as she listened to what her grandmother was saying. “But I like being with my daddy and I don’t want to live with you—”
Fury rose up in Dan and he had to stop himself from snatching the phone away from Natasha. “I need to talk to Grandmother Anderson,” he said, keeping his voice calm as he held out his hand.
Thankfully, Natasha willingly gave the phone up.
Dan took in a deep breath, then another, then raised the phone to his ear.
“We have all kinds of fun toys and I can take you to the park all the time because it’s not cold here,” Carla Anderson was saying.
“This is Dan.” His words came out clipped and he didn’t bother smiling this time. “What are you doing?”
A pause greeted his angry question, then Carla cleared her throat. “I was merely pointing out to Natasha the advantages of residing with us. And I think they are numerous.”
Dan massaged the bridge of his nose, praying for patience, praying he didn’t lose it in front of Natasha, who was watching him from her perch on the stair.
“We are not having this discussion now.” He pitched his voice low, hoping he sounded nonthreatening. Hoping the fear twisting his gut didn’t come out in his voice.
He’d spent almost six years of Natasha’s short life battling with his ex-wife to get her to respect Dan’s court-ordered weekend visits with his daughter. He had struggled not to run to court every time Lydia had decided this weekend she might take Natasha out of town, or Natasha was too sick to come, or any other lame excuse. He didn’t want Natasha to become a pawn in their battle. But it had been difficult not to succumb when a month could go by with no visit.
Sad as Lydia’s death had been, in one way, for Dan, it had been a relief from the constant tension of battling over visits with his daughter.
Then, shortly after the funeral, he’d received a phone call from Lydia’s brother, a lawyer, warning Dan that his parents wanted to sue for custody of Natasha. Since then the battle lines had been drawn and Mr. and Mrs. Anderson had slowly advanced, revealing their strategy one methodical step at a time.
The past few days their tactic had been to convince Natasha she wanted to live with them.
“We’re not giving up on Natasha.” Carla warned. “We have much to give her.”
Dan bit back an angry reply. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson owned a condo in Hawaii, a twenty-six-foot yacht anchored in the Victoria Harbor, a small private plane and a home just outside of Vancouver with more square footage than both his parents’ hardware store and the grocery store beside it.
“She’s my daughter,” he said, “and I will take care of her.”
“That may be, but she said she’s not going to school. How is that taking care of her?”
Dan should have known Carla wouldn’t have missed one beat in Natasha’s conversation. “She’s having a hard time adjusting.” No sooner had the words left his lips than he felt like banging his head on the wall behind him. Why give them any kind of ammunition? What kind of idiot was he?
“You do realize your daughter needs to attend school. That is still required,” Carla replied, a note of triumph in her voice.
The all-too-familiar panic rose up in him as he felt himself backed into a corner. He glanced over at Natasha. She was smiling at him, rocking back and forth on the stair. He wasn’t letting her go. Never.
Mrs. Anderson was still talking. “If you aren’t responsible enough to take care of her schooling, perhaps we will have to—”
“I’m getting a tutor,” he snapped, cutting her off mid-threat. He leaned back against the wall behind him, the old cliché of being stuck between a rock and a hard place suddenly becoming very real. Could he hire Hailey? See her every day?
Maybe there was another way. Someone else to tutor Natasha.
“I see.” Mrs. Anderson’s clipped tone showed him that he had, for now, caused her to retreat. “Then I guess we’ll have to see how things pan out for her.”
“Yes, we will.” Dan experienced a momentary reprieve and, to his disappointment, one of his knees began to bounce, an involuntary reaction to stress. He pushed it down and forced a smile that came more naturally this time. “And now I’m saying goodbye.” He ended the call before Mrs. Anderson could ask to speak to Natasha again.
He laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
“Are you tired, Daddy?” Natasha asked him, tugging on his hand.
He looked down at her, feeling the weight of his responsibilities. He was tired. Tired of trying to balance all the emotions his homecoming had created. Tired of trying to do it all himself.
In spite of what he had told Natasha’s grandmother, however, he wasn’t sure he was ready to have Hailey tutor his daughter every day. Surely he could find someone else to do the job.
“No, honey. I’m fine.” He dropped his phone in his pocket and took her hand. “Now, let’s go see if Gramma needs any help.”
Hailey smoothed her hair, pressed her lips together and then caught herself mid-preen as she walked out of the cloakroom. It’s church, silly. And like last week, Dan won’t be here anyway.
In spite of her self-chiding, she still tugged on the wide leather belt cinching her knit dress, pressed her lips together to even out her lipstick, then threaded her way through the people gathered in the foyer, toward the doors leading to the sanctuary.
She paused in the doorway, glancing around the church, looking for a place to sit. Shannon was working at the hospital this morning and her Nana wanted to sleep in, so neither of them would be here this morning.
She caught sight of her cousin Carter’s dark head bent over his fiancée, Emma, her son, Adam, sitting on his lap. People sat on either side of them, so it didn’t look like there was room for her there.
“Miss Deacon. Miss Deacon,” Natasha’s voice called out over the buzz of conversation from the lobby. Hailey’s heart skipped its next beat.
She turned to see Dan’s tall figure moving through the people gathered in the foyer. His dark blond hair still glistened with moisture, as if he had stepped right out of the shower, gotten dressed and come here. As Natasha pulled him closer she also saw a line of blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. Probably shaved as quickly as he had dressed.
“Miss Deacon, you come to church too?” Natasha asked, beaming with pleasure.
“Yes. I do.” Hailey returned her smile, yet couldn’t stop her eyes from drifting toward Dan.
He wore a blue blazer over a light blue shirt. No tie, and jeans with cowboy boots. Just as he always did. And just as before, one point of his collar was tucked under the lapel of his blazer and the other lay overtop.
Hailey had to stop herself from reaching out to straighten it. As she always did.
“Hello, Hailey,” he said.
Hailey hoped her smile
