The Mother. Beverly Barton
rules! I hate you! I hate living here with you!” She scrunched up her face, glowered at him, and then went back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
J.D. heaved a deep, labored breath.
What had he ever done to deserve this?
You got Carrie Davidson pregnant, that’s what.
J.D. took a hefty swig from the beer bottle as he walked back to the kitchen. He wasn’t cut out to be a father. Although he was doing his best with Zoe, his best wasn’t good enough. She was miserable and she made him miserable. She was his daughter. The DNA tests proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He should love her. She should love him. But she hated him and he tolerated her.
He finished off the first beer as he made himself a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches and then drank another beer with his meal.
He wondered what Dr. Audrey Sherrod would think of his relationship with Zoe. They were a dysfunctional family if ever there was one. Neither had known the other existed until eighteen months ago when Carrie, dying from breast cancer, had called J.D. to say, “Congratulations, you’re the father of a bouncing baby girl.”
Burrowing into his worn leather lounge chair, J.D. picked up the remote and channel surfed, finally pausing on CNN.
Why was he thinking about Audrey Sherrod? Why had she suddenly popped into his head?
He had gotten the distinct impression that the lady didn’t like him. She certainly had looked down her nose at him. And she had a cute little nose and a rather pretty face. Not beautiful, but pretty enough if you liked her type, which he didn’t. She was tall for a woman, a good five-nine. Slender, but not quite skinny. He had noticed the way her breasts filled out the neat pin-striped jacket she had been wearing. Sufficient but not large by any means.
If you had gotten laid recently, you wouldn’t find Audrey Sherrod the least bit attractive.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Just because he had always preferred his women hot and eager didn’t mean it might not be interesting to see just what it would take to defrost Dr. Sherrod’s icy façade.
What the hell was he thinking? He sure didn’t need another woman in his life. The casual relationship he shared with Holly suited them both just fine. He didn’t think Audrey Sherrod was the type for casual, and that’s all he wanted from a woman, all he could ever offer, especially now that he had Zoe in his life.
J.D. was ashamed of the way he felt, that he considered Zoe a nuisance. What kind of parent was he?
Think about what the Scotts are going through tonight. They’ve lost their daughter, and here you are moaning and groaning about your kid. You should be thankful that she’s alive and well and creating havoc in your life. I’d bet Charlie Scott would tell you that you’re one lucky SOB.
Two hours later, after consuming his third beer and falling asleep in front of the TV, J.D. woke, gathered up his shoes, jacket, and holster, and headed down the hall. He paused outside of Zoe’s closed door. He knocked softly. She didn’t respond. He turned the doorknob and to his surprise found the door unlocked. He eased open the door and peered inside the semidark room. With her hair still damp from her recent shower and wearing an oversized Jeff Gordon NASCAR sweatshirt, she lay asleep atop the covers.
J.D. slipped into the room, freed one hand from the load he was carrying, and then drew the folded bedspread up and over his daughter. He stood there for a few minutes and watched his little girl sleep. In the looks department, she’d gotten the best of Carrie and him. Actually, she looked a lot like J.D.’s sister Julia.
I’m sorry I’m not a better father. I’m sorry that I never knew you existed. I’m doing the best I can, kiddo. I promise that I’ll try not to screw things up too bad.
He reached down and ran his fingertips across her forehead, brushing aside a strand of long black hair.
You deserve better than me, Zoe. But you’re stuck with me. Like it or not, I’m your dad.
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