Nathan's Child - By Anne McAllister Page 0,8
felt them against his own rough fingers.
From fishing? he wondered. He didn’t have a clue. He knew nothing about her. Nothing at all.
She was still looking at him expectantly, and he realized the next move was up to him. “Won’t you…come in?”
He felt absurd, inviting his twelve-year-old daughter into his home as if she was a stranger. Fortunately, Lacey didn’t seem to see the absurdity of it. She just marched past him into the room, then looked around with interest.
Nathan wondered if she’d ever been in the house before.
He’d always loved it, had thought it was the best place on earth. He had been five when they’d first come to Pelican Cay, and when they’d flown in that first day, he’d thought their little seaplane was landing in paradise. It turned out he wasn’t far wrong. Pelican Cay in those days had sand and surf and sun and no telephones to take his father away on business for a week or more at a time.
He and his brothers had spent their happiest hours here. They used to say that it would be the best thing on earth to spend every day on Pelican Cay.
Lacey had. At least he supposed she had.
“Would you…like something to drink?” he asked her. “A soda?” She wouldn’t think he was offering her a beer, would she?
“Yes, please.” Was she always this polite? Was she always this self-possessed?
He started toward the kitchen, nodding for her to follow. “Is your…I mean, where is your…mother?” Somehow he was sure her visit had not been sanctioned by her mother.
“She teaches a painting class on Mondays,” Lacey said. She slipped off her backpack, set it on the counter in the middle of the kitchen. Then she perched on a stool as Nathan opened the refrigerator.
“Pineapple, sea grape or cola?”
“Pineapple, please. It’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too.” Nathan snagged the cans, straightened up and turned around. Their gazes met. And as he popped the tops and handed her the can, they both grinned, sharing the moment and the appreciation of pineapple soda. The knot of apprehension that had been coiled deep and tight inside Nathan ever since he’d discovered he had a daughter suddenly eased.
It reminded him of the feeling he got when he was just beginning fieldwork on a project. The days before he was actually there drove him crazy. Once he was involved, he experienced a welcome feeling of relief, a sense of rightness. Like this.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, and meant it.
“I’m glad you came,” Lacey countered. “I’ve been needing a father for quite a while.”
Nathan’s brows rose. “You have?”
“It’s difficult to be a one-parent child,” Lacey explained. “I don’t mean that my mother is a bad mother. She’s not. Not at all! She’s terrific. And mostly she manages very well. But there are, I think,” she said consideringly, “some things fathers are better at.”
“Are there?” Nathan was feeling stunned again.
“Mmm. Cutting bait.”
He stared at her blankly.
“Fishing.” She gave him a despairing look. “You do know how to fish?”
“Of course I know how to fish,” Nathan said, affronted. “I was, um, thinking of something else.” As in fish or… “Can’t your mother cut bait yet?”
He grinned, remembering Carin’s squeamishness when he’d taken her fishing so she would be able to share one of Dominic’s pleasures.
“She can. She doesn’t like to. She doesn’t like to fish.”
“And you do.” It wasn’t a question. He could see the sparkle in her eyes.
“But I always have to go with Lorenzo and his dad, and then Lorenzo always catches the biggest fish.”
“Because his dad cuts the bait?”
“No. Because he gets to go with his dad lots more than I do. And we always go where Thomas thinks the fish are biting, and they always are—for Lorenzo.”
“I see.” Well, sort of, he did. He gathered it had to do with the amount of time Thomas spent with his son—time that Nathan hadn’t spent with his daughter. But apparently she wasn’t just going to spell it out. Maybe it was the difference between boys and girls.
“Do you know any good fishing places?”
Nathan rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “I could probably find some.” He hoped.
“Good.” Lacey took a swallow of her soda. “Lorenzo could come with us, couldn’t he?”
“Sure.”
“I have your books.”
Nathan blinked, surprised by the change of topic, but even more so by what she’d changed it to. “You do?”
Lacey nodded. “My mother got them for me.”
“Why?” He could be blunt, too, Nathan decided.
“When I was little I asked about you, and