The Single Dad Next Door. Jessica Keller
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“And Ruthy.” His quiet three-year-old buried her chin into her chest and clutched his hand.
Disregarding the kitchen floor that badly needed to be mopped, the woman lowered herself to one knee to look the girls in the eye. “It’s wonderful to meet both of you. There haven’t been children living on this block in ages. You’ll have so much fun in town.”
“I don’t think I caught your name,” he said as he lifted Ruthy into his arms. Ruthy shoved her forehead against his shoulder.
“I’m Maggie. Maggie West.” She offered her hand and he shook it with the wrong hand because his right arm held his daughter.
Ah. Now it all made sense.
This was the woman named in his aunt’s will. What had the instructions said? That Kellen owned the inn but had to provide a place for Maggie West to live and let her continue working there.
He narrowed his eyes. Did she know she was protected in the will? The lawyer said that it would be up to Kellen to decide to tell her, but Ida might have told her when she drafted her legal paperwork. Or Maggie had suggested it to her. How much sway had the woman practiced over his aging aunt? Perhaps Maggie was a freeloader. Or had played on his aunt’s emotions in order to be taken care of by a rich woman with no kids.
Women were good at hiding their motives. Experts at displaying fabricated emotions. Cynthia had taught him that lesson all too well.
Kellen would have to keep an eye on Maggie West—figure her out as best he could, since he was stuck providing for her at the moment.
All the people he’d run across in the past twelve years had been fueled by greed or want of fame. If it was fame Maggie was after... No, she didn’t look as though she knew who he was. Maggie showed no signs of knowing that he’d once been a member of the rock band Snaggletooth Lions. So that—at least—was a small blessing.
He’d endured explaining to more than enough women that he signed away the rights to his royalties when he’d broken with the band. They all left the second they discovered he wasn’t rich and had no plans to pursue fame ever again. Not that he’d been famous. Not really. The Snaggletooth Lions signed their record deal and made it big a month after he left the band. But people who looked up the Snaggletooth Lions online knew about his early involvement—that he’d written most of their songs that filled the radio air these days.
“I’m Kellen Ashby.” He let go of her hand. “Ida’s nephew.”
Maggie tilted her head. “The one who’s a dentist?”
So Ida had bragged about his brothers and not him. He worked his jaw back and forth and swallowed hard. Why leave him the house, then? Easy. She’d pitied him. Like the rest of his family.
Poor Kellen—the prodigal. Walked away from the church. Kids out of wedlock. The washed-up band member. His daughters spend most of their life in day care while he works eighty hours a week at the restaurant to pay their bills. Why couldn’t he have turned out like his brothers? Like Bill or Tim or Craig?
He shook away his mother’s words as they jumbled around in his head. “No. I’m afraid that’s one of my far more successful older brothers. I have three to brag about if you want to hear their accolades sometime.”
“I see. Maybe another time.” Maggie took a step back. “Well. It was nice meeting all of you. I better get back over to the inn. You know where I am if you need anything or have questions about the house.”
He pursed his lips. No help from the woman named in Ida’s will would be needed. “I think we can figure things out just fine on our own. But thank you for the offer.”
She nodded, once, and left. Kellen watched her pick her way across the yard and enter the back door of the huge Victorian mansion next door.
“Can we keep the cats?” Ruthy finally spoke.
“You’ve always wanted a kitty, haven’t you?” He brushed her strawberry blonde bangs to the side and kissed her forehead.
Skylar bounced up and down beside him. “Our old landlord said no—but you’re the landlord now, Dad. Pleeeease.”
The past five years had been full of him saying no to Skylar asking for something. Or telling her to be quiet or settle down so she didn’t disturb the other people in the apartment complex they’d called home. He’d had to scold her so many times when she was just being a normal, excited kid. And shush her when she’d cried again and again, asking him why she didn’t have a mom.
A knot he didn’t realize was even there unwound from around his chest. For once he could say yes and let her enjoy a normal kid thing.
Holding tightly to Ruthy, Kellen got down on one knee. “No more landlords, sweetheart. This place is all ours. Go ahead and bring the kitties in, but keep them in your bedroom for now, okay? We’ll see how many there are and pick one or two to keep and find homes for the others.”
Ruthy couldn’t get out of his arms fast enough. She trailed her sister as they bolted outside.
Kellen straightened up and looked back across the yard to study the mansion next door. The mansion he owned. The mansion his family should be living in right now. Ida’s lawyer, Mr. Rowe, had shown him the inn’s floor plans, and the private section was especially large. Four bedrooms and ample living space. Of course, he’d have to see it before he could decide what to do.
His girls deserved a big place to wander around in. Room to play on the floors and a place big enough for those ugly plastic play kitchens to fit and corners that could house a box stage for puppet shows. After being a father who was never around, he now wanted to give them the perfect home to put down roots in.
He just needed to get a better handle on Maggie before he could decide how to shove her out of the inn.
“I’m sorry to call you so early, but I don’t know what to do.” Maggie cradled the phone against her cheek as she peered out the kitchen window.
The Dumpster had arrived at eight in the morning. A Dumpster in Ida’s front yard. Kellen’s daughters buzzed around the cottage’s backyard without any clue that their father was in the front yard destroying a chunk of their heritage. Why couldn’t anyone understand that?
Watching Kellen pull Ida’s belongings one by one onto the yard made Maggie’s throat clam up. It felt as if someone had tied a heavy rock over her rib cage.
Paige, Maggie’s closest friend in town, yawned on the other end of the phone call. “It’s okay. I’m usually at school by now, but we’re still on spring break.”
“It isn’t the weekend yet?” Maggie spun around to see her calendar fixed to the refrigerator with duct tape. It wasn’t even on the right month anymore, and if it had been, she wouldn’t have been able to see the date anyway because most of the calendar was covered by magnets holding up pictures, notes and recipes. Since she worked almost every weekend because that was mostly when guests came to the inn, she always seemed to have her days of the week wrong.
“Still just Friday.” Paige’s voice started to sound more normal now. Maggie definitely woke her up. “What’s eating you, Mags? Bad guest? Is it that rude guy from Ohio again?”
Rude guy from Ohio? Mr. Boggs? He wasn’t rude. Just a terrible flirt. He’d asked Maggie out on a date again the last time he was in town, but she’d said no. Mr. Boggs was nice enough in a bushy-mustache-and-balding sort of way, but he lacked the qualities on her list of things she wanted in a man. She’d fallen for a guy who didn’t tick off everything on the list before. To make matters worse, Mr. Boggs was an art teacher—she’d dated the artist type once before, and that had ended terribly. Never again.
“Not that.” Maggie surveyed the mess she’d made while fixing breakfast. Eggshell