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Puffy yawned.
“I love that!” She shifted into the opening chords of “Down and Dirty,” one of the Moffatts’ biggest hits. But in Riley’s hands, the silly country tune had an edgy groove. He heard traces of Marli’s bluesy purr and of his drawl, but Riley’s voice belonged only to her. She’d taken the best qualities from each of them and made them her own. Puffy finally got around to greeting him with an obligatory trio of yips. Riley’s hands dropped from the guitar in midchorus, and he saw her dismay. His instincts warned him to be careful.
“Sounds like all your practice is paying off.” He stepped around a pile of wood scraps nobody had gotten around to cleaning up.
She tucked the guitar tighter against her chest, as if she were still afraid he’d take it away from her. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tonight.”
“I missed you, so I came back early.”
She didn’t believe him, but it was true. He’d missed April, too, more than he wanted to. In some perverse way, he’d even missed the stab of pain he felt watching Dean playing with Riley, laughing with Blue, or even sparring with the old lady. He sat on the ground next to the one child he did have, the little girl he’d been falling so ineptly in love with. “How are you doing with the F chord?”
“Okay.”
He picked up a nail that had fallen into the grass. “You have quite a voice. You know that, right?” She shrugged.
Out of nowhere, Marli’s words came back to him from one of their brief phone conversations last year. “Her teacher says she has a wonderful voice, but I’ve never heard it. And you know how
everybody sucks up to you when you’re a celebrity. They’ll even use your kid to get close.”
One more mistake on his part. He’d blindly assumed Riley would be better off with his ex-wife than with him, even though he knew exactly how self-involved Marli was. He rolled the nail between his fingers. “Riley, talk to me.”
“About what?”
“The singing.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“Don’t give me that. You have an incredible voice, but when I asked you to sing with me, you told me you couldn’t. Didn’t you think I’d be interested?”
“I’m still me,” she muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Just because I can sing doesn’t make me anybody different.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” He tossed the nail toward the scrap pile. “Riley, I don’t get it. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Nothing.”
“I’m your father. I love you. You can talk to me.”
Unvarnished skepticism clouded those eyes that looked so much like his own. Words weren’t going to convince her of how he felt. Holding the guitar close, she jumped up. The shorts April had bought her dropped down on her hips. “I’ve got to go feed Puffy.”
As she scampered off, he leaned against the porch foundation. She didn’t believe he loved her. And why should she?
A few minutes later, April came jogging out of the woods in a crimson sports bra top and body-shaping black workout shorts. She was only comfortable with him if other people were around, and the rhythm of her steps faltered. He thought she might keep going, but she slowed and came toward him. The strength of her body, the way her bare midriff gleamed, made his blood rush.
“I didn’t expect you until later,” she said, trying to get her breath back.
One of his knees cracked as he came to his feet. “You used to say exercise was for losers who didn’t have more creative ways to waste time.”
“I used to say a lot of crap.”
He dragged his eyes from the trickle of perspiration sliding into the valley between her breasts. “Don’t let me interrupt your run.”
“I was getting ready to cool down.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
