Her Daughter's Father. Anna Adams

she talk to me?” He shut his mouth, reluctant to follow in his daughter’s footsteps and pull India any deeper into their lives.

      “I know I meddled, but the mistakes she can make are even more dangerous than the ones I made at her age. I should have thought harder before I spoke to her.”

      Jack hesitated. “I’m grateful for her change of mind about Chris, but I don’t know if she should be talking to you about family matters.”

      How could Colleen share her confidences with a stranger? Even a stranger who ran like a tipsy centipede and, in moments like rare treasures, smiled as if she knew how to make the most out of joy. Colleen should talk to him.

      Now India’s smile turned brittle. “I’m sorry if I over-stepped.”

      “No, I can’t imagine you did.” She’d disappeared that night at the festival. She’d all but refused his gratitude for helping Colleen. “I’m being rude again, but Colleen confuses me. I always thought her diaper days would be the hardest. You can’t go to the bathroom without making sure someone keeps an eye on an infant, but now she’s a teenager, I suddenly realize how much more she needs guidance.”

      “Even if she refuses to believe she does?” India finished for him.

      Maybe she had known how to talk to Colleen without saying more than she should. What mistakes had India Stuart made? What had she done that made her so anxious to help his daughter?

      He lifted his chin. “You must know fifteen-year-olds. Nieces? Nephews?”

      “No, I’m an only child.” Color stained her cheeks again, beautiful pale pink that deepened the blue in her eyes. “I’ve just worked with children.”

      Intrigued, Jack settled one foot on the stair behind him. “You volunteer?”

      India wrapped her arms across her rib cage. Her fingers looked too slender, splayed over her shirt. Her gaze became shuttered with reluctance. “I work at the library at home. I’m helping my father this spring. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stuart, I’m still sweaty, and the weather’s changing again.”

      A librarian? She’d waited all this time to mention it? Why? “What did I say that turned me into Mr. Stuart? I was Jack when you ran up.”

      India scooted past him, her back to the opposite rail. She must have run along the bay, but the salt on her skin was perfume. Drying, it left interesting, powdery patterns. Would her fragile wrist taste different than the full, earthy curve of her mouth?

      She braced one hand on her hip and the other against the wooden building, as if she heard his thoughts. Restraint tightened her tone. “You asked me not to pry. Maybe you shouldn’t, either?”

      He hesitated. One step closer, and he’d ask her questions a single man asked a single woman. Like why she was so afraid of the awareness that ran like a current between them.

      But he wasn’t just any single man. As he searched the shadows on India’s face, he remembered he was a fisherman who worked on another man’s boat so he could pay to repair his own trawler. His daughter barely spoke to him from her side of the great adolescent divide, and his in-laws seemed to agree he was making a mess of things.

      “Maybe I’m the one who’s overstepping.” Maybe, deep down, he’d come for more than a thank-you. He’d come for his own information, but he’d discovered too much. Finding out what had hurt her enough to teach her how to reach his daughter required a commitment he had no time to make. “I’d better get home before Nettie sets the kitchen on fire and Colleen decides it’s already too late to start her homework. Thanks again, India.” He stepped onto the sidewalk. “Good night.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      SATURDAY MORNING, India haunted the clock, anxious to do her own kind of work. Showered and dressed too early for the toddler’s reading group, she made herself sit with a cup of coffee until it was time to go.

      Finally she ran down the quivering stairs outside her room. Pursing her lips, she tried to whistle as she strode toward the library. Managing only to blow air, she allowed herself a furtive skip over the curbs at the street corners, until she reached the library building.

      “No! I’m tired of lying to my father to be with you, Chris.”

      India stumbled over the completely level sidewalk. Colleen. India turned slowly to her right, hoping she’d be wrong, that he’d have found some other child to pick on.

      No. Once again gripping Colleen’s arm, Chris tried to pull her away from her two friends. India hesitated, shaking with rage even more intense than the last time. She couldn’t let this happen, not to anyone, not to her child.

      With one clenched fist, she pushed aside strands of hair that brushed her face. She searched for the candy-apple lovemobile. Chris hadn’t parked his car on the street, but as attached as he was, he must have left it close by. She couldn’t let him take Colleen to it, especially if Colleen didn’t want to go.

      “Your father never has to know.” Yards that felt like miles away, Chris yanked Colleen behind him and eyed the other girls. “Marcy? Leah? Do you think Jack Stephens has to know I’m taking Colleen with me?”

      His plain threat fired a shudder through India. Affection played no part in Chris’s need for her child today.

      “Leave her alone.” Colleen’s blond friend launched herself at Chris’s chest, but he brushed her off like a fly.

      India took flight. Be calm. Be smart. Don’t let him see you’d like to take him apart. But before she reached the four teenagers, Viveca Henderson stepped out of an alley, a blue-uniformed policeman in tow.

      “Here he is, Ted. I’m tired of Chris running amok in our streets, and with our young girls. You take him with you, and keep him away from these children.”

      Ted, the policeman, hooked his arm through Chris’s and jerked his head toward the small square red granite building behind him. “I’ve been waiting for you to mess up, kid. I just didn’t know you’d oblige me at my own back door.”

      India took a few more steps into the street. A white sign nailed to the wide oak door at the center of the building read Official Parking Only. Arran Island Police Headquarters.

      “Are you arresting me?” Chris demanded belligerently.

      Ted shrugged. “You and I are long overdue for a chat. We’ll go from there.” He tipped his hat to Viveca. “Thank you, Mrs. Henderson. I’ll take over now.”

      “Goodbye, Chris,” Colleen said, apparently unable to welcome the sight of him going to jail. He didn’t even look back as Ted took him away. “Do you want me to call your mom?”

      “Don’t bother. This is your fault, Colleen. Leave me alone.”

      Disillusionment bunched Colleen’s fragile features. India ached for her. Suddenly she understood parents who wanted to give their children anything and everything. What wouldn’t she do to make Colleen’s trouble better?

      But Viveca nodded, completely satisfied, as she turned to Colleen and her friends. “As for you girls—”

      “Colleen?” Her name burbled out of India’s mouth. “Are you and your friends busy? I need some help.”

      All three girls started, surprised to see India. Colleen’s two friends gaped as if she’d risen from the bay. Colleen’s smile looked dazed, and Viveca grimaced at the interruption.

      India threaded her voice with sugary enthusiasm. “I’m helping out at the library this morning, and the toddler’s story group is making lion puppets. I don’t have enough parents.” Astounded at the lie that came out of nowhere, she steamed ahead. Colleen and her friends looked as if they’d already got the point of Viveca’s lecture. “I need someone to cut, someone to glue and someone else to braid yarn into manes. What do you say?”

      “I