Her Daughter's Father

“No.”

With a thank-you wave he hit the gas and headed toward the marina. India stared after the dusty cloud that rose behind him. “I’m supposed to stay out of her life, Dad. Remember?”

“At the cost of her safety? What if her grandfather hadn’t told Jack?”

“I feel like a tattletale. I wish I could go look for her, too.” But she’d given up that right fifteen years ago. India reached for the sprayer they’d left on the ground. “How serious do you suppose this is?”

Her father answered with silence. For several seconds, he only stared at her, his thoughts and his gaze uneasy. “It was serious with you.”

“I don’t know what to do. What if I’m as big a threat to her as Chris? What if she finds out about me, and they didn’t even tell her she was adopted?” She glanced at the road again, clear now of Jack’s dust. “Where is her mother anyway?”

“Maybe she works out of town.”

“I pictured a close-knit, Beaver Cleaver family.” Jack’s hurt had deepened her concern for him, as well as for Colleen. It confused her. Worse, it seemed to create a bond between them. She still felt the emotional brush of his telling gaze, swiftly averted to hide his thoughts.

“India, be careful with that. You could cut yourself—”

Too late. She let the sprayer tumble to the ground and covered the gash on her palm with her other hand. She eyed her father, thoughts of Jack and Colleen weighting the air between them. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

CHAPTER THREE

NARROWING HER EYES against the glare of the sun off polished chrome handles, India pushed through the drugstore doors and angled away from the soda fountain to the stocked shelves. She’d left her father cleaning the Tanners’ yard. He’d offered to drive her, but she’d taken the long way, hoping for a glimpse of Colleen.

India turned down the aisle of first-aid products. She’d never considered what she might do if the baby she’d handed over to Mother Angelica had grown into a fifteen-year-old in trouble. Though he obviously loved her, Jack couldn’t manage to keep Colleen from making one bad decision after another.

Were Colleen’s actions merely those of an average girl of fifteen?

India stopped in front of the bandages. Frustration made her shift on restless feet.

She picked up a tin of Band-Aids. Dinosaurs. Not one serious-looking box in the row. Teletubbies, dolls with big hair, birds with big hair, even soldier gargoyles hulking across adhesive battlefields, but not one plain Band-Aid. And no answers to her questions, either.

“Grandma, what about this one? Golden Auburn? How could Dad object to Golden Auburn?

India dropped the tin. As it rattled across the floor, she ducked after it. Colleen’s voice. She knew it with a mixture of delight and apprehension that clenched her stomach muscles. But “Grandma”? Colleen was playing hooky with her grandmother?

“Are you kidding? Your dad would throw Grandpa and me into the street.” The light voice paused. “Frankly, I couldn’t blame him. Absolutely no more hair color for you, Colleen.”

“Auburn, Grandma. A-U-B-U-R-N. Not burgundy this time.”

India rose slowly as Colleen inexorably turned her head.

“Trouble,” the older woman said, not noticing her granddaughter’s wandering attention. “T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Can you spell disaster? Put the dye back, and let’s go home.”

Recognition faded slowly to ambivalence in Colleen’s gaze. India nodded, relieved she wasn’t with Chris. Colleen lifted her chin in unwilling acknowledgment.

“I saw your father.” India spoke before she had time to think twice about whether she should. “He’s looking for you.”

At least four inches shorter than the girl by her side, Colleen’s grandmother also turned. A faint tint of lavender in her silvery hair hinted at Colleen’s love of color. She grabbed her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Oh, dear. I forgot the note. Did you speak to your teacher before you left? Did you ask for your assignment for tomorrow?”

Colleen grimaced. “I didn’t go to last period. My other teacher, Mrs. Denton, held us late. They never call parents, Grandma. I figured you’d give me a note tomorrow morning, and I’d straighten it out.”

The older woman hunched her tiny shoulders. “You might as well buy the dye. I’m swimming in soup now.” But as Colleen grabbed a box off the shelf, her grandma snatched it away. “Don’t you know a joke when you hear it? Let’s pay for the rest of this and—” She broke off as the miniature ship’s bell above the drugstore door clanged. “Uh-oh.”

By the time India turned, Jack had already seen Colleen. His relief, potent as India’s, seemed to confuse his daughter. India felt like a tennis spectator.

“Dad?” Colleen took the hair color from her grandmother and shoved it back onto the shelf. “I had a dentist’s appointment.”

Jack’s smile took India’s breath away. He looked so young, his wide mouth masculine and yet terribly tender.

“I forgot,” he said. “Your assistant principal called to say you’d missed your last period class. Thanks for taking her, Nettie.”

“I forgot the note. I’m sorry, Jack.”

He shook his head, a man who’d fought free of danger. “No problem.”

India sucked in a deep breath that somehow made Jack see her. For the slightest moment, they shared silent, heart-felt relief. Comforted and afraid all at the same time, India tried to withdraw. She had to get out of here before he began to wonder why Colleen mattered so much to her.

“Nettie, did Colleen introduce you to India?”

“Not yet, Dad.” Colleen’s exasperation sounded blessedly adolescent.

Jack seemed to agree. His grin widened. He walked toward India, only to narrow his gaze as he stared at her hand, still wrapped in the clean white cloth her father had produced from the depths of his truck. Her heart beat a strangely disturbing rhythm at his concern. She made an instinctive move for the door, but Jack blocked her way.

“Are you all right?” Spoken so close, the words skittered over her skin. Before she could answer, he wrapped his large hand around her forearm. Even through her dismay, she enjoyed the heat of his skin, the weight of his large, capable fingers.

No. This, most of all, wasn’t supposed to happen. She tried to pull away. “I’m fine.”

“Jack,” a bluff voice said, “good to see you out of the boatyard.” A burly man came out of the office behind the counter. He spelled S-A-F-E-T-Y to India.

“I just need these Band-Aids.” She brandished the dinosaur tin like a trophy.

The man looked at her, startled. “Yes, you do. Your hand is bleeding.”

Colleen and Nettie hurried around the shelves at the other end of the aisle. India ping-ponged back to Jack. “It’s already stopped. I only cut it.”

She wrenched away from his dark gaze, rationalizing her strange response to him. He knew things about Colleen that were forever lost to her. Little things, like her favorite ice cream. Big things, like the whys and wherefores of her belligerence toward him.

She tugged out of his grasp, but her arm felt cool where he’d touched her. Cupping her injured hand between her waist and the Band-Aids, she hurried to the counter. “How much are these?” She risked a last glance at Colleen, who stared back with curiosity.

Despite all her best intentions, India’s mouth curved. Gladness overwhelmed her as she memorized the girl’s sharp chin and soft cheeks, the graceful sweep of her poor distressed hair. Colleen smiled back, a real smile this time.

India’s insides crumpled.

Her daughter. The tiny infant she’d loved and longed for and entrusted to Mother Angelica. No longer a mystery, but flesh-and-blood real, and for once in a safe place. Colleen looked like a miracle.

“Wait, that cut’s dirty.” Impossibly oblivious to the longing India wore like a coat, Jack Stephens strode to her side. “Do you need stitches?”

She shook her head and dodged his reaching hand. “No.”