Things are looking up.” He turned to Barclay. “You promise you’ll protect her from Wade?”
“Or die trying.”
Her dad stared at him for several minutes. “You a married man?”
She bolted to a sitting position. “Dad!”
His bald head barely turned in her direction. “It’s an honest question.” He rocked slowly. “I’m widowed, myself.”
“I’m divorced.”
“Another woman?” Her dad stopped rocking, his chair leaning forward.
Barclay stared at him for a few seconds. “My wife and I lost a baby to sudden infant death and we could never get beyond it. We both grieved in our own way, growing further and further apart instead of closer in our mourning. So, we ended up with a double loss. Sweet little Bella Marie and our marriage.” Mournful eyes hinged on her dad’s and it was as if invisible links launched between them. Bonds of loss, agony and soul-deep pain.
Tears blurred her vision. She understood and felt those emotions herself, just in a different manner.
“Well, now. I think we understand each other.” Her dad started rocking again. “I thank you again for taking care of my daughter. She’s all I’ve got left.”
“I’m a fireman and marine rescue diver. It’s my job to take care of others. Besides, there’s something special about Molly.” He lifted her onto his lap. “Do you want me to carry you into bed and tuck you in?” Barclay smiled with that shy, yet sexy smile he seemed able to call forth on command. Her dad laughed as if the two had been best buds for years. She was none too happy with either of them, treating her as if she were a child and a helpless one at that.
“No. Thank you, I’ll be fine on my own.” She was damned tired of his constant charm. No man could be this appealing all the time—dimples or no dimples—and she was sick of it. Her head gonged like St. John’s church bells on Sunday morning, her side hurt when she breathed and her leg throbbed. Her face and knees were scrapped raw. Was it any wonder she was cranky? God, I ache all over.
Two of his fingers tucked under her chin, raising her head so they gazed into each other’s eyes. “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you? Where’s your aspirins?”
How did he know? “The medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Top shelf.”
He cupped her unbruised cheek. “Be right back.” His voice had softened and, for just an instant, she wanted to lean into him for support, but cursed her weakness instead. If Wade had taught her one thing, it was men were never what they seemed. She sat up while Barclay went for the medicine. Her dad kept rocking…both of them…no, wait, there were three dads in a trio of rocking chairs. She blinked to bring her father into focus.
Barclay held a tiny paper cup with the pills in it and another filled with water. She had to make two tries to wrap her fingers around the one with the pills and who knew how many to grasp the cup of water to wash them down.
“That’s it. I don’t give a damn how mad you get.” Barclay lifted her off the sofa. “Sam, would you mind showing me to her bedroom. She’s in no fit condition to walk or stay up any longer. I want her to sleep. Christ, she’s been battered to hell and back.”
Her dad, who’d always been her hero, stood and waddled to her room. “He messed her up pretty bad, didn’t he?”
“Yes. A man has no business hurting a woman. Bet you were the type of husband to protect your wife, weren’t you?”
“Did the best by Tammy I could, son.”
Barclay sat Molly on the edge of the bed, kneeled in front of her and removed the remaining sandal she still wore. “Sam, I’m going to pull these muddy capris off her so she’ll rest better. You’re not going to tar and feather me for it, are you?”
Her dad chuffed a laugh. “I’m not the scrapper you need to worry about.”
Darn if Mr. I’m-Going-To-Charm-Your-Dad didn’t lean in, lime and ginger filling her nose, his lips against her ear and ask if she was wearing underwear under her red capris. The nerve! She hurt from her hair to her toenails and he wanted to be damn ballsy? Her hand fisted and rose.
His fingers coiled around her wrist, breath feathered her hair and his cheek touched hers. “I’m sorry, Sugar. That was out of line. You’re not up to my teasing, are you, baby? I’m sorry. I was only checking. I guess it’s we guys who are more prone to go commando.”
“Do you?” Crap, this is the last question I need to be asking him.
“Often, yes.”
Oh God, I do not need that visual.
His eyes locked on hers as he unbuttoned and unzipped the capris before sliding them off her hips and legs. Pulling the sheet and blanket up to her shoulders, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “See you tomorrow. Sleep well. Use aspirins as you need them. I’ll come by in the morning to rewrap your ankle after you shower. Will eight o’clock be fine? I’ll bring donuts.”
“I don’t want any of your damn donuts. Not even the ones with chocolate icing and sprinkles.” Her eyelids were already getting heavy. “Dad likes the glazed kind.” She yawned.
“I’ll bring half a dozen glazed for your dad and half a dozen with chocolate icing and sprinkles for me then. Guess you’ll just have to watch us eat them. I’ll bring you a bagel. How’s that?” The corners of his mouth spread enough the creases of his dimples deepened.
“You eat the damn bagel and leave my chocolate donuts alone.”
Easy, deep male laughter floated over her and somehow comforted. “I’ll get you whatever you want, Sugar. Dream good dreams tonight. No nightmares.” He traced the backs of his fingers down her face. “Do you know poets for centuries have written poetry about skin as fair and soft as yours? Alabaster skin, like pearls.” He stood, walked out of her bedroom behind her dad and turned out the light.
Her eyes drifted shut. What the hell was all his kindness about?
Barclay jammed the key into the truck’s ignition and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. How could one man’s life get turned upside down in a few hours? All he’d wanted was some damn freakin’ douche powder and what did he get? A pair of indigo eyes, a smile that practically numbed his mind and a body that sent his cock on high alert.
Oh, and her gutsy attitude, he couldn’t forget that. He’d never been one for women who were pushovers, not that he wanted a life of verbal sparring and arguing. God, he’d had enough of that growing up…at least from his dad. His mother? She’d caved every time to “keep peace” and save herself from another beating. There were times when even that tactic didn’t work. The old man just wanted, needed, to hit something and it was either her or Barclay.
Still, he held no ill-feelings for Mom. She did her best to fill the house with love. Her goal was always to bring happiness to a house covered by the dark pall of abusive sickness
