Finding Her Dad. Janice Johnson Kay
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and she sank onto the sofa beside Sierra, still holding her hand. Plans. Oh, thank goodness. He wasn’t going to try to weasel out of any relationship with Sierra.
Lucy had already offered coffee or tea. He’d pleasantly declined. She had shown him into the tiny living room of her tiny house. He was simply too big for this room, she couldn’t help thinking. He chose the easy chair that was sized for him, but his knees bumped the coffee table. On the other side of it, she and Sierra were ridiculously close to him. Much closer than they’d been in his office. She could see every weary line on his face. His eyebrows and lashes were considerably darker than Sierra’s, making the clear blue of his eyes all the more surprising. There was the faintest hint of a cleft in his chin, and the shadow of a beard on his hard jaw and cheeks. His fingers drummed a staccato beat on the upholstered arm of the chair, but otherwise his composure was absolute.
“Sierra,” he said, “maybe you’d better tell me what you’re hoping for from me.”
A flush rose from the collar of the girl’s black T-shirt, blotchy by the time it reached her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on Lucy’s. “I don’t know.” Lucy could feel her struggle for dignity. “I guess… I thought…maybe you wouldn’t mind having a daughter. Not…not to live with you or anything, but, I don’t know—”
“To pay your college tuition?” he said mildly.
Despite the vivid color in her face, she swiftly lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I never expected money from you. I just wanted…” Her mouth worked. Her voice had gone so soft, he leaned forward, as if afraid he’d miss the rest of what she had to say. “Family,” she finally whispered.
His eyes closed for a moment. Some powerful emotion crossed his face. Lucy couldn’t be sure what it was. Finally he took a deep breath and looked at Sierra. “You have that now.” His voice was kind. He was even smiling faintly. “Not just me. You’ll meet your grandmother and an aunt and uncle and two first cousins, too.”
She stared. “Have you…told them about me?”
“Not yet, but I will. I feel confident they’ll welcome you, Sierra.”
The wonder on her face scared Lucy. It couldn’t possibly be this easy. She hated watching Sierra’s hopes rise like shimmering soap bubbles, all too fragile and certain to pop. Lucy didn’t believe that he was prepared to joyously embrace a teenage daughter’s arrival in his life. There had to be a catch. Probably a whole bunch of them, little traps she imagined closing, snap, snap, snap, until Sierra was dancing fearfully to miss them.
Her own voice was harsh when she said, “Do you intend to tell anyone else about Sierra?”
His dark eyebrows rose. “Do you mean, do I plan to go to the Dispatch or KOMO TV?”
His sardonic tone was probably meant to embarrass her. In her defense of Sierra, Lucy didn’t let it. “I’m asking if you’d rather her existence stay private.”
“Secrets are hard to keep, and this doesn’t have to be one.” The gaze that met hers now was hard. “Would I rather the press not catch wind of her right away? Yeah. I want my campaign to focus on my ability to do the job, not on the surprising appearance of a daughter I didn’t know I had. Is that unreasonable?”
Of course it wasn’t. She wasn’t entirely willing to back down, though. “I’m asking whether Sierra can tell her friends about you, or if you want her to keep quiet for now.”
He noticeably hesitated for a moment. Sierra couldn’t miss that any more than Lucy did. Then he grimaced. “She can tell her friends.” He sighed and met Sierra’s gaze again. “I won’t pretend I’m not concerned about the impact on the election. My opponent will probably try to make something of this if he learns about you. But we’re not going to sneak around, Sierra. You’re indisputably my daughter. I want to get to know you.”
She gave a tremulous smile that made her momentarily radiant. The sight seemed to transfix him. Watching their faces, Lucy felt the oddest lurch in her chest that almost—but not quite—hurt. It felt a little bit like envy.
Jon’s voice was huskier than usual when he said, “Perhaps I can take you both out to dinner Friday night.”
Wouldn’t he be recognized? She imagined him shaking hands with people who paused at the table. The speculative glances.
“Why don’t I cook instead?” she suggested. “Sierra can make dessert. She’s becoming quite a baker.”
If she hadn’t been looking so closely, she wouldn’t have seen how he relaxed. “That sounds good,” he said, smiling. “In the meantime, I’ll talk to my mother. We’ll figure out a time for you to meet her.”
“O-kay!” Sierra all but sang. “A grandmother.” She let go of Lucy and hugged herself, making no effort to hide her delight.
Lucy saw him watch Sierra, then unexpectedly turn his gaze to her. His eyes flickered, the color momentarily deepening. He’d recognized her worry, she suspected. She didn’t care.
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“I own a pet-supply store,” she told him. “Barks and Purrs.”
“Ah.” He glanced around. “No pets of your own?”
“Two cats. They disappear whenever we have visitors. You?”
He shook his head. “I work too much. I had a dog growing up. A mutt. Moby lived to be sixteen.” His mouth wasn’t exactly smiling, but his eyes were. “Is there a Mr. Malone? I’ve had the impression not.”
“No. It’s just Sierra and me.”
“No family?”
She didn’t like how perceptive his eyes were. “Only a mother,” she said. “We’re…not close.” She didn’t talk about her mother. Ever. She didn’t let herself think about how soon that would have to change. “Sierra hasn’t met her.” Yet. “I take it your father has passed away?”
“Massive stroke a couple of years ago.”
“He couldn’t have been very old.”
His look became quizzical. “Worrying about what kind of genetics Sierra carries?”
Flustered, Lucy began, “No, I—"
He grinned, the effect both wicked and astonishingly sensual considering how unrevealing and almost grim his face usually was. “It’s all right. Dad’s parents lived to be eighty-nine and ninety-one respectively. My father spent most of his life angry. I figure he worked himself up to the stroke.” He transferred the smile to Sierra, although it was softer for her benefit. “You wouldn’t have liked him. My mother is a nice lady, though.”
She smiled shyly back. “How old are my cousins?”
“Younger than you. Reese is ten and Patrick twelve. You’ll be the only girl.”
Still shyly, she asked, “You don’t have any other kids?”
His mouth quirked, and Lucy knew what he was thinking. He almost certainly did have other kids, ones he’d never know. She wondered if he felt regret now.
“I’ve never been married,” he said. “I was engaged years ago, but she was killed. It hasn’t happened since, despite my mother’s nagging.”
Killed. That made Lucy wonder, but she didn’t ask. They didn’t have that kind of relationship.
He made I-need-to-be-leaving noises, and Lucy stayed where she was so that Sierra could walk him out. They talked for a few more minutes on the porch, his quiet bass in counterpoint to Sierra’s soprano bursts. She heard the sound of his car starting, the slam of the screen door and then Sierra burst into the house.
“Lucy! Isn’t he amazing?” She went sur la pointe and spun. She was astonishingly graceful, although she’d given up dance lessons at age twelve when