No Knight Needed (23 page)

“That was so cool!” Katie came racing up, wearing a Pirates cap and a hot pink tee shirt with the Pirates logo on it. “Did you see that? The grapefruit was my idea. I told him to do it. I can’t believe he did it! He promised me he would, but I didn’t think he would, you know? Because this is such a big game. But he did it for me! He threw a grapefruit for me.”

Clare laughed at her daughter’s antics, delighted by how happy she seemed.
Thank you, Griffin, for giving her that joy.
“You’re a troublemaker, my dear.”

“I know!” Katie skipped off, shouting at Sara, who was across the field, yelling that it was her idea.

“Well, well.” Eppie walked up, sporting a Pirates visor that had been accented with two fresh violets across the bill. “A grapefruit? On the biggest game of the season?”

Clare grinned at the older lady, too happy to let Eppie bring her down. “He did it for Katie. Isn’t that sweet?”

Eppie frowned at her. “Clare—”

“Oh, lighten up, Eppie.” She handed the older woman a cupcake. “He’s just playing softball. Give him a break.”

She saw Astrid and Emma exchange surprised looks, and she smiled to herself. How had she been so scared of Eppie for so long? Right now, she just looked like a little old lady with a life so empty that she filled it by interfering in other people’s lives.

“I saw him kiss you,” Eppie accused.

Clare grinned. “And it was amazing.”

“Clare!” Eppie looked shocked. “You aren’t thinking—”

“Eppie. The man throws grapefruits. How bad can he be?”

Eppie set her hands on her hips, tossing her head so fiercely she dislodged one of the violets, and it fluttered to the grass. “I’m just looking out for you and Katie.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, but right now, I’m going to look out for myself all on my own, okay?” She picked up the flower and held it out to the older woman. “You can pick up my shattered remains after he breaks my heart, okay?”

Eppie snatched the violet from her hand. “He will, you know.”

Clare looked across the field as Griffin jogged back to the bench, chatting with Jackson and a couple of the other guys. Some of her elation faded. “I know.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Eppie challenged.

She met Eppie’s gaze. “I think I am, yes.”

The older woman frowned, and some of her hostility faded. “But why?” she asked, with genuine curiosity. “I don’t understand.”

Griffin nodded at Clare again, keeping contact with her, and she waved back. “Because he makes me laugh.”

“Ah...” Eppie followed her gaze and studied Griffin, a thoughtful gleam in her eyes. “Does he, indeed?”

“He does.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.” But she didn’t sound all that impressed. “I need a beer.” She helped herself to two more cupcakes and then sauntered off to the beer tent, abandoning her job of haranguing Clare surprisingly quickly. It was so unlike Eppie to just cut herself off like that. What was going on in Eppie’s mind
now
?

“Hot damn,” Astrid said, her hands on her hips. “You actually stood up to Eppie.”

Clare grinned. “I did, didn’t I?”

“How do you feel?” Emma asked.

“Great, actually.” Great...and a little terrified, confused and uncertain. But definitely, there was a sliver of great in there, and she would take it.

“Wow.” Emma gazed out at the field. “I think I need to get myself a Griffin. Who knew a man could actually make you feel better, instead of worse?”

“Well, you can’t have this one.” Smiling to herself, Clare resumed unloading the cupcakes from the box. “This one is mine.”

And he was.

Astrid looked at her with concern. “He’s leaving, Clare. Remember that.”

“I know.” A ripple of fear tugged at her heart, penetrating her good mood. “I know.”

* * *

An hour later, Clare was taking a shortcut behind the ice cream truck with some bottles of water for Astrid and Emma when strong arms caught her around the waist and yanked her against the side of the truck.

She yelped as Griffin pinned her against the rainbow-colored metal panels, giving her a predatory look. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his muscles straining against the tee shirt, his whiskers rugged and untamed on his jaw. He grinned, his eyes dark with a burning desire that went straight to her belly as he braced his palms on either side of her head, trapping her. “You trying to hide from me, woman?”

“Nice home run,” she said, viscerally aware of the cold metal panels against her back and the raw strength of his body as he leaned in toward her.

“You promised me a kiss.” His voice was husky and low, vibrating with such heat that her belly clenched. “A kiss for the homerun. I came to claim it.”

She flattened her palms against his chest to push him away, but instead her fingers dug into the hard muscle, as if she could draw him closer. “I never promised anything.” Was she really getting accosted behind the ice cream truck? She felt like she was sixteen again, and it was a heady, delicious sensation.

“Huh. I’m slipping then. I can’t believe I forgot to get a commitment on that.” His eyes flashing with wicked intent, he came at her anyway, taking her mouth in a kiss that was hot, demanding and burning with decadent promise.

All her resistance melted, and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back just as fiercely. He growled and locked his arms around her waist, hauling her against him as he turned up the assault, kissing her with such ferocity her whole body came alive with the need for him, for his kiss, for his touch—

A loud roar went up from the crowd, reminding Clare of where they were. What was she doing? Desperately, she pulled back, shoving at him. “Stop it.” Breathless, Clare leaned her head back against the metal truck, trying to regroup. “Don’t you have to get back to the game?”

He nuzzled her neck and pressed his hips even more tightly against hers. “We’re at bat, and I was just up last inning. I have a minute.” He growled softly and bit her shoulder. “I forgot how sports get me worked up. Sports, beer, and male bonding do wonders for a guy’s libido.”

She started giggling, desire leaping through her. Damn the man for being so irresistible! How could he be getting her this worked up at a family picnic? “What are you, eighteen?”

“I feel like it.” He kissed her again, and her whole body trembled with longing as he tore through her defenses, stopping only when she was hopelessly tangled around him and panting for more.

He grinned, resting his forehead against hers while they both tried to catch their breath. “Tonight, Clare,” he said quietly. “If your door is shut, I’m coming in anyway.”

Her belly tightened with sudden desire, raw terror and giddy anticipation. “That’s rather presumptuous of you.”

He pulled back, looking steadily into her eyes. “If you don’t want me to come in, lock the door. Otherwise, I’m coming in. Get it?”

She swallowed. Here was her chance to tell him she wasn’t going to get involved. To deflect his advances before he consumed her good sense. “Griffin—”

“Dad?”

Griffin jerked away from Clare so quickly she almost fell down.

Standing ten feet away, a chocolate ice cream cone in her hand, was a girl Katie’s age. She had a shocked look on her face, and her eyes were the deep, dark brown of Griffin’s.

His daughter.

Griffin couldn’t believe how tall Brooke was. How grown-up. How beautiful. Her brown hair was long now, tossed over her shoulders. She was wearing crisp new jeans, ones bearing the logo of In Your Face’s stiffest competitor. Her shirt was like Katie’s, a little too snug, and she was wearing blue eye shadow. She was almost a woman, this girl. This amazing girl.
His daughter.
For a split second, his throat tightened and his chest constricted, and all he wanted to do was tear across the grass and scoop her up in his arms like he’d done so many times when she was little.

He even took a step toward her, and she stiffened, freezing him right where he was. “Brooke,” he said. He had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to scare her, or drive her away. Could he hug her? Tell her he missed her? He hadn’t devised a plan yet. He had no strategy. Just an ache in his chest. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked, at a loss of how to approach her, how to bridge the void.

“Dan’s brother plays for the Angels,” Brooke said. She stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “You threw a grapefruit.”

Griffin hesitated. Was that bad? “Um... yeah...”

“But you would never throw a grapefruit. You would never even play softball.” Brooke’s brow was furrowed. “All you do is work. I don’t understand why you’re here. Playing softball.” Her gaze slithered to Clare. “Kissing a woman in public.”

Was that good or bad? Griffin swore under his breath. He had no idea what to say. How to respond.

“Your dad is changing,” Clare said gently. “He doesn’t always work anymore.”

“Really?” Brooke looked at Clare. “So, he changed for you? And not for us?”

“No.” Griffin stepped forward. He had to take control of the conversation. He had to take advantage of this moment, this chance to talk to her. “Listen, Brooke, I miss you. I’m up here because I want you to come home with me. Back to Boston.”

Brooke gave him a look of disgusted disbelief. “And do what all day while you work? Who will do my homework with me? Who will come to my school play? Will you?”

Griffin ground his jaw. “I’ll try—”

“You always
try
.” Brooke’s jaw jutted out in that familiar look he’d seen so many times, and suddenly she didn’t look like a young woman anymore. She looked like the little girl he’d held on his knee and read stories to. Young. Breakable. Fragile. “But work always comes first with you. The softball is a lie.” She looked at Clare, anger flashing in her eyes. “Don’t believe it. He’ll burn you.”

“Brooke!” Griffin reached for her, but she sidestepped his attempt.

“Dad.” Brooke took a deep breath. “I want to change my name.”

Griffin frowned, trying to adjust to the change in topic. “You don’t like Brooke?”

“No, I don’t like Friesé.” She lifted her chin. “I want to change my last name to Burwell. I want to be Brooke Burwell.”

Griffin felt like something sharp had just been plunged into his chest, and he gripped his ribs against the sudden pain. He was barely aware of Clare moving closer, but when she slipped her hand in his, he gripped it tightly, as if she could keep the world from tipping over right in front of him. “Did Mom tell you to say that?”

“It’s not Mom,” Brooke said. “I didn’t even ask her. She doesn’t even know.”

“Then why—”

“Mom, Dan and the twins are all Burwells, and I’m not. I want to be like them. I want to be part of the family.”

“Twins?” he echoed, his voice like some distant sound in his pounding head. “What twins?”

She hesitated. “You didn’t know Mom had twins in February?”

“Shit, no.” Hillary had babies?

“Well, she did, and now I have two sisters.” Brooke smiled, and he saw genuine affection on her face. “I have a family now, and I want to belong. I need to change my name. I want to be a Burwell like the rest of them.”

Griffin shook his head, fighting desperately against the feeling that the world was crumbling beneath his feet, struggling for a handhold to keep his head above water. “No, absolutely not. You’re my daughter—”

“I don’t want to be your daughter! I want to be Dan’s!” Brooke stomped her foot. “You never let me be happy. If you cared about me
at all,
you would let me be happy! Go back to Boston. Leave me alone!” Then she whirled around and ran, disappearing around the front of the truck.

“Brooke!” Griffin sprinted after her, but when he rounded the bumper, he couldn’t see her. Too many kids playing, people chatting, bodies moving everywhere. He searched the crowds, but he couldn’t find her. “Brooke!” He bellowed her name, desperate to find her.

But she was gone.

“Griffin.” Clare touched his arm as she ran up beside him. “Wait a sec.”

“I have to find her. I can’t let her go like that.” He started to run again. He felt like his dream. Panicked. Crazed. Hopeless. The crowds were too thick, too many people. Too much noise. Somewhere out there was his daughter, and he couldn’t find her. He started grabbing stranger’s arms. “Where’s my daughter? Where did she go?”

People looked at him, but no one pointed the way. The ocean was closing down on her, taking her away, sweeping her into its depths. “Brooke!”

“Griffin!” Clare jumped in his path and grabbed his arms. “Listen to me!”

“I can’t. I have to find Brooke—”

“By playing softball and throwing that grapefruit, you showed Brooke a side of you she’s never seen,” Clare said, cutting off his protests. “You made progress, Griffin! You have to let her absorb it! You can’t force it right now! Stop!”

You can’t force it.
That was like what Norm had said. He looked at Clare desolately. “I can’t lose her. I might not ever find her again.”

“She lives one town away,” Clare said gently. “You can find her anytime.”

“But I can’t. I can’t get in to see her.” He searched the crowds, but no Brooke. No daughter. “She’s gone.”

“She’s not gone,” Clare said. “She’s in that crowd, and she’s watching what her dad does right now.”

“So, I have to find her then—”

“No. You have to show her that she can trust you.”

“She can. I swear to God, she can. I can’t lose her.” His throat was dry, his palms sweaty. “I can’t.”

“I know.” Clare set her hands on his face, and the feel of her skin against his was like a shot of calmness and sanity in his crazed mind. “But she’s a fifteen-year-old girl and you can’t force her. Go play softball, and show her that you’re different than the dad she remembers.”

He gripped Clare’s wrists, holding her hands to his cheeks, afraid she would let go. “You think it’ll work? It has to work.”

“Griff!” Jackson shouted. “Come on! We’re back on the field.”

“If you let down your team, she’ll see that,” Clare said urgently. “Softball is important in this town. She knows that. She’ll be watching to see whether people can count on you.”