First and Again by Jana Richards Page A

grabbed his hand. “Daddy, come see!”
    He followed her into the dining room. The table had been set with his good china, the dishes his ex-wife hadn’t deemed high-quality enough to bother taking. His best crystal wineglasses and water goblets graced the table along with his best silverware. Tall candles in brass candlesticks were set at either end of the table with a dried flower arrangement in fall colors acting as the centerpiece. The effect was stunning. They could have been in an elegant five-star restaurant instead of his ranch house.
    “I set the table all by myself,” Leslie said proudly.
    He stared at her. It wasn’t like Leslie to lie.
    “Leslie, I know you didn’t do this. I don’t like when you don’t tell the truth.”
    Her bottom lip turned out in a pout. “I did so do it.”
    “She’s not lying, Jack. She did set the table.”
    Bridget wiped her hands on her apron as she entered the dining room. Her curly hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail, though several unruly strands escaped to lie against her face and neck. A smudge of flour dotted her left cheek and he had the insane urge to brush it from her face and feel her smooth, warm skin under his fingers. Though he’d been annoyed with her the other night for sticking her nose into his family’s business, and only a moment ago he’d warned himself to be cautious where she was concerned, all he wanted to do was to kiss her senseless. But the scowl on her face told him that kissing him was the furthest thing from her mind.
    “I put out one of the place settings and then Leslie did the other seven exactly the same way.” Bridget laid a maternal hand on his daughter’s shoulder, a gesture that looked protective. Was she trying to protect his daughter from him? “She never dropped one thing, not even a napkin. We put the candles on together.”
    Leslie puffed out her chest. “I did good.”
    “You sure did, sweetie.” Bridget laughed.
    He looked at the elegant table again and then at his daughter. He lifted his gaze to Bridget in confusion.
    “Leslie set the table like this?”
    Her eyes softened a little. “She can do a lot of things. She only needs guidance and a little supervision, just like any other kid.”
    Jack grit his teeth. He’d lived with Leslie, looked after her, sheltered her, all her life. He knew what she was capable of and what she wasn’t. No matter what Bridget believed, she would never accomplish things on her own, or live like a normal person. She couldn’t fix Leslie. His daughter was just a baby, and always would be.
    “Leslie, go to Gladys in the kitchen. I want to talk to Bridget for a minute.”
    She looked up at him uncertainly. “Are you mad at me, Daddy?”
    He drew her close and hugged her tightly. “No, of course not, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”
    She hugged him back, but her earlier enthusiasm was gone. He closed his eyes, angry that Bridget had made him the bad guy with his daughter. A moment later she pulled away from him, giving him one last doleful glance as she silently left the room.
    He turned on Bridget, his hands shaking in anger.
    “I don’t appreciate you making Leslie believe she can do things when she can’t.”
    “Obviously, you’re not paying attention, Jack.” She swept her arm toward the table. “She did a fine job of setting the table. She was so proud of herself. Why did you have to spoil it for her?”
    “Don’t get any grand ideas.” His voice came out harsher than he had intended. “Leslie’s not some kind of monkey that you can train to perform tricks. You can’t make her into something she’s not, and you sure as hell can’t make her normal. She’s my daughter and I know what’s best for her. Is that clear?”
    He immediately regretted his words. Bridget’s mouth opened in astonishment. Anger flushed her face.
    “I certainly don’t think of Leslie that way. If you do, I feel very sorry for both of you.”
    She turned and marched out of the