“Oatmeal-raisin is my favorite,” he murmured to no one in particular, and no one responded.
“Maybe I’ll have a little more of that applesauce, too,” he added.
“Here you go, Dad.” Kaitlin passed the bowl and then turned back to Jamie. “What’s your favorite vegetable?”
“Caramel corn,” Jamie said without missing a beat.
Kaitlin’s eyes sparkled. “That’s not a vegetable!”
“Oops,” said Jamie and smiled at her.
Kaitlin almost smiled in return.
Eric knew when he’d been upstaged. He settled back in his chair and watched Kaitlin with his brother’s fiancée…ex-fiancée? These past few months Kaitlin had clearly been struggling with a weight of fear and uncertainty. But now, at this moment, he sensed almost a lightness to her attitude.
He had to admit there was something unique about Jamie Williams. The way she treated his daughter with such seriousness—and yet at the same time with such a flair for nonsense. By now, Kaitlin and Jamie had moved on to a discussion of favorite animals.
“Kittens,” said his daughter, “are my favorite.”
“Well, of course. Isabel would be highly offended if she thought otherwise.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Monkeys,” said Jamie. “Definitely. Because they appreciate the many fine attributes of bananas and because they know how to make faces.”
Kaitlin immediately scrunched up her nose. “Like this?”
“No, more like this.” Jamie reached over and gently tickled Kaitlin into a small giggle. His daughter almost sounded carefree.
Jamie Williams had been here only a few hours. In that brief time, she’d managed to charm Kaitlin with a sense of magic, a delight in the absurd. Eric had to admit those qualities had been in short supply around the Sinclair household lately.
In fact, Jamie had reminded him of just how much was missing here. Laughter, lightheartedness. And, yes, magic.
Chapter Three
Dinner finished, Jamie set her fork down regretfully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quite so satisfying a meal. When the housekeeper appeared poolside a few moments later, Jamie told her as much.
“You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Braddock.”
“Yes, absolutely wonderful,” said Kaitlin, sounding very grown-up. The corner of Mrs. B.’s mouth gave a twitch, but otherwise she acknowledged the compliments with a brisk, professional nod.
“All right,” she said. “Front and center—everyone under the age of twenty can help me with the dishes.”
Kaitlin stole a peek at Jamie.
“No way—I plead the fifth,” Jamie told the little girl, as deadpan as possible. “As we know, a woman never discusses her age.”
Kaitlin seemed to consider this and then nodded in solemn agreement. She began gathering the cups and silverware while Eric stacked the plates. The two Sinclairs worked efficiently together. Whenever Eric glanced at his daughter, the tenderness in his eyes was clear. Yet perhaps there was a glimpse of puzzlement, as well. He seemed to be asking questions of himself, immersed in private musings, and Jamie suddenly felt like an intruder in this little family circle. To cover her sense of loneliness and confusion, she busied herself by helping to transport the dishes topside to Mrs. Braddock’s tray.
Now Kaitlin padded across the patio, trailing Mrs. B. As the two of them reached the door to the house, Mrs. B.’s voice came faintly. “All right. Everyone who has wet feet can dry them on this towel.”
Jamie and Eric remained seated at the table, their own legs still submerged. The water was pleasant, even as the shadows of evening lengthened around them. The master of the house had said nothing about her rearranging the furniture, and she gave him credit for that. He behaved as if it were perfectly normal to sip after-dinner wine quite literally alfresco. And yet his presence disconcerted her, had done so since the first moment she’d met him. Maybe it was that she hadn’t even known of his existence until today. Why hadn’t Shawn mentioned Eric? What strains between two brothers could lead to such an omission?
In the short time Jamie had been in the Sinclair home she’d discovered a few facts on her own. It was clear that Eric Sinclair loved his daughter very much. It was equally clear that Kaitlin loved her dad very much. Yet the two of them seemed to have just a bit of trouble connecting. They both seemed to share an elemental reserve.
At times Kaitlin seemed on the verge of relaxing. But then she’d hold back, as if afraid to indulge—as if afraid that happiness and security could all too easily be snatched away.
Jamie believed she understood at least some of Kaitlin’s uncertainty. This afternoon, Mrs. Braddock had let slip a few details about Eric Sinclair. A recent difficult divorce, tense custody arrangements. It was a story familiar to Jamie from her own childhood. Even under the best of circumstances it hurt deeply. And the circumstances, perhaps, could never be the best.
Even when a father cared for his daughter as much as Eric Sinclair evidently did.
Jamie took a sip from her wineglass. Eric hadn’t spoken for several minutes. The light of the candles flickered between them on the table. Eric’s face remained in shadow, obscured by the growing night, yet he still managed to dominate his surroundings. There was nothing easy about him, nothing restful. As soon as his daughter had gone with Mrs. B., he’d reverted to the forbidding demeanor of this afternoon.
Then it occurred to her how things had been exactly the opposite with Shawn. It had been so easy to be swept up in dreams of love and a new life. Until the moment, of course, when he had neglected to show up at the altar.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “And it has been a long day.”
“You can’t turn in,” Eric said, “until you come clean. How did you get my daughter into the water? Beyond throwing my furniture into the brink, what’s the rationale?”
Jamie turned her wineglass in one hand, staring at the reflection of the candlelight. “Simple. I just told her the truth. I told her that when I was a little older than her I was deathly afraid of flying. But I was going to visit my father for the first time since my parents’ divorce, and the only way to do that was to get on that plane…. ” She was telling too much. She had to stick to the point. “So, I decided I would combine something I loved with the thing that I hated. I grabbed my favorite Nancy Drew mystery and stuck my head in it for the entire flight. Sure enough, by the end, I hardly even knew I was flying. And then, after the next flight and the next, I wasn’t so afraid anymore.”
Jamie set down her glass, watching as Eric filled it again. She was already perhaps too intoxicated by the northwestern air, the mysteriousness of this night. “Anyway,” she continued, “I suggested to Kaitlin that she try the same technique—associate something she wasn’t afraid of with the pool. She told me that she was hungry and that she certainly wasn’t afraid of dinner.”
Eric
