Firefighter Daddy (9 page)

Given that Copper’s former husband had shown up with a woman young enough to be his daughter, Mitch had admired her restraint.

“Welcome to my world,” Sam said, but he wasn’t looking at Dayzee. He craned his neck a little, his gaze still on Copper, even though she was now by the podium on the other side of the gallery and partly obscured by the crowd. Dayzee kept talking, but Sam seemed only to have eyes for his wife. Ex-wife.

Dayzee tapped Sam’s shoulder. “I’m going to look for the little girls’ room. Would you be a sweetie and get me a drink?”

Sam dragged his attention back to her. “What would you like?”

“I’d like a vodka Collins, but I’ll bet all they have is wine.”

“Red or white?”

She shrugged. “White, I guess.” She swung away and disappeared into the crowd.

“Sorry about that,” Sam said after she was out of earshot. “Copper and I like to push each other’s buttons.”

No kidding. Mitch mustered a smile that probably didn’t come close to looking sincere.

“She’s a spitfire.” Sam’s gaze briefly followed Dayzee, then returned to Rory’s mother.

Mitch wondered which woman he was referring to. Maybe both. But Rory’s family dynamics were none of his business, so he wracked his brain for something else to say. “My wife loved your books.”

Sam gave him a thoughtful look. “You said that in the past tense.”

Damn it. Should have played it safe and talked about the weather. “Oh. She, ah, passed away. Car accident.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Mitch nodded.

Sam glanced awkwardly around the gallery. “I’d better get Dayzee’s drink. Can I get you something? A glass of wine?”

“No, thanks. I’m driving.”

“Right.”

“You go ahead. I’ll wait for my daughter.”

Sam headed for the bar, and Mitch relaxed a little. He shouldn’t have mentioned Laura. The idea of a young mother losing her life always made people uncomfortable.

The next half hour was mercifully uneventful. Miranda returned with two crackers, some orange cheese and a handful of carrot sticks on a napkin, while his mother carried the much-anticipated glass of pop. To Mitch’s relief, Sam and Dayzee didn’t rejoin them. He could see them across the gallery, talking to Rory.

After Copper was introduced, Mitch picked up his daughter so she could see the podium. True to her word, Copper’s remarks were brief but enlightening. The paintings had been inspired by her home on the northern California coast. The size of the canvases represented the majesty of the marine mammals, especially the gray whales’ annual migration.

He glanced at his watch and realized it was well past Miranda’s usual bedtime. He checked with his mother to be sure Thomas was driving her home, half expecting Miranda to plead for more time, but she only had one request.

“We have to say goodbye to Miss Sunshine.”

No argument there. He scanned the room and spotted her standing in front of the painting that was now part of her private collection. He and Miranda squeezed past several groups of people to get to her.

“Miss Sunshine! G’bye! We’re going home.”

Rory checked her watch. “Oh, my. It
is
getting late. Would you mind giving me a ride? My mom’s hosting a private cocktail party when this is over, but that’ll be too late for me.”

“No problem.” No problem at all.

“Yippee!” Miranda said, bouncing up and down.

“I’ll see my mom tomorrow, but I need to say goodbye to my father. He leaves for L.A. first thing in the morning. Just give me one minute.”

Mitch hung back while she said her goodbyes, but he was acutely aware of Sam’s scrutiny when Rory said she was going home with him. He knew what she meant by “home,” but did Sam?

Powell Street was still bustling when they stepped outside, but it seemed quieter and less claustrophobic than the gallery. They walked the three blocks to where he’d parked, while he listened to Miranda’s chatter and occasionally responded to it. He hoped she wouldn’t mention the cable car as it rolled down the street to the turntable, and for once her attention had been diverted.

He held her hand, and he saw her stick the other into Miss Sunshine’s while she babbled about something that happened at school that day. For a couple of very intense moments, he felt connected, part of a family again, and he knew they looked like one. They were even walking in unison. Dayzee had assumed Rory was Miranda’s mother, likely because their hair color was so similar. By default, that meant Dayzee had also assumed Rory was his wife. Nothing could be further from the truth, but that didn’t stop him from pondering the possibilities that might present themselves after Miranda was asleep. He glanced down at Rory’s turquoise-polished toes and knew exactly where those possibilities would start.

Chapter Seven

Late Friday afternoon, Rory trudged up the two flights of stairs to her apartment with her overstuffed school bag, two sacks of groceries and some great finds from a vintage clothing store she’d discovered. She’d splurged on a trio of red, white and black Bakelite bangles, and she had also found an outrageous pair of pink marabou mules for playing dress-up with Miranda. She was seriously out of breath when she finally reached the top of the stairs and unlocked the door to her apartment.

Buick was sprawled on his back on the sofa.

“You lazy old cat,” she said.

He blinked twice, yawned and closed his eyes again.

Rory dumped her bags on the kitchen table and gave Buick a belly rub on her way to the other end of the apartment, shedding her school clothes as she went. She flung her plum-colored slacks and gold shirt over the back of a chair, kicked her shoes into the closet, and pulled on a comfy pair of black exercise pants and a white camisole. The air in the apartment felt a little chilly, though, so she pulled a bright red boat-necked sweater over top. She enjoyed being cozy and casual at home as much as she loved putting together dressy outfits for school.

She put away the groceries and tossed the DVD she’d rented onto the coffee table. Then she took the jewelry and shoes out of the thrift-store bag and slipped the bracelets onto her wrist. The colors were perfect with what she was wearing so she left them on. The shoes were over-the-top crazy, but she slipped them on, too. They definitely did not go with her outfit, but they were still fun and she was sure Miranda would be delighted with them.

Would the little girl’s father approve? Rory looked down at her feet. Thinking about what Mitch might think of these shoes made her smile. She left them on and opened a fresh can of cat food. Buick immediately rolled off the sofa, meowing as though he hadn’t eaten in a month and rubbing himself against her calves while she scooped the food into his bowl.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “Me, too.” While he ate, she heated a can of vegetable soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich. When they were ready, she pushed aside some magazines and junk mail on the coffee table, set down her soup mug and plate, and settled onto the sofa.

“Friday night and I get to do whatever I want.” It would be nice to have a date once in a while, though. Maybe she’d meet someone at Nic and Jonathan’s wedding. While she sipped her soup, she read the back of the DVD case. Since she didn’t have plans tonight, she’d settle for staying home with Colin Firth.

“A girl can dream,” she said to Buick. He ignored her. He had finished eating and was busy licking a paw and swiping it over one ear. He paused momentarily at a sound from the stairwell.

Rory sat up straighter and listened. Were those footsteps?

Yes.

They were too heavy to be Miranda’s. Could it be Mitch?

She smoothed her hair and shrugged off the wide neck of the sweater to expose one shoulder. She didn’t intend to flirt with him, but she was a woman and it felt good to be around a man who was attracted to her. Especially when the feeling was mutual.

Tap, tap, tap.

She tucked the feathery pink shoes under the coffee table, thinking this might not be the time to test his reaction to them, and went to open the door.

It wasn’t Mitch. It was his mother.

Rory hitched her sweater back onto her shoulder and silently scolded herself for acting like a schoolgirl.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Betsy said. “Thomas was given two theatre tickets and invited me to see a play with him. It’s very last-minute and I’d love to go, but Mitch is out tonight and it’s too late to find a sitter. I was wondering—” She paused, as though reluctant to ask.

“If I’ll sit with her?” Rory volunteered. “I’ll be happy to.”

“You’re sure? You don’t have plans?”

“It’s been a hectic week and I have a busy day tomorrow, so I decided to stay in and watch a movie. If you have a DVD player, I can just as easily watch it at your place.”

“Mitch brought one when he and Miranda moved in, but I don’t know how to use it.”

“I can figure it out. Should I come down right now?”

“No, I don’t have to leave for half an hour. Take your time,” Betsy said. “I really appreciate this, and I won’t make a habit of asking. In fact, if Mitch gets home before I do…” Her voice trailed off.

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell him it was my idea.” Rory doubted very much that Mitch ever asked for help, but that didn’t mean his mother shouldn’t.

“Thanks. This play has had great reviews, and I hate to turn down free tickets.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help out if I can.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate this.” Before Betsy left, she took a quick look around the apartment. “How’s everything up here? Do you have enough storage space?”

Rory glanced back and surveyed the clutter with fresh eyes. The place was a disaster. “Everything’s perfect. I’ve been working on fall decorations for my classroom and I’m helping with a bridal shower for my friend who’s getting married.”

“That explains it,” Betsy said. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. See you in half an hour.”

Rory finished eating and added her plate and mug to the other dishes in the kitchen sink. She grabbed a package of microwave popcorn from the cupboard, picked up the DVD and slipped her feet into a pair of red flip-flops that matched the polish she’d applied the other day.

Buick jumped onto the sofa and curled up in the spot she’d just vacated. “Don’t wait up,” she said as she grabbed her things off the table and dashed down the stairs.

B
ETSY HAD LEFT HER DOOR
from the front foyer open. “Hello?” Rory called.

“Miss Sunshine’s here!” Miranda, dressed in a yellow nightgown that ended several inches above her ankles, emerged from a hallway and bounded across the living room. “Can I stay up an extra half hour, Grams? Please? Please, please, please?”

Betsy was right behind her. “Maybe next time if we check with your dad, but not tonight. My son is not very flexible about bedtime,” she added for Rory’s benefit.

“Routines are great,” Rory said. “What time is bedtime?”

“Eight o’clock.”

Rory glanced at her watch. “That’s a whole half hour,” she said, ruffling Miranda’s blond curls. “What would you like to do?”

“Stay up till nine o’clock.”

“Eight,” Betsy repeated. “Now give Grams a hug and a good-night kiss, then I’ll leave you two girls to have some fun.”

“G’night, Grams. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Miranda.”

The affectionate exchange between grandmother and granddaughter impressed Rory. This little girl might not have a mother, but she had lots of love and stability.

Betsy glanced out the living-room window. “Here’s Thomas. See you later.”

“What would you like to do?” she asked Miranda after Betsy left. “We have time for a game or we can read a book.”

“A book,” Miranda said without hesitation. She grabbed Rory’s hand and tugged her through the living room, down the hallway and through the kitchen. Near the back door, a set of stairs led to the second floor. Miranda sprinted up the stairs ahead of her. Rory followed, taking her time to look around once they were upstairs. There appeared to be three bedrooms and a bathroom. The first room on the right, with old oak furniture and an appealing patchwork quilt, must be Betsy’s. The room across the hall was Miranda’s and the bathroom was next to it. The room at the front of the house must be Mitch’s. Did she dare sneak a peek?

No. She followed Miranda into her bedroom. “Wow. What a beautiful room.”

“I picked out the wallpaper,” the little girl said.

“It’s very pretty.” The paper had a charming, old-fashioned look—a pale-yellow background covered with tiny dark yellow flowers and bright green leaves. The woodwork had been painted a gleaming white to match the furniture, and a green area rug covered most of the hardwood floor. Very grown-up for a seven-year-old. Rory wondered if she’d had a little guidance.

“Me and Grams went to the paint store together, but she let me choose. I picked this ’cause yellow is my mom’s favorite color.”

Aha. That explained a lot, and it was interesting that Miranda referred to her mother’s preferences in the present tense.

“My dad put up the wallpaper and Grams painted.”

“I see,” Rory said. Moving to a new home and a new school could be unsettling for a child, so Mitch and his mother had been wise to let her have some say in her bedroom decor. “I think you picked the perfect wallpaper. I’ll bet your mom would love this room.”

“D’you think so? I asked my dad if he thought she would, but he doesn’t like to talk about her.”

“He must miss her,” Rory said.

“So do I, but talking about her doesn’t make me sad.”

“Lucky thing he’s got you. I can tell he’s very proud of you.” The conversation was quickly turning personal, and she already knew Mitch well enough to know he wouldn’t be happy that his daughter and his daughter’s teacher were having this conversation. “Now where’s that book you want to read?”

Miranda crouched in front of a crammed bookcase. “I have a
lot
of books.”

“I see that. Do you have a favorite?”

“Could you read Harry Potter? My mom was going to read it to me, but she died before we got started.” She pulled the book from the shelf and handed it to Rory.

This felt like dangerous territory. Reading the book might seem as though she was trying to be a substitute for Miranda’s mother, which couldn’t be further from the truth. “Maybe your dad would rather read it with you.”

Miranda firmly shook her head. “He says Harry Potter was Mom’s book. He likes to read Winnie the Pooh, though. He always makes me laugh ’cause he does different voices for all the animals.”

Rory tried to imagine that.

Hi, my name is Tigger. T-i-double-guh-er.
No.

Eeyore, no problem. Tigger? Not so much.

“I think we should ask your dad about Harry Potter.” She slid the book back into place and took out an illustrated copy of
Cinderella.
“This is one of my favorites. I love fairy tales.”

“Me, too.” Miranda ran a hand over Cinderella’s ball gown on the cover. “This is like your pink bridesmaid dress, only yours is prettier.”

“Wait’ll you see the new one,” she said. “It has a big wide skirt.”

“What color is it?”

“Blue.”

“Like the sky?”

No. The blue of those dresses was startlingly unnatural. “A little brighter than that.”

“Can we still play dress-up sometime?”

“You bet. Someday when your dad and your grandmother are busy, you can spend the day with me. We can pretend we’re princesses having tea with the queen.” She considered telling her about the shoes, but decided to let them be a surprise.

“Can we have
real
tea?” Miranda asked.

“For sure.” Although she’d need to make sure that was okay with Mitch. “We can even shop for cookies and petit fours to have with it.”

Miranda looked confused. “What are petty fours?”

“Petit fours are tiny little cakes covered with frosting and decorations. They look just like regular cakes, except you get to have one all to yourself.
Petit
is the French word for ‘small.’”

Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Can we have ice cream with them?” Since last Saturday, she had mentioned ice cream and the trip to Fisherman’s Wharf several times.

“You like ice cream a lot, don’t you?”

Miranda’s head bobbed up and down. “Really a lot.”

“Then we’ll have some with our tea and cookies.”

“And petit fours.”

“Right. Now, how about that bedtime story?”

“’Kay.”

“Have you brushed your teeth?”

“Yup.” Miranda tugged at the comforter on her bed. “All except the loose one. It’s too wiggly to brush.” She demonstrated its looseness by moving it back and forth with the tip of her tongue.

Rory laughed and held up the comforter so Miranda could crawl under the covers.

Miranda tried to pile her pillows against the headboard. “If we put the pillows like this, you can sit beside me so I can see the pictures.”

“Here, let me help.”

“Perfect,” Miranda said, once the pillows had been stacked to her liking.

Rory tucked the sheet and comforter around the little girl, then sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows.

“Comfy?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Once upon a time…” Rory started as she opened the book, but she wasn’t thinking about fairy tales. She was completely blown away by the feel of a little girl’s head resting on her shoulder and the honeysuckle-scented curls brushing her cheek.

T
WENTY MINUTES LATER
the story was over and Miranda was struggling to keep her eyes open. Rory stood up and slipped the book back onto the shelf.

“Good night, Miranda.”

Two small arms flew out from under the covers. “Hug?”

“Of course.” Rory leaned over and accepted the hug, then dropped a kiss on the soft, smooth skin of the little girl’s forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

“Daddy always says ‘sleep tight.’”

“My father used to say that to me, too.” She straightened and backed away. “Dads
always
say stuff like that.”

Rory wondered if Miranda’s mother had a favorite bedtime saying. “Should I turn off the hall light?” she asked instead.

“No, thanks. My dad waits till I go to sleep, then he turns it off.”

Rory could imagine him coming into the room to check on his little girl and then turning out the hall light. For such a big, reserved man, he had a surprisingly gentle side, at least when it came to Miranda. Losing his wife had probably left him vulnerable, too, and he’d overcompensated by shutting down his emotions. He was a good father, though, no question about that, and Rory couldn’t help wondering what kind of husband he’d been. Very traditional, from what Betsy had told her.

From the doorway, she glanced back at Mitch’s daughter. “Good night,” she said again.

This time there was no reply. Miranda was already asleep.

Rory left the bedroom door open so she could hear the little girl if she woke up. She glanced down the hallway in the direction of Mitch’s bedroom. Should she give in to curiosity? No way. It was one thing to be curious. Snooping was just plain dumb.