Making It Right. Kathy Altman
Читать онлайн книгу.
lifted her chin, and the stiff wool collar of her pea-green jacket scuffed the nape of her neck. Now she remembered why she rarely wore the thing. “Harris Briggs, you’re a jackass.”
He set his jaw. “That’s what you came to tell me?”
“It is.”
“I’m a jackass. ’Cause I’m smart enough not to let my ex-con daughter take advantage of me?”
“’Cause you’re dumb enough to let your only child believe you don’t love her anymore.”
“Well, that...that’s not true,” he blustered. He moved deeper into the living room and stared down at a half-empty bottle of beer on the coffee table. Which he’d protected with a ceramic coaster, she was gratified to see.
He gave a harrumph, and crossed his arms. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. You’ve showed her, over and over again.” She braced a hand on the back of the sofa. Damn the man for his ability to sap the starch right out of her knees.
“And she sent you to tell me this?” His breathing roughened. “So you are working against me.”
Slowly Eugenia pushed upright. Coming here had been a mistake. She was only making Harris more suspicious of his daughter.
“You know what?” Absently she twisted a button on her jacket. “I did it again. Inserted myself where I don’t belong. This is between you and Kerry. But think, Harris. Please think about the message you’re sending by refusing to see her.”
He snatched up his beer, took a swig and shook his head. “She’s here for another charitable contribution, not a reconciliation. I know my daughter, Genie.”
No, he didn’t. Not anymore. Now all Eugenia could do was keep her fingers crossed that he would give himself the chance to.
“All righty, then,” she said stiffly.
He tipped his bottle in silent invitation and she shook her head. She missed him, God help her. His strength, his solidity, even the stupid cinnamon smell of his chewing gum. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she’d find herself bawling into that horrible flannel shirt. She marched back to the door. “I won’t bother you again.”
“Genie?”
She stilled, her hand on the doorknob.
“There’s a difference between dead and dormant. That tree on my porch. It’ll come back. You think I killed it, but I didn’t.”
Eugenia squeezed her eyes shut. Harris Briggs was far from the beat-around-the-bush type. The last time they’d talked...the things she’d said... She’d made him tentative.
“I knew you loved me, Harris,” she said. She touched her palm to the smooth coolness of the door. “Just not enough to compromise. On pretty much anything.”
“That was all up to me, was it?”
Wearily she faced him. “I didn’t come here about you and me. I came about you and your daughter. But it was a mistake and I apologize.”
Harris gave a strained chuckle. “This is payback. That’s what this is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You asked me to marry you. I said no. That’s when our troubles began.”
“Our troubles began when you refused to include your daughter in our lives.”
“She made that choice, not me.”
“Bull crap,” Eugenia said crisply.
Amusement flashed across his face. “You never did give me a chance to explain why I turned you down.”
“This isn’t about that.” The remembered pain of his rejection knifed into her lungs. “This is about your daughter and how much she needs you.”
His nostrils flared and he turned a disturbing shade of red. “What about how much I needed you? How do you think I felt when I walked into Snoozy’s today?”
“Harris.”
“You know what?” He pressed a palm to his chest. “I’m not feeling up to this tonight.”
“Harris,” she repeated, unable to keep the alarm out of her voice.
“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Don’t go gettin’ your dress over your head.”
“You’re not the one I’m worried about.” Abruptly she dropped a hip onto the little table beside the door. Something was wrong. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart beat too fast as she tugged at the neckline of her sweater. Did he have the AC on? She really needed some AC. “I think you’d better call 911.”
ON THE WAY up to his apartment over the store—a big selling feature, Valerie Flick kept insisting, if only he’d call it a “loft”—Gil tripped on one of the narrow steps of the wrought iron staircase. In an ungainly attempt to avoid hitting his head, he twisted his body. His solar plexus connected with the railing and punched the air from his lungs. Son of a bitch.
Hand pressed to his chest, and with one long, drawn-out wheeze, he jerked sideways and slid onto his ass. The cold metal chilled his spine.
He dropped his head back and sucked air, finally opened his eyes and stared up into the thick black sky, awash with twinkles. The stars seemed friendly. Gil could use friendly. In fact, if it weren’t already fifty degrees and falling, he’d be just as happy staying on these steps all night. And if he’d tossed back as many beers as he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have cared about the temperature at all. But it wouldn’t have been worth the hangover, especially since in the morning he’d get right back to worrying about what his asshole brother might be up to, and whether Cooper’s Hardware would survive another quarter. That second mortgage he’d taken out six years ago to cover the shortfall his brother’s scheming had created was taking a toll on the store’s bottom line.
He’d be in better shape if he hadn’t had to shell out for a new roof last year. And yeah, okay, if he hadn’t let a few people slide on their tutoring tabs. But those students had recruited others who had managed to cough up the fees, so Gil had chalked that up to clever marketing.
His knee started to pulse. He didn’t remember banging it, but no surprise that he had. He rubbed absently at the ache. Damn, he was tired.
A breeze pushed past, dropping off a tiny yellow bloom and the scent of grilled hamburger. His stomach heaved a wistful sigh and he hoped to hell he had something edible in the fridge. He hadn’t lingered at the bar long after Kerry had dropped that glass. He’d jumped up to help, then realized how asinine that would look. Anyway, she seemed to have it under control. He didn’t know what the hell had happened, but as soon as Sheriff Suazo had walked in, crash.
“Damn it,” Gil muttered. It had taken him long enough to get over his last girlfriend. Why would he consider angling for another? Especially one so obviously out of his league?
When his stomach rumbled, he smacked a hand down on the step digging into his ribs. Turkey. He had deli turkey in the fridge. Swiss cheese, too, and the soft rye he liked because the crusts weren’t too dry.
And beer. He had plenty of beer.
But what he was really hungry for had long, thick brown hair gathered into a ponytail and big, green, wary eyes. The wariness intrigued him and though he didn’t know her, it concerned him, too. Her curves were generous, and ridiculously tempting, and despite seeming more nervous than a novice driver during rush hour, she carried herself with a mesmerizing grace.
Unlike you, asshole. Stop daydreaming and get moving.
He pushed himself up and continued climbing.