went away and never looked back.”
“She used to call back here from time to time. It’s just been the last year or two we haven’t heard a peep from her. About to send a delegation over to check on her.” Blanche didn’t look convinced that that would have much impact. “We still love her here. She’ll always be Zola to us.”
She’d always be that dirty little girl in the threadbare clothes, Chelsea thought. No wonder she wanted to make herself into Tempest. Chelsea could understand wanting to get away from her old life. It would be fun to be a heroine in a book for a day. Not my heroine. She’s been dangling so long she’s afraid she’ll never get off that cliffside.
“Ready to go?” Gage asked Chelsea, smiling a greeting at Blanche. “I’ve got to get Cat home. She says she’s tired after her big day of traveling. If you want me to come back later and pick you up—”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Chelsea smiled at the woman in turn as she got up from the swivel seat she’d settled on while they’d been chatting. “I enjoyed the town history lesson, Blanche. Thank you.”
Blanche waved a hand, reached out to pat a grumpy-looking Cat. “You come back anytime, sugar. Free ice cream for pretty little girls.” She smiled at her. “You look so much like your daddy.”
Gage appeared pleased. “Thanks, Blanche. I take that as a real fine compliment.”
Cat glanced up at him, surprised. “You do?”
He nodded. “Sure I do.”
Cat didn’t seem to know what to think about that. She remained silent, following him as he went to escort Moira to the truck. Chelsea went out behind them, watching Gage interact with his daughter, thinking that for a man who’d just found out he was a dad, he was handling it very well.
* * *
“THANKS,” GAGE SAID as he walked the women to the front door. Moira and Cat went on inside to check on the birds, which Cat had named Mo and Curly—he guessed Larry hadn’t been her favorite of the Three Stooges—so Gage grabbed the chance to tell Chelsea exactly how he felt.
Damn grateful.
“For what?” She looked at him, surprised.
He shrugged, not certain how to express what he wanted to say. “Helping Cat make the transition. And me.”
Afternoon light glowed softly on her features as she studied him. Gage waited nervously, as if he was on a first date, not certain why he felt so skittish around Chelsea. Her eyes were so kind and radiated understanding. She wasn’t the type of woman who made men nervous, he was pretty certain.
Which meant…he must dig her.
A little.
The stray thought made Gage even more nervous. Since his relationship with Cat’s mother, Leslie, he’d stayed busy, making no time for dating. A night or two with a lady sufficed.
He shouldn’t feel differently about this russet-haired Irishwoman. For many reasons—not the least of which would be not wanting to play right into Jonas’s hands.
A man had his pride. Gage looked away from the redhead with the big eyes.
“I didn’t do anything for either of you,” Chelsea said. “I like Cat. She reminds me of myself at that age.”
He couldn’t imagine any resemblance, in any way, between the two of them. But he smiled. “Thanks.”
“No thanks necessary.”
There was no reason to keep Chelsea outside longer than he had, either. The shame of it was he really wanted to talk to her more. His heart drummed inside him, and he wished he had his typical easy talk at his disposal. But he didn’t.
And then he did the unthinkable, brushing his lips from the side of her mouth to her cheek, as “just friends” as he could manage.
God, she was soft.
“See you around,” he said, not hanging in to find out what price he might have to pay for stealing a brotherly peck. He didn’t know what had possessed him. He’d let his mouth do the speaking his voice couldn’t. “I’m leaving, Cat! Are you coming?”
“I’ll catch up in a sec!” she yelled back from upstairs. He heard the screen door close as Chelsea went inside.
Good thing, too. Or he’d be tempted to go back for another helping of “just friends.”
Now that he knew how soft she was, he was going to have to put the brakes on temptation. Hard.
Chapter Five
Chelsea went inside to help her mother with dinner, completely stunned that Gage had kissed her. Sure, it was a non-kiss, really, as kisses went—but yesterday they hadn’t even been on shaking-hands terms.
Of course, it hadn’t been anything more than Gage expressing his gratitude. New-overwhelmed-dad gratitude.
He appreciated her and her mom being nice to his daughter. That was all the brief peck had meant.
It had “just friends” written on it. Quick and fast and…like it hadn’t meant anything except thanks.
She was amazed to see Moira and Cat busy chopping vegetables. “What can I do to help, Mum?”
“Nothing at the moment. The cake is made, dinner is almost finished. We’re just finishing up a big salad for Gage. And a sweet potato casserole.”
Cat glanced up at her. “We get a baked chicken. Dad gets portobello mushroom skewers.”
“You go write, dear,” her mother said.
“You should,” Cat agreed. Chelsea wondered if that was her subtle way of trying to keep Moira to herself. “I read what was on your laptop—by accident. I went into your room to find you, but you weren’t there.”
Chelsea raised a brow. “And you just happened to make yourself at home on my laptop?”
“I didn’t touch anything. You left the screen up.” Cat shrugged. “Anyway, it’s going to get read if it ever gets published.”
“It is getting published, and I don’t allow anyone to read my work until I say it’s all right to.” This was something they were going to have to straighten out pronto. Cat would have to understand that her room was off-limits.
“Anyway,” the teen said, “I just thought you should know that Tempest is a real flesh-and-blood person. I can actually see her.” Cat took a bite of carrot, considering her thoughts. “Bronwyn, not so much. She seems kind of wishy-washy. Cardboard.”
Chelsea and Moira stared at Cat. Chelsea wasn’t certain what to think about the critique—although she had a funny feeling it was dead-on. “Please don’t read my work anymore, Cat, unless I give you permission.”
She nodded. “I won’t. Miss Moira says she’s going to take me to the library and get me some books by great authors. Great texts, is what she calls them. Suitable for my advanced level.” She beamed, pretty proud of that praise.
Chelsea shook her head, recognizing the teacher at work. She sank onto a bar stool and looked at Gage’s daughter. “Permission aside, that was a pretty confident critique.”
“I know.” Cat nodded. “My teacher says I should consider journalism. Maybe even poli-sci.”
The front door opened, interrupting the conversation.
“Cat!” Gage called from the front door.
“Yes, Dad?”
“I thought you were going to catch up with me?”
“I am.” She put down the carrot she’d been chopping. “I’m sorry, Miss Moira. I have to go help my dad.”
“You go, love,”