Fathers and Other Strangers

Blair’s hands smacked to her knees and her mouth fell open, but before she could say anything, Jenna put in, “I just remembered…the car’s air conditioner is on the fritz. Is there a mechanic around here who can fix a Toyota?”

Hank and Blair glared at each other for a moment, then Hank seemed to force his gaze back to Jenna. “Yeah. Darryl Andrews at the Chevron in town. He’s good, he’s fair and he’s honest. You might have to leave the car, though. He’s always pretty backed up.”

“Oh.” She frowned. Haven wasn’t exactly rife with public transportation options. Except, she thought on a sigh, it wasn’t as if she was in a split to go anywhere. She didn’t, however, relish the idea of trekking back out here on foot. She jogged, yes, but not in ninety-degree heat, and not five unfamiliar miles. But, since she didn’t know another soul, that meant…

Another opportunity. Oh, joy.

“I don’t suppose I could talk you into following us into town, then bringing us back if I have to leave the car?”

The flimsy fork hovered over the hashbrowns.

Blair popped to her feet and stormed back inside.

“I don’t know,” Hank said, stabbing at the potatoes. Not looking at her. “I’m kinda busy this morning.”

Ah. “Blair doesn’t have to come. She’s old enough to stay by herself for an hour or so.”

“And do what?”

Jenna caught herself toying with her wedding rings, tucked her arms against her ribs. “Actually, she’s got plenty to do, including getting started on her required summer reading. Or she can go for a walk, like you suggested.”

Hank glanced up, then back down at his breakfast. “So how come you didn’t remind her of that a while ago?”

“Because sometimes I feel all I ever do is nag. It gets old.”

Silence dragged on between them for several seconds before he said, “She’s not exactly the easiest kid to get along with, is she?”

Jenna’s brows knotted. “At the moment, maybe not. But she’s been through a lot in the past three years. Which you acknowledged yourself.”

“I know I did. But that’s no excuse for her acting like a snot.”

“Oh? And what’s yours?”

Again, his movements stilled. Then he abruptly stuffed his stuff back into the plastic bag and rocketed to his feet, and Jenna thought, Whoa, welcome to Arrested Male Development Central. Talk about getting your boxers in a bunch. If he wore any, that is. Which, considering her earlier encounter, was definitely not a given.

Could she trust a man who didn’t wear underwear?

And while she was musing about all this, Hank reached behind the railing and retrieved the largest toolbox she’d ever seen, the veins on his hand popping out in stark relief as he tromped down the porch steps. Then he turned, his expression kicking up her pulse. Even from here, she could tell every muscle in his body had gone taut, alert and unyielding underneath the soft cotton of his T-shirt, his worn jeans.

“If you’re so damn intent on mollycoddling the gal, why’d you bring her out here to begin with?”

Now her heart jumped into her throat, even as her brain scrambled to make sense of his vacillation. He’d certainly seemed sympathetic earlier—why the sudden switch? “I hardly think trying to be sensitive to the emotional needs of a child who’s just lost her mother is mollycoddling her.”

“Thought you said you raised her?”

“I did.” She lowered her voice, resisting the urge to dodge that intense, assessing gaze. “But Blair still knew her mother. On top of my husband’s death, her mother’s came as a blow. And I told you. I’m here on a research trip. I obviously couldn’t leave Blair by herself back in D.C., could I?”

His eyes narrowed. “And she couldn’t stay with anybody back home?”

“No.” Jenna folded her arms over her quaking stomach. But there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about her heated cheeks. “She couldn’t.”

For an excruciatingly long two or three seconds, their eyes remained locked, suspicion rolling off him in suffocating waves. Her potentially fatal mistake, Jenna realized, was forgetting that Hank Logan had been a cop. A good one, too, from what she’d been able to glean. Anything out of the ordinary was liable to set off his alarms. Her being here with Blair, not to mention her deliberate evasion of her sister’s name, definitely qualified.

Why the hell had she thought she’d be able to pull this off?

Then he looked away. The frown was still in place, his jaw still set, but his breaking eye contact felt like being released from a stranglehold. Jenna hauled in a deep, shuddering breath, only to feel it catch when his eyes met hers again.

“Okay, look—I’d planned on goin’ into town tomorrow anyway, to pick up some supplies. Don’t suppose it matters a whole lot if I push it up a day. Just tell your niece, if she goes with us, I won’t get up her nose if she doesn’t get up mine, okay?”

Jenna stood, hugging herself. Even though she stood a step up from the bottom, Hank still towered over her, solid and strong.

And alive. Very, very alive.

She swallowed back bitter, out-of-nowhere tears. “Sounds fair to me.”

He cocked his head, his brows dipped, and Jenna willed the tears back, thinking, Oh, please God, don’t let him ask me if I’m all right.

But he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Got some things to do first, though, before I can leave.” He twisted away, heading down the driveway. “Give me an hour,” he said, his words nearly swept away on the breeze swooshing through the trees, “then come on down to the office.”

A moment or two passed before Jenna collected herself enough to shout, “Okay! Thanks!” at Hank’s rapidly retreating back. Without turning around, he lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

As Jenna watched him stride down the driveway, she realized just how much of a hellish position she was in. While there was no way she was going to tell Hank the truth until she determined whether or not he was worthy of being entrusted with that knowledge, if and when she did decide to tell him, she suffered no illusions about what was going to hit the fan. And yes, she knew she was being judgmental. But she had sole responsibility for the welfare of a child she loved with all her heart, a responsibility she was more than willing to put her butt on the line for…even if it meant royally pissing off the man who was, in all likelihood, that child’s father.

Exactly one hour later, Jenna pulled the Corolla up alongside Hank’s truck, parked outside the office, and honked. And waited. When, after several minutes had passed and no scary, scruffy man emerged, Jenna left the car and went inside, leaving the engine running. An on-its-last-legs air conditioner rattled and wheezed from a small window on her left; the door to his apartment was cracked open.

“Mr. Logan?” She batted the bell a few times. “I’m here!”

No answer.

She drummed her nails on the counter for a second, then walked around the counter and called again. Nothing. So she knocked on the door. Which, not being completely closed, swung open.

She didn’t mean to look, honestly. Nobody was bigger on privacy issues than she was. But the door fell away and the room was just…there.

In all its A-bomb glory. In fact, she was so stunned by the state of Hank’s apartment—she’d seen more orderly dumps—the music, only half-audible over the air conditioner’s groaning, barely registered. Then it did.

Hold the phone—the man listened to opera? To Wagner, no less? She would have expected country. Hard rock, heavy metal, maybe. Opera…uh, no.

Hank’s scowling face was suddenly inches from hers. Jenna yipped and jumped back.

“I said I’d be ready in an hour,” he said.

“Which was up fifteen minutes ago.”

The scowl deepened. He glanced at his watch, some gigundo number that probably did everything but launch the space shuttle. He swore, mumbled “Sorry,” then grabbed his wallet, slid through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

“Anybody ever teach you to knock?” he asked, loping through the office and on outside, making Jenna scurry behind him.

“Anybody ever teach you how to pick up your clothes? And slow down, for heaven’s sake! My legs aren’t as long as yours!”