Wow.
"Leelee?"
He bent a little at the waist and smiled down at her—wow again. He was so big!
"I'm Thomas. It's nice to meet you."
"Yeah. Whatever. Come in if you have to." God—give him a mustache and he looked like that hot old eye doctor dude from the Friends reruns.
Then Emma rounded the corner from the kitchen and Leelee tried to make her exit.
"Wait, please."
A big hand came down on her shoulder and she turned to see that Thomas the Tongue was handing her the flowers. What—was she the maid now?
"Okay. I'll put these in a vase for Emma."
"They're for you, Elizabeth," he said, smiling, and Leelee felt her eyeballs basically pop out—and she wasn't sure if it was because no one had ever given her flowers before or because she'd just gotten a load of his dimples.
"Really?" Oh, God, she sounded like a complete loser. "Whatever. Thanks." She nearly ran to the kitchen because she was seriously embarrassed and she didn't want him to know she was smiling like a dweeb—besides, she had no desire to watch the two of them kiss again.
So why was she peeking around the kitchen door, spying on them?
"Hey, Emma," Thomas said. Emma stood there smiling like she wanted to jump into his arms. Leelee was in serious danger of spewing.
"Hi. Ready to disco the night away?" Emma asked.
"I'm a dancin' machine. Watch me get down," Thomas answered.
Leelee rolled her eyes. Definite heaving potential, here.
Then—total shocker—Thomas the Tongue leaned down and gave Emma a dry little smack of a kiss on the cheek, and Emma smiled all nice and sweet, but nothing wet and sloppy happened at all between them—no fluid exchange whatsoever.
Emma hooked her arm in his and walked with him to the living room. "I've got some interesting news for you about Scott Slick—or should I say Simon Slickowski of Smyrna, Delaware, last year's World Canine Dance Association's Team Disco Champion?"
Leelee started giggling. Emma had said Thomas would be left speechless by what she'd found out that afternoon, and she'd been right. Thomas looked down at her and his jaw dropped open.
"What the hell—" he said, as they disappeared through the archway.
Hey, Bright Eyes.
Something brushed against Leelee's ankle and she squealed with excitement. The disco dog jumped into her arms, and he was even uglier in good light! Oooh—his skin felt totally creepy! Bare and silky where a normal dog was supposed to be fuzzy. She started laughing. She couldn't help it. He was so cool!
"I'll put your flowers in water for you," Beckett said, now standing behind her, staring at the little dog. "I think we've seen better-looking roadkill on Route 27, wouldn't you say, Lee?"
Hey, TV Man, at least I got all four legs and attempt to keep the offensive smells to a minimum—nothing personal, Ray.
Leelee handed over the flowers and gazed at the creature in her arms. "Oh, Beck. He is by far the best thing I've seen since I left L.A." She scratched behind the dog's fuzzy ears.
You're not so bad, yourself Bright Eyes. Oh … just a little to the left… that's it … you got it. Now harder. Oooh, yeah…
* * *
It felt like Thomas and Hairy had been around forever.
Hairy made himself at home in Leelee's lap, eyes closed in ecstasy as she stroked his bony head. Leelee's daisies sat in a place of honor on the coffee table in front of her.
Thomas seemed to fit this old house. When he stood, he was in perfect scale with the ten-foot-high ceilings, his arms and shoulders just as strong and basic as the living room's thick crown molding and baseboards. When he sat, as he did now in the chair next to Beckett's, he seemed relaxed, comfortable with his right to be here.
Emma listened with contentment as the two men laughed and talked about everything from women's professional basketball to their favorite Monty Python dialogue. The last of the day's light was slipping through the front windows on a pleasant breeze. The white sheers rippled. The cozy group was bathed in a wash of pure gold.
Then Emma's breath hitched—somehow, the friendly scene before her had just become something more—one of those impossible moments, when time hovered, when the air stilled, when hidden love and magic were revealed.
Thomas chose that instant to turn toward her, laughing at something Beckett had just said, and his gray eyes locked on hers with a flash of awareness. Though his laugh fell away, a faint smile remained, and she could see that he felt it, too. And Emma's heart grew very quiet.
She'd know him in an instant…
He nodded at her almost imperceptibly, then turned back to her father, and she realized that not once in all the years she'd been with Aaron had he ever seemed to fit here. He was preoccupied. Antsy. Always checking his watch.
Beckett used to remark that Aaron would rather be anywhere else on the planet than out here at the farm, and Emma knew it was true.
So why did Thomas Tobin—a man she hardly knew—seem so at home in her house, in her life?
And what would she do about it?
Emma knew it all came down to whether she'd trust her instincts. Looking back on her life, she was aware that in every single instance, her gut-level response had been the right one. Whether she chose to pay attention to it was another matter. And the trouble always started when she let her thoughts override her instincts.
So which would she listen to tonight?
Her brain told her to watch for falling rocks and hairpin curves and to remember that bridges freeze before roads.
But in that golden moment—when Thomas looked at her, when he smiled at her, when she saw him sitting between her father and her daughter—her instinct was telling her that something wonderful was right around the next bend. That it was okay to go a little faster than usual. That she'd be safe.
Emma felt Leelee's eyes on her, and turned. She was grinning.
"Hey," Leelee said. "You said we were going to boogie-oogie-oogie till we just can't boogie no more."
Hairy raised his head and yawned.
"You're right." Emma hopped up from her chair and crossed to the armoire that housed the TV and stereo. She looked over her shoulder. "What'll we try first—the Bee Gees or Donna Summer?"
"Ooh, the Bee Gees!" Leelee squealed, jumping off the couch, Hairy tucked under her arm.
Within minutes, Thomas and Beckett had the furniture pushed to the edges of the room, Emma had the music queued up, and Leelee had positioned Hairy in the center of the rug. Then everyone stared down at him. He began to shake.
"Do you think he still remembers how to dance?" Leelee asked.
"Absolutely." Emma smiled at the expectant looks in everyone's faces. "If Hairy is who I think he is, he's a highly trained pro. I think we're in for a big treat."
She squatted down and touched his frightened face. "It's okay, little man. We just want to have some fun. Show us what you got."
Emma rose and hit PLAY, and the room throbbed with what she'd always considered the soundtrack to her childhood—the high-pitched wail of the Brothers Gibb.
"'Oh, you can tell by the way I use my walk…'"
"Oh, my God!" Leelee squeaked.
"Give the man some room," Beckett said, pushing everyone back like a police officer at an accident scene.
Thomas gravitated toward Emma and took her hand in his—warm and big and just right. He was shaking with laughter. "Okay. I've officially seen everything now," he said into her ear.
Several things impressed Emma. First, Hairy was perhaps the most agile little canine she'd ever seen. He'd just executed a flip with a full twist. He could spin on his hind legs. He flawlessly kept the beat as he pranced and swiveled and made sharp cuts on the rug.
The second thing that impressed Emma was that she swore, despite everything she knew to the contrary, that the damn dog was smiling.
His sharp yips and howls brought her out of her trance.
"What does he want? What?" Leelee jumped around worriedly, looking
to Emma for help. "Why is he barking at me?"
"I think he wants you to dance with him," Thomas yelled over the disco throb.
"Yeah? Oh, how totally cool!"
Thomas's hand tightened around Emma's, then he brought his arm around her shoulder and held her—really they held each other—because they were laughing so hard they could barely stand.
Whatever Leelee did, Hairy mimicked her. If she turned a sharp left, so did he. If she did a little cha-cha-cha, he did, too. If she leaped, he leaped.
"I'm going to pee my pants," Emma laughed.
"You know, I've heard tying a maxi pad inside a sweat sock works wonders for that," Thomas said in her ear.
"I've gotta get the video camera!" Beckett raced from the room. "They ain't gonna believe this down at the Moose!"
* * *
Thomas was pretty sure he'd just gotten his ass kicked by a twelve-year-old.
"Leelee, I'm not sure vair is an actual word." Beckett reached for the dictionary that lay on the floor at his feet.
The girl rested her chin in her hands and looked up at Thomas, her eyes crinkling as she grinned at him.
"Whadya say? You gonna challenge me, Mr. Tobin?" He sighed, leaned back into the chair, and looped his fingers together on his lap. The two of them had gone head-to-head for an hour now, and all he had left were the letters X and Q and there was nowhere on the Scrabble board to put them. "No. My brain hurts, Lee. You win."
"Well, I'm going to look it up anyway, because she can be sly sometimes…"
"Beck!" Leelee looked offended.
"Oh, hell's bells, here it is—'the skin of a kind of squirrel with a gray back and white belly.' Now how in God's name did you know that, Lee?"
She shrugged. "I read a lot, I guess."
"Good game, junior." Thomas reached across the letter-dense board to shake her hand. It felt tiny and soft in his palm. "So what kind of things do you like to read?"
"I don't know—biographies. History. Adventure. Science fiction. Romances that Emma approves in advance." Leelee shot Emma a quick glance. "Just about anything, really."
"Do you have any favorite authors?"
"Sure—J.R.R. Tolkien, Barbara Kingsolver, Judy Blume. Emma took away all my Tom Robbins novels when I moved here from L.A., though."
He couldn't help but smile. Who let their twelve-year-old daughter read Tom Robbins? It was probably a good thing Emma arrived on the scene when she did.
"How about music? What kind of music do you like?"
Leelee snuggled back into the couch and Hairy returned to her lap. She stroked his ears. "Have you ever heard of the Backstreet Boys?"
He supposed it was good that Leelee was normal in some way. "Sure have," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"Well, I'm in love with every single one of them, even the married ones." She sighed. "But Mom used to listen to lots of different stuff at home that I like, too—reggae and ska. Alternative. Texas blues. Jazz. You know she and Emma were in a band together when they were teenagers, right?"
Thomas watched a flush spread across Emma's cheeks as she sprang up to clear the drinking glasses.
"I'll get that, honey." Beckett took the glasses from her and suddenly Emma stood in front of Thomas with nothing to do but look embarrassed.
"Really?" he asked.
"Yeah," Leelee said. "They sucked."
Emma shrugged, thick hair shifting over her shoulder. "I'm afraid it's true."
"We've got a few videotapes of their shows if you want to see—"
"Time for bed, Lee!" Emma slid Hairy out from Leelee's arms and hauled her off the couch.
"But I don't have school tomorrow!" Leelee wailed. Emma pushed her toward the stairs.
"Good night, sweetie." Emma kissed her cheek.
"Wait!" Leelee spun around and ran back toward Thomas, looking up into his face with expectation. "I'll make a deal with you—you let me keep Hairy for the weekend and I'll go to bed now." A mischievous smile spread across Leelee's face, and in that instant she reminded him of Pam—except for the color of her eyes, she could be Pam's kid. Or his.
"If it's okay with Emma." His glance landed on Hairy and the strangest pang of jealousy hit him—he was going to miss the little pecker. "But you've got to let him out pretty often or you'll have a big mess to clean up. And he'll want to sleep in bed with you. He gets kind of cold and lonely otherwise."
"Oh, sure! Cool!" Leelee scooped Hairy from Emma's arms and ran out the front door with him. Emma turned to face Thomas with a crooked grin.
"It is okay with you, isn't it?"
"Why not?" Emma spread her arms wide in surrender.
"Here." Thomas dug into the front pocket of his slacks. "In case you need to bring him back and I'm gone, here's a key to my place. Just drop him in his crate."
Emma accepted the key just as Beckett came out of the kitchen and excused himself for the night, giving Thomas a friendly slap on the shoulder, and Leelee burst in the front door and started up the stairs. She stopped halfway and leaned over the polished oak banister.
"Thanks, Thomas." Her butterscotch-brown eyes danced in the foyer light. "I was afraid you'd be a complete and total loser, but you're pretty cool. Do you think you could teach me how to drive your car sometime?"
Thomas wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "You want to drive my car? You're twelve."
"Just on the driveway. It's the hottest car I've seen since I moved to Maryland."
He felt the corner of his mouth hitch up. "Maybe someday."
She smiled at him and was gone.
Thomas stood in the hallway with Emma, his hands shoved in his pockets, a strange sense of pleasure spreading through him. Emma was looking up at his face, shaking her head.
"What?"
"Amazing."
"What is?"
She blinked, then laughed. "God, Thomas. Everything—everything's amazing."
"Sit with me a minute?" He reached for her hand and walked with her to the couch, where he pulled her down next to him. He let his arm drape across her shoulders, and sighed.
"I did pretty good tonight, didn't I?"
Emma snorted and shook her head. "You want to hear her nickname for you?"
He crooked his neck to look down at her. "I'm not sure…"
"Thomas the Tongue."
"Ouch."
"I told her it was disrespectful."
"Thanks for defending my virtue."
They sat in the quiet for a few moments, Thomas feeling more comfortable and relaxed than he could ever remember. Being with Emma seemed to do that for him. She snuggled closer.
"I passed the test, didn't I?"
Emma pulled away from his side to get a good look at him. "Thomas, you and Leelee are two peas in a pod—oh! Wait—that reminds me!" She was suddenly gone, and his arm fell to the couch cushions.
Emma sat on her heels as she rummaged through the lower bookshelves, and Thomas had to look away. He'd managed to get through the whole night without a single lustful thought about her—okay, that was an exaggeration—but he'd done pretty damn good and he didn't want to blow it now.
She returned to the couch, her finger holding her place in a big photo album. She didn't open it. Instead, she looked up at him with uncertain eyes.
"This is going to be a strange question, and you might get pretty angry. But, well, Becca—"
"Wasn't the world's most conscientious parent?"
Emma shook her head sadly. "There's no polite way to ask you this, Thomas. See, Leelee doesn't know who her dad was and you two look so much alike that I just have to know." She unceremoniously flung open the book and jabbed her finger at the glossy page. "Did you ever sleep with her?"
The album hit his lap with a thud, and he looked down at an eight-by-ten color photo of two beautiful women. One of them was a fresh-faced, joyous Emma, the wind blowing her hair back from her face as she laughed. The other was obviously Becca.
And Becca was drop-dead gorgeous. Like a movie star. Like an angel.
And he'd never seen her before.
"How old were you two here?" He realized his finger was lightly tracing the shape of Emma's face in the photograph.
"Twenty-five. I was in vet school and was visiting her in L.A. when this picture was taken. Leelee would have been about three."
Thomas dragged his eyes from the photo and looked into Emma's face. She was waiting for his answer, holding her breath, that small divot carved between her brows.
"I never slept with Leelee's mother," he said, watching her eyes close in relief.
"I'm so sorry I had to ask you that," she breathed.
"I don't sleep around, Emma. My last relationship lasted four years. I've had one or two brief encounters, but I remember them all and I'm fairly certain I don't have any offspring running around unaccounted for."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He closed the album and handed it back to her. "I've got to get going. I've got to call Reg Massey on my way to Hancock—she's the detective who's handling Slick's case. Where did you put—"
Emma handed him a stack of computer printouts—everything she'd discovered about Simon Slickowski, the dog disco dancing king—and walked him to the door.
"Thank you for a wonderful night, Emma." Thomas felt he was forgetting something, then remembered that Hairy was spending the weekend with Leelee.
"You're angry with me."
He looked down onto Emma's bent head and, without thinking, touched his fingers to her chin and raised her face.
"No I'm not, because you're right, Emma—she looks like me. In fact, she looks just like Pam did at that age. It's kind of spooky and I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder the same thing for a second. But I'm not her father. I never had sex with Becca Weaverton. I think I would've remembered."
"I imagine you would."
Thomas cupped her face tenderly in his palm. "You two must have made the boys nuts."
Emma snorted. "Becca was the nut-maker. I just went along for the ride."
Thomas smiled down at her. Emma of the baggy sweatshirts really didn't know how beautiful she was. He leaned close.
"Well, you make me nuts, Emma Jenkins. But I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that—for the time being."
He kissed her on the cheek and left.