All-American Father

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….”