“Would you like some hot chocolate? I just put some on.”
“Got any chocolate chip cookies?” he asked. She grinned, eyes warm with humor, pulling a smile from him in answer. She always baked cookies when Cassie was around. And they were always chocolate chip, both his and Cassie’s favorite.
They headed into the kitchen together. There Sharon filled stoneware mugs while Grant piled a plate high with fresh-baked cookies. She settled across the table from him, and a comfortable silence surrounded them, broken by the murmur of the storm outside, the steady tick-tick of the kitchen clock, Sharon sipping her hot chocolate.
Grant could close his eyes and re-create the familiar scene. The sounds. The scent of her house. Sharon’s soft, red-brown curls framing winter-pale skin sprinkled with freckles; the darkness of her velvet brown eyes.
Eyes he suddenly realized were fixed on him, a frown creasing her brow. He put down his mug, recognizing that look.
“Problems?” he asked, not certain he really wanted to know.
She started to shake her head, then stopped, setting her mug aside. “I’m worried about you.” She held out a hand when he started to protest. “You work too much, Grant. When do you have time for fun anymore? When was the last time you wanted to have fun?”
The words spilled from her faster than he could stop them.
“Two sitters in three months. I know it’s not your fault these women seem to think Cassie is a way into your bed and your heart, but what are you going to do, Grant? I know you are still grieving, but—”
He placed a finger against her lips. A brief touch that stopped the flow of words better than argument could.
Grieving? Yes and no, but he wasn’t about to correct her. There were some things he couldn’t talk about, even with Sharon.
“I know you worry, Mom,” he teased gently. “Things should slow down at work one of these days, and I will find a sitter.”
As for Catherine…
The clock chimed twelve times. He hesitated, then shrugged and scooted the chair back. “I had better get Cassie and head home.”
Sharon studied him briefly, shook her head with a sigh.
He knew the argument was not over. Sharon never gave up that easy.
“It’s too late to argue. I’ll bag some cookies for you to take,” she finally said.
Grant nodded, then left her to the task.
The bedroom was dark except for the faint illumination from a night-light washing across Cassie. She was sleeping on her back, mouth slightly parted, one arm flung to the side, the other wrapped around Brittany’s neck.
The pup cracked an eye, head nestled across Cassie’s chest. Her tail began to thump, slow, then fast and faster, as Grant walked into the room.
He knelt by the bed and reached to touch Cassie’s cheek. A soft, reverent touch. This child of his, so tiny and perfect, with a fragile beauty and a hold on his heart so strong that it sometimes terrified him.
“Daddy?” Her eyes fluttered open.
“Hello, pumpkin,” he whispered.
He gently lifted her, her thin arms squeezing round his neck in a vise-grip hug that defied efforts to breathe. Breathing wasn’t important. Nothing was important except for the little girl in his arms. He closed his eyes, bathed in her scent and reveled in the silken cheek pressed against his, in the warmth that rushed through him. The feeling of coming home, of rightness, when he held his daughter.
He finally relaxed the hug, then sat on the bed, Cassie in his lap, to greet Brittany, who wiggled and whined with impatience. She leaned into Grant, head planted in Cassie’s lap, while he scratched behind a silken ear.
“Brittany is my best friend,” Cassie said sleepily against his chest. “Except for Sharon. I love Sharon the best—no, I love you the best, Daddy. And then Sharon. And then Brittany.”
Grant swallowed hard. “I know you do, pumpkin,” he said in a husky voice.
Sharon waited in the living room, Cassie’s small suitcase standing by the door. “I put the cookies in the suitcase, she said. Cassie bent toward Sharon, hooked a small arm around her neck and dragged her against Grant’s shoulder for a goodbye kiss, while Brittany leaned into his legs.
Sharon’s head stopped at his jaw. She was no taller than she’d been in ninth grade. She smelled of soap and lemon-scented shampoo, and her warmth burned through his jacket.
“I love you, Sharon,” Cassie whispered loudly.
Sharon hugged back with a gentle laugh, then disentangled herself. “I love you, too, little goose.” She handed Grant a blanket to wrap around Cassie. .
Grant finished the task, then reached to ruffle Sharon’s curls. “I owe you, once again.”
Sharon pushed his hand away with a grin. “Hey, you know I spent hours fixing that do! And you know you don’t owe me anything except…well, maybe dinner out next week. Chinese?” Her grin faded. “Seriously, Grant, you know I don’t mind helping out. It’s all part of being friends.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been pretty friendly lately,” he said softly. “And I will be grateful if I want to.”
He turned toward the door and picked up Cassie’s suitcase. “Call me tomorrow,” Sharon said, then pulled the door open and ushered them out. She stood in the glow of the porch light, shivering, watching until they pulled out of the drive and started down the road.
Though it was only a few miles, Cassie was asleep by the time they drove up the hill to the house. The house he had built to try to make Catherine happy. And now lived alone in with his daughter.
Not that he could blame Catherine for her death; even he could not be so heartless. But before—
Steely resolve clamped a fist on the thought and squashed the life from it before it was completed. Grant did not have time to wallow in the past. Streetlights washed the other lots, empty except for four feet of snow, before finally capturing his house at the end of the cul de sac, standing alone in the shoulder of the mountain overlooking town.
The few lights on in the town below seemed to flicker, one or two here, a handful over there. Startled bursts of yellow-white against the swirling snow, which was now slowing, thinning to a mere flurry. Light from the Alyeska Pipeline Marine Terminal reached from across the arm of Prince William Sound. A faint light that stretched upward with long, buttery fingers to brush at the dark shadows of snow-filled mountains slowly materializing as the clouds began to lift.
The door to the three-car garage slid open. The far stall was filled with snow machines, snow blower and an assortment of skis and garden tools, bicycles, gas grill and lawn chairs, fishing poles and hip-waders that had cracked from age and disuse. The other two stalls were unoccupied until Grant pulled the pickup in.
They were a reminder the house was empty, as if he needed one. That he alone was responsible for the health and welfare of the tiny girl slumped against his side in sleep. And once again, that he was without a baby-sitter.
Frustration swept him, so sudden and strong that he wanted to slam a fist against the steering wheel. What did he have to do to find someone who wasn’t more interested in him than his daughter? Instead of abusing the pickup, he pushed the automatic opener and listened to the door grumble to a close. Taking a deep breath, he gathered Cassie in his arms and made his way into the cool, silent house to her room.
He pulled blankets close up under her chin, then brushed a knuckle against her silken cheek. He had to find another baby-sitter, one who would fill their needs without wanting to occupy his bed. In the meantime, Cassie would keep on going to day care during the day. And he would continue to rely on Sharon for help.
Three