A Family of Their Own - By Gail Gaymer Martin Page 0,9
rose. No sense in calling like a truck driver. He wandered across the room and through the archway to her bedroom door. “Peyton, are you in there?” He heard a thump followed by her footsteps.
She pulled open the door. “What?”
Ross pursed his lips, holding back a comment that circled in his mind. “Can we talk a few minutes?” He looked past her into the wonderful sitting area that had once been his. He’d made a true sacrifice giving her the master-bedroom suite, but other than the small guestroom where he slept, the other bedrooms were upstairs. His shoulders dropped as he drew his attention back to Peyton. “Your birthday is coming up, and I thought we should talk about it.”
“Dad, I don’t want a party. I’m—”
“No party. I understand.” She’d missed so much school over the last years that friendships weren’t easy for her. The kids treated her like someone too delicate to befriend. It hurt him to see her in that situation.
“Then what?” She raised her round hazel eyes, so like her mother’s.
“Can I come into your room?” He motioned toward the two chairs in the sitting area, matching recliners Ruthie had picked out for them.
She stepped into the hallway and closed the door.
He stood back and followed her into the family room. She sank onto the couch as he settled back into his recliner. If he could figure out Peyton’s moods, it would certainly help. “What would you like to do?”
“I’d like to read my book.” She motioned toward her bedroom.
He bit back his frustration. “I mean for your birthday.” He’d given it thought but telling her what he had in mind would put an end to that.
“Could we just go out to dinner?”
Dinner. He could do that. “Mexican? I know you like Azteca.”
Her nose curled. “Japanese.”
He grinned. “Benihana’s?” She loved the chefs entertaining the guests with their cooking prowess. But Kelsey and Lucy? He hoped they like Japanese food. “Benihana’s is fine.” The muscles in his stomach contracted. “I have another idea, too. It’ll make it more like a party.”
A scowl settled on her face as she tilted her head. “I told you I don’t want a party.”
“Not a real party, but a celebration.”
Her eyes probed his.
“I know a lady who has a daughter your age. She’s been sick, too, and I thought maybe we could invite them. Her mother thought it would be nice.”
Her scowl deepened. “Can’t it just be us?”
The conversation with Kelsey marched through his mind. “I sort of invited them already. I thought you’d be happy.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. “I hoped you’d be happy.”
“Dad.” She bolted up from the sofa. “Do whatever.” She marched through the archway.
So much for beginning the birthday celebration on a high note. Now what? Should he call Kelsey and cancel? Kelsey’s face filled his mind, her sapphire-blue eyes, her blond hair combed back with its stubborn part. He pictured her running her long fingers through the strands as if the action would ban the part from appearing. It never did.
He loved her smile—though rarer than her serious look—her full lips curved at the ends and smile lines like parentheses, as if the smile were an afterthought. If he called and canceled, that could end everything.
Chapter Three
“Touchdown!”
Kelsey jumped at Bill Rueben’s outburst. Noise reached its pitch as the touchdown tied the score. Kelsey didn’t care if anyone won, but she wouldn’t admit that to a soul. Two things had motivated her to come to Lexie and Ethan’s Super Bowl party. First, Lexie had invited her to see her honeymoon photos. Seven days on a Caribbean cruise sounded wonderful, especially living in Michigan with only graying snow piled along the curbs outside the window. But most of all, she knew that Ross had been invited.
“Grab food when you want it.” Lexie stood in the archway to the living room. “Chips and dip, salsa and sub sandwiches.” She stepped back and then peeked around the corner. “And cookies. Homemade.”
Kelsey wriggled free from her seat on the sofa and rose. She ambled to the doorway and stood a moment, taking a furtive peek at Ross in a chair near the window. He’d said hello and asked about Lucy. She’d asked about Peyton, but with so many people watching them, she hadn’t prolonged the conversation. In the light through the window, his dark hair shone with glints of mahogany. He wore it thick, with a slight widow’s peak that most women would envy. He had a great smile, but he wasn’t