to his grandfather as he had planned, he had come in every day expecting to hear from her. He had to get back to his own business.
He scanned the mail then tossed it aside. His gaze returned to the pile. The top letter had no return address, but the Walton, New York, postmark struck a familiar chord. He slit open the top of the envelope and removed the contents. Between a folded slip of paper were two halves of a child support check written out to Shannon Moore.
Shannon sucked in a deep, calming breath. Her cream-colored slacks had a bright red stain on the leg and a pile of SpaghettiOs covered one suede pump. The plastic bowl Chelsea had tossed from the table rolled around the kitchen floor. Only yesterday the pasta dish had been the child’s favorite.
“That wasn’t nice, Chelsea. Say ‘I’m sorry.’ ” Shannon kept her voice quiet but stern.
“No.”
“You have to apologize or go to your room for a time-out.”
Chelsea folded her small arms across her chest and pushed out her chin. “No.”
Shannon tried to recall what the book said to do in this situation. Lose your temper and you lose control. Had Dr. What’s-his-name ever worn a bowl of spaghetti? Limit your admonitions to the deed, not the child.
She placed her hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “I’m very disappointed by your behavior.”
An earth-curdling scream reverberated around the room. Shannon’s jaw dropped. How could such a horrific sound come from a little girl? She reached for the book on the counter and thumbed though the chapter on temper tantrums.
What was she doing wrong? Her every attempt to reach the petulant child had failed. Chelsea shied away from demonstrative gestures and met friendly overtures with wary silence.
Chelsea’s psychologist had assured Shannon that Chelsea would emerge from her introverted shell when she got used to her new surroundings. Was this show of defiance an improvement? During her years as a Wall Street broker Shannon had handled nervous and often angry clients with detached calm, yet one small child reduced her to near helplessness.
She tossed the book in the garbage and fell back on the same strategy she used when dealing with any irrational adult. She walked away for a coolingoff period. A headache pounded against her temples. To make matters worse, the doorbell rang. She had visions of the police breaking down the front door and arresting her on child endangerment charges.
Obviously, parenthood had taken what little sanity she had once possessed.
Just when she thought she had hit bottom, she opened the door to find Ian Bradford leaning against the support beam on her front porch. His deep blue eyes ran an appraising gaze over her unflattering appearance. His laughter topped off an already rotten morning. She glanced over her shoulder at the child, then back to him.
“Is this a family visit?” she asked.
“Are you having a bad day?” Did he have to look so damned pleased?
“No. I normally walk around the house covered in tomato sauce while Chelsea serenades me in the key of C.” Why didn’t those child-rearing experts with their psychobabble warn her to change out of her business clothes before feeding a child? “What do you want?”
“May I come in?”
She waved her hand with a flourish. “Be my guest.”
If nothing else, his arrival put an end to Chelsea’s vocal tantrum. Within seconds, Shannon had a pint-size appendage attached to her leg, hindering her as she tried to show Ian into the living room.
“Have a seat. I have to get changed.” Scooping the child up in her arms, she darted to her bedroom.
She plopped Chelsea on the bed and quickly shed her soiled slacks in favor of a brightly colored peasant skirt. Paired with her ruffled blouse, she looked like a Gypsy. She searched her closet for a better choice, then gave up. Why did she care? It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress the man.
“Who he is?” Chelsea asked.
Shannon ran a brush though Chelsea’s baby-fine hair and for the first time the child didn’t flinch away. “He’s your brother, Ian.”
“Chelsea wants a cookie.” Obviously, the discovery of a big brother was less appealing than Mrs. Fields’s chocolate chip cookies.
“Not now.” Braced for the worst, Shannon was pleasantly surprised when the child shrugged and turned her attention to the crystal perfume bottles on her vanity.
“I sorry,” Chelsea said to the reflection in the mirror.
A little late, but Shannon got her apology. The simple words felt like a major triumph. “I know. Leave that for now. We have a guest.”
They returned to the living room where Ian had made himself right at home in the overstuffed chair. Shannon noted the way he carefully avoided looking at his sister. Any hope that some sense of family obligation or even natural curiosity had compelled his visit faded in a flash. Her niece would continue to live without a male influence in her life.
“I expected to hear from you,” Ian said.
“Did I say I would call?” She pushed a teddy bear out of the way and sat on the sofa. Chelsea scrambled into Shannon’s lap and cuddled close.
“You returned my check.”
“I didn’t know what it was for.”
“Child support for...ah...”
“Your sister?”
He exhaled slowly. “She’s not my sister.”
Shannon tenderly stroked the child’s back, lulling her into a quiet, dreamlike state. “If you don’t consider her family, then there’s no reason for you to support her.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Ian noted the quiet sorrow in her words. She seemed tired. Obviously the girl was a handful. Although right now, falling asleep m her aunt’s lap, she looked like a little angel. He dragged his gaze away. He had no business feeling anything for this blue-eyed imp.
“Just tell me what you want,” he said.
“Did I ask you for anything, Mr Bradford?”
“No. As a matter of fact, you’ve been conspicuous by your silence. You must have a price. A bottom line?”
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I have something to sell. The inheritance belongs to Chelsea, not me.”
“And as her legal guardian you make all decisions regarding her money and property until her eighteenth birthday.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If those decisions are in her best interest, not yours.”
“The money would allow you to afford some help with the child.”
