Angel's Peak

Carl, on the other hand, had been widowed for two years, and his children were still essentially teenagers, still grieving the passing of a beautiful, brilliant mother who had died too young from breast cancer.



Carl was fifty; Vivian was fifty-five. Both of them were fit and attractive and there was no reason they wouldn’t notice each other if the chemistry was right. He was a family practitioner in the practice that employed her; she was a family-practice physician’s assistant who worked for Carl and his two partners. She’d been with them for almost three years. First, Carl had been her boss and colleague, then friend, and for the past year, the man in her life.



They were a gorgeous couple, she thought. She was small and trim and blonde; he was large, solidly built and biracial. When she’d moved to the small town of Eureka, finding a man like Carl was the last thing she’d ever expected.



But because of Carl’s teenagers and Vivian’s commitment to a single daughter and granddaughter, they could only look forward to a time when they could concentrate on each other. Carl called it a rebirth; Vivian called it the blessed empty nest.



Of course, neither of them kept the other secret, but their kids being kids—even kids of thirty!—they didn’t think about their parents’ love lives. At all.



Her cell phone finally chimed at about three in the afternoon. It was Carl. When she picked it up, before saying hello, she said, “Carl! It’s happening!”



“What?” he asked, his voice quiet and maybe nervous about just what was happening.



“Rosie’s father is back in their lives! Half of me is overjoyed—they could make a family if they try, I just know it. I could end up with a grown-up life of my own one day. The other half of me is already grieving. He’s an air force pilot, Carl. He’s going to take them away from me.”



“I think you need someone to hold you.”



“Possibly,” she said. “But not just anyone.”



“After I shovel pot roast into the mouths of my kids—should they show up for dinner—I’ll step out for a while.”



“You are so lovely,” she said.



When they hung up, Vivian made a beeline for the manicure, pedicure and facial stuff that had been set aside earlier in the day. If he was going to hold her for a while, she was going to be soft and perfect. And there would be a car in the driveway and the dead bolt would be thrown into place.



Sunday afternoon found Sean packing a duffel at Luke’s house. Then he grabbed himself some fast food that didn’t exactly go down well, and headed back to Franci’s house in Eureka. Not only did he have a nervous stomach, he’d had Scotch for breakfast. When she opened the door, she was completely surprised to see him. “You’re back.” She was wearing an old sweatshirt and pair of jeans, big fluffy slippers and had some kind of feathery dusting thing on a long handle in her hand.



And she looked delicious. He wanted to tackle her on the spot. But…



“Did I screw up your plans for the day?” he asked.



“That depends on what you want. We’re cleaning our bedrooms,” she said. “Well, I’m cleaning mine and Rosie gets a little sidetracked. But she tries.”



“Can I come in, please?” he asked.



“Sean, why are you here?” she asked, but she stepped away from the door to allow him to enter. “You were going to call later tonight.”



“I have to talk to Rosie,” he said. “I have to tell her.”



“Shouldn’t we talk about it first? As in, how it should be done?”



He shook his head. “I’ll just try to get to know her a little, tell her who I am—and I have to do this because next I have to tell my mother.”



Franci put a hand on her hip and let out a breath. “This is moving a little fast,” she said.



“Tell me about it. But that’s what we have, Franci, so let’s just go with it.”



“What do you plan to say to her? Want me to help you? Tell her with you?”



“I don’t know what I’m going to say,” he said first. “No, I want to do it alone. But could you stay kind of close in case I get in trouble?”



She grabbed his upper arm. “Sean, are you going to tell her and then disappear on her? Because if that’s your plan, I need to know so I can do some damage control. I don’t want her devastated.”



He looked into her large dark eyes. God, she was beautiful. He was an animal; he was preparing to tell his daughter he was her father and at that moment all he could think about was getting Franci alone. Alone and naked. “My plan is to begin a relationship with her that will last a very long time. Cut me a little slack—I don’t have a frickin’ clue how that’s done. I’m going to wing it. How much does she know?”



“Nothing. Basically, nothing.”



“You said she started asking questions,” he reminded her.



“Just little-girl questions. She noticed even the divorced kids had dads around from time to time. She asked where our daddy was. I told her you were in the air force. You have to learn to tell children only what they want to know—she didn’t even ask who you were, just where. But that’s when I knew I couldn’t waste much more time and would have to track you down.” She shrugged. “That was pretty recent.”



“Why’d you wait so long in the first place?” he asked.



“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t want to face it. I knew you’d be angry…she’d be confused—things could get real complicated. And I was afraid you might not acknowledge…her…”



He frowned. “Not acknowledge her?” he asked in confusion.



She took a deep breath and stiffened her spine. “I knew you didn’t want a child—you were very clear. And really, I didn’t want anything from you. So I thought you might say she wasn’t yours and you didn’t want—”



He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him, his nose nearly touching hers. “Listen to me. It was only you and me. There were never any others—not for either one of us. We were more married than half the married people we hung out with. If you had a baby, she was mine. You think I wouldn’t own that?”



She let her eyes fall closed. Not purposely, but it was a natural response. What she wanted to do was push him away and take control of the situation. Instead, she inhaled, drinking in his breath, his scent. And she whispered, “I could only hope, Sean. There was a lot of anger between us.”



He relaxed his hold on her waist, giving her a little space. “Franci, the stuff we have to work out about all that—that doesn’t have anything to do with what I have to work out with Rosie. Let’s try to keep those two things in separate corners. I don’t want to hurt her because of our anger with each other. That wouldn’t be fair.”



She tilted her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. “Wow. It almost seems like you got some counseling or something.”



“Can I just talk to her now? And will you stay around in case I need you?”



“What if she wonders why you’re telling her instead of me telling her?” Franci asked. “How do we handle that?”



He shrugged. “Tell her you were surprised to see me. And I’ll tell her that from now on, she’ll always know where I am. We can do this.”



She was totally shocked. “It sounds like we can. She’s in her room and I’ll be right next door in my room. Good luck.”



He inhaled and it was a quivering breath. “Thanks.” And he turned and walked into his little girl’s room.



Sean stood in the doorway of the lavender bedroom for a moment, watching. Rosie had a very large play-kitchen wall unit and she was busy there. She was wearing a yellow princess dress that had seen better days—must be a costume she made supergood use of because she looked like a little princess vagrant. On her bare feet were some oversize plastic sparkly pumps and, stuck lopsided into her red curls, a tiara. She was talking softly to herself while she stirred nothing in a pan on one of the play stove burners.



“Hi, Rosie,” he said quietly.



She glanced over her shoulder at him, but went immediately back to work on her cooking.



“Okay if I come in your room?” he asked, and she answered with a shrug. He cleared a space filled with toys, dolls, picture books and unrecognizable kiddie paraphernalia and sat on the edge of her bed. “Watcha doin’?”



“Making stuff…”



“Do you like to cook?”



She nodded and turned toward him. “I like to cook on the real stobe, but only wif Mommy or Grandma.”



“Sounds like a good policy,” he agreed.



She walked toward him, holding the pan in one hand and a spoon in the other. She stretched the spoon toward his mouth.



“What is it?” he asked.



“Chicken,” she said, pushing the spoon at his lips.



He wondered where that spoon had been and made a slight face at the possibilities.



“It’s bery good!” she insisted.



He opened his mouth a bit and let her spoon in some imaginary chicken. “Mmm. That is good. Are you supposed to be cleaning your room right now?”



She turned back to her stove before saying, “No. I’m making stuff.”



And he thought, Yeah, right. “Want some help in here? Putting away toys and your things?”



“No.” She turned back to him again, pan and spoon in hand, and lifted the spoon to his lips.



“More chicken?”



“Brocc’li. It’s bery good for you.”



“Hm. And not too filling, either,” he observed. “Listen, I was wanting to ask you a couple of things. Like about your daddy. What do you know about your daddy?”



She turned back to the stove again, very busy, very intent on her imaginary project. “He has a big plane,” she said without looking at him. “He’s bery important with a big plane.”



“Is that so?” She nodded. “I have news for you, Rose. It turns out I’m your daddy. How about that?”



She looked over her shoulder at him. She didn’t look terribly impressed. “Where’s the plane?”



Sean’s hearing was exceptional, despite the roar of jet engines for the past ten years and the blasting of rock bands in the O Club on top of that. He heard a muffled giggle he recognized as Rosie’s mother. The sneak. He leaned over to peek out the bedroom door, but he didn’t see her.



“At Beale Air Force Base. That’s where the plane is kept when it’s not flying. Would you like to see it sometime?”



Rosie nodded so vigorously her curls bounced and her tiara slid farther to one side. “Can I go for a wide in it?”



“That’s not allowed, I’m afraid. You can go inside with me while it’s parked on the ground.”



“My mommy goes in the helifropter.”



“You mean helicopter?” he asked.



Again she bobbed enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. Helifropter.”



“She mentioned that.” And he braced himself for the difficult questions—such as, Where have you been? Why are you here now? Are you moving in with us?



But she asked, “Do you have a dog?”



He shook his head. “But you do, don’t you?”



“Harry,” she said. “Do you have a grandma?”



“I used to,” he said. “When I was little like you, I had two grandmas. My mommy’s mother and my daddy’s mother.” Now would surely come the tough questions.



“Do you have a bike?”



He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. Do you?”



She shook her head. “But I have a all-trebain-beekle.”



“Huh?” he asked.