Father in the Making

Blaine had already gathered that. He joined Jack at the table. “She looks like she wants to get close to me, too.” He saw the quizzical look in Jack’s eyes. “With a hatchet.”

Though he loved his daughter, Jack had been very aware that Diane had had her shortcomings. “Diane might have told her a few things—”

Now there was an understatement. “If she had told Bridgette that I was the Boston Strangler and Bluebeard rolled up into one, I still would have had a warmer reception.”

Blaine didn’t know Bridgette the way he did. “Bridgette’s just worried about Mickey.”

“Well, so am I,” Blaine snapped. He realized that he was letting his own tension spill out. Maybe that was why he’d balked at what Bridgette said, as well. No, he amended, the woman had merited his reaction. But Jack didn’t.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Jack, I have no idea how to be a father.”

Jack laughed softly under his breath. “When you find out, you can let the rest of us in on it.” Mentally, he postponed his trip to the store. It was time to walk Spangles. Mickey would probably enjoy that more. He rose stiffly and clamped a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Mostly it’s just flying by the seat of your pants and hoping you don’t crash-land.”

Blaine shook his head. That wasn’t the way he saw it. “My dad always seemed to know what to do, what to say. He was never at a loss in any situation.”

Then he’d be the first, Jack thought. “Your dad was just good at playacting. Fathers only pretend to know what they’re talking about.” He considered Blaine the son he’d never had. “Remember, every father was once a little boy. It’ll work out, Blaine. It’s just going to take time. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll hang around for as long as it takes for you to get comfortable with this.”

Blaine knew it was the coward’s way out, but right now, he wasn’t feeling all that brave about the situation. And talking to Bridgette had just made it worse. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

Jack easily dismissed his thanks. “And don’t be too hard on Bridgette. She loves Mickey a lot.”

Why did he get this feeling that it was a competition between them? “So do I.”

Jack winked, amused at Blaine’s tone. “That gives you something in common.”

Blaine set his empty mug down and pretended to shiver. “Now that’s a scary thought.”

Jack laughed again. It was good to begin to feel alive again. He had three other daughters, but Diane had been his baby. Perhaps he had always favored her because, of all his children, she’d been the one who needed it most, the one with so many insecurities. For whatever the reason, he’d closed his eyes to a lot of her faults.

“After I walk Spangles, I’ll help you hook up your VCR.”

Blaine looked at him in surprise. “You know how to do that?”

Jack pretended to take umbrage at Blaine’s tone. “Hell, not everyone over fifty is a dinosaur.” He squinted a little as he focused on Blaine. “I could probably beat you at that video game as well.”

“Probably.” Blaine’s smile faded a little. “Jack?”

Jack took a box of dog biscuits out of the cupboard and pocketed one. Sometimes, Spangles had to be coaxed to head for home. “Yeah?”

Blaine knew he was lucky to have help at a time like this. “Thanks for being here.”

Gratitude always made him uncomfortable, as if he were wearing a scratchy sweater.

“My pleasure, Blaine, my pleasure.” And then he smiled. “I always did like you.”

Blaine nodded. “Too bad Diane didn’t.”

Jack nodded as he left the kitchen. “Yeah, too bad.”

Chapter Three

It seemed rather unusual to Blaine, with all the things he had on his mind, that he would actually find himself thinking of Bridgette. Yet there she was, thrusting herself into his thoughts like a commuter pushing her way through a crowded subway car to reach the door.

And not just once—he could have dealt with it if it had been just once. No, she popped up, unannounced, unwanted, unbidden, several times within the small space of half a day. Considering that they didn’t exactly hit it off on their first meeting, he couldn’t understand why this was happening.

It was enough to make a sane man crazy.

Blaine glanced at Mickey sitting beside him on the sofa. Dinner had long since been over and Jack had gone out with Bridgette’s grandmother, an attractive, vivacious woman who didn’t deserve the term grandmother or, in Blaine’s opinion, the ignoble honor of being related to Bridgette. That left the two of them alone in the house, if he didn’t count the dog. He knew that it was important to establish a solid routine for Mickey. But Blaine’s life had been anything but routine. It wasn’t easy for him, not only adjusting to but laying down a schedule of some sort.

Desperately casting about for a starting point, Blaine had gladly abandoned his unpacking and coaxed Mickey into watching a television program with him. It was a short, snappy sitcom aimed at the family.

Twenty minutes into the program, that show had cut to a commercial for skin cream. The woman caressing the pink jar had an exquisite complexion that would have rivaled Snow White’s.

The enticing pink hue that had crept up Bridgette’s cheek earlier that day flashed through Blaine’s mind like a bolt of lightning in a sudden summer thunderstorm.

He wondered what Diane had actually told her about him to bring about such an intense reaction from her. Whatever it was, it had to be a lie. He was going to have to set her straight.

Blaine sighed, annoyed with himself. Why did he even care what she thought? And why in heaven’s name was she preying on his mind with the tenacity of a carnivorous jackal?

The answer, he supposed, was simple enough if he thought about it. She was returning tomorrow and he didn’t want her to. The last thing he needed right now was recriminations or someone telling him what he was doing wrong. What he needed was someone to tell him what to do right.

He slanted a glance toward his son. Mickey had been sitting beside him on the sofa for the last half hour. He was staring straight ahead at the set, his expression devoid of any emotion. Spangles was parked at the boy’s feet, vainly waiting to be stroked.

Just as Blaine had vainly waited for a glimmer of a smile to appear on Mickey’s face at the on-screen antics of an utterly improbable family. Nothing remotely bearing a resemblance to a smile had creased his son’s lips.

Had Diane’s death completely wiped away Mickey’s feelings? No, he wasn’t going to accept that. He wasn’t certain how, but somehow, he was going to find a way to break through to Mickey.

But not today.

Blaine looked at his watch. It was getting late and was undoubtedly past Mickey’s bedtime. He’d never had the boy with him overnight. Even when he’d had the time, Diane hadn’t allowed it. They’d call it a night, he decided, and start fresh tomorrow.

“Ready for bed?”

Secretly, he hoped for a protest. Little boys always tried to wangle an extra ten minutes or so. It was inherent in their nature. Bedtime was something to be avoided at all costs, even if you were falling on your face, exhausted.

Mickey rose to his feet. Spangles gained his legs beside him. “Sure.”

It suddenly occurred to Blaine that the only spark of emotion he had seen his son display was when the boy had first seen Bridgette. It had gone out almost immediately, but it had been there.

That clinched it. If he listened, he could have sworn he heard a cell door clanging shut.

Bridgette was probably the key to unlocking what was boarded up inside of Mickey. Like it or not, he was going to have to put up with the woman for his son’s sake.

He didn’t like it.

He liked the fact that she was right even less. Right that this subdued manner in which Mickey was dealing with his mother’s death wasn’t good. Blaine readily admitted that he didn’t know much about children, but he knew that Mickey’s reaction just wasn’t natural. He hadn’t seen him shed a single tear, and Jack had told him that the boy had remained dry-eyed at the funeral, as well. Blaine knew Mickey had loved his mother and had been very close to her.

Blaine took Mickey’s hand. It curved, small and lifeless, within his. “Want me to tuck you in?”