Reluctant Father

“You have to call ‘lissa,” Sarah Jane said firmly, her mutinous mouth pouting up at him. “She promised I could play with her little girl. I want to see Mer’dith, too. She likes me.” She glared at him, her eyes so like his only in her youthful face. “You don’t like me.”

“I explained that to you,” he said with exaggerated patience as he perched on the corner of his desk. “We don’t know each other.”

“You don’t ever come home,” she said, sighing. “And Mrs. Jackson doesn’t like me, either.”

“She’s not used to children, Sarah, any more than I am.” A corner of his mouth twisted. “Look, sprout, I’ll try to spend more time with you. But you’ve got to understand that I’m a busy man. A lot of people depend on me.”

“Can’t you call ’lissa?” she persisted. “Please?” she added. “Please?”

He found himself picking up the telephone. Sarah had a knack for getting under his skin. He was beginning to get used to the sound of her voice, the running footsteps in the morning, the sound of cartoons and children’s programs coming from the living room. Maybe in time he and Sarah would get along better. They were still in the squaring off and glaring stages right now, and she was every bit as stubborn as he was.

He talked to Elissa, who was delighted to comply with Sarah’s request. She promised to set things up for the following morning because it was Saturday and Blake could bring Sarah down to Bess’s house. But first she wanted to check with Bess and make sure it was all right.

Blake and Sarah both waited for the phone to ring. Blake wondered how Meredith was going to feel about it, but apparently she didn’t mind, because Elissa had called back within five minutes and said that Bess would be expecting the child about ten o’clock. Not only that, Sarah was invited to spend the day.

“I can spend the day?” Sarah asked, brightening.

“We’ll see.” Blake was noncommittal. “Why don’t you find something to play with?”

Sarah shrugged. “I don’t have any toys. I had a teddy bear, but he got lost and Daddy Brad wouldn’t let me look for him before they brought me here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t call him that again,” he said gruffly. “He isn’t your father. I am.”

Sarah’s eyes widened at his tone, and he felt uncomfortable for having said anything at all.

“Can I call you ‘Daddy’?” Sarah asked after a long minute.

Blake’s breath caught in his throat. He shifted. “I don’t care,” he said impassively. In fact, he did care. He cared like hell.

“Okay,” she said, and went off to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Jackson had any more cookies.

Blake frowned, thinking about what she’d said about toys. Surely a child of almost four still played with them. He’d have to ask Elissa. She’d know about toys and little girls.

The next morning, Sarah dressed herself in her new frilly dress and her shoes and went downstairs. Blake had to bite his lip to keep from howling. She had the dress on backward and unbuttoned. She had on frilly socks, but one was yellow and one was pink. Her hair was unruly, and the picture she made was of chaos, not femininity.

“Come here, sprout, and let’s get the dress on properly,” he said.

She glared at him. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” He stood. “Don’t argue with me, kid. I’m twice your size.”

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