First and Again by Jana Richards Page B

dining room, her back stiff.
    “Damn.”
    He shook his head, disgusted with himself. He hadn’t meant to argue with her, or to say the things he had about Leslie. But at least he’d made it clear that he was the one in charge of his daughter’s care.
    A few moments later he left the house through the front door to avoid the kitchen. The last thing he needed was another confrontation with Bridget.
    * * *
    After she finished washing the floor, Bridget gave the granite countertop a thorough wipe, making sure every bit of pie dough had been erased from its pristine surface. She’d sent Gladys home and promised to finish cleaning the mess left behind by their marathon baking session. It was the least she could do after all the help she’d given her with the baking. In typical Gladys fashion, the older woman had waved off Bridget’s thanks and offered to drive Martha back to the nursing home and Rebecca to the motel. She’d said she’d already promised to drive Leslie to her grandmother’s house for a sleepover, and a couple of more stops wouldn’t make any difference.
    It had been a good day. By the end of the afternoon she knew she’d be able to create a terrific apple pie completely on her own. The only thing marring her pleasure was the confrontation she’d had with Jack. How could he be so stubborn and so blind when it came to his own daughter?
    As if she’d summoned him, he appeared at the kitchen door. He walked into the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of water from the tap. Bridget glanced at him and then turned her attention back to her work, afraid she might open her mouth and say something she’d regret later.
    He leaned against the counter and stared at his dusty boots.
    “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “It’s not easy for me. Being a single parent is tough.”
    She ran her dishcloth under the faucet, and squeezed out the excess moisture with brutal force. She scrubbed the stainless steel sink. “Of course, I wouldn’t have any idea what it’s like to be a single parent.”
    Jack sighed. “Of course you do. But it’s different for you. Becky is a normal kid. When you have a child with Down syndrome it’s not the same.”
    He had a point there. But she suspected Leslie wasn’t operating anywhere near her potential because he hadn’t allowed her to.
    It wasn’t any of her business how Jack Davison raised his daughter. But maybe there was just a little something she could do for Leslie.
    “You’re right. I don’t really know what it’s been like for you to raise Leslie anymore than you know what these last two years have been like for me raising Rebecca on my own. But I do know one thing. Now that Leslie knows how to set the table I want her to help me with that when your German guests arrive.”
    She held her breath. His eyes were so strikingly blue, almost shocking in their intensity. When he turned that blue stare on her it was all she could do not to squirm.
    “I guess that would be okay,” he said at last. He pushed himself away from the counter and headed to the fridge. “Something smells good. What’s for supper?”
    It was obvious he no longer wanted to talk about his daughter. That suited her just fine.
    “Gladys made a chicken casserole for you. It’s warming in the oven. And there’s some leftover pie in the fridge.”
    “Since Leslie isn’t here, there’s way too much food for one person. Would you like to stay for supper?”
    She would have been less surprised if he’d ordered her off his ranch and told her to mind her own damn business. He seemed calm, as if he didn’t care what she decided, but the set of his shoulders and his downcast gaze told her otherwise. Perhaps their argument earlier bothered him as much as it had her. Maybe this was his way of offering an olive branch.
    “Supper sounds good.”
    She set the table while Jack poured each of them a glass of milk. She brought the hot casserole dish from the oven and set it on a trivet, lifting the