For the Girls' Sake - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,24

you to the steps!" she announced, and took off.

"Hey!" Adam protested. "No fair!"

She had a good ten-yard head start by the time he’d swung his daughter—his heart cramped again—onto his shoulders and grabbed Rose’s bucket and shovel that he’d earlier set down.

"Go! Go!" Shelly screamed in delight.

She was so light, as fine of bone as her mother, a wiry little bundle of energy. She twined her fingers in his hair and bounced, urging him on the whole way, her shrieks happy and uninhibited.

Shelly wasn’t his Rosebud, but she was his, too.

He almost caught them, but not quite. Rose was quietly pleased by the victory, Lynn’s face was alight with laughter, and Shelly giggled as he swung her onto the boardwalk.

"Mommy’s fast, huh?"

"Yep," he agreed. "You’ve trained her well."

Shelly thought that was hysterically funny.

Adam had a flash of memory. Jennifer in jeans and a white T-shirt, lying back on their bed with her arms flung above her head, laughing uncontrollably until tears came in her eyes. He didn’t remember what was so funny. Only that he had followed her down onto the bed and kissed her until...

He almost groaned. To hold Jenny again. To touch her like that. To see her laugh. He hadn’t recalled her so vividly in a long time.

He had needed her daughter—their daughter—to bring his Jennifer back to him.

Any thoughts of maintaining his distance after today were gone. He hoped Lynn saw it the same way. He didn’t want to hurt her; he saw a reflection of his own chaotic emotions in her eyes. Worse yet, he saw Rose in her.

But he couldn’t let Shelly go, any more than he could let Rosebud go.

He was going to be Daddy to both girls, whatever it took.

"How about if we go get that hot dog you were promised?" he said easily, and, with only a small pang, took Rose’s small hand and let Shelly go to her mother.

CHAPTER FIVE

HOW LONG HAD IT BEEN since she had sat beside the phone waiting for a man to call? Years. Eons, Lynn thought wryly.

And this was more like being a teenager, when she’d desperately wanted to pick up the phone and hear his voice, and yet was terrified every time it rang that he might be on the other end of the line. She’d never felt at ease socially, never known the right thing to say. If the boy she had a crush on called, she’d blow it, Lynn had been certain during those difficult years. Her mother had said comfortably that she’d learn.

Lynn scowled at the silent telephone. Yeah, Mom? she demanded. Then how come I haven’t?

This was different, of course. She wasn’t interested in him. It was Rose, sweet, shy Rose, whose voice Lynn hankered to hear. But she couldn’t see Rose without going through her daddy, which Lynn fiercely resented even as she felt as protective about Shelly.

Seeing her natural daughter once had seemed as if it might be enough, back when they planned the one-day visit. Just knowing that she was healthy and loved...

She made a sound in her throat and prowled the kitchen. Silence from the bedroom, where Shelly napped.

Enough? Sure. Like that first piece of chocolate would be enough. Like you could eat three potato chips and then put the bag away.

A taste was worse than never having any.

Feeling Rose’s chubby arms around her neck and hearing her throaty giggle in Lynn’s ears had been amazing. Rose and Shelly had taken to each other immediately, and yet they were so different. Lynn had applauded but never understood Shelly’s boldness and flamboyance. In Rose she saw herself, not because of the freckles or the hair, but because Rose hung back when a braver soul forged forward, because Rose’s hand clung to Daddy’s instead of letting go, because Rose wanted oh so desperately to be sure she would be safe before she leaped.

Lynn understood all of that. She had been—was—afraid. Her own mother had had to boot her gently out of the nest. When the time came, Shelly would fly without hesitation. Rose would wobble, come back, flap her wings and try again.

Lynn wanted to be there to coax and urge and comfort, just as her mother had been for her.

It wasn’t as if Rose had another mother, she thought defensively. Then she might have made herself let go, though it would have hurt terribly. But Rose needed her. She was certain of that.

Oh, why didn’t the man call?

When he hadn’t on Sunday, she had figured he wanted