Everything She's Ever Wanted. Mary J. Forbes

at Seth as if he’d dumped a load of fish at her feet. “You’re checking Tristan out like he’s a piece of—of machinery? That’s so lame! Never mind, okay? I’m not going.” With a whack, the inside door shut in their faces.

      Melody sighed. “Well. Seems we’ve solved the problem.”

      Seth wanted to rush after his daughter, hold her, protect her from the harsh gusts of reality. She’d come to him. Eager for his help, for his trust.

      And he’d fouled up. I’m sorry!

      To Melody he said, “There never was a problem.”

      “No?”

      “No.”

      She snorted, arced the half-smoked cigarette onto the cement driveway, several feet from where he stood. “Shows how much you know, or care, about your daughter.”

      He studied the woman who had borne his child. Aging like a sour apple. “I may not know her the way you do, but I care. More than you could ever imagine.” He walked away. His heart flayed his ribs.

      “Wait a minute.” She hurried down the drive after him. “Where you going?”

      “To work.”

      “Aren’t you coming back?”

      “No.”

      “But what about that boy? What am I supposed to do if he shows up this afternoon?”

      “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

      “Oh, isn’t this like you,” she sneered. “Always running off when the going gets tough.”

      Hand on the door handle of the truck, Seth paused. “Tough? You don’t know the meaning of the word. I busted my back to make a home for you. What did it get me? Ten years of hell. Ten years of seeing my little girl wait on a curb so I could drop her off a day later. Well, things are about to change, Mel. Hallie’s old enough to make her own choices now, and I’m not the poor schmuck you divorced.”

      Her mouth turned ugly. “You jerk. This isn’t finished, you know, not by a long shot.”

      “Oh, it’s finished, all right. It was finished the day our daughter was born and you and your daddy decided a construction man wasn’t good enough for the family.”

      Heart hurting for his child, he climbed into the cab and drove off, leaving his ex-wife glaring after him, in a robe showing enough leg to make a racehorse jealous.

      Hallie curled on her bed and hugged Sunny, her favorite fuzzy bear, to her chest. The furry little creature had been a gift from her dad when she was born. Love-tattered, missing an eye, Sunny held a treasured place on her bed, in her heart. This minute, he hid her tears, muffled her sobs.

      If she hadn’t opened the window…hadn’t been so impatient to hear her dad’s voice one more time, his boot heels smacking the cement driveway, his truck door slamming…

      Last night, it’d taken every ounce of courage to walk to his place, to seek his help. She wasn’t used to asking for help. Once he’d lived in this very house and laughed and teased and tugged her pigtails. She’d ridden his shoulders out to his truck where he’d swung her down, cuddled his hard, lean face into her neck, blown raspberries. Every day. Before he drove off to work.

      Then he moved out, into another house.

      She used to cry at night until she fell asleep.

      She used to blame herself for his leaving.

      She’d believed she’d done something wrong.

      Now she knew the truth, why his trips to Eugene had waned. Once she’d thought it was his work and the long drives. It was finished the day our daughter was born…

      Confusion swirled in her mind. She tried, truly tried to be the worthy daughter, doing all she could to please her parents. Getting straight A’s, joining the school jazz band, babysitting for her own money. She knew her dad was proud; he’d told her so. And her mom was proud—sort of—the way Hallie cleaned the house, mowed the grass, did the laundry, got groceries. She didn’t tell her dad about the chores, though. Somehow, she didn’t think that would please him the way it did her mom.

      Her mom. What was up with her lately? She’d always been a little eccentric, but since returning to Misty River she was living in a time warp or something, wanting to be Hallie’s age again. Acting sillier than some of the eighth grade girls.

      Last week, she’d said she was getting a lip stud. A lip stud. Her mother. Gross!

      Even the jewelry wouldn’t be so bad, if her mom would just lay off the questions and not ask about everything. Like Hallie wanted to hop onto any old back seat and get preggers. Not!

      The only good thing about her mom seeing Roy-Dean Lunn was that she had loosened her choke hold a bit. Not because Melody believed in Hallie, but because Roy-Dean wanted her mom to himself.

      The freedom should have felt great, except she felt more lonely than ever. And now her dad, saying that it was finished when she was born…

      She burrowed her hot face into Sunny’s furry curves. Her dad had cared! Last night. Years ago.

      You were little. What did you know then?

      She shivered under the drafty window.

      Daddy.

      The name fluttered like a butterfly around her heart.

      Seth drove straight to the Garage Center. He greeted Bill and asked for Tristan. Twenty seconds later, a tall blond teen—-wiping his hands on a rag—came through the door.

      “You Tristan?” Seth asked.

      “Yeah,” the boy said carefully.

      “Let’s go outside for a minute.” Seth strode through the door and headed for the rear of his pickup. There, he grabbed the tailgate with both hands and sized up the kid dressed head to toe in green coveralls. “I’m Seth Tucker. Understand you want to take my daughter out to a movie this afternoon.”

      The boy had stopped a few feet away. Good. Showed the kid had some wits.

      “I know who you are, Mr. Tucker. And, yeah, I’d like to take Hallie to a movie.”

      “How old are you?”

      “Seventeen, almost eighteen.”

      “She’s fifteen. Barely.”

      “I’d never hurt her.”

      “That’s what they all say.”

      The boy aligned his shoulders. “I have a sister Hallie’s age. Anyone touched a hair on her head, I’d kill ’em.”

      Seth scrutinized the boy’s brown eyes. “We’re not talking about your sister.”

      The kid didn’t waver. “I know.”

      “Good.”

      “Mr. Tucker, I don’t—”

      Seth stepped away from the truck. “You have her home within a half hour of the movie ending.”

      Visibly relieved, the boy nodded. “Yessir.”

      “Don’t want her mother getting upset.”

      “Or you, sir.”

      Kid was no slouch. “Or me,” he agreed and walked to the truck’s door. Tristan hadn’t moved. “Better get back to work, son, before Bill takes our gab session off your pay.”

      He drove to work, whistling.

      “When a woman stares into her cup without taking a sip, I’d say she’s got a purse full of man trouble.”

      Breena raised her head, smiled at the owner of Kat’s Kafé.”

      “Hey, Kat.”