had made a short visit to Ohio. He and Kathy had loved each other, he guessed. But he’d already been on the road by the time she’d hit junior high, and as an adult she’d always lived so far away…In fact, he’d seen little of Kathy even before her young husband died and she’d moved to South Carolina to raise Crystal alone. A sense of loss filled him. His baby sister was gone and he hadn’t really known her. Now he wouldn’t have the chance. His memories were from long ago, childhood ones. Armloads of lilacs, Kathy going out to the big old bush by the pond and picking more than she could carry up the hill.
He raked a hand through his hair. No use in sugar-coating it. He’d been too busy for his kid sister, and now it was too late.
Once he’d been too busy for them all—playing professional hockey, managing his endorsements and his investments. He’d become a rich man, but he’d missed out on family life. Four years ago he’d made a promise that that would change.
“If we hadn’t been camping so far out, and if I hadn’t had to make an unscheduled stop in Memphis, I would have been here sooner.” Mitch stopped. He had to quit explaining.
The older woman smiled at him, her eyes warm black-brown, her skin a shiny mahogany. “You can’t help the fog. It’s like that on Hilton Head. It’s an island. We get fog.”
Kathy had liked the South Carolina island for the warm climate and proximity to the seashore. Crystal had a real southern drawl that made her seem even more strange to him.
“I’ll do my best with Crystal,” he promised suddenly.
The social worker sighed. “I believe you. But it’s always a sorry time when a baby’s momma dies. Fortunately, she’s had Miss Litton. Miss Litton has been a good friend, done the right thing by taking Crystal in and arranging for Kathy’s funeral. I want you to remember that.” Her eyes crinkled with kindness even as she hesitated. “Look, Mr. Oliver—”
“Mitch.”
“Mitch. Thank you. Mitch, I need to tell you something before you go in there. Crystal keeps saying she doesn’t want to go with you.”
Ah, hell. The greasy breakfast he’d eaten went sour in his stomach. “She doesn’t even know me.”
The social worker put a light hand on his arm. “Right. I understand that. She needs to give you a chance.”
He swallowed. “What if she isn’t in the mood to, ah, give me a chance?” He needed to know exactly what he was up against.
“Try not to worry too much. Just take her home, ease into things.”
“I’m good at going with the flow.”
She smiled again. “Listen to her, maybe try to do things in your home that will make her feel welcome. Your sister named you guardian in her will, and you’re the only close family Crystal has. Her father died about eight years ago, and his parents were never really involved with Kathy or Crystal. In fact, I gather they’re relieved to have you handle the situation.” There was a slight pause. “We’ll have a social worker in Ohio stop in and do a couple of quick checks of your household, but it’s just a formality, really.”
“A formality?”
She hesitated again, and Mitch got impatient. “Just break it to me. What are you trying to say here?”
Alma Winters touched him on the arm again. “All right. Jennifer Litton has raised the issue of whether you’re the proper person to care for Crystal. That’s why we’re having an Ohio social worker check. You see, Miss Litton was under the impression that Kathy’s will named her guardian.”
Mitch stared at her, bewildered. He and Kathy might not have been close, but they’d stayed in touch. She hadn’t trusted him to care for her daughter?
The social worker said, “Miss Litton claims Kathy had mentioned changing her will a couple of times.”
“Well, she never did it, did she?”
“No, she never did. Look, I’m a southerner, and nobody believes in family like a southerner does. You’re blood. You’re kin. But you have a lot of responsibility. It’s not too late to change your mind. If you can’t see your way to providing a home for your niece, Miss Litton would—”
“No. I believe in family, too.” He looked her directly in the eye.
There was a second’s pause. Then she said, “Ready to take your niece home?”
“Sure.” Crystal was just a little kid. A little girl.
A little…girl. He stepped through the door Alma Winters held open.
Crystal was sitting on a chair by the window. She wore her hair long and wavy, and was dressed in shorts that made a yellow bib kind of thing over a T-shirt. Sandals on her feet, those feet swinging up and down as if she were on an imaginary swing. Mitch’s sons’ legs were full of scars, scratches, insect bites in the summer, but his niece’s weren’t. A scrap of a cat, as orange as her hair, lay curled in her lap. A cat so small his dog, Face-off, was likely to have it for lunch and then look for more.
She was just a little kid.
His gaze was caught by the blonde who stood with a hand on his niece’s shoulder. Jennifer—Jenny—Litton. Miss Jenny Litton was real pretty, like some high-class southern belle right out of an old movie. He’d had trouble not looking at her last night at dinner. He glanced away now. After all, he was used to looking—and then not looking—at attractive women.
He addressed himself to his niece. “Hi, Crystal.”
Her legs swung higher. The kitten woke up and stretched.
“We’re going home today. On the airplane, remember? You haven’t ever been on a plane.”
Those bare legs kept swinging. He clenched a fist in his pocket, painfully conscious of the social worker behind him, and the silent woman next to Crystal. The pretty, uppity woman Kathy might have preferred to him to raise her kid.
“You’re going to like it in Ohio. We talked about it last night. We live in an old farmhouse and we do a lot of fun stuff, like sports. In the spring, you can use that mitt and baseball I got you last Christmas.”
The cat turned to stare at him.
Jenny spoke for the first time. “Crystal doesn’t like sports.”
“Oh.”
“Kathy used to say you were a big hockey star. Rich and famous.” There was no admiration in her voice. That voice was low and feminine, and she drew out the syllables until she sounded as southern as fried chicken and biscuits. Mitch frowned. No, not fried chicken. More like a cool glass of iced tea.
He wasn’t a big hockey star anymore, and he wasn’t that famous anywhere outside of North Shore, Ohio, these days, but his sporting-goods store, Serious Gear, was doing well and he didn’t have to answer to this woman.
Belatedly, Mrs. Winters came forward. “Crystal, maybe you’ll learn to enjoy baseball, and here you are with your own mitt and ball.”
Her voice was so falsely cheerful that even Mitch winced.
Crystal
