For the Girls' Sake - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,28

She clearly didn’t want to stay any more than he wanted her to.

Or so he told himself. If he were being brutally honest, he’d admit that he had sweated all week over this visit. He felt inadequate enough with Rose. What would he do if Shelly skinned her knee and cried or got homesick and wanted her mommy?

His mother wasn’t a feminine woman. A potter, she had most often worn denim overalls and rubber boots she could hose off. Barb Landry was a creative, passionate, intelligent woman, and not for a moment even in his childhood would he have traded her in for any of his friends’ mothers, but she hadn’t been terribly interested in her son’s childish problems, either. She wanted nothing more than to be back in her studio, as if the spinning of her potter’s wheel had mesmerized her so that she could never wander far from it. He’d always known, when she made him lunch or looked at his artwork or helped with homework, that she would have preferred to be footing a bowl or delicately incising a pattern in a vase or experimenting with firing temperatures.

From her he’d learned to focus with an intensity most people couldn’t manage. A single-minded commitment to work brought success. He’d learned the power of words and books and ideas. He’d grown up to be self-sufficient.

He hadn’t learned a thing about parenting. Especially about parenting a little girl.

Adam envied and resented Lynn Chanak’s ease with both Shelly and Rose. He doubted she ever wondered whether she was doing everything wrong. Her ability to talk warmly and directly to a child without patronizing was exactly why he didn’t want her here. In comparison, he felt wooden, even less capable of appearing to be the perfect father-figure than usual.

Her same ability explained his relief when she’d graciously agreed to stay.

It didn’t explain why he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her nicely rounded hips and tiny waist as he followed her down the hall. Today she wore a little black skirt that exposed plenty of leg.

He swallowed.

Then there was her hair, gathered into a high ponytail that spilled thick auburn curls to the middle of her back. The wanton disorder of those curls was an intriguing contrast to her slender, pale neck and firm chin. Her hair would be glorious loose and tumbling over her bare shoulders.

Adam almost groaned.

Think of Rose, he told himself. Think of Shelly, and the awful mess all their lives already had become.

His mouth twisted. Add even a flirtation, and he and Lynn wouldn’t have a hope of achieving the friendly, flexible, rational relationship they would need to make this bizarre attempt to share their daughters work.

Through his preoccupation Adam finally became aware that Lynn had been silent for too long. Still on the threshold of Rose’s bedroom, Lynn studied every shelf, every corner, with a care that made him nervous. What was wrong? Had he tried too hard?

"Does she know how lucky she is?" Lynn asked.

He plumbed her tone for sarcasm and came up with sadness. Because she’d never be able to buy as much for Shelly?

"I wanted everything to be perfect for her." He took a step closer, looking over her shoulder into his daughter’s room, where both girls crouched in front of the Barbie house and talked animatedly. "I wasn’t trying to spoil her."

"I didn’t say you were."

"But you don’t like her room."

She gave him an anguished look. "It’s fairyland. What little girl wouldn’t be thrilled?"

He still didn’t get it. "You think Shelly will be jealous?"

Her smile trembled. "I think she won’t want to come home."

Adam felt stupid for not understanding. "You can’t buy love." Although Rose’s room looked as if he’d tried, he saw suddenly.

The next instant, he squashed his chagrin. He’d worked hard for his success! He sure wasn’t going to be ashamed of his ability to buy his daughter what she wanted.

"No. You can’t buy love." But she didn’t sound certain. "It’s all so neat. Did you clean specially for Shelly’s visit?"

His grunt held little amusement. Here was the kicker. "Rose doesn’t play with most of this stuff. She doesn’t want to be up here by herself. She has friends over once in a while, but otherwise..." He shrugged.

Rose still cried at night, too. A couple of times a week she crept down the hall, whimpering, and slipped into bed with him. The books he’d read said parents should never let their children sleep with them, but sometimes he weakened. He’d