written inside. I love you, Emma Wynn Taylor. I always will.
With tender care, Megan turned the page. The thin paper as it rustled beneath her shaking hand didn't escape her notice. Nor did she miss the wet marks, which covered the first few pages of the journal. Peter's words. Peter's tears. She held each page between her fingers with gentleness. With one glance, this book became a precious treasure, one that deserved her utmost care. Each page was dated. The words rolled together until they formed a love letter, from a father to his missing daughter.
Tears rolled down Megan's face, as Peter's heart was laid out before her. Naked to the core. Peter managed to do what she had never thought to do. Could never do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
If all mornings could be like this , I'd die a happy man . Jack whistled as he slapped another card down on the table. He'd woken up beside a woman who still had the ability to make his heart jump with one touch. He smiled. Happy man indeed.
Emmie sat beside him at the table. While he relaxed and played his game of Solitaire, she colored. She'd slept in today, a rare experience for Emmie. It took her a bit to settle down last night. Jack must have read close to six stories before she fell asleep. He laid down another card as he watched her. Clad in her pink puppy dog pajamas that Dottie had sewn, her hair a rat's nest of curls, she looked cute. Emmie leaned over the table as she concentrated on her picture, the tip of her tongue showed through her lips as she drew yellow flowers all over a green field.
“That's a pretty picture, Emmie.”
The kitchen felt a little stuffy. Gonna be a scorcher today. Jack walked to the kitchen door and opened it about halfway, enough to let in the early morning breeze, but not too far as to chill his granddaughter.
He rubbed her hair as he sat back in his chair. “Is that you?”
Emmie drew a picture of a little girl in a pink dress. He recognized it as the dress she wore yesterday. He waited to see if she drew a picture of Daisy, but she surprised him by drawing another girl. He smiled to himself. Little girls and their imagination.
Jack stared down at the row of cards in front of him. He'd lost another round. That was three rounds today. He normally won. He peeked at Emmie, surprised at her tenacity. His grandbaby was a flutter bug, going from one thing to another. Yet this morning she sat without making a peep, intent on creating her picture.
His stomach rumbled as Emmie tilted her head to look at him. He covered his mouth with his hand and acted surprised. She giggled at him. He loved that sound. It reminded him of his daughter.
Jack looked at the clock. Dottie would be up soon. Maybe he'd surprise her with breakfast. “Are you hungry yet, munchkin? How does French toast sound?”
A smile lit Emmie's face. Her favorite breakfast.
French toast it is.
Jack rummaged around in the cupboard for the cinnamon. About to ask Emmie if she wanted to help him, but when he turned, she wasn't at the table. He spun around and found her standing behind him, holding her picture.
“Can I tell you a secret, Papa?”
Her face held a grave look to it. The sparkle in her disappeared at the word. Jack knew she was serious, so he squatted until he was eye level with her and made sure the smile that fought to show itself stayed tucked away.
“Anything, you can tell me anything.”
Emmie cocked her head to the side, pursed her lips and stared straight into his eyes.
“You can't tell Grandma. Promise?”
Jack thought about it for a moment then shook his head. His knees started to ache, his back screamed at him to straighten, but this was important.
“Emmie,” said Jack as he took one of her hands in his, “you know I don't keep secrets from Grandma. But I will promise you this,” he held up two fingers, “if it's something I don't think Grandma needs to know, then we can keep it between us. Okay?”
Emmie bent her head to her chest. She wouldn't look him
With tender care, Megan turned the page. The thin paper as it rustled beneath her shaking hand didn't escape her notice. Nor did she miss the wet marks, which covered the first few pages of the journal. Peter's words. Peter's tears. She held each page between her fingers with gentleness. With one glance, this book became a precious treasure, one that deserved her utmost care. Each page was dated. The words rolled together until they formed a love letter, from a father to his missing daughter.
Tears rolled down Megan's face, as Peter's heart was laid out before her. Naked to the core. Peter managed to do what she had never thought to do. Could never do.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
If all mornings could be like this , I'd die a happy man . Jack whistled as he slapped another card down on the table. He'd woken up beside a woman who still had the ability to make his heart jump with one touch. He smiled. Happy man indeed.
Emmie sat beside him at the table. While he relaxed and played his game of Solitaire, she colored. She'd slept in today, a rare experience for Emmie. It took her a bit to settle down last night. Jack must have read close to six stories before she fell asleep. He laid down another card as he watched her. Clad in her pink puppy dog pajamas that Dottie had sewn, her hair a rat's nest of curls, she looked cute. Emmie leaned over the table as she concentrated on her picture, the tip of her tongue showed through her lips as she drew yellow flowers all over a green field.
“That's a pretty picture, Emmie.”
The kitchen felt a little stuffy. Gonna be a scorcher today. Jack walked to the kitchen door and opened it about halfway, enough to let in the early morning breeze, but not too far as to chill his granddaughter.
He rubbed her hair as he sat back in his chair. “Is that you?”
Emmie drew a picture of a little girl in a pink dress. He recognized it as the dress she wore yesterday. He waited to see if she drew a picture of Daisy, but she surprised him by drawing another girl. He smiled to himself. Little girls and their imagination.
Jack stared down at the row of cards in front of him. He'd lost another round. That was three rounds today. He normally won. He peeked at Emmie, surprised at her tenacity. His grandbaby was a flutter bug, going from one thing to another. Yet this morning she sat without making a peep, intent on creating her picture.
His stomach rumbled as Emmie tilted her head to look at him. He covered his mouth with his hand and acted surprised. She giggled at him. He loved that sound. It reminded him of his daughter.
Jack looked at the clock. Dottie would be up soon. Maybe he'd surprise her with breakfast. “Are you hungry yet, munchkin? How does French toast sound?”
A smile lit Emmie's face. Her favorite breakfast.
French toast it is.
Jack rummaged around in the cupboard for the cinnamon. About to ask Emmie if she wanted to help him, but when he turned, she wasn't at the table. He spun around and found her standing behind him, holding her picture.
“Can I tell you a secret, Papa?”
Her face held a grave look to it. The sparkle in her disappeared at the word. Jack knew she was serious, so he squatted until he was eye level with her and made sure the smile that fought to show itself stayed tucked away.
“Anything, you can tell me anything.”
Emmie cocked her head to the side, pursed her lips and stared straight into his eyes.
“You can't tell Grandma. Promise?”
Jack thought about it for a moment then shook his head. His knees started to ache, his back screamed at him to straighten, but this was important.
“Emmie,” said Jack as he took one of her hands in his, “you know I don't keep secrets from Grandma. But I will promise you this,” he held up two fingers, “if it's something I don't think Grandma needs to know, then we can keep it between us. Okay?”
Emmie bent her head to her chest. She wouldn't look him
Similar Books
