Annette Broadrick Read online

  WHAT'S A DAD TO DO?

  by Annette Broadrick

  Chapter One

  The persistent sound of the doorbell eventually seeped into Tess's sleep-drugged mind. She fought her way to bleary-eyed consciousness, managing to open her eyes wide enough to focus on the digital clock beside her bed.

  It was barely six o'clock.

  In the morning.

  A Saturday morning.

  A no-work, chance-to-sleep-in kind of morning. Whoever was at her door must have decided to make a career out of pressing the button--continuing to lean on it with unremitting, relentless enthusiasm despite the fact that no one was responding.

  Tess wasn't sure she could respond, even if she really cared to find out what kind of idiot would be so rude. Her body refused to cooperate with any of the signals her sluggish mind was attempting to send.

  The faithful caller downstairs didn't appear to feel the slightest bit of remorse for Tess's physical or mental condition. The doorbell continued to echo throughout her Pasadena, California, condominium with an irritating persistence.

  "All right, already," she finally muttered, pushing herself into a sitting position with trembling arms.

  She'd spent the greater part of the night in the bathroom exhibiting the rather disgusting symptoms of some kind of stomach virus. She hadn't stopped throwing up until sometime after four o'clock, when her stomach had finally seemed to notice that she had absolutely nothing more to offer to the process and mercifully eased its cramping pains.

  The muscles just below her ribs were still sore. At the moment she felt weaker than a newborn tiger. And three times as mean.

  The door hell continued to ring.

  She fumbled around the foot of the bed for her knee-length robe. Whoever was there was certainly going to receive a piece of her mind! Of that she was sure. At the moment, however, she wasn't too certain she had a piece to spare. Her mind seemed to have taken some sort of vacation, no doubt under the reasonable impression that her body could be safely counted on to remain horizontal for a few more hours.

  Not a bad assumption, considering the night she'd just spent. Too bad the idiot at the door didn't seem to understand that a door hell not answered should he treated with some respect and left alone after a proper interval of nonresponse.

  These dark thoughts accompanied a barefoot Tess as she made her way down the stairs, across the hall and to the front door. By the time she jerked open the door--the safety chain still in place--several methods of exquisite torture had already popped into her head, all of which she would take delight in performing on whomever stood on the other side of the threshold.

  "Can't you have a little mercy at this time of morning, for God's sake..."

  Her voice trailed off as she stared at her early-morning caller, her mouth slightly open in stunned disbelief.

  The man comfortably leaning against the stair railing, his finger still pressed firmly against her doorbell, looked as disreputable as any of the homeless people that seemed to congregate along some of the off ramps of the Ventura freeway... with the exception of the obviously expensive cameras and equipment draped around his neck.

  His blond hair was overdue for a trim and his lean cheeks were covered with at least two days worth of beard. His silver-gray eyes looked tired and a little bloodshot.

  And his clothes? The least said, the better. Not only did the faded jeans, jersey, battered denim jacket and hiking boots show how hard they'd been used, but they also didn't look particularly clean.

  But his grin was as spectacular as a tropical sunrise.

  Tess closed her eyes and swallowed, hoping against hope that she was hallucinating, or even better, just

  having one of those awful nightmares that sometimes accompanied a virus.

  Unfortunately for her peace of mind and uncertain stomach, he was still standing there when she opened them once more. At least he'd had the decency to remove his finger from the doorbell before She'd been tempted to sever the damn thing to gain some blessed silence.

  He slowly straightened to his full height, a good five inches over her own not inconsiderable five-foot-seven-inch frame. He eyed her warily--as well he should!--keeping that damn grin of his firmly in place, knowing exactly how lethal a weapon it was against any angry attack she might make.

  "What are you doing here?" she finally asked, disgusted at herself to once again discover that she could never stay angry at the man in front of her when he looked at her in that way, no matter how just her cause might be. "You were going to Tibet for two years," she managed to say with the last remnants of her irritation. "Can't you read a calendar, Jamison? You've barely been gone two months. Come back in another twenty-two months, all right? But not at six o'clock in the morning!"

  She hated herself for noticing that even his memorably lopsided grin looked a little beat. That wasn't her problem, was it? The L.A. area was full of hotels and motels, a great many out by the international airport. He certainly hadn't needed to come all the way to Pasadena to "Is that any way to greet your best pal in the whole wide world, Tess?" His eyes took on a sparkle, damn him anyway, as he took a step closer to the door.

  She eyed him morosely. "You might have been my best pal in the third grade, Craig, but I've had reason to revise that opinion more than once in the twenty-five years since then."

  They both knew she didn't mean a word of it, that they had always been there for each other through the years, and he was kind enough to let her muttered remark pass without comment.

  After all, he knew her well enough to know how sacred she considered her sleep time, and yet here he was on her doorstep at six o'clock on a Saturday morning--a severe test for the most enduring friendship.

  He lifted his arms high above his head, stretching and twisting with a groan. "I know it's early for you. I didn't plan it this way, believe me. I feel like I've been flying for days to get here. We've got to talk, Tess. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

  She gave his suggestion a great deal of thought before murmuring, "Do I have a choice?"--a rhetorical question if she'd ever heard one, because she already knew the answer.

  Tess closed the door in order to unhook the chain, then threw it open and turned away, saying, "Come

  on in, but don't expect me to talk to you anytime soon. I'm going back to bed where I intend to sleep through the next several hours." She paused at the top of the stairs and added with a little. more cordiality, "Make yourself at home. I'll see you later."

  The closing of her bedroom door echoed through ut the place.

  Craig had already scooped up his duffel bag and stepped inside by that time so that he was able to watch her progress up the stairs. She was still muttering something to herself when she closed the door--no doubt something uncomplimentary about him and all of his ancestors. He was glad he couldn't make out what she said.

  He winced when her bedroom door slammed shut. The numbing sense of dull fatigue he'd accumulated by crossing a series of time zones settled around him like a familiar cloak.

  He was here now, that was the important thing. She hadn't slammed the door in his face, which was a good sign. She'd actually spoken to him. Another good sign.

  Of course he'd known she wouldn't be thrilled to see him at six o'clock in the morning. He smiled, thinking about the years he'd known her and what a grump she was until she finally woke up. She would have faced the president of the United States with a similar attitude at six o'clock in the morning, and she had actively campaigned for the man.

  She'd come around eventually. When she did, he intended to talk to her about the revelations he'd had during the past two months. About her. About him. About the two of them.

  He'd never been so nervous concerning the ou
tcome of anything in his entire life than he was about her reaction to what he intended to tell her.

  He still stood in the foyer, aware of the silence around him. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. There was a clock ticking in the living room. Otherwise, he could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

  Now that he was here he wasn't certain what to do next. He ran his hand through his hair. A hot shower sounded good... that, and a fresh cup of coffee. He was sick of old, reheated coffee and stale rolls.

  Craig wandered into the kitchen and searched through her cupboards until he found what he needed, then went through the familiar routine of making coffee. While he was waiting for it to brew, he carried his battered duffel bag into the den. One wall, almost entirely made of glass, looked out on her backyard, which was surrounded by a high stone fence.

  He dumped the contents of his bag into a heap on the floor and pawed his way through the pile, looking for the cleanest of his dirty clothes, before heading for the shower downstairs.

  on in, but don't expect me to talk to you anytime soon. I'm going back to bed where I intend to sleep through the next several hours." She paused at the top of the stairs and added with a little. more cordiality, "Make yourself at home. I'll see you later."

  The closing of her bedroom door echoed through ut the place.

  Craig had already scooped up his duffel bag and stepped inside by that time so that he was able to watch her progress up the stairs. She was still muttering something to herself when she closed the door--no doubt something uncomplimentary about him and all of his ancestors. He was glad he couldn't make out what she said.

  He winced when her bedroom door slammed shut. The numbing sense of dull fatigu e he'd accumulated by crossing a series of time zones settled around him like a familiar cloak.

  He was here now, that was the important thing. She hadn't slammed the door in his face, which was a good sign. She'd actually spoken to him. Another good sign.

  Of course he'd known she wouldn't be thrilled to see him at six o'clock in the morning. He smiled, thinking about the. years he'd known her and what a grump she was until she finally woke up. She would have faced the president of the United States with a similar attitude at six o'clock in the morning, and she had actively campaigned for the man.

  She'd come around eventually. When she did, he intended to talk to her about the revelations he'd had during the past two months. About her. About him. About the two of them.

  He'd never been so nervous concerning the outcome of anything in his entire life than he was about her reaction to what he intended to tell her.

  He still stood in the foyer, aware of the silence around him. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. There was a clock ticking in the living room. Otherwise, he could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

  Now that he was here he wasn't certain what to do next. He ran his hand through his hair. A hot shower sounded good... that, and a fresh cup of coffee. He was sick of old, reheated coffee and stale rolls.

  Craig wandered into the kitchen and searched through her cupboards until he found what he needed, then went through the familiar routine of making coffee. While he was waiting for it to brew, he carried his battered duffel bag into the den. One wall, almost entirely made of glass, looked out on her backyard, which was surrounded by a high stone fence.

  He dumped the contents of his bag into a heap on the floor and pawed his way through the pile, looking for the cleanest of his dirty clothes, before heading for the shower downstairs.

  While he scrubbed his face and shoulders with some kind of feminine-smelling soap, Craig worked on emptying his mind of anything but thoughts of the present 'moment. He refused to rehearse what he wanted to say. That sort of thing never worked out for him, anyway. It was better to just take life moment by moment as it occurred.

  After rinsing away the remaining lather from his hips and thighs, Craig remained under the hot, stinging spray, allowing the water to soothe his battered body. As much as he enjoyed traveling around the world, capturing the wild beauty of some of the earth's most primitive areas with the lenses of his cameras, there were times when he yearned for such sybaritic pleasures as hot running water and strong water pressure, not to mention the precious gift of electricity and all the attendant appliances that modern civilization had come up with to make life a little easier. The more he traveled, the more he appreciated all the comforts of his homeland.

  Eventually he turned off the water, found Tess's extra supply of disposable razors and shaved.

  By the time he'd gotten dressed and thrown his first batch of cloth into her washing machine off the kitchen, Craig was more than ready for some coffee. He poured himself a cup, then returned to the den where he settled back on the comfortable sofa and propped his bare feet up on the coffee table.

  He felt a little strange, being here at Tess's place. She'd bought it a couple of years ago while he was on one of his trips. His visit two months before was the first time he'd been there.

  In the past he'd stayed with his folks whenever he happened to be in town. His family had lived in Pasadena since long before he was born, but after that last earthquake, his room had announced that she'd had enough. So they'd ended up moving to Scottsdale, Arizona.

  He wasn't sure if he was going to visit them this trip or not. He really wasn't sure what he was going to do about a lot of things, just yet. So much depended on Tess.

  God, he'd been such a fool the last time he'd been here. He still couldn't believe it. He'd flown in to L.A. from Arizona the day before he was to leave for Asia, figuring he'd look up Tess, since he hadn't seen her in a few years.

  He'd gotten a room at one of the hotels near the airport, then called her. That's when he'd heard all that she'd had to face since they'd last talked on the phone.

  Years ago they'd lived next door to each other, but their lives couldn't have. been more different. She'd grown up never knowing her father. He'd left before she was born. She'd lived with her mother who seemed to be at work all the time, leaving her grandmother to look after her.

  Her mother had died a few years ago, but at least she'd gone quickly. Not like her grandmother who had slowly succumbed to cancer over a long period of time.

  Tess had taken a leave of absence from work to stay with her grandmother those last months, acceding to the older woman's wishes that she not be placed in a hospital to die.

  Craig discovered during their telephone conversation that Tess's grandmother had pas'd away a few weeks before. He'd taken Tess to dinner that night and they had talked, really talked, in a way they'd never done before. He'd seen a side of Tess he would never have suspected existed. She'd always seemed so self-sufficient in all the years he'd known her. Never had she seemed so vulnerable.

  It had done something to him, seeing her so uncertain about picking up the threads of her life once again, having no one left in her small family to love and look after.

  He'd continued with his travel plans, of course. That had been his first mistake. He should never have left her the way he did. Once gone, he couldn't get her out of his mind.

  He recalled how amused his mother had been when they were children that Craig and his other buddies had been willing to let the tomboyish Tess hang out with them--go on hiking trips, take part in the neighborhood sports, even become an honorary member of their secret club.

  In high school, Tess had still been a part of the same group. She'd even dated one or two of his friends, as he recalled. He'd never dated her, of course. It would have been like going out with his sister.

  Or so he'd thought back then.

  So when had his feelings changed?

  He didn't know. He might not ever know. And did it really matter all that much, now?

  All he knew was that after that last visit with her, nothing would be the same again for him where Tess was concerned. He just didn't know what he was going to do about it.

  It was up to Tess.

  The seductive scent
of frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee eventually roused Tess a second time that morning. Without opening her eyes, she inhaled deeply, smiling to herself.

  Granny was up, she thought dreamily, and was going to surprise her with Her eyelids flashed open and she sat up in bed. Granny had died three months ago, and even before then, she'd been too ill to get out of bed.

  So who--?

  Memories of her early-morning caller flooded through her and she groaned, falling back onto her pillow.

  What was Craig Jamison doing back in her life? What impish force of fate had drawn him to return to Pasadena now when he was supposed to be gone for years? How could she ever successfully deal with the feelings he evoked in her if he kept popping up in her life this way?

  A slight sound from the doorway drew her attention. Think of the devil and there he appeared. Craig peered around the door, meeting her disgruntled gaze with another one of his smiles before continuing through the doorway.

  "Your coffee, Ms. Cassidy. Just the way you like it."

  He looked a little better than he had earlier. He'd obviously showered, shaved and found jeans and a shirt in slightly better condition. They were wrinkled, which wasn't surprising considering the way he packed, but they looked clean.

  "What time is it?" she asked, scooting up in bed and greedily reaching for the cup without actually making eye contact. She was never her best in the morning, but particularly not after the night she'd had. Her hair hung limply around her shoulders and she was wearing her rattiest nightshirt.

  "Sometime after eleven. I'm really sorry about getting you out of bed this morning. I was actually due to arrive last night, but there were all kinds of delays with my flights. I suppose I could have gone to a hotel--"

  She waved her hand as she blissfully inhaled the aroma from the cup she held in her other one. "You don't owe me an apology, Craig, you just caught me at an awkward time." She rubbed her stomach ruefully. "I spent most of the night battling some kind of stomach bug and had only been asleep a couple of hours when you got here. Sorry about the reception you received."

  He dismissed her apology, eyeing her warily. "You're sick? I wondered why you were so pale. Did you call a doctor?"