Hitting the Mark. Jill Monroe
the ante and called them a sucker.
But she’d be the one paying because her dear old dad had taken a keen interest in horticulture, and she did have to admit, the deep purple flowers he’d coaxed to bloom under the hot Nevada sun thrived. He’d even sent her home with a sack of fresh snap peas once. Yeah, there was another ironic observation there, but it was too hot outside to make it right now.
She dumped her backpack on the ground next to her father. “Hi, Dad. I got the book on plants in dry soils you wanted.”
Her father looked up, squinting in the sunlight. “Danielle, my love. That’s the first thing you say to me? No, I missed you? Come give your da a kiss.”
“Ah, so we’re Irish today,” she said, good-naturedly.
“Never discount the importance of an authentic-sounding accent. Those of the British Isles are especially good about not sounding cheap. Let’s hear your Scottish.”
Danni merely shook her head. Growing up, there were Irish Days. Russian Days. Australian Days. All great fun when a person is eight and before men in uniforms with real cop accents knock on the door.
She unfolded the pamphlet she’d stuffed in her back pocket and placed a kiss on his cheek. “This is the information about the horticulture classes at the community college. There’s still time to enroll.”
“Ahhh, like your dear old ma, trying to set my feet on the straight and narrow path.” Her dad’s eyes twinkled. After her mother died, those blue eyes of his had led many a woman on the wavy and broad path to sin.
“Just humor me and take the pamphlet.”
Her dad took the flyer and stored it in his gardener’s bucket. He nodded sadly. “I may have to find legitimate work. With the Internet now, it makes it harder to run a good con. Everybody’s a cynic.”
“Yeah, that’s a real bummer, Dad.”
Humor entered her father’s famous blue eyes. “Now that I think about it, something on the Internet might be the ticket.”
Danni frowned. “Dad, you’re in this halfway house for a reason. It’s not supposed to be halfway between jail and crime. It’s halfway between you and making straight with your life.”
The lightness between them vanished, and a thoughtful look passed across her father’s face. “Don’t worry about me, Danni-bear. I won’t put you through that again.”
Silence stretched between them. Seven years they’d been caught by circumstances determined to crush them. The night that had sent each of them on their current course.
Her father stood and clutched her hand. “Come and sit with me under the tree. It’s cooler. Tell me what you did today.”
He led her to the picnic table some ex-con had thought would be funny to paint in black and white stripes. “Actually, I’ve met someone.”
“You did?”
“His name is Eric Reynolds.”
“That name sounds made up,” he said, waving his hand.
“Daddy, not everyone’s like us. I met him at the laundry. He needed to borrow a dryer sheet.”
Daniel Flynn rolled his eyes. “That’s weak. Dump him. If a man isn’t willing to go to more trouble to impress you, you don’t need him.”
“I thought so, too. So I charged him a buck.”
“There’s my girl.” Pride laced her father’s voice.
“But all he had was a five, so I took all of it. I felt bad about it later, and I ended up buying him a cup of coffee and some cheesecake.”
Her father’s lips twisted. “Let me get this straight. He got you to buy him a drink, some cheesecake, which by the way I’m surprised you didn’t wrestle him for, and dryer sheets?”
“He did pay me for those.” And she came close to wrestling him for the cheesecake.
“Did you spend more than five dollars on him?” her father asked, frowning.
“Yes.”
“I take it back, it’s not weak. He’s brilliant.”
Danni couldn’t help it, she grinned. “Dad, he’s not a con man. Not everyone looks at things the way you do.”
Daniel sat on the bench. “I don’t know why I bother giving you advice. I taught you skills, which you turn your back on, and now you’re studying. Studying is bad enough, but what’re you studying? Law…It’s too painful for me to even finish the thought. Now you’re getting taken by a man. Maybe you’re more like your mother than I thought.”
“And you love me for it,” she told him as she gave him a hug.
“More than you’ll ever know.”
THE PHONE WAS NOT RINGING as she keyed into her apartment. Not a good sign. Had Danni been expecting it to? Hmm, yes, she had.
Hoping, at least.
Dropping her purse by the door, and hooking her keys on the bulletin board, she made a big production of setting the laundry basket on the kitchen table while not taking the trouble to see if the red light on her answering machine was flashing. She was not the kind of woman who waited around to see if a man called her.
Still, in the end, she looked at the machine anyway.
The red light was flashing. The muscles between her shoulders tightened. Might not be him. Could be a telemarketer. Could be a charity looking for a donation.
Two messages. Surely one of them was Eric.
“Hi, Danni, it’s Cassie. Wanted to see how the coff—”
Skip.
She smiled as the voice of her second caller filled her tiny kitchen. Six words. Six words she replayed at least three times. “I want to see you again.”
2
TO BE HONEST, Danni wasn’t one for dating. From seventeen until twenty the only one-on-one time she’d spent with a male had been with her lawyer. So when other girls her age were learning the rules of dating, refining their flirtation skills, honing their allurement proficiency, she was left alone on her bunk with her notebook.
She’d write for hours in that notebook. Things she wanted to do. Places she wanted to go. She’d developed lists. Lots and lots of lists. The list she reviewed most often was her dodge list. Men she planned to avoid. Ranking near the top of the list were men like her father. That ruled out anyone with charm and a glint in his eyes. Charisma times sexy eyes always equaled a girl in trouble.
Falling right below sweet talkers were the nice boys. First, what in the world could she possibly have in common with them? Nice boys usually came with nice moms, and she’d never pass that test. Plus, they held an aura of boredom.
Next—obviously no one with a criminal past. They’d probably wind up with some kind of one-upmanship thing going on, and that would just be weird.
Anyone wanting to “save” her was also out. Savers usually had more problems than she did, and that was a lot of dysfunction.
Around her nineteenth birthday, Danni realized her list of “not wants” left her with a negative vibe. So she restarted her list to catalog the qualities she wanted. To her surprise, she found she required only three.
Must have a job. Yes, very good start. Very unlike her dad.
Must be driven. Ambition never hurt anyone. Also very unlike her dad.
And be a decent person. That was where Danni always got stuck. Aside from the robbing and stealing, her father was fairly decent. It’s not as if he’d go and kick a dog or anything. He did have a code—his code—by which he lived. But she wanted