Another Chance to Love You (7 page)

She’d been reading his book at bedtime. It was good. Daniel was more than a competent writer. The case was one of those sensational media events, and many writers had covered it adequately. But it was Daniel’s extraordinary talent that made his articles so hugely popular at the time and this
book such a blockbuster hit now. His writing provoked her to look at things in a new light. It caused her to seek to understand different points of view. It drew her into the emotional part of the story while forcing her to look objectively at the facts.

She’d never guessed, back in college, that he would be this good.

“I don’t know who you are, Daniel. How could I possibly fall in love with you again? It would be wrong for us both.”

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

“I’ll get it!” Heather yelled. A moment later, she called, “It’s Daddy. Are you ready?”

Monica put the book down, then looked once again in the mirror. “Am I ready?” she asked her reflection.

“Mama?”

“I’m coming.” With a deep breath, she reached for her purse and headed out of her room.

Daniel waited at the bottom of the staircase, leaning against the banister while he listened to Heather’s excited chatter. When he heard her footfall, he glanced up. A hint of a smile curved the corners of his mouth.

She smiled back at him, unable to keep herself from thinking how handsome he looked. He wore tan cotton trousers and dark brown loafers. His pale yellow, short-sleeved shirt looked good against the tanned skin on his arms. Was it any wonder women had made such a fuss over him at his book signing two weeks ago?

We’re only friends, a small voice in her heart commanded. That’s all. Just friends.

“You look terrific,” Daniel told her, admiration sparking in his gray eyes.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Are you ready?”

“Ah-huh.”

He looked at Heather. “You know, squirt, it’s been over twenty years since I went to a school carnival. Back then, I wouldn’t’ve been caught dead going with a couple of girls.” He winked. “Guys sure can be stupid.” He offered his left arm to his daughter. As he turned toward Monica, he added, “Can’t they?”

She couldn’t help laughing. “They sure can, Mr. Rourke.”

Daniel had vowed to himself last night that he wouldn’t do anything to spoil this evening, not for Heather or Monica. He was determined to be as charming, good-humored and gentlemanly as he knew how while still not crossing the invisible line in the sand Monica had drawn between them.

He’d spent a sleepless night, thinking about what she’d said before he left her place.

If I ever become involved with a man again, he’ll have to share my love of Jesus.

Well, that ruled Daniel Rourke out. He wasn’t a churchgoing man. Didn’t have the time for it. Didn’t see the percentage in it.

All He wants is for you to let Him into your life.

Over the years, Daniel had written stories about people who shared the same Christian faith, the same beliefs, as Monica. He didn’t mean the ones who just went to church on Sunday morning for an hour or two. This faith thing went deeper in the people he remembered. They were the sort who
lived
what they believed. Some of their stories—which were the reason for his interviews—about ripped his heart out, yet
these people had a kind of peace in the midst of turmoil that he couldn’t understand.

He’d seen that same thing in Monica last night. Even when she cried, there’d been a peace about her. It almost made him wish he could believe what she’d told him. Almost.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t. So he would respect her line in the sand. He would be on his best behavior, so help him he would.

The elementary school halls were jam-packed with people of all ages, from toddlers to octogenarians. Like the surge of the tide, people were pushed and pulled from one classroom to another. Daniel hadn’t been in this much of a crush since the day of the Henderson verdict.

“They’re doing face painting in here,” Heather announced as she tugged on his hand. “Come on.”

He followed his daughter into the room. Three artists were painting the cheeks of children. A sign announced numerous choices of design. “What are you going to get?” he asked Heather.

“I can’t get one before I read my story at the ceremony. Mrs. Connolly, the principal, said we couldn’t. But you can.”

He shook his head. “Hey, I don’t think—”

“Come on, Daddy,” she pleaded. “It’ll be cool.”

He looked to Monica for help but found none. She was too busy trying to suppress her laughter…and failing miserably.

“They’ve got a pirate,” Heather continued. “How ’bout that one?”

He raised an eyebrow at Monica.

She gave him an innocent look. “Oh, I think you’d look
very handsome with a pirate painted on your cheek. We’ll ask for a yellow bandanna to match your shirt. It’ll be dashing.”

“Thanks a bunch.” He turned toward Heather, meaning to refuse, but the words died in his throat. “Ah, why not?” he muttered.

A few minutes later, he sat on a child-size chair, trying to hold completely still, as instructed by the girl painting his face, while Monica and Heather hovered nearby.

If Charley could see me now, he thought. But even if he could see, his editor would never believe it. More than once, Charley Cooper had told Daniel he was too serious, that he was sorely lacking in a healthy sense of humor whenever he was working on a story.

“My goodness. It
is
you. You’re Daniel Rourke.”

He turned his head toward the woman’s voice—and got a yellow stripe of face paint across the bridge of his nose.

“Oh,” the woman—an attractive brunette with large hazel eyes, a lush mouth and generous other attributes—continued, “I’m so sorry. That was my fault.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Becky Stover, Mary’s mother.”

“Nice to meet you.” He wiped the paint off his nose with a paper towel before shaking her hand.

“I’m terribly sorry for interrupting. It’s just that…well, I was hoping to get your autograph. I brought a copy of your book with me, in case you were here tonight. Would you mind signing it?”

Book and pen appeared suddenly and were thrust into his hands. Seeing no polite way to refuse, he opened the book to its title page and scribbled his signature.

Becky Stover glanced at Heather. “When Mary told me about your dad, I thought she was trying to pull a fast one
on me.” She turned a dazzling smile in Daniel’s direction. “If ever I can return the favor…” Her words trailed into a suggestive silence as she held out her hands and took back the book and pen.

“No problem,” he replied.

“Excuse me, won’t you? I really must go find my children. Thanks again.”

“Sure.” He returned her smile, but inwardly, he was thinking, Overeager divorcée. Since starting his book tour this spring, he’d learned to spot one at forty paces.

“I’m finished, sir,” the artist said, interrupting his thoughts.

He nodded to the girl, forgetting the pushy Ms. Stover. “Thanks.” He rose, then took hold of Monica’s arm. “Your turn.”

“Oh, no. I—”

“Fair’s fair.”

“But, Daniel, I—”

“Do it, Mama. Get one like Daddy’s.”

“Yeah,” Daniel said as he pressed gently on her shoulders with his hands, forcing her into the chair. “Get one like mine.”

Her pretty brown eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. “Payback, huh?”

“Yeah. Payback.” He grinned. “And it’s sweet, Ms. Fletcher. Real sweet.”

M
onica forgot to be worried or anxious and, instead, let herself enjoy each moment of the evening. Daniel maintained a friendly, yet dispassionate attitude toward her, much to her relief.

From the face painting, where Monica acquired a yellow-and-red parrot on her right cheek, they went to the cake walk. Heather won a triple-decker fudge cake with bright pink frosting. Monica and Daniel came away empty-handed. After that, they proceeded to the fishpond. Monica caught a kewpie doll. Heather snagged a stuffed bear. Daniel reeled in a bag of plastic green soldiers.

“I didn’t know they still made these,” he marveled as he looked at the tiny toys in the palm of his hand. “I used to play with the ones my dad had as a kid.”

An announcement over the P.A. drowned out whatever Monica started to reply.

Heather grabbed for her parents’ hands. “It’s time for the program. Come on. I want you to have good seats.” With that, she dragged them into the crowded hallways.

Monica glanced at Daniel above Heather’s head. She found him watching her. He smiled. So did the pirate on his cheek. She smiled back, joy bubbling up in her chest.

This was what it was supposed to be like—father, mother, and daughter.

Heather half led, half dragged her parents toward the front of the auditorium. They managed to get seats in the fifth row center. “I’m supposed to be backstage,” she told them as they sat down. “I’d better hurry.”

“Break a leg,” Daniel called.

She stopped long enough to turn and grin at him.

The smile nearly stopped Monica’s heart. Heather looked so completely happy. No matter what else happened this summer, she would always remember her daughter’s expression tonight. She would always remember the smile Daniel had put there.

She could have loved him for that alone.

Don’t go there, she warned herself silently. It would only bring her sorrow down the road if she did.

Mrs. Connolly walked onto the stage and raised her hands for silence. It took the crowd of parents and children a while to comply, but eventually, they did so.

“Good evening, everyone. We’re so glad you could join us for tonight’s festivities. Before we know it, we will be taking our summer recess—” She was interrupted by a loud cheer from the children. She smiled tolerantly and waited for them to quiet down before continuing. “As is our cus
tom, tonight we are honoring the achievements of a number of our students.”

Over the years, Monica had attended numerous school programs, pageants and carnivals. She had sewn costumes and baked cookies and cakes and painted posters. She had enjoyed every occasion, but tonight was special…because Daniel was with her.

She glanced his way. The pirate on his cheek seemed to wink at her as if even he knew what a unique evening this had turned out to be.

She’d been such a dreamer as a girl. She’d believed in happy endings, and she’d wanted one for herself. She’d thought Daniel would give it to her. He hadn’t, and so she’d stopped believing. She could trust God. Daniel was another matter. She would be a fool to start believing in him again.

Wouldn’t she?

Daniel sat forward in his seat, and Monica knew Heather must have walked onto the stage. But it was Daniel she continued to watch, even as she heard their daughter read her story. She recognized the delight in his eyes.

She hadn’t expected him to be such a caring father. She hadn’t expected him to want to be involved. Was it only because he was on sabbatical? Would he forget Heather—and Monica—when he went back to Chicago?

She wanted to believe in him, she realized. She had taken an enormous risk, telling him about Heather, but it was the right thing to do. She’d had no other choice. But now her heart was asking her to take another risk. Would it be so wrong to love her daughter’s father?

Daniel started to applaud as he glanced her way and grinned. “She’s great!” he said. “Really great.”

Monica nodded.

Mrs. Connolly returned to the stage, and once again raised her hands for silence. “Thank you, Heather. That was lovely.” Her gaze swept over the audience. “It seems Heather has been blessed genetically with her writing talent. I have just been informed that her father is with us tonight. Mr. Rourke, would you be kind enough to join Heather on our stage?”

Daniel muttered something beneath his breath before getting to his feet. If he wasn’t happy about this, one wouldn’t have guessed. He wore a gracious smile as he made his way to the aisle and then up to the stage.

“May I introduce Heather’s father, Mr. Daniel Rourke,” Mrs. Connolly said as he climbed the steps. “I’m sure you’re all aware of Mr. Rourke’s enormously successful book,
And The Rich Kill,
which just reached number two on the bestseller list. What many of you may not know is that he’s a Boise State graduate and a native Idahoan.”

More applause followed. Monica watched as Daniel put his arm around Heather’s shoulders and gave her a smile. Heather smiled back.

“Mr. Rourke, would you care to share a few words with us?” Mrs. Connolly held the microphone out to him.

“I’d just like to say I’m proud of my daughter. It was a real treat, being here tonight and hearing her read her work out loud.”

“I think many of us would like to know how you came to write your book. It isn’t often we have such an opportunity.”

His dark brows drew together in a small frown as he looked at the principal. “I doubt anybody’s interested in that, Mrs. Connolly.” There was a reproving edge in his voice. “They came to hear the kids. Not me.”

Before Mrs. Connolly said anything further, he left the stage, Heather tagging along, still holding his hand.

Monica could have kissed him. She couldn’t believe a school principal would forget the children, but that’s what the woman had done.
Daniel
hadn’t forgotten.

Yes, she could have kissed him.

Daniel tried to focus on the remainder of the program, but he felt the stares of others on the back of his neck. A sixth sense told him the earlier interruption by Mrs. Stover with a book for him to sign was going to seem like a pleasant interlude before this evening was over.

His suspicions turned out to be correct. When the program was finished, he barely had a chance to rise to his feet before there was a crowd of people pressing in around him, asking questions about the trial and his book and where he’d grown up in Boise and who were his folks and what was he going to write next and countless other questions. He tried to put them off with a few brief answers, but that didn’t seem to satisfy. They kept asking.

He glanced over his shoulder. Monica and Heather had disappeared from view, squeezed out by the crowd. He thought of a few choice words he’d like to say to Mrs. Connolly. And after he said them, he’d like to wring her neck. The evening had gone well, he’d thought, right up until the moment the principal made a big deal about who Heather’s dad was.

“Listen, folks,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as irritated as he felt, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy the rest of the carnival with my daughter and her mother. You’ll have to excuse me.” He forced his way between two women.

His gaze scanned the auditorium, looking for Monica and Heather. He found them standing in a corner, talking to a tall, thin man who was scribbling in a small notepad. The fellow had
reporter
stamped all over him.

Daniel muttered another choice word as he strode toward them.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he stepped up to Monica’s side. A quick glance into her eyes, and he saw she was upset.

The reporter turned toward him. “Hello, Mr. Rourke. I’m Garth Johnson of the
Boise Herald.
Would you mind answering a few—”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I would mind.” He took hold of Monica’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Their exit from the school reminded Daniel of the times he’d watched famous people, from presidents to rock stars, dashing for waiting limos or rear entrances of hotels while reporters and fans clamored for their attention. Of course, he and Monica and Heather weren’t being pursued, but the feeling was there, all the same.

As soon as the doors of his automobile closed, he breathed a sigh of relief, then muttered, “Sorry,” again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Monica replied.

Maybe not, but he still felt responsible. He glanced into the back seat. “I thought your story was great, Heather. Really great.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Of the three of them, Heather was the only one who didn’t seem upset. “Did you like Mary’s poem, too?”

“I sure did.”

Daniel turned the key in the ignition and started the car. In silence, they drove out of the parking lot.

Dusk had fallen over the city while they’d been in the school. Streetlights were beginning to turn on. The evening air was cool and sweet with the smells of springtime.

On Overland Road, a souped-up Chevy with the truck bed full of teenagers roared past them, doing a good ten miles an hour over the speed limit.

Stupid kids, Daniel thought. Then he glanced in the rear-view mirror at Heather. Her eyes were closed.

His daughter would celebrate her eleventh birthday in less than four months. In another five years she could be one of those girls in the back of a speeding truck.

The thought hit him like a fist in the solar plexus.

How did a parent protect a child from such things? His dad couldn’t have stopped him, even if he’d tried. It was nothing short of a miracle that Daniel had lived past the age of fifteen. He’d pulled some mighty dumb stunts in his day.

“You pray a lot,” Monica said in a soft voice, answering his unspoken question.

He glanced quickly at her, then back at the road.

“That’s the only way I know to cope,” she continued. “Otherwise, I’d go crazy with worry. There’s so much that can go wrong. You just do the best you can, make the best decisions you can make at the time, and then you trust God.”

“I never gave it much thought. How hard it is to be a parent, I mean. Not the time and money it takes, but the emotional investment. My dad… Well, he never noticed how I was growing up. He let my stepmoms take care of me and figured I’d turn out okay in the end.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to have a family of your own?”

Daniel frowned. “Maybe.” He tossed another quick glance
in her direction. “I loved my dad, you know. In spite of his faults, I loved him.”

“Most of us love our parents, no matter what.”

He turned into Monica’s subdivision, slowing to twenty miles per hour as he followed the meandering street past homes with well-groomed lawns. Light spilled through windows as darkness gathered, creating warm clusters of gold.

Daniel supposed Monica was right. He supposed most people loved their parents in spite of their faults. Because who was perfect? Certainly he wasn’t.

“Heather’s always going to love you, Daniel.”

The car came to a stop in front of her house. He cut the engine, then turned toward her. “Are you reading minds now? That’s twice in the last ten minutes you’ve known what I was thinking.”

Her smile was tender as she shook her head in denial.

He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know it would matter quite this much. Being a parent. I want to be a good father to her.”

“I know you do.”

“How do I do that from Chicago?”

Monica was silent a long time before answering, “I don’t know, but you’ll find a way.”

He looked toward the back seat. “Out like a light, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She sleeps soundly. She always has.”

She always has.

But Daniel didn’t know that about her because he hadn’t been around to find out. He wanted to blame Monica for it, but the truth was, he probably would have gone off to Chicago anyway, even if he’d known she was pregnant. He
probably would have walked out on Monica and his responsibility to her.

It was an unpleasant admission to make.

“I’ll carry her to her room.” He sounded gruff.

“You don’t have to. I can wake her. Kids always fall right back to sleep.”

He reached for the door latch. “No, I’d like to.”

A few moments later, Monica watched as Daniel carried Heather up the stairs. “Her nightgown’s under her pillow,” she called after him in a stage whisper.

She waited until the bedroom light switched on, then she went into the kitchen and filled the coffeemaker reservoir with water. In a matter of minutes, the room began to fill with the friendly scent of percolating coffee.

Monica grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter, then walked to the kitchen window and looked outside.

She wasn’t ready for the evening to end, she realized with some surprise. Almost despite herself, she’d had a good time with Daniel at the carnival. She’d forgotten how he could make her laugh when he wanted to.

“Smells good.”

She turned as he stepped into the kitchen. “It’s decaf. Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

“I thought we could sit on the patio. It’s such a nice evening.”

“I’d like that.”

She returned to the coffeemaker and filled both mugs with coffee. She added a French vanilla flavored creamer to
hers, silently offering the same to Daniel by lifting the container toward him while raising an eyebrow in question.

“No, thanks.”

As soon as she handed him his mug, Monica led the way outside. Cotton bounded up, her entire body wiggling with pleasure. “Stay down, girl,” Monica told the dog.

They settled onto two lawn chairs, and for a while, they sipped their coffee in silence, content to stare up at the twinkling stars as they appeared in the night sky. The evening air was balmy, already summerlike.

Monica caught a whiff of lilacs from the large bush in the neighbor’s yard. She smiled to herself. There had been a lilac bush in her parents’ backyard. As a girl, Monica had liked to pick large bouquets and carry them in to her mother who would then place them in a vase on the dining-room table. Their fragrance would fill the house for hours.

She’d been blessed, she thought now, having Ellen and Wayne Fletcher for parents.