Slow Burn (Dynasties Seven Sins #7) - Janice Maynard Page 0,17
the upper fifties. He reached into the back seat and grabbed a shopping bag. He had bought Emma a treat for just such an occasion.
Nikki opened the door before he could ring the bell. Her face was flushed, her fiery red hair pulled up in a ponytail. Wispy curls escaped around her forehead and cheeks. Those emerald eyes searched his soul.
“Hi,” she said, giving him a wary look.
Emotion gut-punched him. This woman. What was it about this woman? She was dangerous to him, to his emotions, his good sense, his need for self-preservation.
As Nikki stepped back to let him in, he saw Emma, half hiding behind her mother’s leg. He squatted, greeting her at eye level. “Hey, there,” he said. “I’m Jake.”
Her eyes were big, her gaze solemn. “I remember. Is my mommy gonna be mad at you again?”
Jake glanced up at Nikki. “I hope not.”
Nikki shook her head ruefully. “I have to finish dinner. Why don’t you two get acquainted?”
Jake rattled the shopping bag. “Would it be okay if we played outside? I hate to miss this weather. And I brought Emma a ring-toss game.”
Emma’s face lit up. “It is okay.” She took his hand. “We have to go to the backyard, ’cause there’s a fence.”
“Presents, Jake?” Nikki’s expression said she disapproved.
“Relax. It was less than fifteen bucks. I have a few friends with kids. They always tell me simple toys are the best.”
Nikki spied unashamedly out the window over the sink. Emma didn’t always warm up to strangers, but perhaps Jake’s thoughtful gift had lowered her defenses. Nikki wouldn’t be so easily convinced. Jake was a loner, a man who deliberately stayed away from any kind of home base, any kind of tie. She wouldn’t let him hurt her or her daughter.
Even so, Nikki had to admit he was good with the little girl. Patient. Kind. Time and again, he showed her how to position the ring horizontally and how to hold her hand sideways to fling it. Emma got closer and closer. When she finally landed the first one, father and daughter did a spontaneous victory dance.
Moments later the duo came inside, their body language relaxed. Nikki was bemused by the way her daughter had taken to Jake. Did Emma feel some mystical bond? Did she recognize her father on some visceral level?
Nikki tried to swallow her misgivings. “Wash up, please. This will be ready soon.”
Jake gave her an odd glance. “Emma wants to show me the butterflies in her room. We won’t take long.”
Nikki followed them, unable to squash her anxiety about seeing Jake inside her house. Emma loved butterflies. Always had, even as a toddler. On her fourth birthday, Nikki had let Emma redo her room. Bedspread, posters, mobiles hanging from the ceiling.
Jake whistled long and low. “This is amazing, Em.”
Nikki waited for Emma to correct him. No one shortened her daughter’s name. But Emma simply beamed. “I can name fifteen different species on flash cards,” she said, “and I’m working on the others. Some of the words are hard.”
Jake seemed surprised. “You’re reading already?”
Emma gave him the kind of eye-rolling look that precocious kids have been giving parents since the beginning of time. “I started reading when I was three. It’s easy, Jake. Don’t you love books?”
He nodded. “I do, at that. And I’m glad you do, too.” He stared around the room, taking in every bit of it. “Emma,” he said, “I have something to show you.” He sat in the rocking chair, the one Nikki had bought at a thrift store when Emma was an infant. He lifted Emma onto his lap.
She squirmed and got comfortable. “What is it?”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “You know the monarchs, right?”
“Of course. They’re the easiest ones.”
“Last year, just about this time, I was in Mexico.” He pointed to the large map on her wall. “It’s that pink country under the United States.”
“I know,” she said. “There’s a kid at my preschool named Matias. He and his mom moved here from Mexico when he was a baby.”
“Ah. So you know geography, too.” The expression on his face when he glanced over at Nikki made her shrug and grin. Emma was very bright. And endlessly curious.
“What’s jog-raphy?” Emma asked, perplexed.
“Never mind, kiddo. Here. Look at this.” He cued up a video and Emma zeroed in.
“Wow,” she said.
“It’s part of the monarch-butterfly migration. People come from all over the world to see it.”
Emma’s intense absorption tugged at Nikki’s conscience. Travel was something she hadn’t been