A Dad for Billie (12 page)

Adam shook his head. He was a lousy liar. Always had been. It was his damn Southern upbringing. Too much talk about being a gentleman and the dance lessons they’d made him attend between football practices. He grinned as he remembered Charlene’s discussion with Billie about charm school. The girl had been adamant in her refusal, and her mother had backed her up. He wondered if Billie would stay a tomboy long or if the pressure of society would force her to conform. Just this morning, she’d regaled him with stories about her quest for the perfect curve ball. He’d informed her that he hoped she found one that didn’t destroy windows.

She’d wrinkled her nose at him. The quick gesture, a mirror of what Jane had done when he’d teased her, had made his resolve to forget falter. Billie had slipped past his guard too easily as well, he thought. With a little help.

On Monday, the morning after—He refused to think about kissing Jane, he told himself firmly. It hadn’t meant anything. It had been a flash of temper or an attempt to prove to her that she couldn’t affect him. He hadn’t kissed her because he’d wanted to. After what she’d done, she was lucky he hadn’t run her out of town. Showing up after all this time, with no warning. He didn’t care, of course. She meant nothing to him now. He wanted—

Stop thinking about her, he commanded himself. Billie. That was safe. He recalled last Monday morning. He’d been drinking his morning coffee. Charlene had found Billie lurking outside his back door.

“I wanted to say hi to Adam,” she’d said. He’d put down his paper, not sure if he welcomed the interruption or not.

“Adam has a very rigid schedule in the morning,” Charlene had answered. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.” She laughed then and held open the door. “Go right in.”

He’d been cursed, he thought, toying with the engraved letter opener that had been his grandfather’s. Cursed to endure the women in his life. Charlene. God, someone could write a book about her. And now Billie. A four-foot-nothing bundle of energy who had already wormed her way into his life. She was funny and intriguing as hell. But not as intriguing as Jane.

He pulled out his right-hand drawer and glanced at the brochure lying on top. The neighboring town sponsored a Triple-A baseball team. They were home for the next couple of weeks. Maybe he could get tickets and take Billie. She’d like that. And if her mother wanted to tag along…

Adam slammed the drawer shut. Was he crazy? He didn’t want to see Jane. And even if he did, hadn’t he learned his lesson? The woman had publicly humiliated him. The only emotion left was anger, and even that didn’t matter. He refused to feel anything else. He couldn’t. It cost too much.

But the rage, so easily tapped into over the weekend, had faded with the passing week. It became harder and harder to focus on the past and what she had done and not wonder what had drawn her back to Orchard. Why now? Why here? He sensed some secret behind her carefully worded explanations. Had she returned for absolution? A second chance?

He shook his head. Not that. She hadn’t cared enough the first time. Why the hell would he think she’d want to try again? And if she did—he picked up the letter opener and stared at the engraving—he wasn’t fool enough to get his heart broken a second time. He wasn’t interested in Jane Southwick. Not now. Not ever.

Adam rose from his desk and walked to his door. After pulling it open, he stepped into the hallway. To his left were the rest of the offices, the supply cabinet and the lunch room that was only used in the winter. To the right was the bank. A couple of people stood in line. Old man Grayson and his wife hovered by the safety deposit box cage, waiting to get inside. Every couple of weeks or so, they took their box into one of the private cubbyholes and spent a few minutes with their personal treasures. For as long as he could remember, they’d been coming here. He’d give a sizable chunk of his estate to know exactly what was in the box. As a kid, he and his friends had speculated about everything from stolen gold to body parts.

A flash of movement by the front door caught his attention. He turned. And drew in a sharp breath. It was as if his thoughts had conjured her from thin air.

Jane held the door open for her daughter. Billie skipped in and looked around. Adam slipped behind one of the old-fashioned
pillars, then cursed himself for being a coward. This was
his
bank, dammit. He had every right to be here. But he stayed where he was and watched them.

Like Edna, Jane was a throwback to another time. While she didn’t wear the heavy makeup his secretary favored, she’d never fully embraced the concept of wearing pants or shorts. A white T-shirt, with a V front that made him wonder what happened when she bent over, covered her upper body. A flowing skirt in a feminine print fluttered around her thighs and fell to mid-calf. The long hair that, years before, had haunted his thoughts until his hands ached to touch it and his body had throbbed for hers, had been tied back. No braid this time, but a ponytail that swung with each step.

She looked young, he thought. Innocent. Incapable of the deception she had committed. For the first time he allowed himself to wonder why. Why had she left him? Why couldn’t he forget her? In the nine years she’d been gone, he’d managed to push her to the back of his mind. She’d been home less than a week, and she haunted every moment of his day. He must exorcise this ghost from his life, he told himself grimly. There wasn’t room for her anymore.

Chapter Seven

J
ane glanced around the bank and sighed with relief. No Adam. Funny how at the house, the decision to go see him had sounded like such a good idea. Yet the reality of coming face-to-face with the person who would least like to see her made her squirm.

She glanced around at the old-fashioned lobby. Not that much had changed. On one side of the building stood the teller windows, on the other, the desks for the various departments. The marble floor had been imported from Italy and would outlast the town. The walls looked like they’d received a recent coat of paint, and the woodwork gleamed from constant care. Everything was exactly as she remembered. Even the old couple waiting by the safety deposit box cage looked as if they’d stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Going Banking
, she thought, giving the imaginary artwork a title, then giggling nervously. Beside her Billie danced from one foot to the other.

“This place is cool,” Billie said, her loud voice drifting up to the arched ceiling and echoing.

“Shh,” Jane warned, before her daughter could exercise her
vocal cords in a serious way. “People are trying to do business here. No talking.”

“You’re talking,” Billie pointed out.

Jane prayed for patience. Taking a deep breath, she located the desk with the New Accounts plaque and headed that way.

The woman behind the desk looked up and smiled. Then her smile faded, and a faint frown appeared between her eyebrows. Jane struggled to put a name to the semifamiliar face. Oh, no. Old Miss Yarns. She’d taught Jane’s fourth-grade Sunday School class and had been stern with her requirements and free with her discipline.

“Jane? Jane Southwick?” Miss Yarns rose to her feet and held out her hand. “It has been several years, has it not?”

“Yes, Miss Yarns.” The walls of this old institution would probably crack and fall if Miss Yarns used a contraction, Jane thought. “Nine. Years.” She grabbed Billie’s hand and drew her closer, as much for protection as to be polite. “My daughter, Belle Charlene.”

Billie glared at her mother. “Billie,” she said, then smiled. “I bet you can slide real good on this floor, huh?” she said, staring at the marble tiles. “You ever take your shoes off and—”

“No.” Miss Yarns blanched and resumed her seat. “I had heard you were back in town, Jane. Do you want to open an account with Barrington First National?”

No, Miss Yarns, I came over to New Accounts because of the stimulating company
. “Yes,” she said demurely, sitting in one of the cloth-covered chairs in front of the woman’s desk and pointing to tell Billie to do the same. “I have an account in San Francisco that I’ve closed.” She slipped her purse off her shoulder and onto her lap, then pulled out a cashier’s check.

“Very well.” She reached into her desk and withdrew an application form. Miss Yarns didn’t believe in rings or bracelets, and she would rather be flogged than wear earrings. Just a plain gold watch and a suit so conservative she’d look at home sitting in on the Supreme Court. “Will this be a joint account?”

“No, it’s—” Oh, God. Jane clamped her mouth shut. It was too late. Miss Yarns’s perfectly plucked brows rose, and she glanced from Billie, bouncing in her seat, to Jane’s bare left hand.
Damn small towns, Jane thought. And herself for being fool enough to come back.

“You will be the only person signing on this account.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

They should have gone to the pool right after lunch and taken their chances with drowning. It would have been more fun.

“And the name on the account?”

“Mine.”

“I know that, dear. The
last
name.”

Jane took a deep breath. In San Francisco, no one had known her well enough to realize Southwick was her maiden name. Everyone assumed she was divorced. Or didn’t care. But this wasn’t San Francisco. It was her hometown. Maybe Miss Yarns would think she’d gone back to her maiden name because—Yeah, right. It shouldn’t matter what this old relic thought of her. In a way it didn’t. But rumors got started so easily. And Billie would be the one hurt by them.

“Southwick,” she said at last. “Jane Southwick.”

Those perfect brows rose a notch higher, as the older woman glanced speculatively at Billie. “I see.”

Did she? Jane wondered. What if the town of Orchard figured out the truth before she got the courage to tell Adam?

“Why does that lady keep looking at me?” Billie asked in a stage whisper.

Miss Yarns had the grace to flush slightly and glance away.

“I don’t know,” Jane lied, knowing she could never explain this to her daughter. Not yet, anyway.

“Need any help here?”

Jane looked up and saw Adam standing beside his employee’s desk.

“Adam!” Billie scrambled out of her chair and raced to him. With the trust of a child who knows she will never be allowed to fall, she launched herself upward. He caught her under her arms and swung her around.

“What are you doing here, peanut?”

“Peanut?” Billie wrinkled her nose. “I’m
not
a peanut.”

“That’s right.” He tugged on the bill of her baseball cap. “You’re a soon-to-be famous pitcher of our champion Little League.”

Jane swallowed against the lump in her throat. It had happened so quickly, she thought. In just five days, they’d become friends. Was it Billie’s outgoing nature, Adam’s charm or was it genetic? Did they, on some subconscious level, recognize themselves as family? She
had
to tell him, tell them both. Soon. But not yet. There was more at stake than friendship. More than Adam’s right to know he was a father. Billie, and how all this would affect her, was Jane’s most important consideration.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Adam said, shifting Billie until she leaned against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he supported her weight with his left arm. Jane wasn’t sure if it was in deference to summer or the fact that it was Friday, but he’d abandoned his suit jacket. His white shirt fit perfectly, the long sleeves showing the ripple of his muscles as he shifted Billie’s weight. “What are you doing here?”

“Banking. We’re opening an account.”

Miss Yarns had watched the greeting and subsequent conversation. Obviously Billie and Adam knew each other well. Her mouth had opened slightly, as her jaw had dropped farther and farther down.

“Billie is a very outgoing child,” Jane said, hoping the other woman wouldn’t notice the similarities between the man and the little girl.

“I see that.” Her face sharpened as lines of disapproval pulled her mouth straight. “Perhaps we could get on with this form. Your place of employment?”

“I’ll handle this, Miss Yarns.”

The older woman glanced up at her employer. “Mr. Barrington, I assure you I am entirely capable—”

“I know,” he said, with an easy grin. “As a favor. Please.”

“Well. If you put it like that, I am sure I cannot say no.” She rose slowly from her chair and brushed her hands against her skirt. “I will take my lunch now. If it is convenient?”

“Of course.”

She walked away as if her back were made of steel. Jane bit
the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. No doubt the old biddy was convinced something sinful was going to happen in front of God and everybody, not to mention on
her
desk.

Jane raised her eyes to Adam’s face. Their gazes locked for a second, and he winked. The playful moment, stolen between the reality of their mutual past and present, caught her unaware. She smiled back. In that blink of time—before he remembered who she was and what she had done—they connected.

The heat that filled her chest and radiated out along her arms and legs wasn’t about sex. It was about the comfortable, the comforting and the familiar. This is the Adam she had adored while growing up. The man with the quick wit and the ability to laugh at everyone, including himself. These were the flashes of fun, between his days of responsibility, that had made her fall in love and want to be everything for him. He took care of those around him, so she never worried about him not being a good husband or father. It was that he rarely took time to be anything else. That had frightened her the most. What if he had turned out to be like her father? She too would have lost her dreams. She’d been too young to even have many dreams, let alone believe in them.

But he hadn’t turned into her father, she realized as he looked away and whispered something to Billie. The need to control was still there, as strong as ever, but so was the joy and the humor. Had she been wrong to not trust him? Was she wrong now to want to try?

“All right.” Adam set Billie on the corner of the desk, and sat in Miss Yarns’s chair. “Let’s see if I remember how to do this. You’re opening a checking account?” He looked up at Jane.