Beverly Barton - The Mother

“Sorry I’m late,” Tam said. “We’re in the middle of—”

“No shop talk this evening,” Marcus told her. “We’re going to have drinks and a nice dinner and relax.”

“Sounds good to me.” Tam picked up her husband’s glass of Chardonnay and took a sip. “This could be the last halfway relaxing evening I have for quite some time.”

J.D. dropped his keys on the kitchen counter as he entered his Signal Mountain rental house through the door that led inside from the two-car garage. By the time he reached the living room, he had removed his jacket and his hip holster. He tossed the jacket over the back of the nearest chair and dumped the holster down on the coffee table. It had been a long, seemingly endless day and he was tired. And still horny. He had hoped his breakfast date with Holly that morning would lead to an invitation for him to come over to her place that night. So much for well-laid plans. Per his boss’s instructions, he had stuck with the lead investigators on the Jill Scott case all day and had finally left Sergeant Hudson at the police station half an hour ago. The man was dedicated beyond the norm for any officer.

It wasn’t that J.D. didn’t give his all to his job. He did. But he didn’t live and breathe his job 24/7. There had been a time when he had. Now he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He had other responsibilities, ones in his personal life that required his time and attention.

Just as he kicked off his shoes and wiggled his sock-clad toes, he heard the phone ring. Not his phone. The ringtone belonged to his daughter. Some idiotic song titled “Boom Boom Pow” by a group Zoe had informed him was called the Black Eyed Peas.

Even now, after she’d been living with him for more than a year, he still sometimes forgot he had a kid. A fourteen-year-old daughter. A teenager with an attitude. Zoe was far too pretty and looked way too mature not to gain male attention. When he had told her that she was too young to date, she’d thrown a hissy fit. The girl had a temper. And as much as he’d like to blame her mother for that genetic defect, he couldn’t. Carrie Davidson had been promiscuous, self-centered, vain, and sexy as hell, but not once during their brief affair had he ever seen her lose her temper. No, Zoe had inherited that personality flaw from him.

J.D. traipsed into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and retrieved a bottle of beer. Just as he removed the cap and took his first sip, he heard a loud crash, followed by a string of equally loud curse words. Carrying the beer with him, he went through the living room and down the hall and stopped outside his daughter’s closed bedroom door. He knocked.

“Go away!” she screamed.

“What’s going on in there?”

“Not a damn thing. All my friends are together and having a good time tonight and I’m stuck here in my room, a virtual prisoner.”

“It’s a school night,” J.D. reminded her. “I hardly think all your friends are out partying tonight.”

“A bunch are studying together over at Presley’s house. They ordered pizza and are having fun. Fun that I’m missing, thanks to you.” Zoe eased open her bedroom door and peered out into the hall. “Hi. How was your day?”

“Rough,” he replied. “How was yours?”

“It was okay, but it could end really good.” She opened the door all the way and plastered a big smile on her gorgeous face.

What the hell was she wearing? They’d had more than one row about her clothes. Tonight it was green tights, suede knee-high boots, a too short, too tight knit sweater, and a skirt that barely covered her butt. All the clothes she had brought with her last year when he’d moved her in with him had looked like they belonged to a hooker. She’d promptly informed him that her clothes were what girls were wearing these days, as opposed to when he’d been a kid, back in the Dark Ages.

“What do you want?” J.D asked. From his experience, whenever Zoe was pleasant to him, she wanted something.

“Let me go over to Presley’s. Please, please. I promise I’ll be back by eleven.”

“I don’t think so. It’s after eight now. Besides, I’m too tired to drive you over to—”

“That’s okay, J.D.” Zoe came out of her room, her leather shoulder bag slung over her arm. “Presley’s brother Dawson will pick me up. All I have to do is call her back right now.” Zoe held up her bright pink cell phone. “Please.”

He didn’t like playing the stern, disciplinarian parent, but God knew it was way past time that someone did. Apparently Carrie had allowed Zoe to do whatever she wanted to do. And now that she was forced to live with a parent who more often than not said no to her demands, she was a miserable young girl.

“Not tonight,” J.D. told her. “It’s a school night. You know the rules.”

“Screw your rules! I hate you! I hate living here with you!” She scrunched up her face, glowered at him, and then went back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

J.D. heaved a deep, labored breath.

What had he ever done to deserve this?

You got Carrie Davidson pregnant, that’s what.

J.D. took a hefty swig from the beer bottle as he walked back to the kitchen. He wasn’t cut out to be a father. Although he was doing his best with Zoe, his best wasn’t good enough. She was miserable and she made him miserable. She was his daughter. The DNA tests proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He should love her. She should love him. But she hated him and he tolerated her.

He finished off the first beer as he made himself a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and then drank another beer with his meal.

He wondered what Dr. Audrey Sherrod would think of his relationship with Zoe. They were a dysfunctional family if ever there was one. Neither had known the other existed until eighteen months ago when Carrie, dying from breast cancer, had called J.D. to say, “Congratulations, you’re the father of a bouncing baby girl.”

Burrowing into his worn leather lounge chair, J.D. picked up the remote and channel surfed, finally pausing on CNN.

Why was he thinking about Audrey Sherrod? Why had she suddenly popped into his head?

He had gotten the distinct impression that the lady didn’t like him. She certainly had looked down her nose at him. And she had a cute little nose and a rather pretty face. Not beautiful, but pretty enough if you liked her type, which he didn’t. She was tall for a woman, a good five-nine. Slender, but not quite skinny. He had noticed the way her breasts filled out the neat pin-striped jacket she had been wearing. Sufficient but not large by any means.

If you had gotten laid recently, you wouldn’t find Audrey Sherrod the least bit attractive.

Maybe. Maybe not.

Just because he had always preferred his women hot and eager didn’t mean it might not be interesting to see just what it would take to defrost Dr. Sherrod’s icy façade.

What the hell was he thinking? He sure didn’t need another woman in his life. The casual relationship he shared with Holly suited them both just fine. He didn’t think Audrey Sherrod was the type for casual, and that’s all he wanted from a woman, all he could ever offer, especially now that he had Zoe in his life.

J.D. was ashamed of the way he felt, that he considered Zoe a nuisance. What kind of parent was he?

Think about what the Scotts are going through tonight. They’ve lost their daughter, and here you are moaning and groaning about your kid. You should be thankful that she’s alive and well and creating havoc in your life. I’d bet Charlie Scott would tell you that you’re one lucky SOB.

Two hours later, after consuming his third beer and falling asleep in front of the TV, J.D. woke, gathered up his shoes, jacket, and holster, and headed down the hall. He paused outside of Zoe’s closed door. He knocked softly. She didn’t respond. He turned the doorknob and to his surprise found the door unlocked. He eased open the door and peered inside the semidark room. With her hair still damp from her recent shower and wearing an oversized Jeff Gordon NASCAR sweatshirt, she lay asleep atop the covers.