A Better Father (Harlequin Super Romance) (11 page)

* * *

L
IBBY
WALKED
INTO
THE
OFFICE
on the last day of orientation, checked her
clipboard and frowned. The to-do list was going down, but it was still fuller
than she would have liked. For every item she checked off it seemed she was
adding two or three more, which wasn’t unusual. She could handle that. But
removing Myra from the mix and adding Sam had complicated things in ways she
hadn’t anticipated.

It didn’t help that she herself seemed incapable of working
when Casey was around. He spent most of his time in the house with Mrs. Collins,
but Sam had developed a habit of bringing him along for meals, or having him pop
into the office for kisses before naptime. And Libby could not make herself keep
working when that strawberry-blond head poked around the door and whispered a
loud, “Biiiibby?”

But she’d spent the morning running from one end of the camp to
the other. Sam was down in the cabins, hauling mattresses. She needed a break.
Five minutes to sit alone on the sofa with an iced coffee and do nothing but
stare at the walls. Then she would be ready to dive back in.

But no sooner had she raided the minifridge in the corner for
her caffeine stash than her gaze fell on the folder containing the plans for the
pavilion and her fingers started to twitch.

She wanted to look at the plans.

Of course she had seen them. Sam had shown them to her within
an hour of his return, but she had been too busy trying to push him away to pay
attention to them.

Now, though... Now she could focus on them. Now that she wasn’t
busy tearing down bridges, she could give the plans the thorough inspection they
deserved.

Besides—she really, really wanted to see what Sam had in
mind.

She peeked out the window. The road down to the dining hall and
the rest of the camp was deserted. She crept to the door, opened it cautiously,
then peered all around, double-checking the paths to the staff parking lot and
the house, in case he was wandering down either of those. Because, while she was
desperate to have a look, she wasn’t quite ready for Sam to know about that
desperation.

The coast was clear.

Moving quickly, she returned to the table and pulled the papers
from the envelope. She skipped past the pages with the specs and the lists of
options, and went right to the one that mattered—the artist’s rendering of the
completed pavilion.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed.

It was perfect. Sam must have given the architect photos of the
inlet, because the background was exactly as she remembered it, right down to
the rock peeking out of the water at the bend in the river. But the pavilion
itself was what made her bring her fingers to her lips to hold back a squeak of
happiness.

It was going to be long and gently curved, following the
riverbank. The roof hung lower to the ground on the side closest to the water,
not enough to totally block the view but enough to provide a bit more shelter if
there was a light rain. A massive stone fireplace that opened front and back
divided the structure into two spaces, one twice as long as the other. Restrooms
and a small kitchen flanked the fireplace. Libby could immediately picture staff
meetings happening in the smaller space and end-of-session award ceremonies in
the larger one.

She slipped the plans back into the folder with a sigh. The
structure Sam had planned was everything she had described to him when they
talked about it all those years ago. The camp deserved the pavilion. Myra
deserved the honor.

But much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but wonder at
the way Sam had carried her dream with him all this time.

* * *

T
HE
OWNER
’
S
BARBECUE
on
the night before check-in had always been one of Sam’s favorite camp traditions
when he had been a counselor, both in training and for real, and he had no
intention of doing away with it now that he was in charge.

Orientation and setup were finished. The cabins were ready.
With the arrival of the counselor trainees that morning, the staff was complete.
All that was needed was about one hundred and forty kids and the camp would be
humming.

Sam did choose to make one change. While Myra had always kept
it a working party, with folks helping with the grilling and the food prep, Sam
decided that at least this once he would go all out. The cries of appreciation
from the staff as they arrived to the pig roast he’d arranged, followed by
relaxed laughter and sighs of contentment, told him it was a wise choice.

“Catered, huh?” Libby stood beside him at the entrance to the
dining hall, surveying the happy crowd. “Interesting choice.”

He shifted Casey higher on his shoulder. “They’ve all worked
hard this week to get everything ready. I figured everyone could use a night
off.”

She scanned the room once more, then gave a nod of approval. “I
think you’re right. This was a good idea.”

Libby agreed with him? Damn. She really had meant it when she
said she was ready to give them a fresh start.

Bolstered by the thought, he decided to push the envelope a
bit. “When I say everyone has earned a night off, that includes you.” With his
free hand, he plucked the clipboard from her hands before she had a chance to
react.

Her eyes widened. “But I—”

“Uh-uh. You’re not getting this back for at least an hour.”
When she sputtered, he shook his head and lifted the offending object above her
reach.

“Forget it, Lib. Like it or not, you’re having some downtime.
You’re gonna eat a relaxed meal, and listen to some bad jokes and laugh. And I
bet you’ll end up so refreshed that you sail through tomorrow and end up saying
it was your easiest first day ever.”

“Not likely,” she said, but there was no force behind her
words. She must have needed the break even more than he realized.

Casey chose that moment to twist himself around from his
over-the-shoulder perch. His hair brushed Sam’s cheek as his small head leaned
up against Sam’s jaw.

“Did you get bored with the scenery back there, squirt?” Sam
patted Casey’s bottom. Not soggy. Yay.

“Hi, sweetpea.” Libby’s face brightened as she leaned in and
offered her hand to the child, palm up. “Are you having fun?”

Casey looked from her hand to her face, then slowly placed his
palm over hers. “Bibby!”

“That’s right. Do you remember what Leo the Lion says?”

Having been well trained by Libby, who Sam could swear knew
more kid songs than all four Wiggles combined, Casey immediately let loose with
a fierce roar.

“That’s right!” She glowed as she leaned closer, laughing and
light. “You learned that so fast!”

“Yeah, the Nobel people are already planning to give him a
call,” Sam said, but on the inside he was doing a serious little pride dance.
Not only was his kid bright, he also had a head start on how to impress
women.

“Do you know about the eensy-weensy spider?” Libby took Casey’s
hands in hers and moved them through the motions of the song, clapping them
together with a gleeful “Yay for the spider!” when she was done.

She was so good with Casey. So easy. He knew too many people
who gave his kid a passing hello and then returned their focus to him, intent on
impressing Mr. Cold Ice. Or those who knew about Robin would continue to talk
brightly to Sam while sneaking speculative glances at Casey, as if they were
measuring his adjustment level or something.

Libby did neither of those. She just sang to Casey and made him
giggle, and Sam wasn’t sure whose smile warmed his heart more.

Casey lasted through one more round of the song before lurching
forward, arms outstretched.

“Bibby!”

Her arms closed around him effortlessly as she shifted him to
her hip, falling immediately into a side-to-side sway when Casey tucked his head
into her shoulder.

Sam was impressed. Libby might be the most efficient and
determined woman he knew, but in a heartbeat she could transform into this
nurturing, humming person who created a tiny oasis of calm and togetherness in
the middle of the bustling hall.

A hand landed on his shoulder. He knew it was Brynn from the
fuchsia nails digging into his skin, even before she let loose with a soft but
most emphatic swearword. He thought she had simply lost her balance until he
twisted sideways and saw the way she stared at Libby and Casey, eyes wide, a
hand over her mouth.

And if he’d had any last hopes that the resemblance between
Libby and Robin was his guilty conscience playing tricks on him, they had just
been blown to hell.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE
NIGHT
BEFORE
the campers arrived
always challenged Libby’s ability to sleep. This year was worse than ever.
Between worries about how Mr. Cold Ice might complicate the flow of traffic
through the various stations, worries about parents who might not have read the
letter telling them of Myra’s departure, and worries about Cosmo’s sudden and
unexplained insistence on removing meat loaf from all the menus, she spent far
too many precious minutes staring at the familiar knothole in the ceiling above
her bunk. Not that she could really see it in the dark. She just knew it was
there, round and swirly.

Just like she knew that the real reason she couldn’t sleep had
very little to do with camp worries and a whole lot to do with something Brynn
had said in the middle of the barbecue. Libby hadn’t been able to catch it all
in the buzz around them, but there had been something about the last time Brynn
had been at camp, and some crisis with the family. Something about their world
going to hell and back. Those were the words that were drumming through her in a
can’t-sleep rhythm.

Because the last time Brynn came to camp was the last time Sam
was there, too. Right before he did the inexplicable.

And Libby wanted to know more.

Finally admitting that she wasn’t going to be drifting away to
dreamland anytime soon, she threw off her blanket, shoved her feet into her
fuzzy slippers and grabbed her flashlight. Five minutes later she was in the
office, making a mug of hot chocolate and booting up the computer. Not the
camp’s, but her personal laptop.

Research time.

While her machine wheezed to life, she checked voice mail.
Three parents checking on their kids, one supplier, an inquiry about a
last-minute opening and then a message so garbled by a child’s background
wailing that she had to play it twice to catch the words.

“Libby, it’s Dani. I’m all done with your lawn mower, but could
I maybe use your weed trimmer, too? Mine has disappeared. I think one of the
kids took it apart. Give me a call, but don’t be surprised if it takes me a
while to get back to you. Aidan has tonsillitis. You know what that means.”

Oh,
crap.
Poor Aidan. Poor
Dani.

She made a note to call Dani in the morning, then pushed her
neighbor worries aside and paid a quick visit to Google, where she found over
nine hundred thousand references to Sam. She needed to start digging.

She made quick work of the gossip pieces linking him with
starlets and country singers. She found nothing referencing either Robin or
Casey, which seemed odd at first. But then, it sounded as though Robin had been
a regular Josephine. It might have been that the starlets and singers were the
ones who had attracted attention more than Sam, at least until he became the
Cold Ice man. If he and Robin had kept things quiet... And he had said she’d
moved before Casey was born....

She sipped her drink, savoring the smooth heat, and
concentrated on the task at hand. She knew a heck of a lot about Sam’s first
eighteen years and a decent smattering of his current life. But there was over a
decade in there that was ripe for mining. She had always been a great
researcher. Surely if she looked hard enough, she could find some kind of clue
as to what the man was hiding behind that smile.

An hour later, her cocoa was gone and her neck was cramped, but
she barely noticed. For there, buried in the middle of a fluff piece from his
college paper, Libby saw words that had her leaning forward to be sure she was
reading correctly.

The article had been written just a couple of years ago, when
Sam’s team won the Stanley Cup. It was a “we’re so proud of our alumni” piece
that had first made her cringe, because how could someone be considered an
alumnus if he left midway through his second year?

But the story turned out to be a treasure chest of memories
from people who had known Sam—coaches, professors, even a few of his old college
teammates. And there, halfway down the page, she found unexpected gold.

“Of course, he had a rough start to his first year,” said Coach
Lyon, then an assistant coach of the Ice Cats. “Not two weeks before classes
started, his mother landed in the hospital, and his father, from what I
remember, took a powder. Sam wasn’t just any incoming freshman. He was the rock
of his family. It was a heartbreaker, no doubt about it, but I’ll never forget
his focus on the ice. Before that, he was just another kid using an athletic
scholarship to pay for school, but after that...it was like he had to get good
and he had to do it fast. Because, you know, there was a whole family depending
on him.”

Libby leaned back against her chair and covered her mouth with
her hands. The words seemed to leap from the screen to lodge in her brain.

Not two weeks before classes
started.

That would have been right after he left camp—a perfect fit
with what she’d heard from Brynn.

Right after he kissed her goodbye and promised her that it
wasn’t the end for them.

His mother landed in the hospital and his father, from what I
remember, took a powder.

Sam was the oldest of four. If this coach’s memory was
correct—and dear God, could anyone forget something like that?—then in the space
of a few days, Sam had been pushed from a carefree youth who was playing hockey
to put himself through college, to someone who had to look after a whole
boatload of scared and hurting people.

He had to get good and he had to do it fast. Because, you know,
there was a whole family depending on him.

Maybe Sam hadn’t left school in his second year in search of
fame and glory. Maybe he’d been searching for nothing more than a paycheck to
support the family that needed him.

And maybe, when she had called him with her own
heartbreak...maybe he’d had a hell of a good reason to hang up.

* * *

L
ATE
THAT
NIGHT
, when Casey was soundly asleep and Sam had finally surrendered
after a couple of hours of unpacking boxes and moving furniture, he grabbed a
beer from the fridge and retreated to the quiet shadows of the porch. He dropped
into the Adirondack chair, then winced.

“I have got to get some softer chairs for out here,” he said. A
very unladylike snort came from the other seat.

“You’re telling me,” Brynn said. “I hereby volunteer to do the
honors on my way out of town tomorrow. Your credit card and I have had some
lovely times together the past few months. I’m going to miss it.”

“I bet you will.” And then, because the light was off and it
was easier to be sappy in the dark, he added, “There’s no way I can thank you
enough for everything you’ve done for me and Casey.”

“Yeah, so, you’ll now be in my debt for all eternity. I like
that.” Her voice dropped as she added, “I’m glad you asked. It’s been kind of a
wild ride, but I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.”

He nodded even though he knew she couldn’t see it. She would
know, though. She was good that way.

“It’s pretty here,” she said. “When we were kids, here for
camp, I didn’t really notice how gorgeous it was. No wonder you jumped at the
chance to come back.”

He stared into the night. He never realized there could be so
many shades of darkness, from the deep black of the forests to the glinting onyx
of the river and the shadowy dark of the areas on the fringe of the few lights
left gleaming. Stillness had settled all around them. Other than a few distant
animal calls and the gentle ringing of the wind chimes Brynn had hung outside
the door—and, of course, the soft hum of Casey’s monitor—the world was silent.
Pride swelled within him as it hit him: this was his. His life, his future, his
home.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a damned fine place.”

A soft rustling told him that Brynn was shifting in her chair.
Uh-oh. A restless Brynn usually meant he was in for something.

“So.” Her voice was far too bright. “Interesting how Libby
could be a stunt double for Robin, isn’t it?”

Ah, crap. So much for hoping Brynn would leave without
mentioning it.

“Not that it’s that obvious,” she continued, as if he’d agreed.
“Sure, the hair is about the same color, and they both have freckles. And I’d
say Libby is about the same height as Robin was, maybe a little shorter. Robin
was definitely prettier than Libby, and more—oh, I don’t know—willowy, I guess
you’d say. But it’s more the way they carried themselves. Libby is just as brisk
and no-nonsense as Robin was. She doesn’t smile as much as Robin did, but then,
she has a lot on her mind right now.”

And Libby’s voice was close enough to Robin’s that he was
pretty sure if he had to tell them apart on the phone, he couldn’t have done it,
at least not a month ago. Not that he was going to admit that to Brynn.

Sam had never tried to pretend that he and Robin were seriously
in love, even when he proposed, and neither had she. Maybe if he hadn’t been
gone so much...maybe if life had progressed according to plan, and he had ended
up living in the same town as her and Casey after he retired...

But she was gone, and he was here and, damn, he wished he knew
what it all meant.

“Of course, it could make perfect sense,” Brynn said. “Guys
have a favorite type, just like women are either into Daniel Craig or Hugh
Jackman. It’s not unreasonable to think your type could be organized, efficient
redheads.”

He liked that theory. A lot.

“It also could be that you’ve been carrying a torch for Libby
all these years.”

And, bingo. One hot button, pushed.

“You don’t have to sound so friggin’ cheerful about the whole
thing.”

“I can sound any way I want about it, big brother.” Ripples in
the darkness told him she was on the move. She waltzed past, pausing only long
enough to pat his head in a way that was definitely not reassuring. “But then,
I’m not the one who has to live with those questions. Am I?”

She left, but the worries she’d unleashed lingered behind her
like an old wound aching in the rain.

Libby looked like Robin. He could live with that. He could even
live with the notion that he’d never got over Libby, because when she wasn’t
being a pain in the ass, she was a hell of a woman. He had no problem with the
Libby parts of the equation.

It was the Robin parts that made him squirm in his
uncomfortable chair as the questions rolled over him.

Had he used Robin to indulge an old memory?

If he had, did that make him as selfish as his old man?

If he was as despicable as his father, what kind of parent
would he be over the long haul? The kind who hung in there, or the kind who ran
at the first sign of trouble?

And if he was, at his core, the same kind of selfish bastard as
the man who had sired him—did that mean that Casey would be better off with
Sharon, after all?

* * *

L
IBBY
HAD
NEVER
BEEN
one of those little girls who wanted to be a
ballerina when she grew up. They seemed too flighty for her. But the first day
of camp made her feel like a dancer as she leaped from one place to the next,
always as gracefully and smoothly as possible, and always with a smile.

She had learned long ago how to anticipate tears from either a
parent or a child who wasn’t quite as ready to say goodbye as expected. She knew
when to soothe, when to joke and when to pretend that sudden requests for
changes in cabin assignments were easy, welcome and reasonable. She could spot a
potential prankster from twenty feet away and she could peg a parent as a source
of constant phone calls within the first two minutes of a conversation.

But she was totally unprepared for someone to put the focus on
her.

She was in the dining hall, her command base for opening day.
Parents and campers rotated through the various arrival stations set up around
the perimeter—cabin assignments, T-shirt pickup, discussions with the nurse. The
large room hummed with voices, occasionally pierced by a shriek or a camera
flash when someone realized that the new owner was not only a former NHL
All-Star but the face that had sold a million bottles of body wash. Sam himself
circulated through the buzz, shaking hands, posing for pictures and guiding
people to the display filled with plans and drawings of the waterfront pavilion
project.

Libby had been worried about the display when he proposed it,
afraid it would cause people to linger in the building and add to the
congestion. But Sam had assured her it would work, and she had to admit he’d
been right. New arrivals circulated through the stations, then followed the line
of exhibits to the far wall and out the door. If anything, the desire to see the
next picture kept things moving better than usual.

Not only that, but the staff members who were escorting
families to their cabins told her that instead of lingering to fuss over bunks
and storage, many of the kids and parents were dumping their things as quickly
as possible so they could head down to the inlet. Sam had arranged to have some
backhoes and dump trucks on site for the kids to sit in. The reports she was
receiving made her long to ditch the crowded dining hall and head down to the
inlet to see the action for herself.

The fact that leaving the hall would give her a break from
Sam—who had spent the day watching her with an intensity she would never have
expected from him—only made it more difficult to stay at her table.

She was taking advantage of a thirty-second break in the action
to sit back, breathe and check out the action at the other stations for
potential problems, when a very pregnant woman marched up to her, holding the
hand of one of Libby’s favorite campers.

“Libby! Hi! How are you? Can you believe it’s been a year
already?”