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The doorbell rang again impatiently. “Coming,” Sheila called as she wiped her hands on a nearby towel. Who could be calling today? she wondered. It was nearly the dinner hour, and she was a mess. Her jeans and blouse smelled like the sooty walls she had been cleaning, and her hair was piled in a bedraggled twist on the top of her head. She pulled out the pins and ran her fingers through it as she made her way to the door.
Before she could open it, the door swung open and Jeff Coleridge poked his head into the foyer. “So there is someone home after all,” he remarked dryly, his eyes giving Sheila a quick head to heels appraisal.
Sheila managed a thin smile. “Sorry—I thought Emily would get the door.”
“And I thought she was laid up,” he replied with a smirk. “Or was this just one of your rather obvious attempts to see me?”
Sheila’s gray eyes didn’t waver. “That was a long time ago.”
“Not that long.”
Sheila stood in the entryway, not letting him pass. “I assume you came here to see Emily.”
“Who else?” His smile was as devilish as ever, his dark eyes just as flirtatious. He was still handsome; living the good life seemed to suit him well. His lean torso reflected hours on the tennis courts, and his devil-may-care attitude added to his cunning charm. After all of these years, Sheila was immune to it.
“I hope no one. Emily’s outside. I’ll go and get her.”
“Sheila, baby.” He reached out a hand and touched her wrist. “What is our darling daughter doing out of bed—I thought she had some horrible ankle sprain. At least that’s the story you gave me.”
Trying desperately not to be baited, Sheila withdrew her wrist and pasted a plastic copy of his saccharine smile on her face. “That was no story, and if you would have shown up a few days ago, you would have found her in bed. Fortunately she’s young and heals quickly.”
“Now, now,” he cajoled, noting the sarcasm dripping from her words. “Your claws are showing, sweetheart. You know I couldn’t come any sooner.”
“You could have called.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“What I wanted was for you to show some interest in your child. She’s not a baby anymore, Jeff, and she’s beginning to understand how you feel about her.”
“I’ll just bet she does,” he snapped, losing his calm veneer of self-assurance. “With you poisoning her mind against me.”
“You know I don’t do anything of the kind.” Sheila’s face was sincere, her gray eyes honest and pained. “You handle that part of it well enough on your own.”
Jeff’s frown turned to a pout. “I thought we were supposed to have a ‘friendly divorce,’ isn’t that what you wanted?”
“When I was naive enough to believe it.”
“I suppose you think that’s my fault, too.’
“Not really. We couldn’t get along while we were married; I should never have expected that the divorce would change anything.”
“You act as if it’s carved in stone.”
“I wish I thought it wasn’t,” Sheila sighed, leaning against the door.
“So what do you want now, Sheila?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked down upon her.
“I want you to be an interested father, Jeff. And I don’t want it to be an act. Is that too much to ask?”
Jeff took in a deep breath, attempting to stem the rage that took hold of him every time he saw Sheila and was reminded of her quiet beauty. It unnerved him. Perhaps it was her fiery spirit coupled with her wide, understanding eyes. There had been a time in his life when he had been proud to show her off ashiswife. But she wanted more—she wanted a child, for God’s sake. Not that Emily wasn’t a great kid . . . he just didn’t like the idea of fatherhood. It made him feel soold. If only Sheila would have given a little more, seen things his way, maybe the two of them would have made it.
Even in dusty jeans and a sooty blouse, with a black smudge where her hands had touched her cheek, she looked undeniably beautiful. Her hair fell in a tangled mass around her face, the way he liked it, and she still carried herself with an elegance and grace he had never seen in another woman—even Judith. Whereas Judith’s beauty was beginning to fade, Sheila’s was just beginning to blossom.
Jeff cleared his throat and tried to ignore Sheila’s intent stare. He coughed before answering her question. “You know I care about Emily,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s just that I’ve never been comfortable with kids.”
“You’ve never tried. Not even with your own.”
Jeff shook his head, and he looked at the boards of the porch. “That’s where you’re wrong, Sheila. I did try, honestly . . .”
