Unexpected Father. Kelly Jamison
her son wanted a dad. Not that he was dad material. Quite the contrary. He’d known for a long time that he didn’t care for domestication. He wanted his freedom. He didn’t feel anything like a father. All of his life, he’d hungered for something that would be his alone, and his business filled that need the way no person could.
But on the other hand, only a callous jerk would discover he had a son, then do nothing about it.
He threw down the pen he’d been tapping on his desk and stood, pulling impatiently at the tie he wore. Suddenly the office felt too confining. He wanted nothing more than to get out of here. But it was only five p.m., and Jordan McClennon never left the office before seven.
Maybe it was time to do something different.
Jordan parked his car half a block from her apartment, spotting her as soon as he got out of the car. She was kneeling beside a wooden barrel outside the front door of the building, planting marigolds. For a moment he was so bedazzled by her cutoff shorts and the length of leg they showed that he almost forgot the present he’d brought. He reached into the car to retrieve it, his eyes still on Hannah.
She saw him coming and slowly stood, her hands on her hips.
“How did you find me?” she demanded as soon as he was close.
“I...asked Ronnie,” he admitted. “He didn’t want to tell me. He thought we’d had some kind of falling out.”
“We did,” she said shortly.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stood there tugging at his tie.
“Is that supposed to be a peace offering?” she asked, nodding toward the package in his hand.
He’d almost forgotten he was holding it. “Yes,” he said as he held it out, unable to think of anything clever that might earn him one of her smiles.
Hannah stared down at the small, plastic tool box with its toy hammer, screwdriver and saw.
“A rubber hammer,” she said without any change in her voice. “I’ll have Esther’s house done in no time with a rubber hammer. Does it come with rubber nails?”
“No, it’s for Kevin,” Jordan said before he met her eyes and realized that she was teasing him. She started to smile, then caught herself, and he felt his pulse quicken.
“I’ll tell him it’s from you,” she said. “He’s at his guitar lesson.”
She started to turn away, and he took a step closer. “May I...come in?”
Hannah’s innate Brewster hospitality was suddenly at war with her common sense. Despite his trucelike overture, she was still determined not to let him into her life again.
“Hannah,” he said, “for whatever I did when we were together before—and I honestly don’t remember chasing after another woman—I do apologize.”
“It was more like another woman dangling her implants in front of you,” Hannah said, feelng jealous and petty. She sighed. “All right. I guess it’s just another episode in the Brewster Sisters ‘Bad-Date-of-the-Month Club.’” She picked up her trowel and the empty plastic flower containers and fished out her key.
He followed her into the apartment foyer, assuming he had just been invited in, though he wasn’t perfectly clear on the point.
An apartment door opened a crack, and Jordan could see a woman with gray hair and dangling earrings peering out at him. The landlady, he assumed.
“You have a sister?” he asked Hannah as he waited for her to unlock her first-floor apartment.
“Had,” she corrected him. “Marybeth got mixed up with a fast crowd. She died of a drug overdose.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t remember her mentioning a sister before, but then he probably hadn’t gotten far enough beyond his raging lust at the time to ask. He started to ask another question, but she was disappearing into a back room. Shifting his weight, he stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, looking around.
It was a small apartment, but bright and clean. The kitchen and living room were one big room separated by a breakfast bar. Someone had stenciled a red and blue flower design at the top of the walls. It matched the big braided rug in the center of the living room’s wood floor. A bookcase sat opposite the blue couch, its shelves sagging under the weight of a considerable library. More books sat in piles on the floor nearby. He made a mental note—she read a lot, and for all her skill with a hammer, she hadn’t gotten around to building herself a decent bookcase.
She came out of the bedroom, running a comb through her hair, and caught him reading the notes on her refrigerator. She’d changed clothes, and he tried not to stare.
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