Grace’s cashmere and angora goats needed a decorative gate in the first place was beyond Mike.
But she knew her father was stubborn enough to stand in the sun until he dropped rather than admit that he was uncomfortable.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Good luck to you.”
Grace marched off and Mike shrugged as she dropped her wrench into the toolbox and left the kitchen through the side door. “Trouble in paradise, I guess,” she murmured as she stepped into the blast of afternoon heat.
Waving to a couple of the guys as they packed up the equipment, Mike felt concern spike inside her. The closer she walked to her father, the more worried she was. He really didn’t look well at all. His blue eyes were glassy and his hands shook as he wielded the power drill.
“Papa—”
Instantly, he shut off the tool, let his arms drop to his sides, and looked around at her. Forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he said, “Almost finished.”
That about covered it, Mike thought guiltily. She should have been paying more attention to him. He wasn’t a young man anymore and it had been unusually hot today. Hardly a breath of air stirred the trees around them—and standing directly in the sun made it seem even hotter. “Papa, why don’t you let me finish that?”
“What?” His gaze snapped to hers. “Since when do you do my work?”
“Since I’m finished and it’s really hot and you look—”
“What?” he argued, throwing his shoulders back and lifting his chin. “I look what?”
“Tired?”
He scowled at her, and just for a moment, Mike was sixteen again. That niggling curl of dread settled in the pit of her stomach just as it used to when he gave her a look that said he was both furious and disappointed.
“Grace sent you out here, didn’t she?”
Mike nodded and reminded herself she wasn’t sixteen anymore and Papa knew it. “She’s worried.”
“She doesn’t have to be. I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Mike said dryly, “I can see that.”
“Don’t you be smart, Michaela.” He shook the electric drill at her as if it were a pointer. “I’m still the papa around here.”
Male egos. Touchy. In this situation, Sam would back down, tell Papa that he was worrying
her
. Jo wouldwork Papa with a few wisely chosen words, figuring out a way to make him think that quitting was
his
idea.
Mike, though, worked differently. Always had. For better or worse, she just jumped in with both feet, and to hell with the consequences. “Yes, you’re the papa and you should know better than to stand in the hot sun without even wearing a hat, for God’s sake. You’d never let
us
get away with that.”
He scowled at her and she was glad of the beard. It hid the fact that his lips were no doubt thinned into a razor slash of disapproval.
“Papa,” she said, “you look crappy and it’s really hot out here. Would it kill you to go sit in the shade for a few minutes and cool down?”
“This is how you talk to your papa?” he demanded, his face getting, if possible, even redder than it had been a moment or two before.
“My papa has a hard head,” she countered, lifting her own chin in a mirror of his stance. “Like
me
. You always said that sometimes you had to shout at me just to get my attention. So . . .”
Heartbeats ticked by.
Somewhere a bird called and was answered by a dozen friends. A blessed breeze danced through the tops of the trees and tossed dappled shade across the dusty yard.
Mike held her breath and waited. Her head pounded, her mouth was dry, and a curl of worry kept trying to spread through her as she watched her father. Damn it. When had Papa gotten
old
? Sure, he wasn’t
elderly
or anything. Yet. But when had his hair gone completelygray? When had the lines around his eyes etched so deeply into his skin? And why the hell hadn’t she noticed?
He’d always been just
Papa
.
Unchanging.
There.
Her rock in the wildly swirling river that was her life.
It terrified her a little
But she knew her father was stubborn enough to stand in the sun until he dropped rather than admit that he was uncomfortable.
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Good luck to you.”
Grace marched off and Mike shrugged as she dropped her wrench into the toolbox and left the kitchen through the side door. “Trouble in paradise, I guess,” she murmured as she stepped into the blast of afternoon heat.
Waving to a couple of the guys as they packed up the equipment, Mike felt concern spike inside her. The closer she walked to her father, the more worried she was. He really didn’t look well at all. His blue eyes were glassy and his hands shook as he wielded the power drill.
“Papa—”
Instantly, he shut off the tool, let his arms drop to his sides, and looked around at her. Forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he said, “Almost finished.”
That about covered it, Mike thought guiltily. She should have been paying more attention to him. He wasn’t a young man anymore and it had been unusually hot today. Hardly a breath of air stirred the trees around them—and standing directly in the sun made it seem even hotter. “Papa, why don’t you let me finish that?”
“What?” His gaze snapped to hers. “Since when do you do my work?”
“Since I’m finished and it’s really hot and you look—”
“What?” he argued, throwing his shoulders back and lifting his chin. “I look what?”
“Tired?”
He scowled at her, and just for a moment, Mike was sixteen again. That niggling curl of dread settled in the pit of her stomach just as it used to when he gave her a look that said he was both furious and disappointed.
“Grace sent you out here, didn’t she?”
Mike nodded and reminded herself she wasn’t sixteen anymore and Papa knew it. “She’s worried.”
“She doesn’t have to be. I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” Mike said dryly, “I can see that.”
“Don’t you be smart, Michaela.” He shook the electric drill at her as if it were a pointer. “I’m still the papa around here.”
Male egos. Touchy. In this situation, Sam would back down, tell Papa that he was worrying
her
. Jo wouldwork Papa with a few wisely chosen words, figuring out a way to make him think that quitting was
his
idea.
Mike, though, worked differently. Always had. For better or worse, she just jumped in with both feet, and to hell with the consequences. “Yes, you’re the papa and you should know better than to stand in the hot sun without even wearing a hat, for God’s sake. You’d never let
us
get away with that.”
He scowled at her and she was glad of the beard. It hid the fact that his lips were no doubt thinned into a razor slash of disapproval.
“Papa,” she said, “you look crappy and it’s really hot out here. Would it kill you to go sit in the shade for a few minutes and cool down?”
“This is how you talk to your papa?” he demanded, his face getting, if possible, even redder than it had been a moment or two before.
“My papa has a hard head,” she countered, lifting her own chin in a mirror of his stance. “Like
me
. You always said that sometimes you had to shout at me just to get my attention. So . . .”
Heartbeats ticked by.
Somewhere a bird called and was answered by a dozen friends. A blessed breeze danced through the tops of the trees and tossed dappled shade across the dusty yard.
Mike held her breath and waited. Her head pounded, her mouth was dry, and a curl of worry kept trying to spread through her as she watched her father. Damn it. When had Papa gotten
old
? Sure, he wasn’t
elderly
or anything. Yet. But when had his hair gone completelygray? When had the lines around his eyes etched so deeply into his skin? And why the hell hadn’t she noticed?
He’d always been just
Papa
.
Unchanging.
There.
Her rock in the wildly swirling river that was her life.
It terrified her a little
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