But he wasn’t capable of that depth of feeling. Something she’d found out too late.
She’d be damned if her daughter had the same fate.
“Stop pretending you’re the father Bree needs,” Maddie said, wishing her words had a snap to them, that she sounded confident and strong instead of defeated. “And go back to pretending we don’t exist.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING Neil forced himself to jog up the steps to Maddie’s house instead of turning around, like he wanted, and heading back to Carl and Gerry’s place. Or better yet, driving to the airport and grabbing the first westward flight he could get.
But there’d be no escaping Shady Grove. Not yet, anyway. He was there for the duration. He was there for his sister who, according to Gerry, never came out of her bedroom last night. Mostly, he was there for his daughter. Whether she or her mother liked it or not.
He knocked on the door. Birds chirped loudly, some cheerful song that set his teeth on edge. A chipmunk raced onto the sidewalk then rose onto its hind legs, its nose twitching. At the edge of the lawn, where the green blades sparkled with dew, two rabbits nibbled on grass.
It was like being in a freaking Disney movie. Next thing he knew, one of those birds would land on his shoulder and all the woodland creatures would break into a dance routine.
Cupping his hands, he peered through the glass of the door. The kitchen was dark. And empty. He knocked again, this time using the side of his fist. The rabbits startled then darted into the underbrush. But the birds kept right on chirping.
The rising sun broke through the shroud of fog, made it look as if God Himself was shining His holy light down on what Neil thought of as the Montesano Compound. Across the street, Rose and Frank Montesano’s two-story brick home towered over Big Leo’s place, a small cottage they’d built on the front corner of their property. From what Gerry said, Eddie Montesano and his son lived on this street as well.
The Montesanos always did like to stick close together.
The door opened. Maddie, a cup of coffee in her hand, blinked at him. Blinked again.
“Morning,” he said, edging his foot forward to stop the door in case she decided to slam it in his face.
A distinct possibility, given the scowl she aimed at him.
“It’s six-fifteen,” she said.
“Yes.”
“In the morning.”
“I didn’t wake you.” It wasn’t a question since she’d already made coffee and had on a pair of faded jeans and a black tank top.
He told himself he wasn’t disappointed she no longer wore those tiny blue shorts from last night.
“That’s not the... Oh, never mind.” She exhaled heavily, which did some really interesting things to that tank top. “Why are you here?”
It wasn’t easy for him to share his thoughts, to put everything he had on the line for others to use against him. But this, this was easy. Because it was right.
“I’m here for my daughter.”
“Your daughter is sleeping. And is, as far as I know, unaware that you two had plans this morning.”
“We don’t. Have plans, that is. But I’d like to see her.”
Maddie leaned against the doorframe. “Why?”
Damn it, she couldn’t make this easy, could she? She wasn’t about to let him in, not until she got what she wanted—for him to open up, to share what was on his mind. She’d always demanded too much from him. As if she’d had a right to his every thought, to know what he felt at any given time just because they’d been a couple. But they weren’t together now, hadn’t been in a long time. And he was getting mighty tired of always toeing that line she tossed out for him.
It didn’t help his equilibrium that he hadn’t been able to get her out his head, had even fantasized about her as he fell asleep. Her and those damn shorts, her tanned legs smooth and bare, her hair tumbling around her face.
Today was somehow worse. Her shirt accentuated the curve of her waist, clung to her breasts. Her neck was long, the muscles in her arms defined but still feminine. The strap of her bra—black, to match the shirt—slid down her arm. She ignored it, was way too busy glaring at him to slide it back into place.
It was all he could do not to slip his finger under the silk and do it himself.