Jan Freed - My Fair Gentleman

But he was no father. At least, not like her friends had.

Flipping onto her back, Allie sniffed hard and gritted her teeth. She hated crying. Only wusses cried. But lately she was out of control. A real loser.

Like when Tommy’d smiled at her by the pool twenty-six hours and forty minutes ago, and she’d giggled like a demented hyena. If he hadn’t already thought she wasn’t worth his super-fine smile, he sure did now. Sarah Sokol had whispered something to him behind her hand, and they’d both laughed. Allie wanted to die just thinking about it.

Lifting the hem of her T-shirt, she scrubbed her face and frowned at the Boyz II Men poster on her wall. Joe’d said his teacher lady friend was real classy. That she’d show him how to act like he’d grown up in a mansion, instead of a run-down shack behind Big Joe’s filling station. Anyone who could teach a guy all that fancy stuff probably knew a lot about girl stuff, too.

Allie lay quietly, feeling more like herself by the minute. She would quit being a baby and face facts. Joe was Joe. She was old enough to take care of herself—and him, too. He needed her.

Swinging her legs to the stained beige carpet, she walked to the door and stood finger-combing her snarled hair, instead of brushing it. Gram would’ve thrown a hissy fit, but Joe wouldn’t notice. Pulling her door open, she moved down the hall and stopped short of the den entrance.

Just like every morning, Joe sat reading the sports page in his old recliner, his bare feet sticking out well past the footrest. He’d dragged his favorite cutoffs and tank top out of the dirty clothes hamper. Again. She’d have to sneak them into the wash before the neighbors complained.

From the looks of the teddy bears on his arm, he hadn’t showered after getting home last night. A bowl of soggy cereal sat on one chair arm. The other supported his tightly clutched beer. He looked scruffy, tired and…sad.

She’d hurt him, Allie realized with a start. Both of him. The playmate she adored and the man who’d disappointed her so many times over the years. Her wonderful impossible dad.

He glanced up and noticed her in the doorway. “Hi there.”

“Hi.”

“Feeling a little better?”

She nodded, hating this awkward politeness.

“Good.” His gaze sharpened. “Then who was named most valuable player for the 1974 World Series? There’s a hamburger in it for the winner.”

It was a game they’d played for years, familiar and safe. She crossed her arms and waited for him to up the ante.

He sighed. “Okay, with fries.”

“Finley with the Oakland A’s. Piece’a cake.”

“I’ll get you one of these days,” he promised, ruining the threat by grinning proudly.

“In your dreams. Can I have a milk shake, too?”

“Not for that no-brainer. Now go do something with that rat’s nest on your head while I get my shoes.” He pushed down on the footrest and sat straight.

Allie slowly touched her head. He’d noticed her hair? “Joe?”

He finished a huge yawn and rolled his shoulders. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I slammed the door in your face.”

His eyes met hers, all trace of grogginess gone. “That’s okay. I know you miss Gram, and you’re kind of scared about the two of us getting along without her. I know I haven’t always been there for you. But now I won’t be on the road half the year. Things’ll be different.”

He’d known how she felt? Staring into his anxious eyes, she couldn’t breathe for the love filling her heart.

“We can do this, pal,” he said with forced heartiness. “Together.”

This time Allie didn’t hesitate. Running forward, she threw herself into Joe’s strong arms and held on tight. After a long moment she lifted her head and smiled.

“Course we can, Joe. It’ll be fun.”

CATHERINE STOOD behind father and daughter while they studied the “apartment” she’d promised Joe three nights ago. Heat radiated up from the driveway in brutal waves. How could they look so fresh in this Amazonian hell?

Allie’s cap of short dark hair reached just above Joe’s elbow. Wearing shorts and a ribbed knit shirt, she revealed the compact body of a young gymnast. Yet her budding curves promised future havoc for adolescent male hormones—and Joe’s peace of mind.

When had Joe’s wife died? Catherine wondered briefly. She knew only too well how rough the next few years could be for the girl without a mother’s guidance. Ignoring the odd catch in her heart, she focused on Joe.

He’d shaved recently, a definite improvement over the last time she’d seen him. His khaki slacks and hunter green shirt flattered his broad shoulders and lean hips. Or maybe it was the other way around. She had a feeling he’d look good wearing anything. Especially his bare skin. She glanced away. Then looked slowly back.

Something about his quietness made her nervous. Possibly the fists hanging by his sides like small hams.

“This is it?” Allie finally asked her father, her uptilted face a delicate version of his—yet not like his at all. “This is what we’ll be living in for a month? It’s a garage apartment, Joe.”

“I can see that.” His tone matched his fists.

Okay, Catherine admitted silently, maybe she’d been a wee bit hasty describing it as she had.

“This sucks big-time,” Allie said, grabbing Joe’s arm. “Let’s go call Norman and tell him he can’t lease our apartment.”

“Too late, pal. He’s halfway here from Dallas by now.”

They turned to Catherine in unison, their identical brown glares prodding her guilty conscience. Her sweeten-the-pot offer didn’t seem nearly as brilliant today as it had in The Pig’s Gut.

“Where is my fully furnished apartment with a very large bedroom?” Joe asked carefully.

She looked up and squinted at the redbrick structure shimmering over the garage. “Technically speaking, it’s right in front of you. Just because the one bedroom happens to be the living and dining room, too, doesn’t mean it’s not large.” If her peripheral vision could be trusted, Joe wasn’t amused. “Now calm down. Once you see the inside, you’ll feel much—”

“You lied to me,” he interrupted.

She met his gaze at that. “I never lie.”

“Oh, excuse me. You messed with my head. Psychotherapy, I believe you couch doctors call it.”

This man was no amoeba. “Actually we prefer to think of it as creative ego management.” Her feeble smile died in the face of his deepening scowl. “That was a joke.”

A bad joke, but then, she doubted David Letterman could’ve cracked Joe’s contempt. Someone in his past had really done her profession a disservice.

He lowered his brows. “Where are the tennis courts you promised?”

Relieved, she turned and pointed toward the east. “See those big trees? The courts are right behind them. An indoor lap pool, also. The neighbors love pairing up for a tennis match, if you’re interested. We’re very friendly around here.” Didn’t she always wave at the sweating fools when she walked by on her way to swim laps in cool indoor comfort?

“And I suppose you’ll tell me the management that ‘loves children’ isn’t a lie, either.”

At last, firm ground. “I love children,” she stated unequivocally, frowning when he continued to look skeptical. “You certainly are being unreasonable for someone who’s expecting a Norman from Dallas any minute.”

“Gimme a break, doll. Am I supposed to be happy I gave up my big apartment for a doghouse in your backyard?”

She narrowed her eyes.

The makeup she’d carefully applied after his unexpected phone call was no doubt melting with her sweat. The wraparound denim skirt she’d anxiously selected clung, hot and itchy, to her hose. She’d worked every spare minute for the last month on the haven he’d just called a doghouse, hoping to use it as her summer office. Enough was enough.