Home For Christmas. Carrie WeaverЧитать онлайн книгу.
mom telling Rachel how much she loved her. Nothing too scary there. Until she said Rachel’s dad wanted her to go live with him. And Mom thought it was a good idea. Total shocker, but kinda nice to know Dad wanted her. Still, her friends were in Texas, and all she’d ever known was Texas. She’d asked her mom to tell her dad, “thanks but no thanks.”
Mom had made it clear refusal wasn’t an option. A week later Rachel stood in front of a motel-room door, waiting for her dad to answer. And when he did, he’d gone completely pale, as if he’d seen an alien.
Well, it hadn’t taken a brain surgeon, or even an honor student, to figure out Dad hadn’t had a clue she was coming. For the first time since the Easter Bunny, Mom had lied. Lied. And that could only mean one thing—Mom didn’t want her anymore. Nearly as bad, Dad didn’t want her, either.
Rachel was distracted from her moping by a small hand patting her knee.
The little girl with the big, brown eyes murmured, “Sad.”
Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away with her sleeve. “Yeah. Sad.”
Beau knocked on the bathroom door, trying not to lose patience. “Come on, sweet pea, you’re gonna be late for school.”
“I look like a geek. Uniforms are stupid.”
Sighing, he figured he’d have to endure another replay of Rachel’s fashion woes. “You look fine.”
“No, I don’t. I look like some kind of preppy loser.”
“Then you’ll blend in with the rest of the preppy losers.”
“Daaad.”
“If you want a ride, you better get out here in five minutes. Otherwise, you take the bus.”
The bus. A fate worse than death to a high school freshman. Beau didn’t know much about raising a teenage girl, but he had a pretty good idea only the losers, preppy or otherwise, rode the bus.
Sure enough, Rachel was waiting by the front door, backpack slung over her shoulder, expression sullen, when he was ready to leave.
He complied with her request and dropped her off a block from school so he wouldn’t embarrass her. Beau hoped it was just the fact that she was a teen and he was a parent and not that she was ashamed of him. He might be a redneck son of a bitch at times, but he loved his daughter like crazy and would rather cut off his left arm than hurt her.
When ex-wife number one, Laurie, had dumped Rachel and her suitcases three months ago, he hadn’t seriously noted his ex’s muttered threats about sacrifice. The only thing that really stood out in the whole surreal conversation was one sentence. “I raised her the past fourteen years, you can raise her the next four.”
And that’s how he’d become a full-time father and certified lunatic.
Nancy paced outside the dealership and glanced at her watch. Their ad said they opened at 8:00 a.m. It was now ten after eight. She pulled on the door handle one more time to make sure it was locked, despite the low lighting inside and lack of activity.
“Sorry, I’m late, ma’am. I had to get my daughter to school.”
She stifled a groan. The cowboy from Parents Flying Solo trotted in her direction, his boots replaced with athletic shoes.
“You’re late.”
“Are you always this observant?”
Nancy opened her mouth to blister his thick hide, but noticed the twinkle in his eyes. That and his crooked smile defused her anger. “No, usually I require coffee first.”
“Good thing I make a killer cup of coffee.” He stuck out his hand. “Beau Stanton, I believe we met at the Parents Flying Solo meeting?”
She accepted his handshake. “Nancy McGuire.” For some reason, he didn’t seem quite as annoying today.
“Nice to meet you.” He fished a large key ring out of his pocket and opened the glass door. “Let me turn off the alarm and then you can come on in. You can tell me what kind of car you’re looking for while I make coffee.”
Following him into the showroom, she admired a convertible BMW, red of course. It looked like fun.
There was that word again. She needed safety and stability for Ana, if not herself. Lord knew Eric had been fun. Faithful would have been nicer.
Shaking her head, she wandered toward a minivan.
“I never figured you for a minivan kind of woman.”
Turning, she raised an eyebrow. “Oh. And what kind of woman do you think I am?” Damn, it came out almost flirtatious when that was the last thing she intended.
He looked her up and down, much as she’d done to him the night before at the meeting.
Nancy’s cheeks warmed. She was accustomed to male attention, even after she’d traded low-cut T-shirts and jeans for tailored pantsuits. Her conservative look was more consistent with her new life as a successful real-estate broker than aging prom queen trying to hold on to her husband.
Why did this man bring out the extremes in her? Last night, his cocky attitude had made her mad enough to spit nails. Today, she was experiencing the forbidden thrill of the chase. She did not want male attention. She did not need male attention. And if she repeated the mantra to herself enough times, maybe she would believe it.
Beau let out a low whistle under his breath while he absorbed the woman’s sultry question, “What kind of woman do you think I am?” It was a loaded question, a little like, “Do I look fat in this dress?” No matter which way he answered, he was toast. “Darlin’, I tell my daughter women can be anything they want to be. President, rocket scientist or the best damn mom on earth. It’s just a matter of wanting it bad enough. I’m betting you’re a success at whatever you do.”
Mentally congratulating himself on his smooth escape, Beau poured two cups of coffee and handed one to her.
She crossed her arms. “Why couldn’t I be president and the best damn mom on earth? The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Uh-oh, they were back in dangerous territory. He was supposed to sell her a car at a hefty profit, not debate women’s rights. “Darlin’, let’s go look at that minivan.”
Two hours later, Beau was sweating bullets and crunching numbers like crazy. “Lady, there’s no way I can sell the minivan to you for that price. We’d lose money.”
“No, you won’t.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her cavernous purse and showed him the reasons he could sell her a minivan at that price.
Running a hand through his hair, he did some quick mental calculations. His commission would be practically nonexistent, but it was nearing the end of the month and one more sale would pretty much clinch Salesman of the Month. The prize, a big-screen TV, would more than make up for the lost commission.
“You drive a hard bargain. But you’ve got a deal.”
She smiled. Not the tight, polite smile she’d given earlier, but a joyous, triumphant smile that lit up her face like a Christmas angel.
Beau sucked in a breath. If she’d smiled like that in the beginning, the minivan would have been hers in half the time. And that was a very, very bad sign.
Beau reminded himself of his responsibilities. There was only one female in the whole wide world he could allow himself to obsess over these days, even if his body told him otherwise.
Chapter 2
Beau sidled into the Parents Flying Solo meeting almost a week later and scanned the room. He exhaled with relief. Nancy McGuire wasn’t there.
He’d have been able to spot her halo of long, blond hair anywhere. Or her smile. Or her extremely lovely body.