Full-Time Father

And he hadn’t wanted to have any contact with the world. After Stacey had left, he’d fallen apart. Pain and guilt had overwhelmed him until getting through the day had been more than he could manage. He’d betrayed his wife’s memory—traded in their special love for one night of passion. One night of trying to feel alive. It was as if Robin’s death had killed him, too. God, he’d missed her. He still did. Sometimes missing her was all that kept him going.

“We all survived,” Erin said as she headed for the front door. “Now, we start over.”

Christie bounced to her feet and skipped toward her. Parker stared at the child and battled regret over the first four years he’d lost.

Kiki was waiting in the foyer. “Did you enjoy the beach?” she asked.

Christie nodded vigorously. “It’s beautiful. We saw birds and I got a piggyback ride. I almost caught a crab, but it kept digging and digging and I can’t dig that fast.”

Kiki ruffled the girl’s bangs. “You can catch it next time.” She glanced at him. “Why don’t you show them around the house? It’s very unusual.”

“If you’d like,” Parker said, looking at Erin for her approval.

She nodded as they walked into the living room. “It’s a great old place. When was it built?”

“In the 1920s by an eccentric millionaire who made his money in railroads, lumber and oil. Much of this room is original,” he said. The open-beamed ceiling soared nearly twenty feet high. Dark wood broke up the plain white walls. There were huge windows that looked out onto the terrace and the ocean beyond. Opposite, smaller windows gave a view of the front yard. Dark blue leather sofas and chairs were grouped together in conversational areas. Bold paintings, some modern, some old, added color to the room.

Erin walked over to the one above the fireplace. It showed a wild storm raging against an island. “Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Some I have because I like them, others are investments. That one I bought because of how it made me feel.” He still remembered how the anger and power of the painting had called him from across the gallery. He’d accepted an invitation to a showing on impulse. That had been about a year or so after Robin had died, when he was trying to put his life back together. The threads had remained unraveled, but the painting had allowed him to believe he wasn’t the only person dealing with powerful and unexplained emotions.

“Very raw,” she said.

Kiki walked across the hardwood floor. She pointed to the right hand wall. “This buffet and those two chairs are original pieces from the house. The former owner had much of the furniture custom-made.”

From there they walked into the dining room. Again Kiki pointed out the original dining room set. Here the windows were smaller, but the view no less impressive. In fact, it was better than the living room because the room butted right up to the cliff.

He hung back as Kiki took Erin and Christie through the kitchen, then back through the living room to the other side. Parker wondered how this house must appear to Erin. She lived on a teacher’s salary, which couldn’t be a lot. There hadn’t been much in the way of insurance money, and she hadn’t mentioned receiving help from any relatives. Was she doing it on her own?

“There’s another fireplace,” Christie said loudly, when they walked into the study.

Parker followed more slowly. This was one of his favorite rooms. There weren’t any windows, in fact part of the ceiling sloped because the room was partially tucked under the stairs. Bookshelves lined two walls and flanked the fireplace on a third. The fourth wall contained a built-in entertainment system complete with laser disc and four-way speakers.

As he entered the study, Christie was staring reverently at the big screen television.

“I don’t think I have anything you would like,” he said, motioning to his library of laser discs. “But maybe you can tell me what you enjoy and I’ll get it.”

Her brown eyes widened. Her mouth opened. Before she could speak, Erin touched her shoulder. “You can give Parker your list later,” she said. “For now just say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Christie breathed, practically quivering with excitement. Her gaze darted around the room, then settled on something. “Ooh, who’s the pretty lady?”

Parker knew before he turned that Christie had spotted the portrait of Robin. The eleven-by-sixteen print fit into an oversize frame on one of the bookshelves. A small light illuminated the picture.

Parker took the little girl’s hand and led her to the photograph. He lifted it down so Christie could see it more easily. “That’s my wife, Robin.”

Christie frowned. “If you have a wife, how can you be my daddy?”

He heard someone take a sharp breath of air and assumed it was Erin. “No matter what, I’m still your father, Christie. Robin died a long time ago.” He looked at the girl’s solemn eyes. “Do you know what that means?”

“She’s gone, like my other mommy, Stacey.” Christie touched the glass protecting the photograph. “She’s pretty. I like her hair. It’s all wavy.” She touched the pigtails that barely brushed her shoulders. “My hair’s not that long and it doesn’t wave like that.”

“You’re still pretty, too,” he said.

Christie grinned.

He set the picture back in its place. He studied it for a minute. It was a beautiful shot taken by a skilled photographer. He kept it out because it was Robin’s favorite picture of herself. She was dressed in period costume, something from the 1920s, when the house had been built. Her white lace dress fell straight to her ankles. A large hat shaded her face. She stood with her head turned slightly away from the camera.

The black-and-white film dulled the color of her red hair and the shadows muted her freckles. She was stunningly beautiful in this picture, but in his mind, she was a stranger. He preferred Robin in real life with her too-bright hair and glasses falling down her nose. He liked the freckles she despised and her slightly awkward way of moving through a room.

“I’d forgotten about her,” Erin said, almost under her breath.

When he turned toward her, she flushed and held her hands palm up in a gesture of surrender.

“Your late wife was mentioned in a couple of articles I read in the library, but I’d forgotten that you lost her. I’m sorry, Parker.”

Her words were an uncomfortable reminder that he was the sort of person people read about in magazines. He’d hated that part of his success. He preferred to remain out of the public eye. What else had Erin learned? What exactly did she want from him?

“Maybe it’s time we talked,” he said, motioning to the red-brown leather sofa across from the entertainment unit.

“This is going to be boring grown-up talk,” Kiki said quickly. “Christie, why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you the upstairs? There are a couple of secret rooms.”

“Really?” She glanced at her mother.

“Go ahead, honey,” Erin told her. “Be good and don’t touch anything.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Kiki led the child out of the room. Parker waited until Erin was seated before taking a wing chair for himself. The lighting was such that he could see her face clearly, but knew he was in shadow. He hadn’t liked his time in the business world, but he’d learned from it.

“Let’s cut right to the heart of the matter, Ms. Ridgeway,” he said calmly. “I’m convinced Christie is my daughter. I assume you want to enter into negotiations about her support.”

Erin stared at him for several moments, then started to laugh. The bright sound filled the dark room, sweeping away the emotional dust. She placed her hands on her thighs and leaned toward him. Her mouth curved up slightly, her dimple playing hide-and-seek on her cheek.

“It’s Erin, Parker. We’d already agreed on that.” She studied him for a moment and the smile faded. “I had thought it might be nice to be rich, but I see I was mistaken. How many people come here looking only for money?”

“More than you can imagine.”

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t believe that, but I am. Christie and I are doing fine. We don’t want financial assistance. As far as that’s concerned, all I care about is a college trust fund for her.”

Her fingers were long and lean. They rested on her jeans. She’d pulled up the sleeves of her sweater. He could see her finely boned wrists and the inexpensive watch she wore. He raised his gaze past the tempting curve of her breasts—ignoring the faint stirring of interest that started deep inside—to the small gold hoops at her ears. She wasn’t flashy. If she really wasn’t interested in his money, then she was unlike any woman he’d met since Robin died.

“Frankly I’m more interested in what you can give Christie emotionally rather than financially,” she said.

He braced his arms on the chair. “What does that mean?”

“Christie needs a father in her life. If you want to take on that role, then it’s a real commitment. She would need regular contact with you. Before you agree to anything, you have to think this through. I’d rather know now if you’re not interested, because I don’t want her heart broken.”

“I would never hurt her,” he said quietly, then wondered why he spoke the lie. Of course he would hurt her. He hurt every woman who had ever cared about him. Eventually he let them down.