waiting for his owner, Elizabeth, an executive who had no family and often worked late hours.

Today, though, he was distracted by Mandy and her endless fascination with his ears. Lefty gazed at her adoringly, letting her pull and stroke and pat to her heart’s content. While they played, Bridget opened her mail. She loved this time of year, when she could look forward to receiving cards from friends and family rather than just the usual flyers and bills.

She was propping up that day’s cards for display when the doorbell rang. Lefty snapped his head up and trotted to the front door. Elizabeth opened the unlocked door. “I’ve got him, Bridget. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Mandy to register the fact that she’d been abandoned. She frowned, then stuck out her bottom lip. Bridget scooped her up before she could cry.

“You really do love those dogs, don’t you, sweetie? How about I sing you some nursery rhymes?” Bridget soon found that Mandy responded best to old favorites—especially “Teensy, Weensy Spider.”

As the time neared five-thirty, Bridget’s thoughts turned to Nick. He should be here soon. She didn’t like the way her pulse sped up just at the thought of seeing him again. This time when the doorbell rang, she checked her hair in the mirror. Earlier she’d combed it into a neat ponytail, but during her walk, the wind had wreaked havoc out of the wiry strands.