Playing Dirty (18 page)

She crossed the room and stood in front of the windows. “Nothing. Yet.”
 

He wanted to know if Phoebe had asked about him at all in the past forty-eight hours, but he didn’t want to hear that she’d been so enamored with her long-lost father she hadn’t given him a single thought. That was a hurt he couldn’t bear.

“She included you in...” Mattie shook her head. “Never mind. I’m not sure how to explain all this to her.”

“I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine,” he said, struggling to sound more charitable than he was feeling.

“I won’t stop you from seeing her,” she said. “You’ve been an important part of her life.”
 

Grayson wouldn’t take the news well.
Too fucking bad.
“Thank you,” he said, knowing he never would. Phoebe would be confused, and he’d come across as trying to use her to stay close to Mattie. He was better than that.
 

He didn’t know how long they stayed that way, him contemplating another drink, her staring out the windows, but when the doorbell rang, he was damned grateful for the interruption. While he paid the delivery guy, Mattie excused herself and took off down the hall to the powder room.
 

He carried the paper sack loaded with two heaping pastrami sandwiches, the Kosher dill slices Mattie liked, along with a container of broccoli slaw into the kitchen and dropped it on the counter. Not that anyone would be eating anytime soon. He sure as hell had no appetite.

As he considered chucking the whole thing into the garbage, Mattie emerged from the bathroom. Her eyes were red rimmed, no doubt from crying. What little makeup she’d worn had been washed away. He should probably feel guilty about her tears, but the only safe emotion he was willing to summon was anger.

“I’ll take care of returning the wedding gifts.” She went to the chair for her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Will you handle the cash gifts?”

He nodded, because he didn’t trust himself to remain civil. Or worse, beg her to change her mind.

“I do love you, Trenton.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but I do love you.”

Slowly, she slipped his ring from her finger. Ice surrounded his heart and inched though his veins.

“I’m sorry,” she said one last time, before she went to the door and walked out of his life for good.

* * *

Ford knew he was in over his head, but he refused to admit defeat. He didn’t know how it had happened, but he’d been made. He’d faced countless enemies. Had taken out bad guys and lived to tell the tales. Hell, he’d even managed to withstand years of captivity and unspeakable cruelties. So how on earth was it possible a five-year-old had taken him down?

He let out a sigh and surveyed the destruction. What he needed was backup, and fast. Mattie was due home within the hour. No way did he want her to witness his downfall. Especially when she’d warned him, not once, but
three
times, that Phoebe could be a handful. Even when she’d called to let him know she had a couple of stops to make since she was in the city, he suspected part of the reason for her call was to check on Phoebe.
 

As he stared at the disaster zone his daughter had left behind, he realized he couldn’t help that jealous niggle in the back of his mind. Was Mattie really out running a few errands, or had that been a convenient excuse? Could she be warming Avery’s bed one last time?
 

He immediately squelched that thought. Mattie wasn’t devious, and she wasn’t a cheat or a liar. Although it killed him to admit it, she was a woman who’d been forced by circumstances to end a relationship, really, a marriage. Maybe all she needed was a little alone time to wrap her mind around the ramifications of their situation. She needed time to mourn. Again.

He snagged the cordless phone from the charger and dialed the number he still knew by heart. “Tom,” Ford said, a little embarrassed at the relief in his voice. “You busy?”

“Not especially,” his father-in-law said. “Lily and I just got in from an early dinner at Goldie’s.”

“Meatloaf Monday,” he said, and smiled at the memory. Goldie’s Diner on Main Street was a Hart, Texas staple and no one, not even his wife, could duplicate Goldie’s legendary meatloaf. He’d spent a lot of hours there as a teenager, and made a note to stop in soon and pay his respects.

“Still as good as it ever was, too,” Tom said. “So, what’s up?”

“Well,” he said, drawing out the word. “Operation Glitter Princess is FUBAR.”

Tom chuckled. “Is that a white flag I hear waving in the background?”
 

“Not quite, but it’s definitely on deck.” He checked the clock on the stove. Time was running short. “How soon can you be here?” If they moved quickly, he just might manage to destroy the evidence of his downfall.

“We’re on our way,” the older man said.

“Thanks, Tom.” Ford disconnected the call, then went to the utility room for the bucket and mop. He’d already tried using a broom, but that had proven useless. All he’d managed to do was spread the glitter around and coat the broom bristles. Rinsing it off had been an even greater mistake. Who knew wet glitter was the bonding equivalent of mortar. The stuff was the instrument of the devil.

Which reminded him. He still had to figure out how to remove craft glue from a few spots on the countertop. Once the Calvary arrived, he’d take a minute to do an Internet search on what cleaning agents wouldn’t trash the counter.
 

“Uh-oh. Daddy?”
 

He stilled.

No, no, no.
He hadn’t even cleaned up the current mess. She couldn’t have created another disaster. Could she?
 

“Oh, Daddy?”
 

The sound of his daughter’s sing-song voice caused a chill to slither down his spine. Now what had she done?

He left the kitchen and took off down the corridor to her bedroom. Her empty bedroom. “Phoebe?” He looked under the bed, in the closet and behind the door. “Phoebe? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” she called.

Mattie’s bedroom. Oh, this wasn’t going to be good.

* * *

Mattie walked into the kitchen and came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, my goodness,” she murmured, as she looked around in horrified fascination. Purple and pink glitter stuck to nearly every surface within her immediate sight line. The sacks she carried slipped from her fingers and landed on the hardwood floor with a quiet thud.
 

“Ford?” she called, but was met with silence. Her father had closed ranks and called to warn her that disaster had ensued during her absence, but she hadn’t expected quite so much—glitter.
 

Lots and lots of glitter.

The area surrounding the breakfast bar had taken the brunt of the damage, but the countertop and barstools were just as bad. The discarded mop was coated with glitter and goo, and the abandoned bucket full of sparkly water had her shaking her head, wondering why Ford hadn’t brought in the ShopVac from the garage to clean up the mess. Men were all about duct tape and ShopVacs, and her husband was no exception.

“Ford?” she called again. “Phoebe?”
 

Still nothing.

Gingerly, she picked her way around the man-size footprints and followed the glitter trail through the family room and down the corridor to her bedroom. She came to a stop in the doorway, where she folded her arms and gave the culprits a skeptical stare.

Seated on the chaise was Ford, with Phoebe on his lap, her head tucked against his shoulder, her eyes suspiciously closed. Spread over the bed were the contents of Mattie’s jewelry box. An opened container of white paste spilled onto the comforter. Nearby was Phoebe’s plastic tiara, adorned with varying shades of purple and pink glitter, as well as haphazardly applied costume jewelry pieces. Broken costume jewelry pieces.
 

Ford glanced up, but Mattie put her finger to her lips to silence him. He frowned.
 

She hiked an eyebrow and looked harder at Phoebe, not buying the sweet, innocent, I’m-sleeping-in-my-Daddy’s-arms routine, for a nanosecond. She smelled a rat. An adorable, precocious, glitter-baby rat.
 

“I see you’ve been busy.” Since it was his first time alone with Phoebe, she’d cut him some slack and save the I-told-you-so for another time. She crossed to the bed. The comforter could probably be saved, she’d just have to be careful removing the paste from the fabric.

“She must be worn out,” Mattie said as she plucked a large, loose gold-tone bauble from the bed and rubbed it between her fingers. Her costume jewelry was another matter and she doubted the survival of several pieces scattered over the comforter. After losing the pair of pearl studs Ford had given her on her twenty-first birthday to Phoebe’s crafting obsession, she’d learned to keep what good jewelry she owned locked away. The wall safe, which was hidden behind the framed Almond Branches in Bloom reproduction she’d purchased from Griffen’s antique shop, was something she’d had installed during the remodel. In addition to her jewelry, she also kept a loaded Glock 9mm pistol in there because it made her feel safe. She also kept the deed to the house and other important legal documents there, along with a small amount of emergency cash.

“Oh, she is.” His attempt to hide a smile failed. “She’s been a busy, busy girl.”

Mattie cast a surreptitious glance at her possum-playing daughter in time to see one eye open slightly. “Much too worn out to go with Granddaddy and Miss Lily for ice cream, I’ll bet.”

“Oh, no, Mommy,” Phoebe said, suddenly alert. She slid from Ford’s lap. “See? I’m not at all sleepy.”

“Good. Now you can help clean up the very big mess you’ve made, young lady.”

Phoebe’s forehead puckered with a frown. “But Daddy said I couldn’t help.” She turned to Ford. “Didn’t you?”

“I was hoping to minimize the damage.”

Translation—he’d sent Phoebe out of the room. Probably not his first mistake, either. More like his fifth or sixth. “And how’d that work out for you?”

He looked at the bed, then back at her, a mixture of amusement and regret in his eyes. “Not so hot.”

Mattie knelt down so she was eye level with Phoebe and pulled her closer. With her hands on Phoebe’s shoulders, she said, “You know you’re not allowed to play in my bedroom when I’m not here. You took advantage of Daddy because he didn’t know the rules. That wasn’t very truthful, was it?”
 

“No,” Phoebe admitted. She lowered her head and appeared genuinely contrite. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“Don’t you owe Daddy an apology, too?” Mattie asked her.

Phoebe nodded, then looked at Ford. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He offered a patient smile. “Apology accepted.”

“Daddy doesn’t know all of our rules yet,” Mattie told her. “So it’s our job to teach him. Okay?”

Phoebe nodded again. “Okay, Mommy.”

“No more shenanigans?”

The girl grinned. “No more nanny guns.”
 

The doorbell rang. “That’s Granddaddy and Miss Lily. Why don’t you go let them in, and I’ll help Daddy.”

“Okay,” Phoebe said, then she took off like a shot.
 

Ford shook his head and chuckled. “Is all that exuberance for the promise of ice cream, seeing Tom, or getting out of cleaning up?”
 

Mattie looked at her husband and couldn’t help feel a twinge of sadness for him regardless of the hurt going on inside her at the moment. Through no fault of his own, the poor guy didn’t have a clue as to what made his daughter tick. “All of the above,” she said. “Phoebe is nothing, if not enthusiastic.”
 

He righted the jewelry box and carried it to the dresser. “Your dad called you?”

“Of course, he did.” She walked into the bathroom for the roll of paper towels she kept under the sink so she could at least attempt to mop up the paste. “I’m his baby girl, remember?”

“I can’t believe he’d rat me out like that.” He came back to the bed and took the paper towels from her. “Let me,” he said, handing her a broken necklace. “So much for male solidarity.”
 

“He’s
my
dad,” she said with a light chuckle. She gathered the broken pieces of jewelry and set them on the mirrored tray on her dresser. “Did you really think he wouldn’t alert me that my house was being taken down by a five-year-old terror and her clueless father?”

He scraped a glob of paste from the comforter. “Apparently not.”
 

She sifted through the jewelry, separating the broken pieces from the ones still intact. Most she’d picked up the past couple of years at various shops or discount outlets, and were replaceable.
 

With a handful of matching earrings in her hand, she turned away from the bed, but Ford reached for her and snagged her wrist. His touch was warm, firm. Familiar. She felt guilty for noticing.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“I will be.” She didn’t offer a brave smile to make him feel better. What did he expect? She’d just ended a relationship. Her heart hurt. “I need time.”

His fingers tightened around her wrist. “I’m not a complete bastard,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.” The blue of his eyes simmered as he looked at her. Desire? Yes, but something more, something deeper that had her wanting to pull away from him.