His likelihood of survival was still unclear.
Mr. Perslow gave a brisk nod. “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?”
This was odd. Genuinely odd. But Cody had prayed for days that Paris’s father would, if nothing else, be willing to let Cody continue paying his father’s portion—or all—of the insurance premiums. He’d prayed, too, that his dad’s position would be held open should he eventually be able to return, and that a paycheck would be forthcoming until it was determined if he had to go on permanent disability. Merle’s response was more than Cody could have hoped for.
He stood and extended his hand to the older man who also rose to his feet. “Thank you...sir.”
A faint smile touched Mr. Perslow’s lips as they gripped hands, no doubt remembering the last time Cody had been in this office and flung that term of respect less than respectfully.
“Will you be in town long?”
Why did that question sound more loaded than a casual inquiry? “For a few weeks at least.”
“I see.” The older man cut him a sharp look as he ran his hand through his hair. The flecks of silver weren’t the only thing indicating that twelve years had passed since their last meeting. He appeared older in other ways now. He was still trim and tanned, but there was a general air of world-weariness that had been present throughout their brief conversation.
Then, unexpectedly, a flash of the old Mr. Perslow lit his features as he pinned Cody with an uncompromising look. “My daughter’s heart is fragile. There’s someone else coming into her life now. Don’t mess it up.”
Cody’s eyes narrowed as the icy words hung between them. A warning. It was almost as if he knew Cody had lain awake the past two nights since learning Paris hadn’t married Dalton after all.
Even his days had been consumed with getting his head around this unexpected revelation. Sharon hadn’t mentioned Paris’s involvement with anyone, so Mr. Perslow could be lying about that. Then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was seeing someone three and a half years after the death of her fiancé. Men must have lined up around the block, waiting for a suitable period of mourning to pass so they could make their move.
Hadn’t he been contemplating that himself?
But now, as his resentful gaze met her father’s, it became suddenly clear why he’d been so accommodating of Cody’s requests on behalf of Leroy Hawk. His concessions had been a bribe to stay away from his daughter.
Before Cody could garner a response, the phone on the desk rang. Mr. Perslow frowned as he glanced down at the illuminated display, obviously irritated at the interruption. Then with a final cutting look at Cody he lifted the receiver, his tone at once warm and welcoming.
“Donald! Let me guess. Your wife has visions of a Canyon Springs Christmas dancing in her head and the two of you want to take another look at that condo.”
Cody quietly walked out into the hallway and closed the office door behind him. He should have known Paris’s father hadn’t gone soft, that his generosity held an edge. A cunning purpose.
A muscle in his jaw tightened as anger flared and a too-familiar sense of shame pressed in. It was the same feeling he’d had when Paris’s old man had caught him, at age sixteen, gazing longingly at the beauty of his fourteen-year-old daughter. In no uncertain terms, he’d let Cody know that a Hawk had no business “looking on the high shelf.”
Cody had continued to look, if covertly. But even that last night when he’d longed to cup her beautiful face in his hands, to kiss her trembling lips, he’d held himself back.
Remembered he had no right.
Now to have her father suggest he’d barge into Paris’s life and mess things up galled, and the fresh reminder that he was barred from pursuing her burned deep into his gut.
“Cody?”
The soft, questioning word echoed down the hall, jerking him from his thoughts. He turned away from the door, his spirits lifting at the vision before him. Hands on her slim hips, Paris’s wide gray eyes studied him with open curiosity and, even in blue jeans and a bulky fisherman’s sweater, she exuded a striking refinement, a delicate femininity. High-shelf material, indeed.
“Good morning, Paris.” She hadn’t been at the front desk when he’d arrived.
“Did everything go okay?”
“Your father’s been...very helpful.” He moved down the hallway to where she stood just inside the waiting room.
A dark brow rose. “I know you had concerns about your dad’s situation.”
“All addressed.” With an unacceptable rider tacked on.
“I’m glad.” She looked behind her where a middle-aged couple sat in the waiting area, admiring the Christmas tree. Then she again looked up at Cody. “Do you mind if we step outside for a few minutes?”
Although he hadn’t knowingly made any promises to Mr. Perslow, they had shaken hands and it wouldn’t bode well if her father saw him with Paris so soon after their conversation. Cody couldn’t risk the insurance for Leroy Hawk being cancelled. Not until he had time to assess other options.
Nevertheless...
“Lead the way.”
Paris reached to the coatrack for her gray wool jacket.
“May I help with that?”
She glanced up uncertainly, but Cody’s kindhearted expression reassured. She nodded and he held out the coat behind her, taking care not to touch her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“Thank you.”
She started toward the door, then stopped, returning to the front desk to pick up a lidded, holiday-designed box, about twice the width of a shoe box. What had gotten her so flustered that she’d almost forgotten what she intended to give Cody?
They stepped outside where snowflakes danced merrily in the air, almost in time to the holiday carols coming from the overhead Main Street loudspeakers.
“What can I do for you, Paris?”
He looked especially handsome this morning, but seemed somewhat on edge. Had things really gone as well with her father as he said they had?
She held out the box. “These are cookies for your mother to share with the hospital staff—and something extra for her, too.”
He took the box from her, his expression uncertain. “Thank you.”
“I remember her bringing homemade cookies those times my mother had to be hospitalized and how much the staff enjoyed them. I don’t imagine your mother has any time to bake right now, so...”
He still didn’t look as if he knew what to make of her gift. Almost suspicious, if she had to interpret his expression. But then life had probably taught Cody not to trust anyone.
“No, she doesn’t have much time for herself these days.” He placed his hand on top of the box. “She says the nurses have been great. Dad’s not the easiest patient to care for, so she’ll enjoy having something to give them as a thank-you.”
Good. He finally got it.
“I imagine your dad was surprised to see you, wasn’t he?”
“He...” Cody hesitated, as if unsure how his response would be taken. “He doesn’t know I’m here yet.”
Surprised, her brows arched. “You haven’t gone to see him?”
He