His BlackBerry chirped

“Derrick Cavenaugh.”

“Mr. Cavenaugh, this is Detective Oaks with the Atherton PD. I’m at the Stop Right on the corner of Elm and Matteson. There’s been an incident with your daughter, Leslie, and I’m afraid the owner intends to press charges….”

Derrick pasted on a calm expression, while his insides churned up the take-out sushi he’d gulped down for lunch. But as the cop summed up Leslie’s latest contribution to Derrick’s plunge into single-parent insanity, Derrick kept his panic to himself. He was getting good at it.

His oldest had apparently skipped classes again. And now she had her sights firmly set on adding a petty larceny conviction to her middle school résumé.

Dear Reader,

Success can be a fickle goal to chase. For some of us, the reality of life never quite lives up to the promise of our youth. And yet there’s a wonderful sort of starting over that can happen when we break free of expectation. When we start saying what’s next, instead of looking back.

High school valedictorian Bailey Greenwood never made it to college, and All-American quarterback Derrick Cavenaugh washed out long before realizing his dream of playing pro ball. But these two fighters are everything champions should be—whether they’re ready to believe it or not. And their journeys have brought them to the same place. They can continue to define themselves by past failures, or they can start fighting for the new dreams just beyond their reach.

Participating in the SINGLES…WITH KIDS series has been a blast. This isn’t my first single-parent story, but it’s turned out to be my favorite. Each of the books in SINGLES…WITH KIDS is uplifting, heartwarming and at times laugh-out-loud funny. And the same message rings throughout: single parents are hardworking, determined survivors, and they are champions, one and all.

So to all the single moms and dads fighting and dreaming out there, let me just say—well done!

I love to hear from readers. Please let me know what you think of my stories at www.annawrites.com. And join the fun and fabulous giveaways at annadestefano.blogspot.com.

Sincerely,

Anna

All-American Father
Anna Destefano

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Romantic Times BOOKreviews award-winning author Anna DeStefano fell in love at first sight with her hero husband. Watching him become the world’s greatest father from the first moment he held their son in his hands, she fell in love with him all over again. It’s difficult for her to choose her favorite part of writing family dramas—at least until she dreams up another hardworking hero doing his very best for his family. Then it’s show over. The fathers get to her every time.

For

Andrew

my champion,

and

Jimmy

my dream catcher.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“NICE JOB, CAVENAUGH.” Derrick’s senior partner slapped him on the shoulder as they left the high-rise conference room behind.

“Thanks, Spencer,” Derrick replied with the expected hint of nonchalance. “We’ll have the merger portfolio ready for Reynolds-Allied to sign by the end of the month.”

It felt good to be in control of something.

Anything.

Contract law wasn’t as sexy as the professional football career he and his old man had envisioned for Derrick’s life. But being on top of his game during high-stakes negotiations was its own kind of rush.

The boardroom was the only place he wasn’t failing on a daily basis, since returning to San Francisco a year ago. Where his—God, he hated the word—potential wasn’t being wasted.

“You’re coming to the alumni mixer at the Western–Langston game in a couple of weeks, right?” Spencer Hastings’s questions were rarely just questions. Derrick was being summoned. And Hastings had a stranglehold on the junior partner promotion Derrick was banking his family’s future on. “You’ll make everyone’s night by showing up.”

“I…” Derrick’s legacy as the alumni football star from San Francisco’s Western High had secured him a spot at the firm of Hastings Chase Whitney. But he was a chronic no-show at as many local social events as he could avoid. Especially the sports-related ones, where there was little business to be done, and too much of what he was supposed to have become slapping him in the face. Like the Western alumni gathering, scheduled for Western’s annual grudge match against Langston High School, this year to be played at Langston’s stadium across the bay—the suburb where Derrick now lived with his girls. “I’ll have to find a sitter for Leslie and Savannah.”

“Nonsense.” Hastings gave his shoulder a firmer slap as the elevator rushed them to the ground floor. “Bring the kids along.”

Derrick tried to picture his twelve-year-old and nine-year-old, resentful already of the time his job stole from them, listening to Daddy relive glory days with a bunch of people they didn’t know. In under half an hour, he’d have a Powerpuff-Girl-sized mutiny on his hands.

Zam.

Pow!

Dad, we wanna go. Now!

“I’ll see what I can do.” He flashed his golden-boy grin to smooth things along. “My oldest is working on a science project, and—”

His BlackBerry chirped.

He sifted through his overflowing briefcase as they emerged through revolving doors onto the bustling sidewalk.

“Derrick Cavenaugh.”

“Mr. Cavenaugh, this is Detective Oaks with the Langston PD. I’m at the Stop Right on the corner of Elm and Matteson. There’s been an incident with your daughter, Leslie, and I’m afraid the owner intends to press charges….”

Derrick pasted on a calm expression, while his insides churned up the take-out sushi he’d gulped down for lunch. Hastings kept his gaze politely focused on the shuffle of business people streaming by. But as the cop summed up Leslie’s latest contribution to Derrick’s plunge into single-parent insanity, Derrick kept his panic to himself. He was getting good at it.

His oldest had apparently skipped classes again. And now she had her sights firmly set on adding a petty larceny conviction to her middle school resume.

TWO PART-TIME JOBS…

One aging bed-and-breakfast by the bay…

A cop and a preteen thief standing between Bailey Greenwood and the end of her Stop Right shift…

Cost to Bailey’s insomnia-challenged grip on reality?

Priceless.

“Mr. Drayton, I need to get going,” she said. “I’ve already given the officer my statement, and—”

“Not until the girl’s father arrives,” grumped the convenience store owner who’d insisted that she cover the afternoon shift, because he’d been unavailable when Sally Traver called in sick. But wave the petty theft of a seven-dollar box of condoms before the cheapskate, and Drayton had beaten the police to the store. “I want the officer to have all the information he needs to put that little hoodlum behind bars.”

The hoodlum in question was currently slumped in the cracked plastic chair in Drayton’s office, cowering in a jailbait ensemble Bailey suspected had been purchased somewhere like Bloomingdale’s, rather than the latest mall-rat hangout. The kid had attitude to spare, but she seemed more desperate for attention than becoming a hoodlum-in-training.

“She’s got the money to pay for what she took.” The girl had flashed an impressive wad of cash in a snotty attempt to keep Bailey from calling the cops. “Why not let her square things, then leave her parents to deal with the rest?”

And let me get to Margo’s Bistro before I lose the new job that might spring me from this dump, if I can get enough hours there.

“The money’s not the point,” the man actually had the nerve to say, when bottom line was his native language. “If I let one of these miscreants off, they’ll be all over this place, taking me for everything I’m worth.”

As if there was a gang of upper-middle-class hell-raisers looking to supplement their allowances by pilfering from the resident Scrooge!

Larry Drayton stocked the cheapest inventory he could get away with selling, trading on his prime location as the only convenience store on the main drag that led from their affluent bedroom community to the interstate linking them to the Golden Gate. He was downright rude to customers, inflexible on principle with his hourly employees and did a nimble tightrope dance around the regulations of his trade that would bite him in the butt one day.

Bailey had checked the expiry date on the Trojan condoms she’d reclaimed from the kid. If their under-aged klepto was planning a party, Bailey had done her and the girl’s parents a favor. Evidently, it had been ten years since Scrooge last stocked prophylactics.

“I’m going to grab my things,” she murmured.

Scott Fletcher had wandered in a few minutes ago—a half hour late for his shift. She was free to go, as soon as Daddy showed.

What kind of parent took an hour and a half to get himself to the scene of his child’s crime?

When Bailey entered the office, the pop-princess wanna-be rearranged her worried features into a scowl. The kid’s attempt at tough came off lonely and scared, the combination weakening Bailey’s determination to not get involved.

She didn’t have time for involved. But neither did this blond angel’s parents, evidently.

“You know—” she slipped into Scrooge’s chair “—if your guy can’t spring for the rubbers, you might want to consider trading up.”

The girl—Leslie, Bailey had heard her say to the cop when she’d recited her dad’s cell number—looked shocked, a split second before she rebounded with a sneer.

“Like there’s just one guy.”

“Well, if you’re going to tag-team it,” Bailey smart-assed back, “I’d suggest you shoplift at the Wal-Mart. Prehistoric condoms are a bad deal, even when they’re free.”

The kid’s forehead scrunched in confusion, morphing her toughness into the kind of adorable she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to outgrow. Bailey plucked the discarded condoms from the desk and tossed them over. The girl snatched the box one-handed.

Nice reflexes.

Hopefully, her mind was just as quick.

“Condoms have expiration dates for a reason,” Bailey explained. “They tend to break after they’ve been sitting for too long.”

More scrunching, then an image of what breaking meant must have flashed through the girl’s mind. Cheeks reddening, she glanced down at the pre-Y2K date on the box, then slapped the condoms to the desk.

“Oh…” Looking younger by the second, she clenched her hands in her lap. “I—”

“Leslie Marie Cavenaugh!” a masculine voice boomed from the doorway.

The kid’s face drained of color, turning mutinous at the same time. Crossing her arms, she sank farther into the acid-green chair.

Bailey barely noticed.

Daddy was six-four and then some, with the kind of broad shoulders and trim waist that did dangerous things to a woman’s fantasies. His pricey suit screamed money and privilege, but the hands braced on his hips looked as tough as ever, and his nose had been broken more than once.

Bailey had seen the first break from the sidelines. He’d thrown the winning touchdown pass at Western’s 1995 state championship game, and the opposing defensive end had taken exception.

Just looking at him brought the past flooding back.

“Derrick Cavenaugh.”

It took a few seconds to realize she’d said his name out loud. Several seconds more to register that he hadn’t recognized her in return.

And why on earth should he?

Western High’s “Most Likely to Succeed” blinked down at her, a washed-up valedictorian, without a flicker of recognition for the woman who’d worshiped him from afar, when she hadn’t been much older than his daughter.

CHAPTER TWO

SHRUGGING OFF the admiring glances of women was nothing new. Derrick was a large man who, whether he wanted to or not, enjoyed the even larger public persona that came with having been a pro football prospect. Even after his NFL dreams tanked, compliments of a near-crippling back injury, the Mighty DC still got noticed.

While married to Amanda, random female attention never tempted him to do more than look back. Since she left him for his ex-best friend, Rodney Canton, life had been too raw for Derrick to give a damn.

Until roughly sixty seconds ago.

The pixie-like woman sitting behind the shabby desk had devoured him with her eyes before he’d made it through the door. When she’d whispered his name in that husky voice, every muscle below his waist had clenched with the instinct to get closer. Soft, curly chestnut hair held back with a rubber band, a heart-shaped face completely devoid of makeup, she’d looked both familiar and different at the same time.

Though different from what was anyone’s guess, since as far as he knew, they’d never met.

He’d bet his Reynolds-Allied bonus she wouldn’t make five-two stick in heels, and his tastes usually veered toward leggy blondes with mischief in their eyes. The woman now looking everywhere but at him had the air of someone too harried to give mischief a second glance.

So why did he have the urge to get her on her feet to see if the waist half-hidden behind the desk was really as tiny as he imagined it would be?

“Dad!” His mortified preteen glanced between him and the stranger he’d been gaping at.

Sinking into the agony of watching his oldest daughter spiral into a dark place he couldn’t protect her from, Derrick gave his fear and anger free rein.

“Get your butt in the car.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s no chance of talking the shop owner out of pressing charges, but the cop said you’re sprung until you go before the judge. Do yourself a favor and work up the necessary enthusiasm to say you’re sorry on the way out the door.”

Before a year ago, he’d never said anything harsher than boo to his children. They’d been daddy’s girls from birth. So eager to please, just like Amanda. He’d eaten up every smile and I love you, Daddy, not for a second realizing how elusive that kind of adoration could be—in both daughters and wives.

“I already said I’m sorry,” Leslie mumbled. “Two hours ago, when that cop called you.”

Her scowl trembled, then she tightened that traitorous lower lip that turned Derrick’s heart to mush every time she fought not to cry. Staring down at the stiletto boots she’d shown up in a week ago, with no explanation of where they’d come from, she slinked out of the office like a shadow of the good kid he knew still lurked inside.

“She’s crying out for attention.”

Derrick whirled on the woman who’d finally risen to her feet.

“Excuse me?”

Judgment and disapproval had replaced her blatant admiration. She tucked the hem of her T-shirt into well-worn jeans no woman should look that spectacular in. Then she and the waist that was even tinier than he’d envisioned stepped around the desk.

“The longer you took to get here, the more belligerent your daughter became.”

“Traffic over the bridge was a bitch, not that it’s any of your business.”

Bailey, or so her name badge read, twirled a tendril of hair between nervous fingers. She started to speak, stopped, then shrugged as if to say, what the hell.

“Your daughter’s getting in over her head.” She met his gaze dead-on, which took guts considering he was ready to explode and his expression no doubt showed it. “Stealing is bad enough, but—”

“I’m a lawyer. I don’t need a convenience store clerk to tell me that shoplifting is a serious offense. I just got an earful from the cop outside.”

“Did he bother to mention what your daughter took?” Her eyes narrowed.

“No. Stealing is stealing.”

“Not if you’re a twelve-year-old girl.” She reached for a purse and a familiar-shaped box. “You don’t remember me, Derrick, but you seemed like a pretty good guy in high school. When you find the time in your busy schedule, you or your wife might want to have a talk with Leslie about birth control.”

He stared at the twelve-pack of condoms. His mouth opened to fire a dozen questions at the departing Bailey, but he couldn’t find the words.

His baby girl was apparently flirting with the idea of being sexually active, and the sassy clerk at the Stop Right, the crotchety owner and even Detective Oaks had known before Derrick had.

“I KNOW I’M LATE,” Bailey blurted as she hustled into Margo’s Bistro.

Giving up on heading home to shower and change, she’d raced away from the Stop Right—and Derrick Cavenaugh’s domestic problems—and headed straight for the bistro.

“It’s slow for a Thursday night.” Margo Evans motioned toward the group of women she’d been sitting with at a corner table. “A few friends popped in. Nothing Robert and I couldn’t handle.”

Margo and her husband’s bistro had become the latest trendy meeting spot for the residents and business people who milled around San Francisco’s South of Market Area. A month or so back, Bailey and Margo had bumped into each other, literally, while Bailey bussed tables and circulated trays at a wedding the other woman attended.

Margo had needed weekday help in the evenings, which was perfect for Bailey. Her hands were full at her family’s bed-and-breakfast all morning. Every day. And the bistro’s pay beat the minimum wage Drayton grudgingly doled out.

“Get back to your friends.” Bailey slipped behind the counter. “I’ll see what Robert needs.”

Pushing through the double doors to the kitchen, she clocked in and grabbed her apron. Bailey had been embroidered in sunny yellow on the apron’s apple-green fabric. As if she belonged there, when Margo’s was just one more part-time job in the endless string she’d had since high school.

Dead-end jobs were necessary. They kept the bills paid. They weren’t anything close to the exciting life she’d dreamed of, but that was fine. So was arriving at her second part-time gig of the day, rumpled and twelve hours past shower-fresh. Whatever she had to do, however she looked doing it, Bailey didn’t mind, as long as she kept her grandmother’s business afloat.

“You want to take these out while I get the ladies their drinks?” Robert handed over a plate filled with specialty muffins and scones that were typically sold out after the breakfast rush. For Margo and her friends, he’d broken into tomorrow morning’s stash.

Bailey smiled and nodded, heading into the other room with the platter. Robert co-owned the bistro with Margo, and he had some big-time job in finance or banking. But nights and weekends, when he wasn’t hanging out with Margo’s kids, he was in the bistro lending a hand wherever she needed him. They were one part newlyweds, married just since August, and one part old married couple. The kind of couple that finished each others’ sentences and slipped into both romantic and silly moments as if they’d never known any different.

Their happiness would be enchanting to watch if their ready-made family didn’t reek of the kind of too-good-to-be-true situation that Bailey typically avoided.

“Here you go.” She set pastries in front of her boss and the other two women at the table.

“I tell you, he’s not going to come,” said the brightly dressed woman beside Margo who looked vaguely familiar.

“He’s in over his head.” Margo’s other friend managed to look both tough and gentle as she contributed to the evening’s gossip.

Margo chuckled. “That’s usually when most people think they have it all figured out.”

“Can I get you anything else?” Bailey asked, maintaining the illusion of privacy while she stood close enough to take their next order. She was there, but she was invisible.

The service industry is in our blood, Grams kept saying, passing off the Greenwood family’s legacy of perpetually serving, while others relaxed and took a break from their lives, as a magical gift bestowed upon only the chosen few.

“No, thank you, Bailey. This looks lovely.” Margo smiled, as if the way Bailey had placed the plate of desserts on the table was a slice of heaven on earth.

“I’ll get your drinks.” Bailey backed away, her return smile forced.

She needed this job. To keep the Gables Inn out of the red, she’d take two or three more just like it. Her new employer’s overly exuberant appreciation was a small cross to bear, even if it held a hint of pity for how much Bailey and her grandmother were struggling.

“Drinks ready?” Bailey picked up a tray at the counter Robert was now working behind.

The door chimed behind her. Robert nodded his head in greeting to whoever had come in.

“Selena gets the espresso, straight up.” He loaded Bailey’s tray. “And Margo likes her lattes.”

“Selena?”

“The artist.”

Ah.

The woman wearing the vibrant combination of a deep plum tunic and sage-green skirt, who Bailey could have sworn she’d met somewhere before.

“You came!” She heard Selena exclaim.

Bailey turned. Her experienced hold on the tray of steaming drinks deserted her at the sight of Derrick Cavenaugh holding the beautiful artist’s hand and smiling as he chuckled—genuinely chuckled—at something she was saying.

Crash!

Then everyone was staring at Bailey and the broken pottery littering the floor.

BAILEY GREENWOOD…

Derrick had wrangled her name out of her boss, while he’d failed once again to talk the irritated man into dropping the shoplifting charges.

Little Bailey Greenwood…

The name was vaguely familiar, but besides the heather-green eyes, he had only a distant memory of an overly bright kid who, as a freshman, had kicked his and everyone else’s butts in senior calculus class.

And now she was working the counter at a suburban minimart?

The kid behind the Stop Right register hadn’t blinked before spilling that his coworker wasn’t on her way home at six in the evening.

Bailey’s always scrambling for work. I think she’s hooked up with some coffee place in SOMA, something like two nights a week….

Leslie had shot into her room and locked the door after their silent drive home. The sitter was already paid for, since Derrick had planned to stay at the office late to work on Reynolds-Allied briefs. He’d made sure Savannah was settled, then he’d headed back to town, to track Bailey down. Maybe to talk her into…

Into what?

After he’d treated her like a nobody back in Langston, he had no right to ask for anything.

“Oh, dear.” One of the women sitting with Selena set off to help Bailey clean up.

“I’m sure babes swoon at your feet on a daily basis,” teased Selena, his only friend from high school who’d never been impressed by his impending greatness. The only Western alumni he’d kept up with over the years. “But I bet having one throw food is a new twist.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t at my charming best when we met a little while ago.” Derrick winced. “I didn’t expect her to be excited to see me again, but—”

“Wait. You followed Bailey Greenwood here?” Selena glanced at her remaining friend. “I should have known it would take a woman to get him to come.”

“Come where?” He was only half listening.

Bailey had hustled the dripping tray into what looked like the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on the wall. He had a preteen at home on crime watch.

“Derrick, this is my friend Nora Clark,” Selena said. “She’s one of the parents I’ve been telling you about. You know, the group that might be able to help you work things out with Leslie and Savannah.”

Group?

Derrick groaned.

He’d stumbled into the middle of the single-mother gabfest Selena had been pimping for the last few months. Panic didn’t begin to describe the sudden urge to make himself scarce.

Selena was a successful installation artist. She had her own kid to keep track of. Where did she find the time for a sorority-esque coffee klatch?

“If you’ll excuse me.” He left as the woman he’d heard someone call Margo headed back their way.

Pushing through the swinging door Bailey disappeared behind, he found a brightly lit industrial kitchen that looked like it turned out a lot more than the simple desserts offered at other San Francisco coffee houses. The sound of running water led him around a corner.

“Employees only back here, buddy,” the dynamo scouring the tray said without glancing up from the sink. “Health department regulations.”

Bailey looked even more exhausted than she had back at the store. Embarrassed, too, which had clearly upped her determination to avoid him.

“I’m sorry.” He held up his hands. “I had no right to jump down your throat earlier. My only excuse is that it was my first stint picking my child up at a crime scene, and I was too worried about Leslie to thank you for your help. Someone mentioned you might be here tonight. I came to apologize.”

“But I thought you and Selena…” She wiped at the wisps of hair that had curled free of her ponytail, then dove back into scrubbing, even though the last of the coffee had already swirled down the drain. “Never mind. If you’re so worried about your daughter, shouldn’t you be home, sharing your concern with your family, instead of me?”

“Well, I also wanted to…”

He was talking to the top of her head.

“Bailey—” He reached over her shoulder and turned off the tap.

“Hey!” She spun around to push him away with soapy hands. Moisture seeped through his shirt. “Back off.”

She was barely tall enough to reach his chest. The soft, brown hair she wore in a ponytail smelled like cinnamon.

Taking several steps back, he cleared his throat.

“I wanted to ask if you’d consider helping my daughter just a little more,” he forced himself to say. “Leslie’s a good kid who’s confused and trying to deal with everything that’s changed in her life over the last couple of years. She needs time. She needs a chance to start over, but your boss is determined to make an example of her. If you could help change his mind, you’d be making a huge difference in a young girl’s life.”

Bailey’s eyes drained of the promise to slap him if he invaded her personal space again. The spunk she’d been running on seemed to fizzle, along with the soap bubbles oozing down the sides of the sink.

“I had a few minutes back at the Stop Right.” She wiped her hands on her apron. Smoothed them over the tendrils of hair framing her delicate cheekbones. “Beyond that, I’m fresh out of time to make a difference in anyone’s life.”

The hitch in her voice, the tears in her eyes as she brushed by, was a new low Derrick hadn’t thought his day could sink to. He had somehow hurt her. And that was dirty pool.

If Bailey were still just pissed, that would be one thing. Having to ask a near stranger for help wasn’t his strong suit, but if she’d fired off another put-down, flashed another of those scathing looks, called him an inept father, he would have followed her back into the bistro and tried to reason with her some more.

But causing Bailey Greenwood even more distress tonight was out of the question, no matter how desperate he was.

CHAPTER THREE

LESLIE SNUCK OUT of her bedroom window, leaving the house and her Saturday morning babysitter behind, and headed across Langston to meet up with Julia Parker. Her dad would be working in the city all day—again. And their stupid neighbor had fallen asleep on the couch, while Savannah zoned out on cartoons.

Bolting from house arrest had been so easy, it was embarrassing.

You’re a smart girl, her dad had insisted last night. Smarter than this. We’ll figure out a way to get the shop owner to see reason. But you’ve got to stop trying to get back at me by trashing your life.

She hated him.

She hated her mom.

Her stupid life.

The stupid box of condoms she’d been caught stealing.

Ginger Nash had called her a baby, because Leslie had never even seen a rubber. So just to prove how grown up she was, what had Leslie done? She’d chickened out of buying them and tried to grab-and-go instead.

Still, she’d gotten what she wanted. The news of her crime had spread all over Langston. It had even made it as far as her little sister’s elementary school by yesterday afternoon.

Are you going to jail? Savannah had asked over frozen dinners and Kool-Aid last night.

Of course she’s not going to jail!

Their dad’s fist had pounded the table beside his plate of microwaved-beyond-recognition lasagna. He’d promised to fix the mess Leslie had made, then he’d squeezed Savannah’s hand, because she’d started to cry. He might be the Mighty DC, but tears got to him every time. They’d gotten Savannah an extra story before bedtime.

Well, Leslie didn’t want another story. She didn’t want her dad to fix things here. She wanted her life in Atlanta back. Things the way they used to be. She wanted her dad to have the guts to admit that their West Coast new start sucked.

Why did he have to look like he was going to puke every time she talked about going home? Sure, her mom was in Atlanta, parading around with her new husband like she was all that. But if both her parents were going to ignore Leslie, at least they could let her have her friends and her old school back.

Crossing the street to get to the bookstore Julia had said to meet at, Leslie scrubbed at her eyes.

Wiping away tears was different than crying.

“You ready to go?” Julia asked around the straw in her can of Coke. “Ginger’s mom’s gone for the weekend, and her grandmother’s book club is meeting until five. No one will bother us as long as we stay in her basement.”

Mrs. Nash was always gone, and Ginger knew how to make the most of every opportunity to make trouble. And a little more trouble was exactly what Leslie needed.

“Let’s go.” She grabbed at Julia’s Coke and took a swig that didn’t quite settle her stomach. She’d be grounded for the rest of her life after this.

Whatever.

As long as it got her dad out of his fancy downtown office and back on this side of the bay. Then maybe he’d see that Leslie didn’t fit here, and he’d take her and her sister back to Atlanta.

Their family’s move to a new city on a new coast wasn’t going to work.

Leslie planned to make sure of it.

“WE OWE TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS in back taxes.” Beverly Greenwood gulped at her granddaughter’s double take. “Travis thinks he might have missed a few things on a couple of our returns.”

“What was his first clue?” Bailey dropped the IRS audit summons to the kitchen table.

Why had Beverly thought it was a good idea to have their addled, retired CPA neighbor do their taxes for free?

Because it was free!

For a word that basically meant nothing, free could be terribly important to a woman in Beverly’s financial bind. And the inn’s balance sheet had been chafing for years.

Seven o’clock on a Sunday morning was too early for dire business strategizing, but their weekend guests, including newlyweds, would be expecting breakfast soon. Four of the inn’s six suites were booked. A nice ratio for the fall season, and Beverly should be grateful for the business. Still, there’d be three loads of sheets and towels to do. Four, once the linens from the dining room were cleared. All before she started on the light lunch the inn now included in the room rate.

The day-to-day grind of keeping the family business afloat was fast becoming an exercise in futility.

There’d been little time for anything but survival the last couple of years. She and Bailey were exhausted. Bookings were down. Their inn didn’t have the high-end trappings vacation travelers looked for these days. Or the “location, location, location” on the San Francisco side of the bridge, that would have smoothed over the quainter parts of their establishment.

Beverly didn’t mind covering the housework, now that they’d cut their staff to the bone. Or cooking most of the day, since they could no longer afford to bring in even the simplest dishes from local vendors. This place was the only home, the only life, she’d ever known.

But her granddaughter, her beautiful, brilliant granddaughter…

Bailey had been running the business side of the inn since her father died. Not to mention scrambling for whatever money she could make elsewhere. She’d given up so much, taking more on her strong shoulders than should ever have been hers. Putting her own dreams on hold year after year.

“I should have double-checked Travis’s returns.” Bailey dropped her head into her hands.

“You’ve been a little busy lately, keeping our buns out of the bank’s fire.”

“Yeah, well, the government wants its crack at our buns now.” Bailey had meant to reassure her grandmother, but her pun fell flat. “We don’t have ten thousand dollars, Grams.”

The panic that came with the realization was nothing new. Bailey had once collected labels like promising and gifted. Her grandmother, her dad, had been so proud. They’d given her every chance to stretch her wings and fly into the future they’d assured her was within her grasp.

Then in a blink, that future was gone.

Her father’s fatal heart attack at forty-five had been explained away by a genetic defect. No one could have known anything was wrong. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault, the doctor kept saying. As if assigning blame was the point.

Bailey had lost her world. The center of everything that her life had revolved around.

Almost everything.

She hadn’t lost Grams. And they hadn’t lost the inn yet. Saving this place had gotten her and her grandmother through the darkest of the last eleven years.

“We can meet with the auditor, right?” There had to be a way to make this work. “We’ll explain our situation and figure something out.”

“Honey…” Her grandmother’s sigh reeked of giving up. “There’s just so much we can do. I didn’t mention it before, but a lawyer called a few months ago. He has a client looking to expand their spa franchise to the West Coast. Maybe we should—”

“No!”

Their family had scraped and fought through the Depression. After Grandpop died in World War Two and left Beverly to raise an infant son alone, Grams had somehow made it by. Then Bailey’s dad had slaved to turn the aging historical building into a thriving bed-and-breakfast, not once thinking of bailing, not even when Bailey’s mom had lost her battle with ovarian cancer when Bailey was still a baby. He’d taken care of what he’d had left—his mother and Bailey, and this house.

At eighteen and on her way to Yale on a full scholarship, Bailey had had bigger dreams to follow than picking up where he’d left off, but she’d stayed in Langston. Making sure Grams and this place kept going had become Bailey’s new dream.

“I’ll just work harder.” Hard work didn’t scare her. Giving up did. “Let me take a look at the returns. Maybe we have room to finagle the numbers, or work out a payment schedule with the IRS.”

“Our bills are already eating us alive,” Grams reasoned.

“There are better part-time jobs than the Stop Right. There’s always a demand for temp work, especially at night.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You almost killed yourself trying to keep up with that kind of schedule last time. You can’t work all night long, after putting in full days here.”

“It would only be for a while.”

“Ten thousand dollars isn’t a while. How much longer do you expect me to let you put your life on hold—”

“As long as it takes.” They weren’t selling their home to some megaconglomerate that would strip the floors and high-end upgrade everything in sight. Bailey refused to give up, no matter how easy an out Grams was trying to give her. “Maybe I can get a raise out of Drayton. I’ve been doing his books on the side for over a year now. He needs me. He can either make me a salaried manager, or I walk and find something else.”

“Excuse me,” a rough voice intruded.

The man standing in the kitchen’s doorway looked even rougher.

“There was no one at the reception desk, and I heard voices back here.” Derrick Cavenaugh didn’t do embarrassed well. He gifted Grams with an apologetic smile. “I know it’s early. I’m sorry to intrude, but I need to speak with Bailey, if she has a few minutes.”

He wore threadbare jeans and sneakers with the same effortless sophistication as the other day’s business suit. His white pullover spotlighted a chest just as drool-worthy as ever, sprinkled at the open neck with dark hair to match the unruly waves on his head. The beginnings of a scruffy beard had Bailey daydreaming about sexy beach strolls at dawn. Warm summer evenings spent on the inn’s wraparound porch, drinking wine and watching seagulls coast overhead on the wind that curled up from the bay…

She headed to their industrial-grade coffeemaker. Being blindsided by the inn’s latest financial black hole, Bailey could handle. Being stalked by Derrick Cavenaugh twice in one lifetime called for a fresh infusion of caffeine.

“Grams, you remember Derrick, don’t you?” she asked as she tripped over the frayed cuffs of her own jeans. The denim practically covered her toes.

Dressed to scrub bathrooms, not receive company, she’d grabbed the first thing she found in her closet. Not that today’s couture was much different than any other day’s. Just older. Not that she normally cared.

But nothing about how she felt around Derrick had ever been normal.

“Of course I remember Mr. Cavenaugh,” Grams gushed. “Everyone in the area followed the excitement of your college career. How you went on to work for one of the top law firms in Atlanta. It was big news, you moving back to the San Francisco area after making such a success of yourself.”

SUCCESS? Derrick mocked silently as he returned Mrs. Greenwood’s friendly smile.

He’d washed out of the career he’d been molded for from birth, and his father hadn’t been able to look at him the same way since. He’d chosen corporate law as his second career, because the high-profile work and the social schmoozing required to retain top-shelf clients were a playing field where he knew he could excel. And success was what he’d let himself believe he’d made, right up until his wife started screwing around with his best friend. Now he was divorced, starting over again, he’d lost complete control of his oldest daughter and he was living on borrowed time with his youngest.

“It’s about Leslie,” he said to Bailey. “If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be bothering you again. If you could just give me a few minutes.”

He’d done his research before coming over. Because of Selena’s relationship with the bistro owner and her contacts around the Langston community, Selena had been able to fill him in on Bailey’s battle to keep her and her grandmother’s business going. He shouldn’t be here, asking for an enormous favor. But he had to reach his daughter before it was too late, and Bailey’s help could be too important a factor not to try one more time. Without her, he had no chance of reasoning with the Stop Right’s crotchety owner.

“All right.” Bailey cast a sideways glance toward her grandmother.

The attractive older woman turned to the double range set into the wall and opened the top oven door to check on the pastry inside. Derrick’s mouth watered. His empty stomach screamed.

He’d grabbed a bagel on the way to the office yesterday. Then everything since the call from Ginger Nash’s grandmother was a blur. He doubted he’d even eaten, though he vaguely remembered heating a frozen pizza for the girls.

“Coffee?” Bailey motioned toward the cabinet filled with mugs.

“Sure, thanks.”

Handing him the steaming mug, Bailey motioned toward the dining room that opened off the kitchen. He stopped short of begging for some of whatever marvelous creation was baking in the oven. When they sat and Mrs. Greenwood appeared, laying a plate of sugary pastry beside each of them, Derrick nearly kissed her hand.

“You two take all the time you need,” she said after waving away his thank-you. “Our guests don’t usually make an appearance before nine on Sunday.”

Derrick peeled away a layer of cinnamon, butter and crisply baked dough, then began tearing it into bits. He couldn’t swallow if he tried. Couldn’t look Bailey in the eye. These were good, hardworking people who didn’t need to worry themselves with his problems.

Bailey’s level gaze said she was thinking pretty much the same thing.

“There’s nothing I can do to get your daughter out of whatever Drayton’s decided to do,” she said on a sigh. “I wish there was.”

There was no residue of Thursday’s hostility in her tone. Only heartfelt concern for a child she barely knew.

And that compassion gave Derrick the upper hand.

He shook his head at the smug thought. Lawyers were manipulative bastards, and he’d worked hard to become one of the best.

“I’m not trying to get her out of it anymore. I want to offer Drayton a deal, but the man’s not returning my calls.”

“What kind of deal?”

“My daughter was caught smoking pot with her friends yesterday morning. Whatever phase Leslie’s going through, her behavior’s spiraling more and more out of control, and nothing I’ve tried so far has made a dent. Help me convince your boss to put her butt to work. No salary. The length of time is up to him. I’ll agree to whatever he thinks is equitable, to work off her crime. Leslie has to start facing the consequences of what she’s doing, before I lose her for good.”

CHAPTER FOUR

A LARGER-THAN-LIFE champion becoming a desperate single parent wasn’t an easily stomached sight, certainly not before breakfast.

Bailey didn’t know which made her sicker, Derrick’s heartbreaking concern for his child, or the thought of how Drayton would take advantage of it.

“You and your wife might want to reconsider—”

“My ex-wife’s back in Atlanta with her new husband, sweating the real-estate market, because the two-point-five-million-dollar palace he bought five years ago is in Windward. Seems Buckhead would be better for Amanda. She doesn’t want to have to drive the Ferrari too far when she’s ready to shop. With all those details on her mind, Leslie’s commitment to ruining her life seemed like a preteen phase the last time we spoke.”

Bailey blinked as Derrick pulverized the last of his cinnamon roll, adding bitter and divorced to her growing list of things she hadn’t expected in this grown-up version of her schoolgirl crush.

“I’m really sorry, Derrick.” She shook her head at the memory of the stunning blonde she’d heard he’d married, the cheerleading captain who’d ruled Western at Derrick’s side during Bailey’s freshman year. “I hadn’t heard about the divorce. I’ve been a little out of touch the last few years.”

A tired, defeated man looked up from his plate, instead of the conquering hero he played so well for the rest of the world.

“I don’t remember much about you back in school,” he admitted. “Except you laughing once, when you passed Amanda and me in the hall. Something about hoping I liked hanging out with leeches, ’cause I’d be paying for the privilege for as long as Amanda held on. Looks like you were right.”

“And you’re still paying.” Bailey winced. Had she really been that much of a snot?

“No, my kids are paying, and I haven’t protected them any better than I did myself. Alimony and child support were Amanda’s priorities during the divorce. To get the settlement she wanted, she asked for joint custody of the girls. But ever since she married her NFL superstar, Leslie and Savannah have been with me, and Amanda’s showing no sign of wanting them back.”

“Kids could definitely cramp a socialite’s style.” Or a successful lawyer’s. “So you brought them cross-country and away from the rest of your family. Why?”

“My parents are retired to Florida now. Leslie and Savannah have only met Amanda’s mother a couple of times. And Langston was someplace new. A slower pace than living in downtown Atlanta. And the job with my new firm promised a partnership as soon as I close the deal I’ve been working on since I got here.”

“Nice.” Something too much like envy tainted Bailey’s response.

“Yeah, except I’m no better at being a single father here than I was at being a married one in Atlanta. That’s why I came over to—”

“I can’t help you, Derrick.” She couldn’t even get through the morning without needing a contingency plan for outmaneuvering the IRS.

“You could reason with your boss. Pull a few strings. Get Drayton to see that putting Leslie to work would be a win-win proposition for the store. What does he have to gain by taking her to court?”

Derrick had been close to pleading when he arrived. Now, annoyance glittered behind the slate-gray eyes he shared with his daughter.

The man was a champion. He’d probably never had to beg for anything. He’d never scraped by on nothing, not even pride.

“By all means, see what you can talk Drayton in to, but count me out,” Bailey said, not liking herself much while she said it. “My boss is a hard-ass, and whatever markers I hold at the store, I need them to work out my own Hail Mary deal.”

“You really care that little about what happens to a messed-up twelve-year-old?”

Ah-ha. The gloves were off, and that made things easier all around.

“You know, you didn’t even know I existed before Thursday.” She picked up her plate and mug as she stood. “How is it that you’ve got my self-centered motives all figured out, in just a matter of days?”

Derrick was standing, too, lending height and muscle to the devastating good looks that had turned her to goo as a teen.

“Bailey—”

She raised her free hand to stop him.

“I may have had a crush on you, along with every other girl at Western, but you were full of yourself then, and you’re full of yourself now. I get that it sucks that the world’s not revolving around you anymore, and that you’ve got more to deal with than your fancy new career. But my advice is to stop feeling sorry for yourself. You always were smarter than any of your crowd gave you credit for. Find a way to solve your own problems.”

“Feeling sorry for myself? Is that what you call being willing to beg a stranger for help, no matter how pointless it obviously is?”

“No, it’s what I call being so wrapped up in your own world that you can’t see the mess crashing down on other people!” With his degree and experience, not to mention his high-profile image, he could write his own ticket in whatever city he chose to live in. But she was selfish, for not sticking her neck out to spare him the embarrassment of crawling back to Drayton? “I have my own problems, Derrick. I get that you don’t care what they are, but they’re just as real to me as Leslie’s are to you.”

“I…” He jammed his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “I’m sorry, Bailey. I shouldn’t be pushing like this. I heard what you’ve been doing since high school. And I can only imagine how hard it must be to keep this business going for your grandmother. You must be busy as hell, but—”

“Busy! I’m not busy, and I’m not putting you off because I think my problems are more important than yours. I’m drowning, Derrick….”

A hiccuping sound escaped her attempt to swallow. She never let the past in. With today and tomorrow to worry about, who had time? She just kept working. Kept her head down. Refused to give up.

“Bailey.” He reached for her arm.

“Don’t waste your pity on me.” She backed toward the kitchen, clutching her dishes to keep from tossing them at his head. Something raw and ugly had been building since first seeing Derrick in all his successful glory. Resentment she’d never before felt toward anyone or anything. “Save your energy. I know it must be tough being dumped by the woman of your dreams and starting over with a new six-figure opportunity in your fabulously successful law career, saddled with two kids someone else was supposed to be taking care of. But spare me the sob story. You’ll find a way to handle Leslie’s problems, just like you’ve handled everything else in your life. When you’ve hit rock bottom and have no way out except letting down the people you love, then maybe we’ll talk about running out of options.”

He should hate her for what she was saying—she did.

But if his problems that weren’t really problems didn’t get out of her house, she was going to embarrass herself and burst into tears for the first time since her father’s funeral. Derrick Cavenaugh made her remember a world she didn’t have time to think about anymore—the one from her dreams, where she got to risk everything and win, instead of fighting the never-ending, losing battle she’d been stuck in for over a decade.

Derrick’s eyes narrowed. The hand that had been reaching toward her returned to his side, his fist clenched.

“I’m sorry for intruding on your morning.” He turned to go, but stopped at the door to the hall. “You know, I get that I’ve had my life handed to me on a silver platter. Things have been easy for so long, I’m not sure I’d know the high road if it rolled up to my house and rang the doorbell. But there’s nothing more rock bottom than watching my little girl ruining her life.”

Maybe it was the gruffness in his voice, or the terrified love ringing in each word, but after he left, Bailey sat back down, instead of heading off to tackle her Sunday morning chores.

She’d railed at Derrick, when it was her life that was driving her crazy. She’d judged him, because she’d never felt more like a loser herself. And she’d totally disrespected the very real threat he faced of not getting through to his daughter.

Since when had her pain-in-the-butt life become an excuse for being an unfeeling bitch?

“WHAT’S UP?” Selena asked over the phone. “You sound wrecked.”

“Nothing new.” Derrick rubbed at the shooting pain behind his right eye. “Leslie’s gone again.”

“I thought you grounded her.”

“Yeah, well, that seems to mean about as much to her as everything else I say.”

Bailey had accused him of feeling sorry for himself. Truth was, he was terrified.

The happy, sweet little girl he’d known was gone, and the prickly preteen who’d taken her place was determined to hurt herself and everyone around her.

“Do you know where she went?” Selena said over a commotion on her end of the line.

“What’s going on over there?” he asked.

“I’m working on a mixed-media project I owe a client.” A loud crash nearly drowned out her words. “Of course Drew and Axel are demolishing my studio faster than I can get anything done. So, you’re going after Leslie, right?”

Bailey’s fierce expression flashed through his mind.

Find a way to solve your own problems.

“I think I know where she went.” Right back to that girl Ginger’s house. For no other reason than he’d forbidden her to. “Once I find her, we have some damage control to do this afternoon, at the convenience store she shoplifted at Thursday.”

He was going to convince the crabby owner to see things his way, whatever it took.

“Savannah can hang out here for as long as you need,” his friend offered.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” he forced himself to say. Selena sometimes slaved over an installation for months. Her work had been featured in some of San Francisco’s premier office buildings. She didn’t need another kid hanging around, adding to the confusion.

Not to mention that he should be spending his first Sunday off in months with Savannah, rather than pawning her off on someone else.

“You didn’t ask,” Selena countered. “I’m offering. Can’t promise you won’t get the kid back covered in oil paint and dog slobber, so you might want to drop her off in the rattiest play clothes she’s got. But it’s about time you’re confronting Leslie. I’ll even keep Savannah overnight and get her to school in the morning, if you think it’ll help.”

Selena had been pressuring him to wake up for months. But he’d been too focused on clinching the Reynolds-Allied deal to listen. Then Leslie had upped the stakes.

“I could use the afternoon to work some things out,” he finally said. “But—”

“Then take it. Go do the dad thing. Savannah will keep Drew and the Tasmanian Devil busy. We’ll be fine here.” Another crash was followed by Selena’s frustrated groan. “As long as Drew stops playing fetch in the loft!”

The last of her statement had been screamed for her middle schooler’s benefit. Derrick chuckled in spite of his lousy morning, and the even lousier afternoon to come.

Do the dad thing.

Whatever the hell that was.

CHAPTER FIVE

DOING SOMETHING DUMB for a good reason didn’t make it any less of a bad idea. But dumb or not, Bailey couldn’t stop herself from knocking on Larry Drayton’s door.

She had a lot riding on getting a promotion and the salary increase that would come with it. But not trying to help Leslie Cavenaugh wasn’t an option. Apparently, neither was forgetting the heart-stopping picture the girl’s father had made as he’d left the Gables that morning.

This wasn’t about doing a favor for an old crush, she reminded herself. Or about making the world better for a man whose reality was already ten times better than hers. This was a one-time shot to help give a second chance to a mixed-up kid whose life had been turned upside down.

Something Bailey understood more than she cared to.

And the sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could hit up Drayton with her own agenda.

She knocked again.

“What!” he bellowed from inside, as close to come in as he ever managed.

She hadn’t taken two steps into the office before she tripped over her feet, coming face-to-face with her really dumb idea, multiplied by a factor of two.

Leslie Cavenaugh was slouched in the same ugly chair as before, the waist of her too-short shorts ending way below the hem of her revealing halter top. Just looking at the kid’s platform sandals made Bailey’s feet hurt. And beside her sat a stunned, absolutely delicious-looking Derrick.

Bailey turned to beat a path back to her car.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Drayton griped. “I had a feeling you were behind this nonsense. You’re not dumping this in my lap, then hightailing it out of here. I’m not letting this girl work off her crime, unless you agree to be responsible for her hours.”

“Me?”

“If not, I’m pressing charges. I got no time to supervise the little thief. You either keep an eye on her, or there’s no deal. I don’t care how many free hours Mr. Cavenaugh says he’s willing to let her work.”

“Bailey’s not—” Derrick was on his feet.

“I’m not—” Bailey said over him, then stopped.

Please tell my boss this isn’t a good idea, she begged Derrick with her gaze.

Deciding to put in a good word for the kid was one thing. Agreeing to supervise Leslie’s time, when Bailey’s schedule was already stretched to the breaking point, wasn’t going to happen.

“This is my daughter’s mess,” Derrick argued. “Leslie needs to be the one to clean it up. There’s no reason to make more work for Bailey.”

“Well, the girl’s sure as hell not going to hang out here after school without someone keeping an eye on her. And Bailey’s the only employee I’d trust to do that.”

“After school?” Bailey said through the shock of receiving the first ass-backward compliment she’d ever received from the man.

“I get to come straight here when I get off the bus.” Leslie sounded as if she couldn’t be more bored. “Then call my dad from the pay phone outside, because my cell phone is now contraband. Then I get to work for nothing until he swings by whenever he can manage to make it home from work.”

“I’ll be here at six every afternoon until we have this cleared up.” Derrick had his daughter’s undivided attention for the first time. “If Mr. Drayton and Ms. Greenwood agree to this, you owe them another apology and a thank-you. And you’ll damn well show up where you’re supposed to be every afternoon, on time and ready to work. Ditch to hang out with your friends just once, and I’ll drive you down to the courthouse myself, and file the charges for Mr. Drayton.”

“Like you care where I go, as long as I’m out of your way.” Tears welled in Leslie’s heavily made-up eyes. “So you’re forced to spend time with me for a while. So what? I know you’d rather be in town kissing your boss’s butt.”

Bailey couldn’t breathe.

She’d fork over any number of body parts to have just one more afternoon with her father. The same kind of longing had filled Leslie’s outburst. Instead of a preteen gone wild, they were listening to a little girl who missed her daddy.

“I suppose I could come in a few hours each afternoon,” she heard herself promising, even though she’d hoped to snag more better-paying bistro hours instead.

Derrick’s relieved smile made taking her offer back impossible.

“You either work a full shift, or you’ll be doing it on your own time,” Drayton warned. Half shifts were a cardinal sin at the well-oiled machine that was the Stop Right. “I’m not—”

“Oh, you’ll pay me, because I’ll spend the time straightening out the twisted mess you make of your books every quarter, instead of working unpaid overtime on the weekends.” It was uncomfortably easier to stiffen her spine and demand her due with a former college all-star standing beside her, frowning at Drayton on her behalf. “And there’s the matter of the management title you’ll be giving me, along with the raise I should have as the only employee you trust. But for now, do the right thing. Think of the good it will do your reputation in Langston. Show everyone you have a heart. Give a twelve-year-old a break.”

“A chance to learn from her mistakes,” Derrick added.

“Come on, Larry,” she reasoned. “You don’t really want this town to think you’re too much of a crank to lift a finger to help a kid who’s willing to pay for her mistake working for you for free.”

Drayton’s jaw dropped. She could see the silver fillings capping six back teeth.

She’d called him Larry.

She’d pushed back, rather than accepting his crappy attitude as part of a job she couldn’t afford to lose.

Derrick planted his hands on his hips, muscles hardening beneath the soft knit of his shirt. Leslie slid closer to the edge of her chair.

“Fine.” Drayton threw his arms in the air. “But I want the girl working. And if she doesn’t show for a single shift, I’m calling the police back and refiling charges. You’re getting off easy, little girl. Don’t make me regret it.”

The twelve-year-old who’d been sulking when Bailey arrived was too busy gawking at her dad to respond.

“Answer the man.” Derrick’s hand cupped his daughter’s shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” The kid leaned into her father’s touch as she faced Drayton. “I’ll be here.”

“Your daddy says your bus lets you off at your house at three-thirty, and that you can walk here,” Drayton said. “You and Bailey had better be here tomorrow by quarter ’til four.”

“I’ll be here at three.” Bailey turned away from the united front she and Derrick and his daughter had made. “We need to discuss my future here.”

Her future.

Her Grandmother’s future.

The raise she’d told herself she wasn’t leaving without.

The exhilaration of finally standing up to her tightwad boss wilted as she walked away from the office. She’d be lucky if she didn’t lose hours now, instead of increasing them.

“Bailey!” Derrick caught up with her in the narrow hallway that led into the store. “I don’t know what to say. I had no right this morning, asking you to get involved in my family’s problems. But if you hadn’t…if your boss hadn’t listened to you, my daughter would be on her way to court in a few weeks, instead of having a second chance.”

He stepped closer, until she could count the soft hair peaking above the V neck of his pullover. Smell the soap he’d showered with that morning. Wonder how he kept in such impressive shape, when he worked in a corporate office six or seven days a week.

A finger tipped her chin up until she was looking into warm gray eyes.

Good Lord.

Those eyes.

“Thank you,” he said. “For showing my daughter how people stand up and do the right thing, instead of taking whatever path of least resistance is handy.”

He was talking about himself, she realized.

She should apologize for the horrible things she’d said that morning. But Derrick’s finger was still caressing the sensitive skin below her chin. He was too close. And yet, not close enough.

She edged away.

“I need to get going.”

“Bailey.” He stopped her that time with nothing more than the concern in his voice. “I don’t want working with Leslie to cause trouble for you here.”

“It’ll be fine.” Leslie wasn’t the problem. Bailey being in the same room as Derrick, and not completely losing sight of her own priorities, was the problem. “Your daughter will be here a week, maybe two. It won’t take long for her to learn that this is the kind of dead-end job she’d rather die than be working at in ten years.”

There was that half smile again. The one that said he didn’t quite understand.

Join the club.

He reached into the back pocket of his fitted-to-perfection jeans, withdrew his wallet and from it a business card, which he handed over.

“This is my work and my cell number,” he said. “If there’s any trouble tomorrow afternoon…”

“I’ll let you know.” She hesitated, then took the card.

A zing of awareness shot up her arm from where their fingers brushed. An instant of pure sensation that felt better than anything had in a long time. Good enough to tempt her with the need for more, whatever the cost.

Dear God.

What had she gotten herself into?

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I can wear your tennis shoes.” Leslie snickered. “Are your feet really that scrawny?”

The first thing Bailey had done once Leslie arrived at the Stop Right was hand over an old T-shirt to replace the tank top Leslie had worn that morning—because it irked her dad that he could see the straps of her bra beneath it. Then Bailey had shoved a ratty pair of sneakers at her.

“Cracks about how you’re already as big as I am,” Bailey snapped, “won’t end well for you, when your dad asks if you’ve been working and playing well with others.”

Leslie couldn’t stop the giggle that followed.

Maybe working in this dump wouldn’t be so mind-numbing after all.

“I didn’t hear your boss say anything about having to dress frumpy to do the job,” she snarked, even though the sneakers were way more comfortable than the strappy sandals she’d worn all day.

Who knew fitting in at school could hurt her feet so much?

“Trust me,” Bailey said as she handed over the same kind of band that held her own ponytail in place. “Frumpy is preferable to ‘Hey, baby, you wanna wait outside ’til I’m off work?’ We get a steady stream of beer drinkers in here. You won’t be selling them anything, but you’ll look cute enough stocking shelves for them to notice. Better make it clear that even thinking about touching you would be illegal.” Bailey pointed toward the hair band. “Pull your hair back.”

Eager to cooperate and grossed out by the thought of skanky guys gawking at her—Leslie made her own ponytail.

“Is that why you dress the way you do?” she asked. “Because you don’t want men to notice you?”

Bailey seemed smart enough, even cute, for a grown-up. Leslie’s dad had clearly thought so.

“I dress this way—” the woman looked down at her wrinkled shirt and raggedy jeans, as if she’d just noticed them “—because what does it matter how I look when I’m hustling from one dead-end job to another, so I can make my mortgage? That’s what people do when they have no other choice.” She nailed Leslie with a wicked-cold glance. “A lot of people would kill for the opportunities you’re throwing away. So, listen to your dad. Figure out a way not to lose the good things he’s trying to make sure you have in your life.”

The guy from behind the register poked his head into the storeroom as Bailey turned toward a stack of boxes.

“Someone’s out here to see the kid,” he said, before heading back up front.

“Oh, my God, my dad’s such a tool.” Leslie made her sigh extra bratty, to cover a sneaky rush of happiness.

He’d broken away from his all-important job even earlier than he’d promised, just to check on her.

“Unpack the chips in these boxes into a cart, then restock the displays out front.” Bailey patted her shoulder. “I’ll deal with your dad.”

And even though Leslie had only known Bailey for a few days, she had no doubt that the woman could handle just about anything.

DRESSED IN paint-splattered cargo pants and a curve-hugging tank top, the woman waiting by the register looked just as exotic as she had at Margo’s. The memory of how Derrick had pulled Selena Milano into a hug, laughing in an easy, familiar way, had Bailey gritting her teeth against a ridiculous spurt of jealousy.

The man could hug whomever he wanted to. What business was it of hers, if his taste in women had progressed from flighty blondes to something more substantial? Bailey was the shop girl who’d agreed to babysit his kid, nothing more.

She held out her hand. “You’re Selena, right? You didn’t have to stop by. I told Derrick he could call and check in.”

“I don’t know if you remember it or not, but I was in Derrick’s class at Western. And—” A teenager and a barking whirlwind skidded down the aisle, nearly barreling into Bailey. “Drew, I told you to play outside.”

“They’re okay.” Drayton was long gone. He’d split as soon as Bailey made it clear she wasn’t backing down on her ultimatum to be made a salaried manager, or she was out of there as soon as the Cavenaugh girl was.

She smiled down at the boy and the animal.

“Just remember, if you break it, you buy it.”

Having a pet to wreak havoc on her own life was on the list of nice-to-haves Bailey never gave a second thought. The must-haves kept her busy enough.

“Outside.” Selena jerked her head toward the door, raising an eyebrow as her son inhaled to argue. “You’re already in the hole for two weeks’ allowance. Wanna make it three?”

Boy and dog dragged their feet and paws as they trudged outside. The door’s jingle snickered at the dejected picture they made.

“What on earth am I going to do with him?” Selena asked the world in general.

“Your son?”

“Him, too.” The artist smiled. “Are you in the market for an overactive canine to add a little color to your uneventful life?”

“I wish.” What would uneventful feel like? “He’s not your dog?”

“Looks like he is now.” Selena’s smile widened as Leslie pushed a shopping cart full of snacks into the store. “Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?”

“Is my dad with you?” Leslie tried hard to look like she didn’t really care.

“No, sorry,” Selena commiserated as the twelve-year-old’s shoulders slumped. “Drew and I were out this way for his baseball team’s pre-season meeting. I thought we’d stop and see how things were going. Nice threads,” she added with a wink.

“Yeah, they’re swell.” Leslie shuffled toward the half-empty rack of snacks. “Everything’s just peachy.”

“Tell her father she’s doing great,” Bailey offered, still trying to place Selena in her Western High memories. But Bailey had been four years behind Derrick’s class, and all she could seem to remember was him.

“You’ll probably talk to Derrick before I do,” Selena said. “He only shared that Leslie would be spending afternoons here because I nagged him about it. He told me not to bother you while I was in town. That he trusted you, which was unusual enough to make sure I wouldn’t pass up the chance to snoop. He’s one of my closest friends, but that man doesn’t trust much of anyone these days, women most of all.”

“Oh, well…” Bailey caught Scott Fletcher hanging on every word. She stared him down, and he finally turned back to the sitcom blaring from the small TV Drayton kept behind the register. “I guess I should get back to the office. I have to balance the weekly accounts before heading over to Margo’s later.”

“How are things going at the Gables?” Selena snooped on, undeterred.

Bailey hesitated, finally deciding the best response to the out-of-the-blue question was saying nothing at all.

“I know,” Selena conceded. “I sound like a hopeless busybody, but I’ve always loved that old place. I actually stopped in the middle of the street the first time I laid eyes on it. The Victorian architecture… The picture the house makes on the edge of that bluff overlooking the bay… It’s really something. I have Langston clients who bring me out this way a few times a month, and everyone around the community admires how hard you’ve worked keeping the inn going for your grandmother.”

“Yes, well…” Everyone? “The bank still lets us live there.”

For now.

“Derrick mentioned how great it looks inside. It impressed the hell out of him, when I told him you’d stayed on after your father died, instead of heading off to college.”

“Bailey, you gonna be here for a few more minutes?” Scott brushed by without waiting for an answer. “I’m going out back for a smoke.”

Stunned by the idea that someone like Derrick Cavenaugh, not to mention her tiny community, was impressed enough to gossip about her paycheck-to-paycheck existence, Bailey let Scott go—when she’d made it a firm rule not to enable the teenager’s determination to flirt with lung cancer. Stepping behind the register, she put several feet between her and the woman smiling at her inability to respond to the most unexpected compliment she’d ever received.

She’d blown every expectation she’d ever had for her life. She’d made such a success of the last eleven years, her grandmother’s business was on the last of its nine lives.

“Mom?” Selena’s son poked his head inside. He held the panting, drooling dog by the collar.

“We should get going,” Selena said. “Say hi to Derrick for me. See you later, Les.”

She waved and headed after her son.

Leslie pushed the now-empty cart to the front of the store.

“Selena seems nice.” Bailey tidied the various promotional displays crowded around the register.

“I guess.” Leslie drooped against the counter in a display of preteen sulking.

“So, she and your dad been friends since high school?”

“I guess.” The kid studied Bailey for a minute. “They’re not dating, if that’s what you mean.”

Bailey knocked over the carton of dollar-store-quality penlights. “What? No, I wasn’t…I mean, I’m not—”

“He hasn’t dated anyone since my mom screwed him over for his best friend.” Leslie fiddled with a loose thread on her T-shirt’s hem. “The way I figure it, my mom started stepping out right after Savannah was born. The Mighty DC never pulled his nose out of his work long enough to notice. Not until she filed for divorce.”

“Looks like you’ve got him noticing now.” Bailey gave the kid’s shoulder a friendly nudge. “But working here is nothing compared to the price you’re going to pay if you don’t rein in some of the acting out. You don’t want to spend the rest of the year needing a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card just to leave your house.”

“So what if I don’t get to go anywhere? I hate this nowhere town. Things were better back in Atlanta. As soon as my dad sees that, we’ll be out of here.”

You had to admire how hard the girl was willing to fight for what she wanted.

“You’re not giving the Bay area a chance,” Bailey reasoned. “Your dad didn’t live here very long when he was a kid. Maybe he’s forgotten what a good time San Francisco can be.”

“Or maybe he just doesn’t care.” The girl turned on the heels of her borrowed sneakers, and shoved the cart toward the storage room for more not-quite-fresh snacks.

Bailey checked her watch and sighed.

She’d been supervising Leslie Cavenaugh for all of half an hour, and she was already growing more attached to the kid than was wise. Not to mention that she suddenly had an itch to stop by the pound and pick up a puppy to bring home. Then there were the memories of Derrick smiling down at her, touching her, that wouldn’t stop replaying in her mind.

Selena had said he’d been impressed. Leslie had thought Bailey was interested in dating the man, assuming Derrick Cavenaugh saw her as anything more than a convenient babysitter.

Meanwhile, Bailey needed a man in her life as much as she needed a puppy.

What she needed was to finish the store’s books, and to keep her contact with Derrick focused on his kid. He was too much of a reminder of what she’d once dreamed of having. Dreams that would only hurt her, if she let herself want them now.

CHAPTER SIX

PRAYING FOR THE OUTCOME of football games was strictly off-limits in Derrick’s world. God had better things to do than care about football.

But Derrick figured asking for a miracle for his family, one that didn’t involve getting himself fired from his law firm, wasn’t totally over the line.

He’d skipped out of a conference call to give himself a shot at making it over the bridge in time to pick up Leslie. But he was still almost a half hour late.

So much for divine intervention.

Braking at the curb in front of the convenience store, he got out of his car and jogged through the rain. Leslie was waiting just inside, her backpack slung over her shoulder, and her “bite me” expression at full tilt.

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