“I like to watch Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street,” she said.
He frowned. “What?”
“They come on television.”
“Oh. Well, help yourself.”
He moved out of the room, ignoring the coffee. Which was sad, because Sarah Jane discovered it in the big silver pot and proceeded to help herself to the now cool liquid while he was on the telephone in the hall. Her cry caused him to drop the receiver in mid-sentence.
She was drenched in coffee and screaming her head off. She wasn’t the only wet thing, either. The carpet and part of the sofa were saturated and the tray was an inch deep with black liquid.
“I told you to stay out of the coffee, didn’t I?” Blake said as he knelt to see if she had been burned. Which, thank God, she hadn’t; she was more frightened than hurt.
“I wanted some,” she murmured tearfully. “I ruined my pretty dress.”
“That isn’t all that’s going to get ruined, either,” he said ominously, and abruptly tugged her over his knee and gave her bottom a slap. “When I say no, I mean no. Do you understand me, Sarah Jane Donavan?” he asked firmly.
She was too surprised to cry anymore. She stared at him warily. “Is that my name now?”
“It’s always been your name,” he replied. “You’re a Donavan. This is your home.”
“I like coffee,” she said hesitantly.
“And I said you weren’t to drink it,” he reminded her.
She took a deep breath. “Okay.” She picked up the coffeepot, only to have it taken from her and put on the table. “I can clean it up,” she said. “Mommy always made me clean up my mess.”
“This is more than you can cope with, sprout. And God only knows what we’re going to put on you while those things are washed.”
Mrs. Jackson came in and put both hands to her mouth. “Saints alive!”
“Towels, quick,” Blake said.
She went to get them, muttering all the way.
Minutes later the mess was gone, Sarah Jane was bundled up in a makeshift towel dress and her clothes were being washed and dried. Blake went into his study and locked the door, shamelessly leaving Mrs. Jackson to cope with Sarah while he had a few minutes’ peace. He had a feeling that it was going to be more and more difficult to find any quiet place in his life from now on.
He wasn’t sure he was going to like being a father. It was a whole new kind of responsibility, and his daughter seemed to have inherited his strength of will and stubbornness. She was going to be a handful. Mrs. Jackson knew no more about kids than he did, and that wasn’t going to help, either. But he didn’t feel right about sending Sarah off to a boarding school. He knew what it was like to be alone and unwanted and not too physically appealing. He felt a kind of kinship with this child, and he was reluctant to push her out of his life. On the other hand, how in hell was he going to live with her?
But over and above that problem was the newest one. Meredith Calhoun was coming to Jack’s Corner for a whole month, according to that newspaper. In that length of time he was sure to see her, and he had mixed feelings about opening up the old wounds. He wondered if she felt the same way, or if, in her fame and wealth, she’d left the memories of him in the past. He wanted to see her all the same. Even if she still hated him.
Chapter 2
Blake and Mrs. Jackson usually ate their evening meal with a minimum of conversation. But that was another old custom that was going to change.
Sarah Jane was a walking encyclopedia of questions. One answer led to another why and another, until Blake was ready to get under the table. And just the mention of bedtime brought on a tantrum. Mrs. Jackson tried to cajole the child into obeying, but Sarah Jane only got louder. Blake settled the matter by picking her up and carrying her to her new room.
Mrs. Jackson helped her undress and get into bed and Blake paused at her bedside reluctantly to say goodnight.
“You don’t like me,” Sarah accused.
He almost bristled at her mutinous expression, but she was a proud child, and he didn’t want to break her spirit. She’d need it as she grew older.
“I don’t know you,” he replied reasonably. “Any more than you know me. People don’t become friends on the spur of the moment. It takes time, sprout.”
She considered that as she lay there, swallowed whole by the size of the bed under her and the thick white coverlet over her. She watched him curiously. “You don’t hate little children, do you?” she asked finally.
“I don’t hate kids,” he said. “I’m just not used to them. I’ve been by myself for a long time.”
“Did you love my mommy?”
That question was harder to answer. His broad shoulders rose and fell. “I thought she was beautiful. I wanted to marry her.”
“She didn’t like me,” Sarah confided. “Can I really stay here? And I don’t have to go back to Daddy Brad?”
“No, you don’t have to go back. We’ll have to do some adjusting, Sarah, but we’ll get used to each other.”
“I’m scared with the light off,” she confessed.
“We’ll leave a night-light on.”
“What if a monster comes?” she asked.
“I’ll kill it, of course,” he reassured her with a smile.
She shifted under the covers. “Aren’t you scared of monsters?”
“Nope.”
She smiled for the first time. “Okay.” She stared at him for a minute. “You have a scar on your face,” she said, pointing to his right cheek.
His fingers touched it absently. “So I do.” He’d long ago given up being sensitive about it, but he didn’t like going into the way he’d gotten it. “Good night, sprout.”
He didn’t offer to read her a story or tell her one. In fact, he didn’t know any he could tell a child. And he didn’t tuck her in or kiss her. That would have been awkward. But Sarah didn’t ask for those things or seem to need them. Perhaps she hadn’t had much affection. She acted very much like a child who’d been turned loose and not bothered with overmuch.
He went back downstairs and into his study, to finish the day’s business that had been put on hold while he’d coped with Sarah’s arrival. Tomorrow Mrs. Jackson would have to handle things. He couldn’t steal time from a board meeting for one small child.
* * *
Jack’s Corner was a medium-sized Oklahoma city, and Blake’s office was in a new mall complex that was both modern and spacious. The next day, he and his board were just finalizing the financing for an upcoming project, when his secretary came in, flustered and apprehensive.
“Mr. Donavan, it’s your housekeeper on the phone. Could you speak with her, please?”
“I told you not to interrupt me unless it was urgent, Daisy,” he told the young blond woman curtly.
She hesitated nervously. “Please, sir?”
He got up and excused himself, striding angrily out into the waiting room to pick up the phone with a hard glare at Daisy.
“Okay, Amie, what’s wrong?” he asked shortly.
“I quit.”
“Oh, my God, not yet,” he shot back. “Not