The Daddy's Promise. Shirley JumpЧитать онлайн книгу.
along with a bunch of junk mail. At the bottom of the pile was a thin envelope she almost missed. Anita tore into it.
The letter from her editor at the magazine started out friendly enough, then disintegrated into bad news. “Budget cuts…We regret to inform you…Wonderful writing…no further need for your services…Wish you luck elsewhere.”
The job she’d counted on was gone. Eliminated with a single sheet of paper and a thirty-seven cent stamp.
Attached to the letter was a check, for only forty percent of what she’d expected. The kill fee, which editors offered when they couldn’t use work they’d contracted to buy, wasn’t nearly enough.
When she’d landed that job, she’d thought it had been wonderful luck. Here was her chance to build a work-from-home career that would let her be with the baby and still earn a living. She’d figured between the booties business and the savings from living in Mercy instead of L.A., she’d come out ahead.
But now it looked as if she’d fallen behind.
Outside, thunder rumbled. A minute later, the skies let loose. Rain pounded down, slapping against the pavement with determination. In the right-hand corner of the kitchen, a steady drip-drip-drip began. Anita grabbed a three-quart pot and put it under the leak.
The water started dripping a symphony throughout the house. By the time she was done, she’d used five pots, two mixing bowls and all six of her glasses to catch the interior rainstorm.
Add one roofer to the list.
The mouse skittered across the floor, nose twitching, tail flicking. He glanced up at the kitchen table, then scurried around the chairs. He paused, curved his head up to look at her and sniffed twice.
“You’re pitiful when you beg.” Anita laid a crust of bread, topped with some of the horrendous marmalade, on the floor. The mouse tiptoed up to it, took one sniff and dived headfirst into his little mouse hole in the kitchen wall.
She laughed. “I don’t blame you. Give me a few days and we’ll be dining on steak. Well, at least chicken. I’ll come up with something.”
Things, after all, could be worse. She had a canned ham. Crackers. And marmalade she could use as putty. Not exactly the best choices from the four food groups, but she wouldn’t starve.
Anita grabbed her laptop and headed for her Honda. She’d get to the library, hook up to the Internet and scour the Web until she landed another freelance job. Then tonight she’d work like a little elf, crocheting until her fingers fell off.
She had credentials, clips, experience. She’d be fine.
There. A plan. Already she felt better. The rain sputtered against the Honda. Anita turned the key in the ignition.
Click, click, click. Then, nothing.
“Come on, baby.” She pressed on the gas pedal, turned the key again and prayed.
This time, the car didn’t even bother to click. Nothing but silence.
She climbed out of the vehicle, shut the door and popped the hood. Everything looked normal. The same jumble of wires and metal that had been there for the past six years.
No job. No car. No money. Even Anita had to admit she was facing a problem she didn’t have a ready solution for.
She didn’t know anyone yet in town, except for Miss Marchand, whom she doubted would be very mechanical. Maybe she could catch a ride downtown in the little red wagon.
There’s always Luke, her mind reminded her. Nope, she wasn’t going to call on him for help. Relying on Luke would be opening doors best left shut.
Or…there was his father, the part-time handyman. Maybe his skills included giving CPR to dead Hondas. She slung her laptop over her shoulder, grabbed an umbrella out of the hall closet, left a note for the electrician to go in through the back door—if he wanted to steal some unpacked boxes, more power to him—and then set out for Cherry Street in her sandals and sundress.
Mercy was a small town and within fifteen minutes, Anita had found it. The third house down was a white ranch with a hand-painted sign in the shape of a happy yellow daisy announcing, “The Doles Welcome You.”
She walked up the brick path, hesitating before she rang the bell. She told herself she didn’t care if Luke was the one on the other side of the door.
And yet, if that was true, the voice in the back of her mind asked, then why had she moved within three blocks of the only man she’d ever really trusted? Why did she care so much about the way his shoulders seemed to sag, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the way he looked at his daughter as if he was missing a piece of his soul?
Luke Dole didn’t fit into her plans for the future. Heck, he’d barely fit through her window.
He was the exact kind of man she didn’t need—a workaholic who spent more time at the office than living his life. And Anita wasn’t the kind of woman who relied on other people. Life had taught her that people left her, just when she needed them most. She was just fine on her own, thank you very much.
Nope, she wasn’t about to let Luke Dole in through the front door—of the house or of her heart. Not again.
Chapter Three
The doorbell chimed “Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here,” the happy song pealing through the rooms, carrying into the small office space Luke had created in the alcove off the kitchen.
He stopped working on the program he was designing for the newest client Mark had landed for their software business, created last year after Mark’s brilliant brainstorm, and got to his feet. He stretched, feeling the hours in the chair kinking in his back. Working at home for the past year had been nice, and convenient for keeping an eye on Emily, but at the end of the day, Luke missed the comfortable leather chair he’d had in the California office. An early-American maple kitchen chair just didn’t cut it—unless he had the spine of a rhino.
Before he could get to the door, Emily flounced into the kitchen. “I’m going out.” She grabbed her book bag off the counter and slung it over her shoulder. She’d changed into a shirt that said Angel across the front, with a little silver halo. Luke decided it was best not to comment on the irony of her outfit.
“You’re grounded, maybe for the rest of your natural life. Remember?”
“But, Dad.”
The doorbell chimed again. Luke crossed to the door, ignoring the mutiny sparking in Emily’s eyes. “I said no—” he began as he opened the door. The sentence died in his throat.
Anita. Standing on his front porch, looking wet and tired and more beautiful than anything he’d seen in a long time. Luke gulped and, for a minute, forgot where he was.
His gaze traveled over her heart-shaped face, past the delicate earlobes, down the long elegant curve of her neck, over the inviting swell of her breasts, straining against the sunflower-yellow dress.
He stopped when he noticed the visible bulge at her waist.
Anita was pregnant?
His gaze flickered to her left hand. Empty.
And unmarried?
He caught his jaw before it dropped to the floor. But…but…
Try as he might, he couldn’t get his mind around the thought of Anita pregnant and alone.
“I’m not a piece of art, you know,” Anita said, her voice light.
Luke jerked his attention back to Anita’s face. “Sorry. It’s been a tough morning.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She took a step inside, pausing in the entry hall. “Actually, I was looking for your father.”
“My father?”
“My