Then Jack, barefoot, bare-chested and wearing only pyjama bottoms, stalked through the house, down the steps to the front door and threw it open.
A tall, sandy blond-haired man with intensely blue eyes stood outside wearing a beat up leather bomber jacket, a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt stating his fondness for The Rolling Stones.
He had an even more beat up leather satchel over his shoulder and, alarmingly, a large, even more beat up leather bag sitting on the stoop by his foot.
His eyes bugged out when they fell on Jack’s face.
“Jesus, you’re the famous, rich dude,” he declared.
Jack scowled at him. “I am indeed. And you are?”
The man’s face split into an easy, wide, white smile and his hand shot forward toward Jack before he said, “Jenson Abbot, Belle’s Daddy.”
Jack stared at his hand, vaguely disappointed that he couldn’t commit homicide against Belle’s father and then he took his hand and shook it, introducing himself by saying, “Jack Bennett.”
“Dude, I know,” Jensen Abbot replied. “Christ, photos of you and Belle are everywhere.” He dropped Jack’s hand and went on, “You two look sweet together. Sah… weet. Never thought my precious girl would find someone to complement her, because, hey man, I don’t have to tell you, she’s beautiful but, seriously, dude, you… are… it.”
Jack had no reply to that however he did get the impression that perhaps Belle hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with how wild her father was and she had painted a verbal picture of Jensen Abbot that was rather wild.
“I came to surprise my baby girl and see how she’s gettin’ on with all this shit so, um, you think you could let me in because I kinda wanna see my daughter and I seriously need a caffeine fix. You know what I’m saying?”
“Of course,” Jack murmured, stepped back and motioned to Baron and Gretl to go up the stairs which they did.
Jensen didn’t delay. He picked up his bag and barrelled up the steps after the dogs.
While he did so, he shouted, “Bellerina, get your ass out here and give your ol’ Dad a hug!”
Jack had made it to the landing in time to see Belle come running out of the bedroom wearing her nightgown. Then he watched as she threw herself in her father’s arms.
“Dad!” she shouted happily as Jensen swung her around. Jack thought there was one thing good about Jensen interrupting Jack’s determination to break through during his Sunday and that was hearing Belle sounding happy for the first time in weeks.
Jack watched as Jensen hugged his daughter while the dogs danced around them and Gretl gave an excited woof.
Jensen pushed Belle a bit away and his gaze went immediately to the significantly faded bruise and stitched cut at her temple.
Then he exploded.
“Holy shit! What the f**k!”
Then, for some strange reason, his eyes slashed to Jack and, Jack noted, they did this accusingly.
Jack was taken off-guard. He thought Jensen was there because of the accident but apparently he didn’t know. Jack also couldn’t imagine why Jensen was glaring at him with murder in his eyes as if Jack himself had shoved Belle down the stairs.
He had no time to come to terms with either of these thoughts.
Belle’s face had grown pale and Jack bit back a curse before suggesting to Jensen, “Perhaps you and I can have word in the living room.”
“Yeah, we’ll have a f**kin’ word. We might have two,” Jensen ground out and his gaze swung back to his daughter as his hand curled around the side of her head, his thumb under the cut. “I mean, what the f**k?”
“Dad –” Belle whispered, her body swaying toward her father and her hand came up to his, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I’m okay.”
“Girl, you’ve got a head wound,” Jensen returned.
“I’m okay,” she repeated softly.
But Jensen was not appeased. His hand dropped but twisted and Jack watched him catch Belle’s hand and give it a squeeze. All the while his eyes were on Jack and Jack noted he didn’t look happy.
“Get your Dad a cup of joe, girl. Your man and I are gonna have words,” Jensen said without taking his gaze from Jack.