For the Girls' Sake - By Janice Kay Johnson Page 0,58

you. That really I’m her mommy, and he’s your daddy."

The thumb came out. "But you’re still mine, too."

Lynn wanted to make very, very sure Shelly believed her. "Forever and ever," she said strongly. "And Adam’s still her daddy, no matter what."

Shelly nodded. "That’s okay," she said matter-of-factly. "We can be sisters, just like you said. I like Rose."

"I know." Lynn hugged her and rocked gently. Shelly’s eyelids grew heavy and at last her thumb fell from her mouth. Smiling and crying, just a little, Lynn carried her to bed.

Not three minutes later, she heard footsteps on the stairs and Adam appeared with Rose in his arms. With swift intensity, his gaze took in Lynn’s face, and she guessed that he saw the traces of tears. But she smiled.

"Hi. Did you guys have a good walk?"

Rose looked at her with vivid blue eyes. "Daddy says you’re my mommy."

She smiled tremulously. "That’s right."

"I never had a mommy before."

"I know."

"Can I call you Mommy?"

"You bet." Her heart sang.

"’Kay." Rose wriggled. "I want down, Daddy."

He lowered her to the ground. She came to Lynn and said sweetly, "Daddy says I should take a nap. Do I hafta?"

Laughing, Lynn went to one knee in front of her. "Yep. Moms and Dads usually agree."

"Poop," she said succinctly.

"Come on." Lynn held out her arms. Rose climbed trustingly into them. "Shelly’s already asleep. Can you be really, really quiet, or would you rather nap in my bed?"

"Can I look at books if I nap in your bed?"

"Why not?" Lynn said recklessly, not checking to see what Adam thought of the plan.

"Your bed, please." Rose sounded prim.

"Sleep tight, Zinnia," Adam said above her.

"Daddy!"

"Yeah, yeah. Rose."

Her eyes misty, Lynn smiled at him over their daughter’s head as she stood. His answering smile was wry. He knew what she felt, and felt the same. Today, they had gained something and lost something. Being an exclusive parent was heady. You were the whole world to your daughter. Now, suddenly, Rose and Shelly didn’t have just a mommy or daddy. They had both. They had permission to love equally.

Now Lynn had Rose’s soft arms around her neck, had her whisper, "I’m glad you’re my mommy." In turn, she had to live with the small hurts inflicted when Shelly was fascinated by her real daddy, wanted him instead of Mommy.

But this was the way it should be, Lynn thought as she tucked Rose under the quilt on her bed, as she tiptoed into Shelly’s room to snatch a stack of picture books for Rose to look at under the covers, as she kissed Rose’s forehead and quietly slipped out of the room.

A family.

Anchored by a mommy and daddy who had never kissed, never shared a bed, didn’t know each other’s birthdays. Weren’t in love, never had been.

Didn’t know if they could be.

But Lynn trusted Adam enough to know that she wasn’t alone in hoping they would find love, in wanting to find it.

Today, she chose to be an optimist and believe they would.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LYNN’S FIRST OFFICIAL ACT as Adam’s wife might be the most difficult. She had to play gracious hostess to his first wife’s parents. Knowing they must resent her taking their daughter’s place, she had to understand and respect their grief.

Or perhaps, she thought with a small sigh as she checked the lasagna in the oven, Angela and Rob McCloskey would know perfectly well that they had no reason to resent her. She might be Mrs. Adam Landry in their daughter’s place, but she hadn’t replaced Jennifer in his heart and probably never would.

The girls were playing in Rose’s bedroom when the doorbell rang. Suddenly flustered, Lynn pulled off her apron and hurried to the front door, meeting Adam in the foyer. On a wash of greetings, Adam waved them in. The night was wet and chilly, and even the dash from the car had left water beading on their hair and coats.

Jovial and bluff, Rob McCloskey was clearly a man’s man, who looked as if he belonged out on the golf course with a foursome. His elegant wife gave Lynn an immediate pang, because Shelly might look like this when she was in her fifties. Lynn could see her in the shape of Angela McCloskey’s face, the set of her eyes. Lynn heard her daughter in this stranger’s musical voice.

The resemblance confirmed a truth that her heart didn’t want to accept: Shelly wasn’t really hers. She came from these people. Lynn’s claim was emotional.

The introductions were cordial. Adam hung wet coats