The Daddy Verdict. Karen Smith Rose

one of the few women on earth who can do that.” He turned the key.

      “Actually, my mother is another. That’s one handy trait she taught me.”

      After he pulled out onto the street, he drove to the intersection. But at the stoplight, he glanced at her again. “You said your parents were anthropologists and you traveled with them until you came back here to live with your aunt while you were in high school.”

      “That’s right.”

      “You were an only child?”

      “I was.”

      “Then why did they let you return here to live during your most formative years? Why didn’t they want to see you go out on your first date, drive your first car, attend a prom?”

      Ben might have an edge sometimes—she’d sensed a cynicism about him from the moment she’d met him—but he was much too perceptive, too. Had that talent come from perfecting interrogation skills? Or from trying to read witnesses and criminals?

      “My parents are a little unusual.”

      “How so?” He turned onto a main street and headed for I-25.

      In the past she’d never let anyone but her aunt see how her childhood years had affected her, how lonely she’d been, how the feeling of not being wanted superseded all others. Now that she’d set foot in this conversation, she didn’t know quite how to step out of it.

      Sticking to the basics, she explained, “My parents were totally engrossed in their careers.”

      “Lots of parents are,” he remarked.

      “I suppose so.”

      Ben wasn’t going to let that be the end of it. “So how did their preoccupation with their careers affect you?”

      “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

      Again he tossed her a quick look. “No, just trying to understand your background.”

      “Are you going to tell me about yours? I mean, I know you’re from Minnesota, but that’s about it.”

      “Are you evading my question?”

      She had to remember she was dealing with a lawyer, a man who was used to getting answers. She had the feeling he wouldn’t give up until he did.

      After another few moments of hesitation, she agreed, “Yes, lots of parents are engrossed in their careers. That’s true. But to explain my parents’ lives…” She hesitated again.

      He waited, expecting her to go on.

      She could just clam up, but if they were in this for the long haul, she should give him a hint of what her childhood had been. “You told me your work is demanding and you’re busy even nights and weekends.”

      “I did.”

      “Well, imagine this. Imagine that you married another A.D.A. whose dedication and work ethic was the same as yours. On top of that, imagine that you worked with her on every case, all day, every day. Then picture your wife having a baby and the two of you still wanting to work every case together and wanting to go back to the way things were before the baby was born.”

      He went silent for at least a half mile until they veered off the main road onto the interstate and headed for Santa Fe. Finally, he offered, “If I imagined that scenario, then I’d also imagine a nanny raising the baby, right?”

      “Mom and Dad were researchers, so I had lots of nannies.” Usually native women whom she’d come to love and respect. But she’d felt so separated from her mom and dad as they’d interviewed villagers, discussed their theories, written up their findings.

      Ben’s mouth tightened. “Where were you born?”

      “In France. My father was French and his mother was living then. From the accounts I’ve heard, my parents went there in my mom’s ninth month and we stayed for three months after I was born.”

      “And then?”

      “Then they went to Africa, then Bali, India and South America.”

      “How many languages do you speak?”

      “A few.”

      “I’ll bet! So what happens in a child’s head when she settles in and then has to move again—someplace strange and foreign where she doesn’t even know the language—and her parents are preoccupied with their careers?”

      No matter how she’d tried to be factual and not emotional, Ben had focused on the undercurrent. “I lived in books if I had access to them. When I didn’t, I learned the crafts of the people we lived with.”

      “Crafts. You mean like cooking, making clay pots?”

      “Basket making, weaving, dying yarn, etching, whittling. You name it, I’ve probably done it.” Definitely wanting to change the topic, she asked, “Are you close to your family?”

      “‘Close’ is a relative term, but yes, I think I am. We call one another when we need something. I go home for holidays when I can.”

      “The night of Camille and Miguel’s engagement party, you mentioned your dad and going ice fishing with him. What about your mom?”

      The silence that invaded the car at Sierra’s question told her more than any words could that Ben’s childhood hadn’t been perfection, either. “She left when I was six.”

      “Left your dad?”

      “Left my dad, Nathan, Sam, me and Rapid Creek.”

      She could tell this wasn’t territory Ben traveled often, either. To push or not to push. If she knew more about his background, she might understand him better, right?

      “Where did she go?”

      “It’s not important. She just went. Dad wiped her out of our lives. He finally told us she’d died when Nathan went to college.”

      “And you didn’t know?” Sierra was absolutely shocked.

      “When she left, she didn’t stay in touch.”

      Although Ben was obviously trying to keep his tone neutral, she heard bitterness and she stopped asking questions. They’d both shared enough for one session.

      It was so much easier to concentrate on the scenery she loved. New Mexico was absolutely her favorite place on earth. No sky seemed as blue, no clouds seemed as close, no cliffs seemed quite as awe-inspiring. From the Sandia Mountains northeast of Albuquerque to the Sangre de Cristos east of Santa Fe, from the piñon pines along the Rio Grande to the sage, coyote fences and adobes, New Mexico made her feel as if she fit here in a way she didn’t fit anywhere else. Maybe it was because her aunt lived here and her aunt had been the one loving, guiding, gentle force for her whole life. Yet her aunt wasn’t the only reason. There was something about the creative spirit here that just enveloped Sierra in loving arms.

      Obviously also wanting to end their conversation for now, Ben switched on the CD player. Strings of an acoustic guitar and flute floated into the car. It was the kind of music she liked, too. Did she and Ben have common interests?

      She doubted it more and more as the miles passed and he didn’t speak. He seemed to be miles away, and she suspected he wasn’t thinking about the wedding.

      Sierra left Ben to his thoughts for the remainder of the drive. She refused to think beyond today. She was going to enjoy her best friend’s wedding and try to find out more about Ben. But something told her finding out more about him might lead her someplace she didn’t want to go. With him beside her in the car, it was hard to escape memories of the night they’d shared. But for now, she had to put them aside. She had to think clearly. She couldn’t let the sight of his strong hands on the steering wheel remind her of how those hands had made her feel.

      She was almost relieved when they