Montana Skies (You, Me and the Kids) (Harlequin Superromance, No 1395) (10 page)

Carly stopped where she stood, frozen, gasping for breath because tears choked her. Her dad didn't want her anymore.

Just like her mom.

Wiping away the stupid tears, she opened the window, breathed deep and tried hard not to cry. She should leave. Run away and make her dad realize how much he'd miss her. How much he needed her.

Before she could have second thoughts, she swung her leg over the sill and slipped to the ground.

R
ISSA PAUSED
, a plate of steak and potatoes in her hand, and watched while Caroline Taggert slid into the booth opposite her daughter. “That can't be good.”

“Pardon?”

She smiled weakly at the older man waiting expectantly for his dinner, and shook her head. “Nothing, just talking to myself,” she murmured, setting the plate down. “Here you go. Enjoy.” Rissa started to move away when she noticed the man's ball cap, a naval aviator insignia embroidered on the bill. Since she'd spent yet another afternoon scouring Internet job sites for pilot positions, she had to comment. “Nice hat. Navy, huh?”

The man peppered his food, his expression sad. “Reminder of better days gone by.”

Rissa glanced at the girls again, saw they'd leaned in close to talk and would no doubt hate her if she interrupted them. She focused on the old man. Two canes were propped against the seat beside him, and a discreet glance down showed his painfully distorted legs. “My dad was career military, an air force pilot. Now he can tell some stories.”

He glanced up at her, his expression measuring. Like he wanted to talk, but not very many people took the time to listen.

“You fly?”

“Only way to travel. My dad didn't have any sons so he resorted to teaching me.”

Her comment earned a smiling nod of approval. “Good for you. Most folks don't appreciate what it's like up there, and they get tired of hearing about things they don't understand.”

She winked at him. “Well, I'm not most folks,” she said, tucking the food tray beneath her arm to hold out her hand. “So if you want to reminisce, you let me know. I'm Rissa Mathews.”

“Ben,” the old man murmured gruffly, accepting her hand. “Ben Whitefeather.”

She raised an eyebrow and shot him a look, waiting expectantly.

The old man's shoulders squared. “Commander Ben Whitefeather, U.S. Navy, retired.”

“There you go,” she said, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Commander.”

The old man nodded, his expression warm. “What's a pilot doing playing waitress to Porter? No wings?”

She laughed softly at his bluntness, and nodded. “No wings. The company I worked for folded, and after some…personal stuff, my cousin invited me out to visit until I'm airborne again.”

“Who's your cousin?”

“Maura Rowland?”

Another smile of approval. “My grandson works for Seth. Name's Marcus. If you haven't met him, you will sometime. He's there after school most days and on weekends. The Rowlands are good people.”

“I think so, too. But I am still looking for a pilot job if you hear of anything. I can't wait to get in the air again.”

Ben nodded his understanding. “Nothing like it. Got a Bell Jet Ranger rusting on its rails. Should've sold it years ago, but can't bring myself to part with the old girl,” he murmured sadly, making Rissa wonder what kind of shape his helicopter was in.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “If Porter will give you a break, you come back and sit with me. I'll tell you stories like nothin' your daddy
ever
experienced.”

“I'll do that,” she promised. “Who knows, maybe I'll even tell you a few of my own. But right now I've gotta run. Enjoy that steak before it gets cold.”

Walking away from the commander's booth, Rissa's smile faded when she spied the girls again. Was Caroline upset? She headed in their direction only to stop short when a customer asked for a refill. Irritated and yet knowing she ought to be grateful for customers who'd leave tips, she retrieved the coffeepot and spent the next ten minutes going table to table topping off the cups and retrieving desserts from the displays and food from the counter as Porter put them up. The last delivery placed her close enough to the girls to catch a glimpse of Caroline's face.

Oh, boy. What had Skylar done now? Was Jonas right? If Sky had taken to picking on girls like Caroline Taggert then she'd—

Before her silent rant could continue, her mouth dropped in awed surprise when she saw Skylar console Jonas's daughter, Skylar's black-rimmed gaze soft with concern. This was the girl she remembered, the one she'd raised. Kind, compassionate. Caring of others. And despite the fact she'd told Jonas she'd do her best to keep Skylar away from Carly, she absolutely refused
to send Caroline home. She'd come there after all. It wasn't as if Skylar had sought her out.

The Friday night dinner crowd kept her busy. She waited on more ranch hands than she'd known existed, turned down three marriage proposals and seven requests for a date. But other than checking on Ben to see if he needed refills, and keeping a close watch to make sure the girls didn't leave, she didn't get a moment's rest.

The girls continued to sit and talk, and what she saw warmed her heart and gave her hope for the future. Skylar passed Caroline napkins to dry her tears, and listened intently. All the things a friend did in times of trouble.

Just like Skylar had done for her.

Distracted, she had to take an order twice before she got it right, the image across the diner disturbing her because of the memories it evoked of Larry's betrayal. Skylar had caught
her
in tears more than once, offered her tissues and sat with her, listened to her, more friend than daughter. Their roles reversed in a way she shouldn't have allowed to happen. She should've shielded Skylar from the pain she'd experienced, not created more upset and tension by putting Skylar in the middle.

Another customer requested coffee, and Rissa grabbed the pot. She'd made up her mind. Somehow, someway, she had to change Jonas's mind about keeping the girls apart. Really, what did men know about the power of female friendships?

Coffee poured, Rissa grabbed a couple of the old-fashioned glasses from beneath the counter and made
two chocolate malts. The girls leaned toward one another, but sprang apart when Skylar saw her coming.

One look at Caroline's face had Rissa's stomach doing flip-flops much like it had when she'd first taken flying lessons. Whatever it was that had brought Caroline there, it wasn't good.

“I—I'm sorry, Mrs. Mathews. I know I'm supposed to s-stay away but—”

“Call me Rissa.” She set the malts on the table. “And I understand what it's like to need a friend to talk to.” She smiled gently and pushed the malts closer to them both. “I've also discovered that whatever the problem, chocolate helps. Enjoy.”

The girls exchanged a look and then reached for their glasses.

“Thanks, Mrs.— Rissa. You can call me Carly,” she murmured in a low voice, head down. “I like it better, but Caroline is okay, too.”

So eager to please.
“Caroline is a beautiful name, but Carly is more modern. If you like it better, of course I'll call you that.” She glanced at Skylar, not really expecting much, but hoping all the same.

“Um…it's good. Thanks.”

Rissa's heart stopped momentarily at the sincerity in her daughter's voice. Oh, yeah, Caroline—
Carly
—was a godsend. “Well, I'd better get back to work. Would you two like anything else before I go?”

Carly bit her lip and about that time, Rissa heard the sound of someone's stomach growl loudly.

“Maybe some fries?” Carly asked hesitantly. “I only have a dollar.”

“Don't worry about it. How about a cheeseburger, too? My treat.”

The girl gave her a bashful glance. “A cheeseburger sounds good.”

“Skylar?”

“No…thanks.”

Two
thanks
in the space of five minutes? She wanted to rub her hands together. “A cheeseburger and fries coming up.”

 

J
ONAS CLOSED
the front door and stomped through the house, angry at Marilyn and himself. His mother-in-law gave new meaning to the word
interfering
.

He stalked into the kitchen, forgetting Marilyn had done her thing and cleaned up while they'd—or rather
she
—had continued to discuss his daughter's future, her behavior, her grades, everything, while he'd sat there praying his beeper would go off allowing him to escape.

Jonas glared at the sparkling kitchen, but couldn't be grateful at the sight. Instead he felt hemmed in, inadequate. The kitchen was a symbol of perfection that he was far from reaching when it came to being a dad.

He ran his hands over his head and glanced behind him down the hall. Marilyn was furious with him for not forcing
Carly
out of her room and to the dinner table. And even more incensed when she went to Caroline's bedroom to say goodbye and found it locked, the girl inside ignoring her.

Jonas closed the distance in a matter of seconds and rapped on his daughter's door. “Hey, you hungry? She's gone, you can come out now.”

Nothing.

“Come on, Caro. You've got to eat. If you don't want your grandmother's cooking, how 'bout we go out and talk? Just us.”

Still nothing.

“Open the door, hon, or I'm going to.” He reached out and grabbed the knob. Still locked. “Caro? I'm getting the key.”

Swearing, Jonas headed for the junk drawer in the kitchen, glad to find the peculiarly shaped key right off.

She'd fallen asleep with her headphones on. That was it. Had to be. His little girl wasn't one to play games and he couldn't blame her for wanting to avoid Marilyn's ongoing litany when he'd wanted to run for the hills himself.

He quickly opened the door, but—

Jonas blinked, stared at the open bedroom window and the curtain blowing in the breeze, and wondered what had happened to change his little girl from a sweet kid to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

Then he knew.

Ten minutes later Jonas burst into the diner. He zeroed in on Skylar's dark form, and headed toward the back booth. The girl watched him approach, unmoving, but instead of the guilt he expected to see, her expression was one of teen attitude and anger. Slumped in the opposite seat was Caroline.

“Caroline, what are y—” He stopped when he realized she'd been crying. Not a few tears, either, but the kind of crying that caused major, albeit temporary, damage. Her face was red and splotchy, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. Her nose running despite the mound of used napkins littering the table.

“I'll be around.”

“Skylar, no, please—”

“You can do it,” Skylar said, giving his daughter a firm look. The girl proceeded to scoot over along the
bench seat and got to her feet, chains clinking. She glared at him before stalking away, her boots thudding against the old black-and-white checked floor.

Jonas lowered himself into the booth, only then noticing Rissa's presence nearby, her expression concerned.

His inadequacy as a parent returned, but he shoved those thoughts away for now. Rissa was the last person with the right to judge him. “Sneaking out?”

His daughter fiddled with the straw in her malt. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, her voice low and husky with renewed tears. “But I couldn't stand to stay there anymore.”

Couldn't stand to stay there?
“Why?” he demanded even though he already knew. He grimaced. “You heard, didn't you?”

“That you want to send me away? Yeah.”

“Caro, it's not like that.”

Her forehead wrinkled in a deep frown and she grabbed a fresh napkin when a tear slipped down her face. “You said you'd think about it, and I know what that means.” She blinked at him, her expression hopeless.

Conscious of the curious looks shot their way by the other customers, Jonas wiped a hand over his mouth and fought the need to stand up and pace, tell them all to mind their own business and their own kids, and leave him and his alone.

Instead he opted for false calm, pulling on every ounce of restraint he managed to maintain. “Sweetheart, the last thing I want is for you to leave, but it's obvious to everyone I'm struggling to keep my head above water where you're concerned, so yeah, I agreed to
consider
it. Maybe it's a good idea.”

“It's
not!
”

“Are you sure? Something's changed with you. One minute you're hugging me and calling me daddy and the next—” his voice lowered “—
you're sneaking out of the house.
Caroline—”

“Carly,”
she cried with a wail. “And I said I was sorry! I didn't want to sneak out, but I don't want to live with Grandma and—you can't make me! I won't go and if you send me anyway I'll—I'll—”

“What?” Jonas growled tightly. He looked away long enough to regain some measure of control only to notice once more that they had the attention of every late-night patron. A door on the left opened and Skylar exited the bathroom. The girl took one look at his daughter's quivering form and glared at him before shaking her head and stomping over to an empty seat at the counter.

Jonas glowered at her profile, at those still staring, and resettled himself after they hastily looked away. “You'll do what I tell you to do,” he informed her. “Whatever the decision, it'll be made with your best interests at heart, and you'll do it.”

“Daddy,
please
.”

“It would only be for a couple of months. When summer is over—”

“She won't let me come back. You
know
she won't. She wants me to live with her and Grandpa. She's said it often enough since Mom left. She said it tonight! Dad, please, I don't want to go.”

Jonas fought his fury, his frustration. All he wanted was to be a good dad—his daughter deserved nothing less. “Your grades have gone up and down all year, you're not hanging out with Mandy or any of your friends anymore.”

“Skylar—”

“Your grandmother is worried, and so am I.”