A Father's Place. Marta Perry

forced himself to pay attention to the message. Just concentrate, and the service will soon be over. He’d take his mother and daughter home, then sit his mother down for a serious talk about the danger to a well-off, naive widow posed by glib strangers.

      The last Amen sounded, and he tried to hustle his little party toward the door. But at least half the congregation wanted to greet him, and he couldn’t be rude, even though the sight of Charles lingering at his mother’s side sent his blood pressure rising.

      With a sense of relief he saw Ellie heading toward them, shedding her robe as she came. She’d probably detach her father.

      “Ellie, dear, that was lovely.” His mother hugged her, then turned to him. “Wasn’t it lovely, Quinn?”

      He felt about eight years old, being prompted by his mother to say the right thing. “Beautiful. You play very well. Where did you study?”

      “Here and there.” She caught her father’s arm, tugging it a bit. “Come on, Dad, time to go home.”

      “But you’re not going home,” his mother exclaimed. “I’ve already talked to Charles, and it’s all settled. You and your father are coming to Sunday dinner with us.”

      To do her justice, Ellie looked just about as appalled at that suggestion as he must. “That’s very nice of you, Gwen, but I’m afraid we have to get home.”

      “Nonsense,” his mother said briskly, linking her arm with Ellie’s. “I know you haven’t started dinner yet, and I have a pot roast cooking that’s just about ready. We insist you come, don’t we, Quinn?”

      In other circumstances, this would be comic. Ellie clearly didn’t want to come, any more than he wanted her to. Just as clearly, they were both stuck.

      “Please join us,” he said.

      Ellie shot him one wary look, and then she nodded. Like it or not, the Forresters and the Waynes were having Sunday dinner together. Maybe this was his chance to get closer to her. He frowned. That should not be making him feel anticipation.

      “Dad, please. Before we get there, you have to tell me about you and Gwen.” Ellie turned onto the street where the Forresters lived, her stomach tightening. They’d be there in moments, and she still hadn’t gotten a satisfactory answer from her father.

      She felt him studying her face and kept her eyes on the road. “Princess, I…”

      “Don’t call me that!” The nickname took her relentlessly back to the past, to a time when she really had felt like a princess—pampered, sheltered, a popular figure in the social scene of their small Ohio city.

      Foolish, she added. Living in a dream world that was bound to crash. It had crashed, all right, in a scandal that took away everything she knew.

      She took a deep breath and managed to glance at him. He looked hurt.

      “I know you weren’t happy to see me here, Ellen. I know I let you down. But I’m a different person now.”

      “I hope so.” She did hope it, with all her heart. Maybe that was why she hadn’t been able to tell him to go away when he’d turned up after all these years, even though common sense said he’d only bring trouble.

      “I’ve changed,” he said, eagerness coloring his voice. “Believe me, prison changes a person.”

      “Don’t.” The word came out involuntarily. “Don’t, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “But, Pr—Ellen, we have to.”

      “No, we don’t.” She pulled the car to the curb. “Just promise me you won’t do anything to make Quinn Forrester suspicious of you. More suspicious than he already is.”

      “I told you, Gwen and I are just friends. I find her charming.” He glanced into the rearview mirror, straightening the blue tie that matched his eyes.

      Charming. Plenty of people had used that word about Charles Wayne, including his daughter. Until the day he was arrested for embezzlement, leaving her bereft and alone, bankrupting herself in a futile attempt to pay off his debts.

      There was no time to think about that now, not with Gwen already opening the front door of the rambling Victorian house. Her father took her arm as they got out of the car, and she felt a brief moment’s pleasure in his courteous manners.

      “I don’t care who knows the truth, you know,” he said quietly.

      Panic shot through her. “Well, I do.” She stopped on the walk, turning to face him, and spoke in a furious whisper. “I still feel the pain of what happened back in Winstead when people knew the truth. It took me a long time to find a place where I belong again, and I won’t let you ruin it.”

      He nodded, and for an instant she almost imagined she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. That was impossible. Charles Wayne took everything in life far too lightly to be brought to tears by her.

      “I won’t do anything to hurt you, Ellie. You can count on me.”

      She held back a despairing sigh. She’d counted on him before, and then found out he was living a lie.

      “Come right in.” Gwen waved them into the wide center hall of the gracious old house, and Kristie danced forward to hug Ellie. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

      “Let me help you, Gwen.” She was uncomfortably aware of Quinn, standing silent behind his mother. He’d shed his jacket and tie and should have looked relaxed. Instead he looked unyielding. He was only too obviously not joining in the welcome.

      “No, no, it’s all under way. But I did want to show you those notes about the craft fair. Now where did I put them?” Gwen looked around, her soft rosy face puzzled, as if the papers should spring into her hand.

      “You had them on the coffee table, I think,” Quinn said. “Why don’t you and Ellie take a look at them, and I’ll see to things in the kitchen.” His smile carried nothing of amusement in it. “Charles can help me.”

      Ellie had another moment of panic at the thought of her father alone with that formidable personality, but before she could say anything, Gwen swept Charles toward the kitchen, taking Kristie with them.

      “You show Ellie where those notes are, dear. Charles and Kristie will help me.”

      The kitchen door swung shut, and Ellie thought she heard Quinn grind his teeth in exasperation. Then he gestured toward the living room.

      “In here. I think that’s where she left them.”

      She was uncomfortably aware of his tall figure looming over her as she glanced through the notes Gwen had made about the craft fair arrangements. She didn’t want to look up at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He was frowning, and his gray eyes had taken on the glint of steel. Her heart thumped, and she braced herself for another question about her father.

      “It sounds as if you and my mother have taken on a big project.”

      For a moment she didn’t know what he was talking about, and then she realized he meant the craft fair.

      “We’re cochairing it for the church fund-raising committee. The pipe organ desperately needs a complete overhaul, and we’re trying to raise the money.”

      She’d much rather talk about the fund-raising project than her father, although maybe in the end it came back to the same thing. She’d conceived the idea of the craft show as a way of repaying her church family for their kindness and acceptance. And she wouldn’t have been so desperately in need of that kindness if it hadn’t been for her father. But Quinn couldn’t know any of that.

      She had a crazy desire to laugh at the situation. She was no more eager to see her father involved with Gwen than Quinn was, for several very good reasons. But she couldn’t risk ever letting Quinn know why.

      “I guess, as the organist, you have a vested