A Father's Promise

You were going to tell him no, she reminded herself. You weren’t going to get involved. A moment of panic swept over her. How was she going to bear it? To get to know Sarah, to be teaching again, even for a few days—it would hurt so much to give it up.

Just a few days. Daniel couldn’t talk her into doing more, though he’d proved to be a master at getting what he wanted. He’d disarmed her with his apology, drawn her into his dreams for Sarah, put her in a position from which she couldn’t say no.

He was an impossible man to say no to. He was the last man in the world she had any right being attracted to. That had to stop.

A few days, that was all. A breeze whispered over the marsh, bending the grasses, lifting the hair on her arms. She shivered. If Daniel thought she’d change her mind, he’d underestimated her. Daniel and Sarah were going to be a minor detour in the course she’d laid out for herself; that was all.

Chapter Three (#ulink_97a372de-bb01-5a9d-a657-146c44c3d1e7)

Leigh stopped at the end of the path the next morning, staring at the scene in front of her. Trumpet-shaped white and lavender flowers lifted their heads from fringes of beach grass. The sun gilded blue-gray water, and the beach stretched empty except for the occasional laughing gull. The receding tide left wet sand in a smooth layer of light toast.

The skeleton of Daniel’s building rose in a sea of beach grass and wild roses—two stories of bare timbers, awkward and raw looking, out of place in this little piece of Eden.

Sarah played contentedly on a blanket spread in the shadow of a pile of lumber next to the construction. She wrapped a baby doll carefully in a scrap of pink blanket, then tucked it into a doll cradle, crooning something Leigh couldn’t make out.

Leigh’s heart clenched. Only a few days, she reminded herself. This would last only a few days. She couldn’t become attached to Sarah.

Why was Sarah by herself? A movement caught her eye, and she realized several things at the same moment. Daniel worked, alone, on the second-story skeleton, and he watched Sarah as he did so. And, right now, he also watched her.

He stood, the movement taking him from shadow to sunlight, and her breath caught in her throat. He perched on what looked like an impossibly thin beam, balancing as effortlessly as a cougar on a tree limb. He was shirtless, and the slant of sunlight gilded skin and muscle as it did the ocean, making his flesh glow. Suddenly embarrassed to be caught staring, she raised her arm and waved.

Daniel nodded, put down his hammer and strode the length of the beam as easily as a gull skimming the water. He reached the end and swung himself down, sleek muscles moving under tanned skin.

She went toward him, sternly telling her breathing to get under control.

“I hope I’m not late.”

He shrugged.

“I have to start early.” His gesture took in the expanse of half-finished building. “Lots to do.”

“You’re doing it yourself?”

“One of the local contractors helps out when I need it.”

She’d already figured out that money was in short supply. So there was no crew of carpenters, just Daniel Gregory working alone on his dream.

“Sarah’s been fine down here, but you can take her to the house if you want.”

“Maybe we’ll stay here for a while. She might feel more comfortable near you at first.”

He nodded. “You need anything just ask Joe. He knows everything.”

Daniel’s gaze strayed back to his construction, as if pulling his attention from it was a hardship. As if a flesh-and-blood woman couldn’t compete with timber and nails. She squashed a wave of what might have been annoyance. She didn’t want Daniel to be interested in her. The next few days would be difficult enough without that complication.

“Sarah and I will be all right. You go back to work and don’t worry about her.”

He turned away, then turned back again with that rare smile lightening his serious, contained face. “I’m glad you came, Leigh.”

This was the moment to remind him that she’d agreed to watch Sarah only until he found someone else. Instead, she discovered that she was returning his smile, her gaze caught and held by his until he swung away from her.

She’d been right. That smile of his really should come with a warning label. Maybe its effect was intensified by its rarity.

She crossed the warm sand and dropped to her knees on the blanket next to Sarah.

“Hi, Sarah.” She signed as she spoke. “I’m Leigh. Remember me?”

Sarah’s dark eyes, so like her father’s, surveyed Leigh solemnly for a moment. Finally a smile touched the corner of her mouth, and she nodded.

“That’s a nice baby.” Leigh patted the pink wrapped bundle. “Does she have a name?”

Sarah’s mouth compressed in a firm line. She snatched the doll from the cradle, then carefully rewrapped it, fingers smoothing the blanket with care. Finally she replaced it in the cradle, crooning something unintelligible.

The message was clear. Don’t touch. Without Meggie’s ebullient presence, Sarah was going to be a tough nut to crack.

A half hour later, Leigh had revised her opinion. Not just tough. Nearly impossible. She sat back on her heels, exasperated, as Sarah repeated the routine with the baby doll for perhaps the tenth time. Leigh’s mind seethed with questions, and she wanted to snatch Daniel from his ladder and pepper him with them.

How much residual hearing did Sarah actually have? Had she been to school? If not, who’d been teaching her? And what on earth did this routine with the doll and cradle mean?

You don’t need to know that. You don’t have the right to answers. This is only temporary, remember? That’s what you want.

Well, temporary or not, she had to do her best. She clasped Sarah’s hand before the business with the doll could begin again.

“Come on, Sarah. Let’s go for a walk.”

Sarah drew back, hanging heavily on Leigh’s hand, looking at the doll.

“Daddy will watch the baby, okay? Daddy won’t let her get hurt.”

That seemed to do the trick. With a backward, reluctant look at the cradle, Sarah got to her feet. She let Leigh lead her away from the blanket.

They walked along the upper reaches of the sand, but when Leigh tried to take her down to the smooth, shimmering expanse left by the outgoing tide, Sarah balked.

“No!”

That word she verbalized well enough. Leigh suppressed a smile. Most children did if they talked at all.

“Why not?” Leigh persisted. “Meggie loves to play in the water. Don’t you?”

Sarah stared at the ocean for a moment, lower lip extended. Then her hands moved. “Cold,” she signed. “Too cold.”

Fair enough. The water, warmed by southern ocean currents, seemed comfortable to Leigh, but maybe Sarah did find it cold.

The ebbing tide had left a legacy, though…an oblong, sandy tidal pool, its water warmed by the sun until it was probably the temperature of bathwater.

“Look at this.” She led the reluctant child to the pool. “Look—a Sarah-sized pool.” She knelt, then scooped a handful of water and let it trickle through her fingers. “Warm.”

Sarah clasped her hands firmly, shaking her head. No one, it was clear, would convince her to put her hands in.