“Who me?”Billie looked up at him.“She’s always doing that.Telling me to stay out of trouble.”
Jane moved into his office.The last rays of sun filtered through the lace curtains on the windows beside the front door and caught the thick braid hanging down her back.The tail, tied in a peach-colored ribbon, ended several inches below her shoulder blades.He knew from experience that her hair, when loosed and brushed smooth, would tumble clear to her waist.Satin, he remembered.Living satin, all warm and sweet smelling.It could drive a man out of his mind.
The hand still in his pocket clenched tighter.The iron control he prided himself on kept him from groaning aloud or following her to touch the thick braid to see if it was as he remembered.
“So how long have you lived in this house?”Billie asked.
“What?”He forced himself to turn away from Jane and glance down at her daughter.“Oh, all my life.”He led the way through the foyer and down a long wide hallway toward the kitchen.
“We’ve moved a lot.Mom says the first year I was born, we lived in a house, but I don’t remember that.It’s always been apartments.I like having other kids to play with, but I really need a yard.The landlord used to get mad when I practiced pitching in the hallway.It rains a lot in San Francisco.Does it rain here?Is it always this hot?Hey, you’ve got some old pictures here.Do you know people this old?”
She stopped in front of a display of antique photographs hanging over a narrow writing desk.Adam retraced his steps until he stood behind her.“They’re of my family.We’ve lived in Orchard since the early 1800s.”
“Who’s he?”She pointed at a small grainy photo of a man in uniform.
“My great-great—I can never remember exactly how many greats—grandfather.He was a major during the war.”
“The war?”
He touched the frame, then took her hand and led her down the rest of the hall and into the kitchen.“The War of Northern Aggression.”
“I never heard of it.”She paused in the middle of the room.“This is big.You’ve got two stoves.Is one broken?”
“No.My parents used to do a lot of entertaining.Why don’t you sit here.”He pulled out a stool next to the long center island, then lifted her up.
“Where are your parents now?”
He took a glass from the cupboard beside the double sink and set it in front of her.“They died.”
“I’m sorry.”Billie removed her cap and brushed her bangs flat.“Does it make you sad?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I had a friend at school.His mom died and he cried a lot.I told him he could share mine, but it didn’t help.At least he still has his dad.”
“I was a little older than your friend when I lost my parents,” he said as he uncovered the cake and reached for a knife.“Nineteen.And I have a brother and sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“Both younger.”
“I wanted a brother, but Mom said it wasn’t a good time.”She turned on the stool and grinned when it spun.“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
“A wife?”
He sliced off a generous piece of chocolate cake and slid it onto a plate.“No.Eat your cake.”
She wrinkled her nose.“That’s a grown-up way to say stop asking questions, huh?”
“Yes.”He winked.
She giggled and dug in.“Mmm.This is great.”A crumb fell off her fork and onto her chest.She tried to brush it away and succeeded in smearing a dark streak down her T-shirt.
He poured them each a drink, then pulled up another stool and watched her eat.There were flashes of Jane in her.The shape of her eyes, the gift of humor.But the rest of her personality had to come from her father.Jane had been sweet as a child, but never outgoing.
What had happened?he wondered.Billie hadn’t mentioned anything about her father, although he knew it usually took two to produce a baby.It seemed odd that there wasn’t a man around to take care of this little girl.
