One Man's Promise. Diana Whitney
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“She was my wife.” With some effort, Richard unfurled his fisted fingers, reminded himself that his daughter was in the kitchen with her grandmother, close enough to overhear. He lowered his voice. “I’ve asked you before, and I’m asking you again to refrain from using Lissa’s mother as a club with which to beat me into submission each and every time we have a disagreement. I’m perfectly willing to listen to your opinions, Thompson, but Lissa is my daughter, and I will make the final decision as to what is or is not in her best interest.”
A flush of red fury crawled from McCade’s beefy neck to a face flexing with indignation. He was an impressive man, barrel-chested and large in stature, with a thick shock of gunmetal gray hair and a bulbous nose that would have been clownish if not for the piercing, pitiless intensity of eyes that demanded respect, but rarely bestowed it. Thompson McCade was not accustomed to argument. He was a man to be reckoned with, ruthless, relentless and powerful.
He was also a royal pain in the butt.
“I’ve made my decision,” Richard repeated calmly. “Either Lissa learns to share her pet, or she’ll have to give him up entirely. The choice is hers.”
“That is grossly unfair.” McCade’s face darkened to a worrisome purple. “I won’t allow it.”
Richard heaved a weary shrug, chose not to point out that when it came to this home and this family, McCade was not in a position to allow or disallow anything. The older man clearly understood that, although ego prevented him from acknowledging any limitation of the power upon which his entire self-image had been built.
So Richard let his father-in-law sputter and rant without contradiction. He didn’t agree with the man’s point of view, but he didn’t exactly disagree with it, either.
In truth, Richard didn’t care for the current situation any more than McCade. He loved his daughter dearly, understood how wounded she was by her pet’s affection for the athletic blonde with a pocket full of dog biscuits and a boisterous laugh that McCade would most certainly label as bohemian. Richard hated to see his child so unhappy, but he certainly couldn’t disregard the needs of a helpless animal. It wasn’t Rags’s fault that Lissa was overindulged and selfish. In a sense, it wasn’t Lissa’s fault, either. Richard blamed himself.
“Daddy?”
Richard blinked, turned just as Lissa scampered from the kitchen to clamber into her grandfather’s lap.
She beamed hopefully. “Do I get Rags back, Daddy, do I, huh, do I?”
From the corner of his eye he saw Sarah McCade hovering shyly in the kitchen doorway, wringing her wrinkled hands. “Of course you get Rags back, punkin, just as soon as Ms. Moray returns from the park.”
“Then I won’t ever have to share him again, right, Daddy?”
Richard sighed as McCade’s eyes narrowed in warning. “We’ve already been through this, Lissa. Ms. Moray will be visiting with Rags two evenings a week, and have him all day Saturday.”
Horrified, the child spun on her grandfather’s lap. “But you promised, Gramps, you promised that you’d make Daddy give me my dog back.”
To Richard’s surprise, Sarah McCade, who rarely said anything beyond “good morning,” and even then felt guilty about verbalizing the observation, suddenly stepped forward. “Sweetheart, we talked about this in the kitchen. You don’t want your doggy to be sad or sick, do you?”
The child’s chin jutted stubbornly. Tears leaked from her eyes. “Gramps promised.” A small wheeze, then a louder one followed by an interminable, rasping gasp.
Richard nearly moaned aloud.
“Look what you’ve done,” McCade boomed. “Now she’s having an attack. Sarah, get the child’s medication.”
The woman hovered frantically before dashing off to do her husband’s bidding. She’d barely left the room when her gasping granddaughter glimpsed a familiar form dashing across the front yard. “Rags!” the child shouted, then leapt from her grandfather’s lap and shot across the room, her asthma attack instantly and miraculously abated. She yanked open the front door, clapping gleefully. “Rags, Rags!”
The animal literally flew through the door,. greeted Lissa with a series of joyous kisses, then dashed into the kitchen. Lissa ran after him, nearly knocking into her bewildered grandmother, who’d just emerged clutching the child’s inhaler.
Richard stood, offered his mother-in-law a thin smile. “Thank you, Sarah, but apparently Lissa is feeling much better now.”
On cue, Lissa leaned out of the doorway with an exploding grin. “Rags is eating, Daddy, he’s gobbling up everything in his dish!”
“That’s nice, punkin,” Richard murmured, distracted by the breathless woman hovering in the doorway with a grass-stained Frisbee clutched in one hand. He took a step toward her, jerked to a stop as Sarah McCade hurried past, gushing.
“You must be Ms. Moray,” she murmured, pumping the startled woman’s free hand. “I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Lissa’s grandmother—”
“Sarah!” McCade boomed.
The woman flushed, fell silent, backed away clasping her hands as McCade studied C. J. Moray with undisguised contempt. “So you’re the one.” There was no mistaking the disdain in his voice.
To her credit, C.J. cocked her head as though sizing the older man up, then offered a smile that was somehow sincere and cautious at the same time. “You must be Lissa’s grandfather. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Richard stepped between them before McCade could say something even more blatantly rude. Cupping C.J.’s elbow, he ushered her to the porch. “I’m sorry about that. I wish I could tell you that beneath that gruff exterior beats a heart of gold, but the only thing beneath that gruff exterior is a gruff interior.”
Her laugh was soft, smoky. Enticing. “I understand.”
For some odd reason, he believed her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything.” He was mesmerized by her smile, hypnotized by the amused sparkle in her dark eyes. This was without doubt the most intoxicating woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was also the most perceptive, a thought that was soon to be proven yet again as she gazed past his shoulder.
The sparkle drained from her eyes, replaced by a tender warmth that was, oddly enough, even more alluring. “Hello, Lissa. It’s nice to see you again.”
With some effort Richard followed her gaze, saw his daughter on the porch looking sullen and angry. She jerked a thumb at the Frisbee C.J. held. “Leave that here,” she commanded. “It belongs to Rags.”
Still smiling, C.J. held the Frisbee out until Lissa stomped down the steps to retrieve it. “Is Rags the first dog you’ve owned?”
Lissa paused, issued a sharp nod that was more an expression of annoyance than agreement.
“Pets can be difficult, can’t they?” Lowering herself, C.J. sat on her heels so her face and the child’s were on the same level. “Having a dog is kind of like having a naughty child and an irritating kid brother all at the same time. Except, of course, my irritating kid brother never drank out of the toilet. At least, I don’t think so. He was pretty weird.”
Despite an obvious intent to remain angry, Lissa couldn’t prevent a smile from tweaking the corners of her tightly clamped mouth. “Do you have lots of brothers?”
“Two, one older than me and one younger. I also have two older sisters.”
“You musta had lots of fun playing and stuff.”
“Yes, we had fun. Sometimes we hurt each other’s feelings and made each other mad, but we never really meant to.” She paused a beat before adding, “Just like Rags never meant