Dad's E-mail Order Bride. Candy Halliday

folder she was rolling and unrolling nervously in her hands. When she looked back up she said, “Okay, yes. I did think you would fall in love with Courtney. How could you not fall for her, Dad? She’s smart. She’s pretty. She’s funny. She’s perfect for you. Just like Meg Ryan was perfect for Tom Hanks in You’ve Got Mail.”

      At least one mystery had been solved—where Rachel had come up with her insane e-mail idea.

      “But real life isn’t a movie, Rachel,” he lectured. “In real life people pick their own partners. And if I ever decide to fall in love with someone, I’ll decide who’s perfect for me.”

      She tossed her hair and said, “In other words, you don’t like someone else making decisions for you, right?”

      “Right.”

      “Neither do I, Dad.”

      He’d walked right into that one. But Graham wasn’t about to let Rachel take control of the conversation.

      “The difference,” Graham pointed out, “is that I’m the father, you’re the child, and it’s my duty to make decisions for you until you’re old enough to make them for yourself.”

      “No, Dad,” she said. “I was a child when we first moved here. But I’m not a child anymore. And that’s the problem. As long as I stay here, my life isn’t going anywhere. And you don’t seem to care.”

      Graham swallowed the big lump in his throat. Is that what Rachel really thought? That he didn’t care how she felt?

      “You’re wrong,” Graham said. “I do care. You’re the most important thing in my life, Rachel, and I love you. And because I do love you, there are going to be times when I have to do what I think is best. Can’t you understand that?”

      “No,” she said, crossing her arms stubbornly. “But obviously there isn’t anything I can do about it.”

      “I’m glad you’ve figured that out,” Graham said, his voice stern now. “Because what you did to Courtney is inexcusable. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”

      Her head dropped as she looked down at the floor. “I said I was sorry.”

      “Sorry isn’t good enough,” Graham said. “But you have Courtney to thank for me postponing any punishment until after the weekend. You invited her, and I expect you to bend over backward to make sure she has a good time while she’s here.”

      She looked up again, her expression more repentant this time. “I will, Dad, I promise. And thanks for being so nice to Courtney in spite of being mad at me. She really has been a good friend to me.”

      “That’s what has me concerned,” Graham admitted. “I don’t need another woman agreeing with you that you should move to New York. Both of your grandmothers do enough of that already. It only makes you more unhappy living here.”

      “But Courtney isn’t like MiMi and Gram at all, Dad. Courtney tells me all the time I should stop worrying about New York and focus on making life in Port Protection work for me while I’m here.”

      “Excellent advice,” Graham said a little too quickly.

      “Shocker.” Rachel snorted. “Of course you would think Courtney’s advice is excellent.”

      Graham grinned in spite of himself.

      Rachel only rolled her eyes.

      But they both knew this storm had passed—at least for now. And like all parents and children who instinctively know when it’s time to move on from an argument, Graham stood and held his arms out. Rachel stepped around his desk and walked into them.

      “Don’t ever think that I don’t care about your feelings,” Graham said, pulling his daughter close as he kissed the top of her head. “But for now you and I are going to have to agree to disagree on you staying in Alaska. Is that a deal?”

      “Maybe,” Rachel said, pushing away from him. “I’ll agree to disagree, if you’ll agree to something.” She stuck her hand out. “Deal?”

      Graham looked at her outstretched hand, then back at Rachel. “Agree to what?”

      “I’m making you a special birthday dinner tonight,” she said proudly. “And I want to dress up as if we were going out to some fancy restaurant in New York. If I can’t go to New York, I’ll bring New York here to Port Protection.”

      Graham shrugged. “Okay. Dress anyway you want.”

      He reached out to shake on the deal. Rachel jerked her hand back.

      “I meant I want you to dress for dinner, too, Dad. That’s the deal. And don’t say you don’t have anything nice to wear.”

      “I don’t have anything to wear.”

      “Yes, you do. You have a tuxedo in your closet.”

      “And what were you doing in my closet?”

      Rachel grimaced. “Sorry. But I saw the tux when I was looking for your journal.”

      She ran for the door after that confession, but she stopped, hurried back and placed the folder she’d been mutilating on his desk. “I almost forgot. Courtney wanted me to give you those. They’re the e-mails she wrote when she thought she was writing them to you.”

      Graham was still staring at the folder when Rachel reached the door. He didn’t look up until she said his name.

      “Dinner will be ready at seven.” She flashed him a big grin. “That gives you plenty of time to clean up and put on your tux.”

      “I am not wearing a tux!” Graham called out as the door closed behind her.

      What the hell?

      Graham shook his head. His day kept getting crazier by the minute.

      First, Courtney had kissed him senseless the second she stepped off the plane. Then, he’d learned his own flesh and blood had put him up for auction on the Internet. Next, he’d been informed Rachel had suddenly decided to become Martha Stewart. And now he’d been told he had to wear a tux to dinner.

      Rachel had brought New York to Port Protection, all right. Up close and personal! Glancing at the folder again only made Graham wonder why Courtney wanted him to read the e-mails. Was she trying to give him a better idea of who she was? Or had that second kiss sent her the wrong message that he was interested?

      Graham sat behind his desk.

      And why had he kissed Courtney that second time? He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d just been standing there, his arm around her, and she’d been smiling at him. And dammit, he just couldn’t help himself.

      Is that what turning forty did to a man?

      Did hitting the big four-oh unleash some hidden gene that suddenly made a man feel the need to prove his virility? Or had he only been fooling himself all along? Had he really come to Alaska for Rachel’s protection? Or had he been protecting himself by making sure he wouldn’t have the opportunity to feel anything for a woman again?

      He needed a clear head. He had to stop overanalyzing every little thing—worrying about his reaction to this and his reaction to that. Of course, he was attracted to Courtney.

      He had eyes, didn’t he?

      His reaction was no different than any other healthy man’s reaction to a good-looking woman. He’d been out of circulation so long he’d forgotten what was normal and what wasn’t.