Page 97 of Puppy Christmas

Chapter 19

“She’s not coming, is she, Daddy?”

Ford glanced down at Emily’s tightly controlled face and felt his heart clench. He’d seen that look so many times—the lonely determination, the disappointed acceptance—that he could draw it in his sleep.

Hehatedthat he could draw it in his sleep.

“I don’t know, moppet. She might be resting this evening. It’s been kind of a rough week.”

Emily shook her head and popped her thumb into her mouth. It was a look ill-suited for the red-and-white-striped tights and ruffled black skirt that proclaimed her a Christmas pirate of the finest order. Even her hair was done up for the evening in one of the more complicated of Lila’s princess braids, all tumbling curls and devious twists.

He was proud of that braid, dammit. He’d be even prouder if he could show it off to the woman who’d taught him the steps.

“She’s not resting,” Emily said around her thumb. “She doesn’t like us anymore. Is it a’cos Jeeves is bad?”

The clenching in Ford’s chest turned viselike. “No, moppet. It’s not because Jeeves is bad.”

“Is it a’cosI’mbad?”

“Emily Georgiana Ford, you are in no way, shape, or form responsible for—” he began, his voice dangerous. Yelling at a child whose heart was a fair way toward being broken wouldn’t win him any parent-of-the-year awards, but he couldn’t help himself. His own heart was in a fair way toward being broken.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Helen pushed her way past the pair of them, a smile parting her bright red lips. It seemed that in her world, dressing up as a pirate meant liberal applications of lipstick—though, to be fair, most of the moms at this party seemed to have interpreted it the same way. “You’re finally here. I was beginning to despair of my ice. Thank you so much, Princess Lila. And Patrick. I’m glad you could make it, too.”

Ford whirled, struck as much by Patrick’s name as by Lila’s. As he turned to see them standing in the doorway, he was equally struck by the vision they presented. Two more perfect specimens of humanity had never existed. Lila looked, as she always did, as though nothing could touch her. Unlike the rest of them, who were sweating in their costumes and regretting all that cheap polyester, she was like a model who had stepped away from a photo shoot highlighting the latest in swashbuckle couture. Her head was high and her hair in perfect waves around her bare shoulders, nary a line of worry on her gorgeous face.

Patrick wasn’t dressed as a pirate, but instead of putting him at a disadvantage, the doctor only made it work to his advantage. He wore a suit jacket but no tie, the very picture of casual—and comfortable—chic. In his ruffled shirt and regrettably tight pants, Ford could only feel like a fool.

Again.Always.

The ease with which Helen drew forward and took the bags of ice in Patrick’s arms indicated that she’d been expecting the doctor. That same ease was showcased by Patrick as he used his now-free hands to lift a cake from Lila’s hands and carry it to the kitchen.

“Let me get that for you, Lil,” Patrick said. “I don’t mind.”

And a good thing he didn’t, because Emily launched herself at Lila as though she’d been parted from her for months rather than days. She hit Lila’s legs at a dangerous pace, almost knocking her over in the process.

It should have made Ford happy to see his daughter so easily restored to good humor, her happiness back in her heart where it belonged, but the suffocating tightness of his chest only grew worse.

If only I were six years old. Then I could throw myself at Lila in ecstasy, too.

“You came!” Emily cried, her words coming out in a half sob. “And you’re wearing the dress.”

“Of course I did,” Lila said. She dropped to the girl’s level, her tone low and soothing, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “And how could I wear anything else? This is what I always wear when I’m fighting evil, remember?”

Emily giggled obligingly, but Ford found little to laugh at. There was no evil at this party. There never had been—that was the whole problem. As much fun as it had been to turn Patrick Yarmouth into a slobbering, toothy Krampus who wanted to steal Christmas, the reality was that he was a perfectly ordinary man. A perfectly ordinary man with a good job and an even better heart. The way he reached into his pockets and handed both of Helen’s sons a small, wrapped package was an obvious clue. He was even good at parties, the bastard.

“How’s Jeeves been holding up?” Lila asked. “I don’t see him anywhere. I hope he hasn’t been misbehaving again.”

This question seemed to be directed more at Ford than Emily, so he had no choice but to swallow his jealousy and answer. “No signs of trouble, but we left him at home anyway. You said he had to be in quarantine, and we weren’t sure if that included parties like this one. We’d have asked you, but you left in such a hurry the other day…”

Lila’s body went still. “I thought you could use some privacy.”

Right.Privacy. His five minutes with Janine. Five minutes in which she told him to do what he felt was best about Seattle, to give Emily her love, and to keep her updated on their change of address. He’d never been so close to losing it with his ex-wife. Her lack of interest in the day-to-day details of their life was nothing new—and in many ways, he appreciated that she didn’t second-guess his decisions—but damn, he’d hoped for something more.

What about our daughter’s health? What about her happiness? What about her heart?

“No Jeeves?” Neil came bounding forward, dressed from head to toe in black and with an eye patch slipping down his cheek. “Aw, man. I was hoping you’d bring him. I love playing with puppies.”

Emily’s face took on a look of haughty condescension. “Jeeves von Hinklebottom the Third is not for playing. He is a servistus puppy. That means—”