All-American Father

“I had a few minutes back at the Stop Right.” She wiped her hands on her apron. Smoothed them over the tendrils of hair framing her delicate cheekbones. “Beyond that, I’m fresh out of time to make a difference in anyone’s life.”

The hitch in her voice, the tears in her eyes as she brushed by, was a new low Derrick hadn’t thought his day could sink to. He had somehow hurt her. And that was dirty pool.

If Bailey were still just pissed, that would be one thing. Having to ask a near stranger for help wasn’t his strong suit, but if she’d fired off another put-down, flashed another of those scathing looks, called him an inept father, he would have followed her back into the bistro and tried to reason with her some more.

But causing Bailey Greenwood even more distress tonight was out of the question, no matter how desperate he was.

CHAPTER THREE

LESLIE SNUCK OUT of her bedroom window, leaving the house and her Saturday morning babysitter behind, and headed across Langston to meet up with Julia Parker. Her dad would be working in the city all day—again. And their stupid neighbor had fallen asleep on the couch, while Savannah zoned out on cartoons.

Bolting from house arrest had been so easy, it was embarrassing.

You’re a smart girl, her dad had insisted last night. Smarter than this. We’ll figure out a way to get the shop owner to see reason. But you’ve got to stop trying to get back at me by trashing your life.

She hated him.

She hated her mom.

Her stupid life.

The stupid box of condoms she’d been caught stealing.

Ginger Nash had called her a baby, because Leslie had never even seen a rubber. So just to prove how grown up she was, what had Leslie done? She’d chickened out of buying them and tried to grab-and-go instead.

Still, she’d gotten what she wanted. The news of her crime had spread all over Langston. It had even made it as far as her little sister’s elementary school by yesterday afternoon.

Are you going to jail? Savannah had asked over frozen dinners and Kool-Aid last night.

Of course she’s not going to jail!

Their dad’s fist had pounded the table beside his plate of microwaved-beyond-recognition lasagna. He’d promised to fix the mess Leslie had made, then he’d squeezed Savannah’s hand, because she’d started to cry. He might be the Mighty DC, but tears got to him every time. They’d gotten Savannah an extra story before bedtime.

Well, Leslie didn’t want another story. She didn’t want her dad to fix things here. She wanted her life in Atlanta back. Things the way they used to be. She wanted her dad to have the guts to admit that their West Coast new start sucked.

Why did he have to look like he was going to puke every time she talked about going home? Sure, her mom was in Atlanta, parading around with her new husband like she was all that. But if both her parents were going to ignore Leslie, at least they could let her have her friends and her old school back.

Crossing the street to get to the bookstore Julia had said to meet at, Leslie scrubbed at her eyes.

Wiping away tears was different than crying.

“You ready to go?” Julia asked around the straw in her can of Coke. “Ginger’s mom’s gone for the weekend, and her grandmother’s book club is meeting until five. No one will bother us as long as we stay in her basement.”

Mrs. Nash was always gone, and Ginger knew how to make the most of every opportunity to make trouble. And a little more trouble was exactly what Leslie needed.

“Let’s go.” She grabbed at Julia’s Coke and took a swig that didn’t quite settle her stomach. She’d be grounded for the rest of her life after this.

Whatever.

As long as it got her dad out of his fancy downtown office and back on this side of the bay. Then maybe he’d see that Leslie didn’t fit here, and he’d take her and her sister back to Atlanta.

Their family’s move to a new city on a new coast wasn’t going to work.

Leslie planned to make sure of it.

“WE OWE TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS in back taxes.” Beverly Greenwood gulped at her granddaughter’s double take. “Travis thinks he might have missed a few things on a couple of our returns.”

“What was his first clue?” Bailey dropped the IRS audit summons to the kitchen table.

Why had Beverly thought it was a good idea to have their addled, retired CPA neighbor do their taxes for free?

Because it was free!

For a word that basically meant nothing, free could be terribly important to a woman in Beverly’s financial bind. And the inn’s balance sheet had been chafing for years.

Seven o’clock on a Sunday morning was too early for dire business strategizing, but their weekend guests, including newlyweds, would be expecting breakfast soon. Four of the inn’s six suites were booked. A nice ratio for the fall season, and Beverly should be grateful for the business. Still, there’d be three loads of sheets and towels to do. Four, once the linens from the dining room were cleared. All before she started on the light lunch the inn now included in the room rate.

The day-to-day grind of keeping the family business afloat was fast becoming an exercise in futility.

There’d been little time for anything but survival the last couple of years. She and Bailey were exhausted. Bookings were down. Their inn didn’t have the high-end trappings vacation travelers looked for these days. Or the “location, location, location” on the San Francisco side of the bridge, that would have smoothed over the quainter parts of their establishment.

Beverly didn’t mind covering the housework, now that they’d cut their staff to the bone. Or cooking most of the day, since they could no longer afford to bring in even the simplest dishes from local vendors. This place was the only home, the only life, she’d ever known.

But her granddaughter, her beautiful, brilliant granddaughter…

Bailey had been running the business side of the inn since her father died. Not to mention scrambling for whatever money she could make elsewhere. She’d given up so much, taking more on her strong shoulders than should ever have been hers. Putting her own dreams on hold year after year.

“I should have double-checked Travis’s returns.” Bailey dropped her head into her hands.

“You’ve been a little busy lately, keeping our buns out of the bank’s fire.”

“Yeah, well, the government wants its crack at our buns now.” Bailey had meant to reassure her grandmother, but her pun fell flat. “We don’t have ten thousand dollars, Grams.”

The panic that came with the realization was nothing new. Bailey had once collected labels like promising and gifted. Her grandmother, her dad, had been so proud. They’d given her every chance to stretch her wings and fly into the future they’d assured her was within her grasp.

Then in a blink, that future was gone.

Her father’s fatal heart attack at forty-five had been explained away by a genetic defect. No one could have known anything was wrong. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault, the doctor kept saying. As if assigning blame was the point.

Bailey had lost her world. The center of everything that her life had revolved around.

Almost everything.

She hadn’t lost Grams. And they hadn’t lost the inn yet. Saving this place had gotten her and her grandmother through the darkest of the last eleven years.

“We can meet with the auditor, right?” There had to be a way to make this work. “We’ll explain our situation and figure something out.”

“Honey…” Her grandmother’s sigh reeked of giving up. “There’s just so much we can do. I didn’t mention it before, but a lawyer called a few months ago. He has a client looking to expand their spa franchise to the West Coast. Maybe we should—”