Dad by Default. Jacqueline Diamond
and botanical prints on the wall. Beside the quilt-covered bed, an old-fashioned record player sat atop a shelf filled with LPs.
Embarrassed about prying, he located the attic staircase, a straight shoot into darkness. What had happened to the third-floor skylight? he wondered in disappointment.
Only as he approached the top did Connor notice the closed door. That explained the gloom.
The door opened inward, releasing a wash of golden clarity. Pent-up heat blasted him in the face.
Connor stood at the edge of an enormous, empty room in which Leonardo da Vinci could have staged the entire Last Supper without crowding. To one side, a large industrial sink was perfect for washing out brushes.
Despite the advent of dusk, the lingering illumination made Connor long to grab a brush and set to work. He scarcely noticed the wooden floor’s roughness or the accumulation of spiderwebs festooning the rafters.
The heat did register, forcefully. However, he’d be willing to give up deep breathing for this.
Recalling Beau’s comment, Connor yanked open a couple of windows. Cross-ventilation brought the scents of fresh-baked croissants and quiche, and dropped the temperature to a bearable range.
Turning, Connor drank in the expanse. This was close to heaven.
Surely he couldn’t be seriously considering renting here. Cautiously, he reviewed the objections.
For one thing, the apartment belonged to a patient. Still, since practically everyone in Downhome might require his services, he’d have to overlook the fact one way or another.
Also, he didn’t want to get sucked into Beau’s personal problems. A proper lease and a firm discussion ought to make the terms absolutely clear.
There was one further danger. Renting a place so close at hand and so perfect for an artist might tempt Connor to short-change his duties. He’d never had a space like this, where a man could spend days on end painting, like an alcoholic on a binge.
On the other hand, the location directly across from the clinic would save hours of driving. As for the prospect of losing control, no one exercised a tighter grip on his impulses than he did.
Belatedly, he wondered how Yvonne might feel about his living in her great-uncle’s house. She could hardly object, though, when the two of them didn’t appear to be on speaking terms.
She would never even see the place. Never stretch her slender figure on Connor’s couch and gaze up with those violet eyes. Never tempt him to paint her frost-colored hair and satiny skin…
Sans clothing, of course.
In spite of his better judgment, Connor once again longed for just such an opportunity. Fortunately, fantasies rarely came true.
Finding this place was enough of a marvel. Determined to be practical, he went to inspect the bedroom and bath, which proved to be small but adequate.
He could hardly wait to sign the lease.
Chapter Three
The day of Jenni’s departure marked the end of an era, Yvonne reflected on Saturday morning. Although she’d still see Dr. Forrest around, life wouldn’t be the same.
Yvonne had felt safe at the clinic since Jenni had arrived. Now she’d be on her own.
That wasn’t the scariest part, though. That moment came when she passed Connor Hardison’s office and felt a quiver of disappointment at realizing he was off today.
She actually missed the man? Impossible.
Why had she confided in him yesterday about her family issues? For a few minutes, she’d felt almost friendly.
Any truce between them was purely temporary. When he found out about Luther, she’d be lucky if he didn’t try to get her fired.
“You look like you just lost your best friend,” Jenni observed as they prepared to close the clinic at midday.
“I did.” Yvonne sighed.
Because of her girth, Jenni had to give a sideways hug. “You aren’t losing me.” She patted her bulge. “Maybe I ought to say, you aren’t losing us.”
Yvonne didn’t feel that way, but she saw no point in quibbling. “I’ll be happy to drop off anything you leave behind.”
“Thanks. But Ethan can stop by.” Jenni’s husband, the police chief, worked around the corner. “If I’m allowed a word of advice, you might like Connor if you give him half a chance.”
Whether she liked the man or not made no difference. “He’s going to find out.”
Jenni didn’t ask what Yvonne was referring to. It was obvious. “Then maybe he’ll stop hero-worshipping that scumbag.”
“I wish it were that simple.” She hadn’t forgotten Connor’s public remarks about out-of-wedlock mothers setting a bad example. “Beneath the doctor-knows-best facade lurks a mentality to the right of Genghis Khan.”
“Patsy seems to think he’s cute.”
“Patsy leads a very sheltered existence.”
Yvonne’s cell phone rang. Exiting into the rear parking area so Jenni could finish locking up, she answered. “Johnson.”
“Your great-uncle called. He needs your help around the house,” her father said without preamble.
“Says who?” She couldn’t believe Beau had asked for her by name after ignoring her these past few years.
“Don’t smart-mouth me!”
She switched from flippancy to logic. “Dad, I can’t. I’ve got a job and a baby to take care of.”
Unfortunately, logic didn’t work, either. With Yvonne’s relatives, it rarely did. “Someone has to keep an eye on things. That’s what family members do, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“If he wants a slave to wait on him hand and foot, he shouldn’t have fired his caretaker!”
“A little assistance in the mornings and evenings isn’t a lot to ask.” The statement sounded like a quote from his uncle. “The poor man’s alone in the world. Besides, you work right across the street.”
Yvonne figured she’d only start a fight if she noted how Beau had joined the chorus of condemning voices while she was pregnant. Better to focus on the present. “He expects me to drop by twice a day on top of everything else I have to do?”
“He suggested you move in for a month,” came the unexpected response.
Her father had to be kidding. On second thought, the suggestion dovetailed with what she believed to be her great-uncle’s real agenda: to have her at his beck and call.
“He’s lost his mind.” Yvonne slid into her battered sedan. “You saw what he was like when we took presents last Christmas. He ignored Bethany and me except to complain when she fussed a little. Now he expects us to live with him?”
Dad heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I suspect taking a fall made him confront his mortality. Maybe it finally sank in that the two of you are the last members of the Johnson clan.”
“Then why didn’t he call me personally?”
“Give him a break! He’s an old man.”
“And a crab of the first order.” Yvonne had endured too much to sympathize. “What he wants is my unpaid servitude.” She started the engine. She’d promised to collect her daughter by twelve-thirty, which was fast approaching.
“Bethany deserves to know her heritage. Technically, the house is half mine, and someday it’ll be hers.” A brief pause preceded the comment, “You remember the playroom? It hasn’t changed.”
“He