door.
She couldn’t help herself. She stuck her tongue out at him. It was juvenile and impolite, but it sure felt good.
Until he said, “I saw that.” Not bothering to stop or turn around, he indicated the mirror like reflective surface of the window next to the door into her class room. “Nice tongue,” he added before exiting.
This time she waited until he left before throwing a crumpled ball of paper after him.
Just when she thought it was safe, he popped his head around the door frame to say, “Nice toss. For a girl.”
“Nice compliment. For a marine.”
His smile indicated his appreciation for her quick comeback. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”
She’d thought so at one time. But not now, not again. Not in this lifetime.
Curt frowned at the pile of books strewn across the living-room couch. Who knew there was so much to learn about a three-year-old?
He shuddered with relief that he didn’t have to deal with the chapters marked Potty Training. He was sure that would have brought even a tough guy like him to his knees. He could have managed if Blue had been a boy. Heck, the suggestions for boys had sounded like target practice, only this time the targets had been floating Cheerios in a toilet bowl instead of enemy forces in a battlefield.
But girls were different. different in so many ways that it was all he could do not give in to the doubts prowling around the pit of his stomach, just waiting for him to screw up as he’d done so many times as a teenager. Being in the marines had rid him of those feelings, or so he’d thought until Blue had shown up on his doorstep.
He refused to surrender to fear. Marines never surrendered. They survived. They overcame. They succeeded. Over all odds.
Or they re grouped to fight another day.
Jessie the Brain was coming here tomorrow. He tried to view the place through her eyes. It was clean. Scrupulously so. No easy feat with a kid who seemed determined to leave her toys all over the place, even stuffing things in his shoes and his brief case.
At first he’d been pleased that she’d liked the set of small trucks he’d bought her. It wasn’t as if trucks were a girly thing. Maybe he should have gotten her dolls or stuffed animals. But she’d liked the trucks and had played with them for hours. When she wasn’t hiding them in his shoes or brief case.
One thing was for sure, Jessie wouldn’t be able to give him any demerits on the safety front. He’d had the entire place child proofed—from the kitchen and bathroom cabinets and drawers to the electrical outlets and the pull strings on the venetian blinds covering the windows.
Of course he had yet to master the art of by passing the kid proofing to open some of the cabinets or drawers himself, but he’d learn. Just as he’d learned how to open child proof bottles of aspirin without taking a hacksaw to them.
Who knew an apartment could hold so much danger for a curious kid? And Blue was certainly curious. He couldn’t even count the number of questions she asked him each day. How do tigers roar? Why are we people and not tigers? Why does your mouth go up when you smile? He just told her to ask her teacher.
Which led him back to Jessie again. It seemed a majority of his thoughts led him back to her. Looking down at the book on his lap, he tried to focus on the words. Play patterns. Good manners. Social graces. Yeah, right.
Turning the book over, he gazed at the title again. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Pa renting a Preschooler and Toddler, Too. Was this Jessie’s way of telling him he was a complete idiot? He supposed when it came to pa renting, he was. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. Read these books. She’d issued the order like a drill sergeant.
As for this Daddy Boot Camp thing, he hoped she didn’t expect him to hop to it like some raw recruit. Because he had no intention of playing that game. A man had his pride. And a marine had ten times that much.
That was one of the reasons he loved being a marine. His fellow officers under stood him. His recruits obeyed him. Rules and regulations left no wiggle room for things like taming tantrums. And a part of him still didn’t see why he couldn’t apply the marines way of doing this to this pa renting deal. Discipline and order were good things. Things that needed to be learned early in life.
Maybe if his father had had a little dis ci pline he wouldn’t have abandoned Curt when he was born. There were times he wondered about the blood he’d inherited from his unknown father. What kind of man walked away from his responsibilities that way?
A man not worthy of the name.
Which didn’t change the fact that Curt not only had no pa renting experience, but he had no family-life experience. Not that there was necessarily such a thing as a normal family in today’s world of divorce and step-families. But even those families had some kind of experience of love.
Curt had no such experience. His mother had considered him to be a burden, she’d told him so often enough before the state had stepped in and put him in foster care when he was nine.
He’d never thought of being a parent himself. Absently rubbing his aching leg, he refused to be intimidated by the prospect of what might lay ahead. He’d pick up some pointers from Jessie and move on.
All he had to do was think of this as a new form of training. As a marine, he’d completed boot camp when he’d first enlisted. Since then he’d completed additional training in everything from surviving behind enemy lines to advanced infantry training schooling.
He knew that fear of the unknown was the greatest fear of all. So all he had to do was learn the tricks of this pa renting thing, and he’d be home free.
During the Sunday morning drive to Curt’s apartment complex, Jessica almost turned around and headed back home about a dozen times. She had to keep re minding herself that the faster Curt learned a few pa renting skills, the sooner he’d become self-sufficient and not be requiring her assistance. Not to mention that it would make things easier for little Blue if she had a father who knew how to express his love for her.
Not that Jessica was an expert on affection ate dads. Heaven knew her own father had always been a complete enigma to her. An autocratic man, he did not know the meaning of the word compromise.
Sighing, Jessica stole a quick glance in her Ford Taurus’s rearview mirror to check two things—first, if she’d nibbled off all her lipstick and second, if the left lane was clear for her to move into it. The lipstick was long gone and the traffic was solid.
Flicking her turn signal, she managed to slip in between a truck and minivan. Curt’s directions had been precise down to the mile with everything listed with military precision—turn north on Foster Avenue, proceed for 5.6 miles then turn east at next inter section. There hadn’t been any additional colorful play-by-play, like turning left at the doughnut shop on the corner. The directions were like the man himself. No-nonsense.
She wondered what had happened to the bad boy she’d known as a teenager? Had he changed that much?
Her curiosity wasn’t personal. She was merely interested in human nature, that’s all. The silent assurance made her feel less jittery as she pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot. The pale brick building was a new one and in good shape. All the windows had screens, im por tant for preschooler safety.
Before getting out of her car, she touched up her lipstick, a re strained mauve that drew attention to her lips without making her look made-up. The periwinkle-blue pants and matching tunic-length top she wore were casual enough to make it appear that she hadn’t dressed up for today, but fit her well enough to be a confidence booster. Her hair was gathered up and piled on top of her head, held in place with a silver hairclip given to her by a parent last year.
She’d brought a tote bag filled with materials to assist her with today’s lessons. There was no assisting her racing heart as she knocked on Curt’s door.