Sasha’s Dad (7 page)

“Let me check. We ran out last night, but Mel was supposed to have another one ready by lunchtime.” Dottie frowned, the coffeepot held in one hand. “You’re not getting lunch first?”

“Nope. I have three farms to visit before Sasha gets off the bus.”

“You can’t survive on sweets, Dutch.”

“Aw, Dottie, I don’t do this that often.”

“True.” She eyed him. “Only when you’re upset. What’s got you going this time? Or should I say
who?
”

Dutch jerked on his stool, as if Dottie’s slap had been physical.

“No one’s got me going, Dot.” He threw back half the coffee and groaned.

“Burned your mouth, did you?” Dottie smiled and sauntered off to serve a new customer.

Dottie was right, but he’d never admit it, not to her. Yeah, he was definitely stirred up. By Claire Renquist.

He’d acted like a teenager. His brain had gone straight to his crotch the minute he saw her on the stepladder in her tight jeans. She was no longer a girl; she was a woman with a body that didn’t quit. It was hard to ignore her sexiness, despite the dumpy sweaters and old jeans she wore.

The chemistry between them had only intensified. He wondered if what he felt today had anything to with how he’d felt about her as a teenager. But this was deeper, stronger.

He’d had his share of dates since Natalie died, and he didn’t want for companionship—it was there if he asked for it. But he’d never brought a woman home, never got involved enough to necessitate introducing Sasha to his date. He made sure the women he saw weren’t from nearby. The Internet was good for that sort of thing.

He sighed and sipped his coffee. It had cooled, but his desire hadn’t. He didn’t want another date, a one-night stand to ease his physical needs. He wanted someone he could share his life with. Someone who could be a mother to Sasha.

The realization that it was time to look for more in a woman than an evening’s companionship—or a warm bed—suddenly hit him. Coffee sloshed over the side of his mug as he set it down.

Why did it have to be Claire who’d made him aware of his need for a life partner?

He could never be with Claire. Even if he was able to forgive her for hurting Natalie, he’d never shake the feeling that Claire was going to catch the next train out of here.

“You’re thinking way too hard.” Dottie slid the porcelain plate with its huge piece of hummingbird cake that Mel, her baker, always made for the spring holidays.

“This will cure it.” Dutch grinned and forked up a large bite. He usually didn’t give in to his sweet tooth, but every now and then it was worth it.

“Mel has the touch, that’s for sure.” As if hearing her own words, Dottie’s hands stilled and her face flushed.

“Dottie, do you have a thing for your baker?” Dutch teased.

“Me? You’ve got to be kidding! I’ve been widowed for over ten years. Why do I need a man in my life now?”

“Why not?” He didn’t point out that she’d avoided the question.

“Because I’m happy on my own, that’s why.” She stared at him. “What about you, Dutch? You and Sasha could use someone—for both of you.”

“When the time’s right.” He swallowed some coffee with the last bite of cake. “And when it’s the right person.”

Dottie watched him wolf down the last of the cake. “Sometimes the right person isn’t of your choosing, Dutch. And don’t expect her to show up on your time line, either. Life has a way of giving us what we need rather than what we want.”

Before he could respond, she added, “Or what we
think
we want.”

Claire’s eyes were wide. “I thought Sasha was coming on the bus—hi, Sasha!” She waved at the girl who bounced in the front passenger seat. So Claire had intended to meet Sasha at the end of the drive, right where the bus would have dropped her.

Well, that was
one
point for Claire. She showed the same protectiveness toward Sasha that he did.

“Hi, Claire!” Sasha screamed her greeting in Dutch’s ear. He turned and looked at his daughter, the only reason he was back at Claire’s place. After coming dangerously close to blowing his resolve about keeping his distance from Claire, he would’ve preferred to visit the llamas when Claire wasn’t around.

Yeah, right.

“I’m getting out—wait!” Sasha yelled to Claire, again through Dutch’s head.

“Would you mind sparing your dad’s hearing, Sash?”

She giggled. “Sorry, Dad.” Then she asked, “Can I get out and walk with Claire?”

“Sure. I’ll bring your bag up to the house.”

“Thanks.” Sasha slid out of the cab and slammed the door behind her. He waited for her to clear the hood and start walking alongside Claire.

Sasha reached up and grabbed the knit cap off Claire’s head. He didn’t recognize the emotion that clenched his gut. What did Sasha see in Claire?

He groaned. Was he actually jealous of Claire—and Sasha’s growing adoration of her?

He felt as low as a toad in a ditch. Sasha was his daughter, and he was doing this for her sake. He didn’t need to feel envious of anyone else’s relationship with her, at least not until she brought home her first boyfriend.

Still…Dutch didn’t like how this was going. Claire and Sasha bent toward each other as they examined Claire’s hat. It was a pretty miserable attempt at a hat; even he could tell that.

Yet Sasha’s hands were near Claire’s, feeling the stitches Claire had knit. As if she’d known Claire her whole life. As if Claire had never hurt her father or her mother.

In his mind he saw Claire’s hand holding a crochet hook when they were juniors in high school. Her hand—hell, all of her—had mesmerized him back then. He clearly remembered her working with the bright blue yarn that was their school’s color. He’d thought Claire was making herself something to wear to the Dovetail Dogs games, but she’d given it to him at Christmas—a scarf.

That was a long time ago, man.

He shook the memory off.

Stopping the truck, he waited for them to catch up, then leaned out the window. Rascal, who’d come along for the ride, poked his head out alongside Dutch.

“Sasha, I’m sure Claire has work to get done. Why don’t you sit in the truck while I examine the llamas?”

“Dad.”
Sasha gave him a “what, are you nuts?” look, not unlike Natalie used to.

“Sasha.” His voice came out firmer than he’d meant, but it didn’t appear to faze Sasha.

“I don’t want to get back in the truck, Dad. I’m here to see Claire and the llamas, remember? Plus, I’m helping Claire with her knitting.”

“It’s fine with me, Dutch.” Claire didn’t meet his eyes, gazing down at her hat instead. Her tone was neutral for Sasha’s sake, but he caught her innuendo. He’d been the one who’d asked to bring Sasha out here; now he was acting like…like some kind of psycho.

Dutch nodded, rolled up the window and drove past them toward the barn. He’d lived long enough to know that a wise man didn’t argue with two women at once.

Anger roiled deep in his gut. Who the hell did Claire think she was, saying, “It’s fine with me,” as if she had a role in any kind of decision-making where his daughter was concerned?

You came here,
he told himself.
You allowed Sasha to spend time with her. Move on, man.

They said raising kids was tough. He realized growing up wasn’t easy for Sasha, either. But right now he felt as though
he
was the one with growing pains.

“Great!” Sasha trotted next to Claire. When they passed the barn, Claire glanced over to see Dutch standing next to Stormy, who’d been out in the field all day. She was definitely getting stronger.

He looked up, and Claire turned back to Sasha. They’d reached the gravel path to the house’s side steps.

“Careful, these are tricky. I plan to rip them out and extend the front porch to a wraparound as soon as I can afford to.”

Sasha gave the farmhouse an assessing glance.

“I think a big porch would be cool. Will you screen it in? Our back deck isn’t screened and we can never sit out there in the summer. The mosquitoes are terrible!”

Claire laughed. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you’re right—no sense having a nice porch if you can’t enjoy it. I’ll have to add screening to my budget.”

As soon as she started making some serious money from the farm. If it wasn’t for her freelance consulting work, she couldn’t afford to continue living here and running the farm.

Claire opened the door and ushered Sasha into the kitchen.

“But didn’t your reporter job make you rich?” As she spoke Sasha’s eyes moved from side to side, taking in every detail.

Claire pulled out a heavy oak chair from the farm table she’d found on consignment last summer. “Hardly. I mean, I had a bit of a nest egg that enabled me to buy the house and farm and the first few llamas.” In fact, she’d barely covered the costs of the past year with the beginnings of her llama fiber business. If she hadn’t met a woman willing to hand-spin some of the fiber so Claire could sell it out of the barn, her finances would’ve been quite dismal.

“So how do you make money?”

“I’m still working as an independent contractor for various government agencies. They ask for my opinion on different issues, and I write a report.” She took out the ingredients for hot chocolate and two mugs. Then she added a third mug; Dutch was bound to be chilled when he came in from the barn.

“Eventually, I hope to have a full stock, everything from roving—” she referred to the raw fiber product “—to yarn, in all colors. I’ll sell all kinds of fibers, from suppliers all over the world, but the only llama fiber I want to sell is mine.”

Sasha nodded thoughtfully.

“I think a llama blend is best, and I’d like to have different types for sale,” Claire explained. “Llama’s the most successful when it’s blended with other fibers that hold their shape better—like soy, silk or merino. I might also invest in alpacas.”

“Alpacas are neat. I saw one at the state fair last year.”

Claire agreed. The smaller, gentler version of the llama also produced a finer fiber, one that sold at more lucrative prices.

“Yeah, well, it all takes time.” Claire measured the cocoa powder into their mugs while they waited for the kettle to whistle.

“Did you notice that small building closer to the road when you came in?” she asked.

“The haunted cottage?”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “It’s haunted?”

“We drive by it on our school bus in the afternoon, and everyone says it’s been haunted since forever.”

“Really?” Claire smiled at how the building seemed so old to the young kids. It hadn’t seemed that old when she, Dutch and Natalie were kids.

“The daughter of the owner before me tried to turn it into a B and B.” At Sasha’s blank look, Claire explained, “Bed and breakfast.”

Claire stirred the hot chocolate as she poured hot water over it. “But they got ill before they could realize their dream. It was never even remodeled. I’m turning the cottage into a yarn shop.”

“Cool.”

Based on her expectant look, Sasha seemed happy just to be in a conversation with her, even if talk of Claire’s business bored her.

She decided to change the subject. “What’s your favorite subject in school?”

Sasha tilted her head. “I like Social Studies, especially when we learn about a really different country. But I really love Earth Science. I love stuff about the planets and space.”

“Hmm. You could become a meteorologist.”

“Yeah, but the math part isn’t so fun. I mean, math’s easy for me, but kind of dull, you know?”

Claire couldn’t imagine anything Sasha didn’t excel at. The bright intelligence in her gaze was familiar. Dutch had held the number-one spot in their high school class all four years.

Dutch.

Claire ignored the voice that told her she was crazy for going anywhere near Dutch or Sasha.

She’d been Natalie’s best friend for most of their lives—at least until Dutch had connected with Natalie. Claire could share her early history with Sasha, fill in some details about her mother….

“What did my mom want to be when she was my age? Do you remember?”

“Let me think.” Claire blew on her hot chocolate. “When we were younger, in third or fourth grade, she wanted to be a nurse. She’d read about Florence Nightingale in Social Studies and because she liked the smell of brand-new Band-Aids she figured it was the job for her. Then she read
Nancy Drew—
”

“And wanted to be a detective?” Sasha obviously knew Carolyn Keene’s heroine.

“Yes, of course!” When Claire laughed, Sasha let out a giggle, and they exchanged a glance that reminded Claire of the joie de vivre she and Natalie had shared for their entire childhood. Until Tom’s death. And Dutch’s betrayal.

Claire’s laughter died. Until recently, she’d blamed Dutch for their breakup. But they’d been kids, teenagers, and she’d been so focused on getting out of Dovetail… Maybe she’d played a bigger part than she’d realized.

Maybe you never forgave Natalie for not understanding
your
pain.

That sudden insight brought a stab of guilt.

Sasha stared at her. Could she read Claire’s mind?

“Why don’t we knit for a while? Did you bring yours?”

Sasha hauled her backpack onto her lap. “Yeah, I’ve got a scarf I’m making for my friend Maddie.”

They each put down their hot chocolate and started to knit. Claire admired how natural it was for Sasha. The needles still felt rather foreign in her own hands, especially when she was working on a new stitch.

“Claire?”

“Hmm?” Claire looked up from her knitting.

Sasha had a somberness in her eyes that Claire suspected she’d better get used to. It always preceded a doozy of a question.

“Why didn’t you ever come to see my mother?”

Claire’s hand jerked and she lost her stitch. The lush wool fell from her fingers.

She took a deep breath and lowered her hands to her lap, forcing them to be still. Sasha deserved her complete attention.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to. It just…got too difficult. Between my job, your mom’s job and family life, it was almost impossible to schedule any visits. Your mom didn’t have time to come into D.C. very much, and I couldn’t take time off to drive out here.”

Claire knew she owed Sasha more than such an ambiguous reply. “Sometimes adults let distractions get in the way of doing what’s right,” she finally said.

“What kind of distractions did you have?” Looking into Sasha’s brown eyes, Claire felt as if she’d been convicted. She tried to explain, anyway.

“Well, I was working in the press corps—the group of reporters who follow the president all over the world. We were in the midst of one crisis after another, and I had to stay on top of every story.”

“But weren’t you one of lots of people who reported about the president?”

“Yes, I was one of many reporters, actually. But everyone thinks they’re the most valuable—that the story won’t get told properly without them. I believed that, just like everyone else, I’m afraid.”

“You never got a day off?”

“Not really.” She looked at Sasha and wondered what was going on behind that clear, open gaze. “But that’s not the point, Sasha. I realize now that I could have,
should
have, made time to see your mom, especially when she was sick. My last visit, you were in full-day school already. Before that, I hadn’t seen you since you were an infant.”

Claire remembered Natalie’s baby shower all too clearly. The baby, Sasha, had arrived two weeks early and so the shower had taken place after the birth instead of the week before.

It had been a nightmare for Claire. She’d been the only unmarried woman there—and the only one without a baby in her near future. Seeing Dutch and Natalie’s baby had been excruciating. She’d thought back then that she simply didn’t relate to the whole baby thing, but today she realized it was more than that.

She hadn’t wanted to see that Dutch and Natalie were truly happy together. That their love had created a tiny human being.

“I don’t remember you, except from TV.”

Ouch.

“There’s no reason you would—you were a newborn when I first met you and, as I said, in school during that last visit. Your parents might not have even mentioned that I’d stopped by.”

Claire would never admit it to Sasha, but she’d planned that trip for late morning, when she knew Dutch would be at work and Sasha in school. Natalie on her own she could handle.

When it was just the two of them, she could pretend that their friendship had survived the years and Claire’s broken heart.

Claire had never told Natalie about her sense of betrayal or her unrequited feelings for Dutch. Part of it was Claire’s unwillingness to hurt others. A bigger part of it was pride. She’d never told anyone that Dutch had broken her heart.

Including Natalie.

Claire knew she had to examine her resentment against Natalie. How could Natalie have sympathized with Claire if Claire hadn’t told her how hurt she was over her marriage to Dutch? And yet…Claire had come to understand that she bore some responsibility for what had happened. After high school she’d let her relationship with Dutch grow stale, diminish in importance. And she’d let her friendship with Natalie die away.

“I loved your mom like a sister the entire time we were growing up. As adults our lives took different paths. Like I said, it wasn’t only me not coming home, your mom never made it into D.C., either.”

In truth, Natalie had come to Georgetown once, before she got sick; and stayed with Claire overnight. Claire gave her a tour of the White House and Natalie sat through a press conference.

After which Natalie, in true brute-honest Natalie fashion, had told Claire she needed to have more in her life than work.

Claire had been a press corps reporter for two years already, and Natalie made it clear that she thought Claire had been ignoring her social life, that she lacked balance.

Claire hadn’t wanted to hear Natalie’s opinion, no matter how sensible. But instead of arguing, she’d used it as an excuse to further distance herself from her friend. Natalie had assumed Claire was angry at her for what she had said, and Claire never corrected the assumption. She thought it was easier for both of them if she dropped the relationship.

“I spoke to your dad after your mom’s last chemo.” The one they’d all prayed would allow her to pull through, protect her from the last stages of her disease. But it hadn’t.

“I’m sorry, Sasha. I should’ve come back to see your mom, to meet you. I had every intention of coming. But I missed my chance by a week. I had an emergency trip with the president that my network needed me to cover.”

And after that, it was too late. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, intrude on the family’s grief.

“Dying, like having a baby, is intensely private. I didn’t want to take anything away from your mom’s time with you and your dad.”

“Hmm.” Sasha’s ponytail swished as she nodded.

Claire hoped “hmm” meant that Sasha’s inquisition was over.

Claire picked up the wool she’d dropped and stuck the needles into the ball.

“Would you like a refill on your hot chocolate? I’ve finished mine.”

“I’m okay.” Sasha kept knitting and pulled her yarn from a beautiful silk yarn bag. No doubt it had been Natalie’s. Claire’s throat tightened and she turned her face away.

She had no illusion of replacing Natalie in Sasha’s life. But she wanted to somehow make up for her own transgressions against Natalie. She hadn’t realized it was going to be this difficult. She hadn’t understood the depth of her own grief at Natalie’s loss.

Fingers rapped on the glass panes of the side door and Claire opened it.

Dutch’s eyes flashed in obvious anger. “Time to go, Sasha.” He remained on the top step, ignoring Claire.

“Claire’s making me another hot chocolate.” Sasha had apparently developed a convenient thirst.

Dutch’s lips thinned and his face grew impassive.

“Why don’t you come in for a minute, Dutch? It’s cold, and you’re letting all the heat out.”

He didn’t reply as he stepped inside the kitchen and shut the door behind him. His stance conveyed his wariness of Claire.

“Don’t act like a cornered mouse, Dutch.” She spoke in a low voice. “You’re safe here.”