Michelle Major – Suddenly a Father (страница 7)

“That makes sense.”

He watched her set the juice on the kitchen table. Up until this point, all he’d managed was bagels and cereal for breakfast. “Thank you, Millie.”

“It’s my job,” she answered, and for some reason those three words annoyed the hell out of him. “Do you want coffee?”

“I’ll get it.” He moved toward the counter at the same time she turned from the table. She ran straight into him then stumbled. Despite the pain that shot through his leg, he reached out to steady her, keeping his fingers on her arms until she looked up at him. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, her voice breathless in a way that made him think she wasn’t totally immune to him.

Strange how gratifying that felt.

“I’ll pour the coffee.” Reluctantly, he released his hold on her. “You ladies sit down and start.”

He joined them a minute later as Millie was spooning fresh fruit onto each of the plates.

“Daddy, will you cut my pancakes?” Brooke asked, sliding her plate toward him.

“I can do it,” Millie said, reaching over the table.

“I want Daddy to cut them.”

“You bet.” He didn’t look at Millie as he picked up a knife in his right hand. It was awkward with the wrist brace. The truth was he hadn’t cut a damn thing, even food, since before the accident. He forced his stiff fingers to grip the knife and slowly sliced the two pancakes, embarrassed that a trickle of sweat had curled down his back by the time he was finished. “How about syrup?” he asked when he’d finished, making his voice casual.

“Lots!” Brooke bounced up and down in her seat.

He poured the syrup, then set the plate down in front of his daughter.

“Yum,” she said around the first mouthful.

“How often do you have physical therapy?”

He quickly put down the knife as he met Millie’s gaze. Was it that obvious how much difficulty he was having?

“I’m scheduled for three days a week.” He used his fork to carve off a bite of pancakes from his own stack. “I’ve missed a couple of sessions, though, so I’ve been doing the exercises at home.”

“I don’t like Daddy to leave me,” Brooke announced matter-of-factly.

“Your daddy has to go to his appointments so he can get better. We’ll have lots of fun together until he’s done.”

“Can I have my screen time then?”

He glanced at Millie. “What’s screen time?”

“You know, the amount of time Brooke has each day to watch television or play games on the computer.”

“Like PBS Kids,” Brooke clarified for him. “You know, when I play ‘Curious George.’”

“I thought that was educational.” He stabbed a few more pancake pieces onto his fork. “Isn’t educational a good thing?”

Millie gave him a gentle smile—a teacher smile, he thought with a spark of irritation. The kind that reminded him that he didn’t know what he was doing as a parent.

“Educational television is good, but...”

“Not like the zombies,” Brooke interrupted. She scrunched her face up at the memory.

Millie’s eyes widened a fraction. “Zombies?”

Jake blew out a breath. “A commercial for some TV show came on while I was watching SportsCenter. It was graphic... I turned it off as soon as I realized.”

“It gave me nightmares.” Brooke licked a bit of syrup off the tip of one finger. “Like Daddy has when he thinks of Mommy.”

He heard Millie suck in a breath but kept his eyes focused on the table, unable to form a coherent response to his daughter’s observation.

“My dreams about Mommy are nice,” she continued. “I have a good one about when she took me to the zoo and we saw a baby orangutan. I’m going to give Daddy some of my dreams at night. Then we can both sleep better.”

Now he did look at his daughter, unable to keep his eyes off her. “Thank you, sweetheart. I want you to keep those good dreams for yourself.” It was difficult to speak past the ball of emotion knotting at the base of his throat.

“I have plenty.” Brooke smiled at him then turned her attention to her plate, using her fork to make designs in the leftover syrup.

He heard a tiny whimper and glanced over at Millie, who quickly wiped at the corners of her eyes with a napkin. “How about if we save your screen time for tonight, Brooke? Let’s rent a movie to watch after dinner. We need to drop your daddy off at his appointment and then we’ll go to the park. Maybe pack a picnic lunch?”

Brooke nodded. “I like mac ’n cheese for lunch.”

“Got it.” She stood and cleared most of the dishes from the table.

Jake followed her to the sink. “Is it any wonder,” he whispered, “that I let her have as much ‘screen time’ as she wants? Without the TV or computer as a distraction, she’d be slaying me with her innocent comments all day long.” He put down his plate and gripped the edge of the counter. “I’m in over my head here, Millie. It’s not a sensation I’m used to, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“You’ll be fine. This is new for both of you. Brooke went through a huge loss. The most important thing is that you’re here for her. She needs you, Jake.”

He wasn’t sure if he could handle being needed, if he had the strength to make it work. But that wasn’t a conversation for right now. Brooke’s unconditional love coupled with Millie’s expectations of him doing the right thing crippled him almost as much as his injuries. His motto during emergency missions had always been Stay in the Moment. He could only deal with one thing at a time and right now that was getting caught up on his physical therapy. He was in no position to make any decisions about the future until he knew what his body would be able to handle.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he told Millie before turning away.

Her hand on his bare arm stopped him. Her touch was cool and soft against his skin. “You’ll be fine, Jake,” she repeated. “We’re going to make sure of it.”

He gave a tense nod then walked to the kitchen table, reaching down to straighten Brooke’s tiara. “Best pancakes ever.”

Her smile was bright. “Millie’s going to teach me how to make Frenchy toast tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” He unstuck a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m going to get cleaned up for my appointment. Wash your face and hands and we’ll pick out an outfit for today.”

She shook her head. “Millie will help me get dressed.” She grinned. “She’s a girl, Daddy, so she’s better at clothes than you.”

He’d wager Millie was better with everything relating to kids than he, but he didn’t point out that fact.

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“Daddy.” She giggled. “You know my name’s not Stan.”

He thumped the heel of his palm against his forehead. “I keep forgetting. It’s a plan, Brooke.”

“Silly Daddy. That’s better.”

One tiny thing was better. He only wished he could fix the rest of their problems so easily.

* * *

By the time she got the dishwasher loaded, the table wiped down and Brooke cleaned and dressed for the day, Millie had almost gotten her emotions under control.

Almost.

There was no doubt that Millie had gone through hell as a child, never able to claim her father publicly or even tell anyone she knew the man who’d helped create her. Her visits with Robert Palmer had been behind closed doors or incognito. She’d hated all the pretending she’d had to do. Hated that when her father was around, her mother insisted that Millie not trouble him. There had been no help with homework, no demands for more of his time or requests to attend a school performance. But she’d known him. He’d been a presence—albeit an occasional one—in her life.

Brooke had lost her mother, and at four, Millie knew the girl couldn’t truly understand the permanence of the situation or what it meant for someone to be dead. It was trauma at a level Millie could hardly comprehend. Yet Brooke seemed to be handling it with a mix of cheerfulness and poignant honesty that touched Millie to her core.

She smiled as Brooke played with her hair while Millie strapped the girl into her car seat. It was a tight fit in the back of her VW Beetle, not a car she’d planned on using to haul around a child and her very tall father. She focused on the task at hand and tried to ignore the fact that her back end was on full display as she adjusted the child safety straps to make Brooke more comfortable.

Readjusting her headband, she turned then narrowed her eyes at the smug smile playing at the corner of Jake’s mouth.

“I’m not thinking what you think I am,” he said softly, his blue eyes appearing several shades darker than she remembered. “Promise.”

“Toss me Bunny.” She held out her hands, willing her body to stop responding to the wicked gleam in his eye.

Instead he took the few steps toward her until they stood toe to toe. He placed the stuffed animal in her arms then traced his finger from the corner of her jaw down her neck, straightening the collar of her flannel shirt in the process. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m just hot.”

“You’re just hot,” he repeated.