He’d said what he had to make her feel important, not to complain about being inconvenienced. What would Sara do? He couldn’t imagine his ex-wife allowing Eliza to be a brat. Then again, Sara had never done anything to earn such legitimate enmity. Was Adam reaping what he deserved? Regardless, this wasn’t the tone he wanted to set for the rest of their stay in Mistletoe, nor was it the behavioral example he wanted to set for Morgan.
“Eliza, I have to ask you to watch your tone,” he said. Her eyebrows shot up, her dark eyes firing sparks at him, but he pressed bravely forward. “I understand you’re angry—”
“You don’t understand me! You don’t even know me!”
“I’m trying to,” he said firmly.
She met his gaze, but said nothing further. Finally she looked out the window. Was it his overly hopeful imagination, or had a tiny bit of tension drained from her slim body? At least she seemed to be thinking about what he’d said, instead of firing back a rejoinder about how they were just fine without him. Small steps.
After all, no one walked into an operating room their first day of med school and performed a cardiopulmonary bypass. There were lessons that had to be learned, techniques that had to be perfected. He didn’t delude himself that he would ever be a perfect father, but surely, with practice, he could do better than this. Half the time she gave the hostile impression that she would take out a contract hit on him if only her allowance were high enough.
Figuring he’d done what he could to pacify one daughter for the moment, he turned to the other. Morgan had watched the exchange with increasingly wide eyes.
He reached between the seats, awkwardly patting her on the knee. “You okay, pumpkin?”
“Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “Just hungry.”
“We’ll eat right after we take the dog home,” Adam promised.
Geoff beamed at him. “I got so wigged-out the first time I asked Gina for a date that I thought I was gonna blow chow. Without even trying, you got a girl to invite you to dinner and she offered to pay. Awesome.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. Well, at least one of my kids thinks I’m doing something right.
AS ADAM NAVIGATED the crowded parking lot outside the Dixieland Diner, Brenna dialed Quinn Keller’s number. The two women had been casual acquaintances for years, but recently they’d become closer friends. Quinn lived in a duplex, two adjoining homes that shared a front and backyard. The other half belonged to Dylan Echols, who’d surprised his widowed mother with a maltipoo puppy on Mother’s Day. But he’d been thoughtful enough to first work with Brenna for a few weeks to get the dog housebroken and trained to obey basic commands. Quinn, a teacher at White-berry Elementary, had watched the pup’s progress from her front porch and even helped with a few lessons.
As the two women got to know each other, they’d discussed Quinn working part-time for Brenna once business was more established. Brenna wanted to grow her customer base for financial reasons and job security, but even with the number of clients she already had, she was hard-pressed to handle the volume of summer and holiday visits—the same times of the year that Quinn had off from teaching—by herself. If Quinn would answer her phone now, she could even ride with Brenna on a few jobs tonight as preliminary training.
Unfortunately Brenna only reached a mechanical voice telling her to leave a message. She knew Adam would take her home if she asked but she’d already imposed and didn’t want to take the Varners farther out of their way after their long day on the road. So call Fred or Josh. No biggie. It shouldn’t be a “biggie.” After all, she’d been part of their family for nearly twenty years.
But she’d been conditioned for the formative first thirteen years of her life not to get too attached, that she didn’t truly belong anywhere.
Would she have overcome that neurosis if Fred, her stepfather, hadn’t remarried Josh’s mother, Maggie? That woman had been the true love of Fred Pierce’s life, but in their first marriage they’d grown apart over time and divorced. He’d hastily rebounded with Brenna’s mother, only to have her slink off in the middle of the night for parts unknown. Though Brenna had never asked, she’d often wondered if his emotional response to being abandoned had mirrored hers—equal parts betrayal and relief.
About a year later, Maggie had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, still at an early stage. The medical crisis had shaken Fred enough that he’d started courting her again. Josh had what all children-of-divorce secretly dreamed of—his parents back together, his family a healed whole.
With Brenna as the fly in the ointment. Awkward.
Ancient history, she told herself. She’d risen above her unorthodox upbringing, loved the entire Pierce family; she was a productive member of society. Whose previous boyfriend dumped you because you relate better to animals than people.
Funny, he hadn’t seemed to mind that about her when he’d hired her; her last serious boyfriend was also the town veterinarian. She’d enjoyed working in the clinic, but had always known that she wouldn’t be working as his receptionist/critter referee forever. Their breakup nearly two years ago had helped motivate her to get her small business off the ground.
Adam parked the car, and Brenna snapped her cell phone closed. Now that she’d taken care of Patch, nothing else in her evening was time-sensitive. No doubt she’d see at least a dozen people she knew inside. She’d try to reach Josh, but if he wasn’t home, either, she was sure she could get a lift from someone. Maybe even someone who owned a pet and would be amenable to trading a favor in exchange for future discounts.
Geoff didn’t wait for his dad to remove the keys from the ignition before bounding out of the vehicle. His sister, the moody one, took her time.
“This is the home of phenomenal food?” she asked skeptically. “Doesn’t look like much.”
Brenna slanted a reproving glance over her shoulder. “Friendly word of warning—don’t diss the Diner within earshot of any Mistletoe natives. They’ll run you out of town.”
The girl pursed her lips as if she wasn’t entirely certain Brenna was kidding—which she only half was. Folks around these parts took the Diner pretty seriously. The mayor’s son proposed to his fiancée here over a shared dessert of gooey, sweet pecan pie.
“I’m not that hungry,” Eliza finally said.
Brenna rolled her eyes inwardly; she was tempted to call the sky blue just to see what color the contrary girl would argue it was. “You may not be hungry yet, but you will be.” No one, not even a rebellious preteen in the throes of a snit, could resist the smells inside.
As they strolled up the sidewalk, Brenna enumerated the local favorites on the dinner menu. After the past forty minutes of detailing great food and Mistletoe summer activities, she felt as if Belle Fulton from the Chamber of Commerce might pop up any moment to offer her a job. And Brenna was uniquely qualified to tell the Varners about the Chattavista Lodge on the outskirts of town, where they’d be staying, because her stepbrother worked there.
Josh had always been a big fan of the outdoors. In the year between her mom’s defection and Maggie’s illness, Brenna had lied shamelessly to Josh and Fred about her supposed love for fishing and camping, desperate to fit into the testosterone-driven household. She’d wanted to be the Perfect Daughter. Eliza’s polar opposite. If Fred had told Brenna the sky was taupe with chartreuse polka dots, she would have agreed just to ingratiate herself with the Pierces.
These days, Brenna could appreciate the fresh air her occupation provided, but she hadn’t voluntarily slept on the ground in decades. Josh had been seeing the same girl for two months, and Brenna teased him that if he wanted to keep her, he’d make sure any romantic getaways included indoor plumbing. Not that Brenna had teased him recently—she was currently dodging him. Now that Josh was happily in love, a newfound convert to committed relationships, he seemed gung-ho on setting