CHAPTER 4

A small sports car purred down Tristen’s driveway. He watched as it crunched to a halt by his front step, the early morning light flashing on its shiny red door as his ex-wife got out. “Really, Tristen? Gravel? You couldn’t pave it or lay out all those fancy stones you drone on about?” She winked as she slammed her door, but he knew she was half-serious.

“They don’t make a good driveway. Not with our winters. Where’s the Escalade?” He’d special ordered her a fully-loaded Cadillac SUV, and she wasn’t even driving it?

She gave him a look. “You really thought that thing was me?”

“It’s what all the stay-at-home moms were driving.”

“Yeah, well, that was before you sold me your half of the company. And just before an economic downturn. Thanks for that.” The fire and ice in her voice would be enough to make most men’s testicles crawl inside his body for protection, but for Tristen it was the anger flashing in her sapphire eyes that made his Adam’s apple lodge in place, not allowing him to talk or breathe. The old Tristen had been into screwing people over in business, but never family. Surely she had to know the timing wasn’t his doing?

He moved around the tiny car, which was definitely a bad choice for Ontario’s busy, often rock-lined highways. What luck would she have against a tractor trailer, and how on earth were those sporty, low-profile treads going to keep her on the road in the middle of any kind of storm? Did she not comprehend how little rubber was connecting her to the highway? And traveling with their daughter—what was the safety rating on this thing? Did it even have side air bags?

His gaze drifted to his only mode of transportation, the truck. Definitely no air bags. He was going to have to buy a new vehicle if he planned to be driving Dot around. Possibly a Volvo. Or a Hummer. Those seemed pretty sturdy.

Working hard to calm himself, he tried for a welcoming smile. He pulled his daughter to his chest, noting that he’d committed a fatal error even before her body froze against his. He tucked her head under his chin nevertheless, surprised at how tall she was. Then he held her for an extra second, letting her know that he was that dad—a father who was not afraid to express physical affection, because he was not emotionally stunted, as his ex had stated so bluntly while delivering her petition for divorce.

Tristen released his daughter, noting that her upper-lip snarl was quivering, as though she’d needed that hug for months.

He really had to prove to them all that he could do this, didn’t he?

“How’s it going, Dot?” he asked. She’d added a green and an orange streak in her bangs—if you could call them that. It was more like a sheepdog shag covering the front of her head, swept forward to cover the left third of her face, ending in a point near her small, sharp chin, which she raised defiantly as he took her in. Half pixie, half sheepdog. He was going to have to be careful what he unconsciously nicknamed her.

“I like your hair.”

The snarl was back, and her arms crossed over her thin chest.

“You look hungry,” he added.

He caught the look from his ex-wife, who was equally thin, and sighed. Women. They weren’t all like Melanie Summer and willing to work it. That girl had curves like a modern day Marilyn Monroe, without the “I know I’m sexy” turn-him-off attitude. Ms. Summer probably ate without worrying about whether it was going to give her some padding a man might actually enjoy.

Why was he even thinking about her? She was the devil, tempting him back to the dark side of land developments. And no, that dark side did not have milk and cookies. It had beasts and quicksand. Snake pits and so much worse.

He grabbed Dot’s luggage from the minuscule trunk and half listened while Cindy ranted on about what she thought their daughter needed. Just when he was about to shoo her away—forcibly if necessary—his ex-wife leaped in her car and tore out of the driveway without even a goodbye hug for the daughter she hadn’t been separated from for more than a weekend in probably at least a decade.

“No lost love, huh?” he said to Dot, turning to find her gone. He found her on the stone patio overlooking the water, feet up on the outdoor furniture, head tucked low as she typed on her phone. “Want me to show you your room?”

“I’m not staying here.”

“Well, I doubt your mother got you a room at the local inn, so let’s go.” He half turned, waiting for her to follow.

“I’m staying at a friend’s house.”

“Nope.”

“The only thing that makes you my father is the fact that you knocked up Mom.”

All right then.

Here was the first example of the hormone-induced lash outs the internet had warned him about. He supposed he no longer needed to wonder why his ex had peeled out of here. She was probably ready to hit every bar on the way back to Toronto, crying, “Freedom! Freedom!”

“Right. We do share biology. However, I also bought that phone you are using and took you to Disney World when you were seven.”

She glared at him. “Mom bought me this phone.”

“Where do you think the money came from, Missy Pants?”

His daughter popped up off the couch, livid. “Don’t call me that.”

“You liked it when you were three.”

“No, I didn’t. You only used it when you were scolding me.”

That actually sounded fairly familiar.

“Mom works, you know. She spends hours on that stupid business you abandoned, just like you abandoned us.” His daughter’s chest expanded and contracted with emotion, and her eyes were damp as she fell back into the cushions, her face so close to her phone that he worried about her vision.

“All right.” Tristen took the seat across from her. “Looks like we need to set a few things straight. Number one, I am your father and always will be.” He swallowed hard, drew a deep breath and tried to forge ahead, but found himself unable to say the three simple words he knew she needed to hear. Cindy’s words ran circles in his head. Why can’t you say I love you? Don’t you think I need to hear it? The words froze in his throat, unable to come out. They were too important. “I uh…” Nope. Wouldn’t come out. “It’s that four-letter word found in a three-word phrase, Dot.” He cleared his throat. “I always have and always will feel that way about you.”

Her shoulders hitched higher and her lips curled.

“Two, I’m glad your mom is getting out there and working. It’s good for her. Three, that business is something I built from the ground up. It’s called TriBell for a reason. When your mother and I parted ways she got half of it as my spouse, and I sold her the rest. I didn’t abandon it, but I admit that, yes, I ran from the city.”

He had Dot’s attention now. He could tell by the slight face tilt so she could catch glimpses of him, even though her attention was still aimed at her phone. How little she’d changed since she was a toddler. “I didn’t intend to make you feel abandoned, but I understand how you might feel that way. And for that, I am sorry, Dot.”

“Nobody calls me Dot.”

“What do they call you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You want me to call you Dot?”

She gave a tiny shrug.

When had she become a woman, with the mood-powered Tilt-a-Whirl personality that came with it? He bet Melanie wasn’t like this.

Max roamed over, having noticed there was someone new present and Tristen wasn’t simply talking to himself.

“This is my dog, Maxwell Richards III.”

Dot’s headed lifted in surprise, a smile starting before she caught herself, tamping it down.

“Quite the name, right?” He scratched the dog’s ears as the furry beast checked in with him before heading over to see what Dot had to offer. She ignored him, so he plunked his massive head in her lap. “He’s a Bernese mountain dog. Friendly. Lazy. Eats a ton. Craps like an elephant.”

Dot blinked, holding something back. Finally, she peeled one hand away from her phone and gently patted Max’s head. The dog nuzzled closer and lifted his brown eyebrows in such a pathetic request for love that Tristen could visibility see his daughter’s heart melt. She scratched under Max’s chin, then, realizing what she was doing, pulled her hand back, crossing her arms.

“He sheds,” she announced.

“Year-round. So? Ground rules or show you your room?”

Dot heaved a sigh so severely exaggerated he had to bite back a smile.

He headed into the building, knowing she was sure to follow this time. Grabbing her luggage from the entry, where he’d left it, he led Dot down the hall to the guest room. He nudged the door to the ground-floor bedroom open, pointing out the nearby bathroom, which was their one and only, sandwiched between his bedroom and hers.

He placed her suitcases by the bed. “Need anything?”

“An escape plan,” she muttered, falling onto the mattress, which bounced her back onto her feet. “This bed sucks.”

“So then, a few ground rules. We eat meals. Three of them. Every day. At the table. Together.”

“Don’t you have a job?”

“I do. And I have to head out in an hour and you’ll come with me. I’m not going to have any of those ‘I’m not hungry’ or ‘I just ate’ games in this house. It might work with your mother, but not with me.” He gave Dot the I-mean-business eye and noted she appeared slightly shocked. He might not have been around much in the past seventeen years, but he noticed things. And now it was his turn to play parent, without worrying about his wife undoing it all while he was at work. “No sneaking out. Phone is left on its charger in the kitchen at bedtime. In other words, no calls or texting at night.” Her mouth dropped open. “You need sleep—uninterrupted—and you’re a teen. Sleep is mandatory.”

“What is this? Jail?”

“Mean Daddy Boot Camp,” he said with a smile. “You can get a job while you are here, if you’re interested. You have your driver’s license?”

She shook her head.

“Want it?”

There was a glimmer in her eyes, which had finally lifted enough he could see their familiar star pattern. She didn’t answer.

“You can also borrow my bike. We aren’t far from town. There’s a nice library there. I can get you a library card if you want. I don’t have cable or satellite.” Her eyes grew round again. “I have internet. I’ll get you the password. No porn. Surf safe and all that.”

“I have data on my phone.”

“Which will remain on its charger at night.”

“People can watch porn during the day, you know.”

“Good point. I’ll be sure to look over your shoulder every so often.” He touched the cool surface of an amphibolite rock he’d placed on her windowsill as an attempt at décor. The dark-and-light gray striations were swirled, making it resemble marbled fudge.

He turned back to his daughter, who was tapping through messages on her phone. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Dot froze. “No.”

“Well, no boys. I guess you could go on a date if I meet him first and say it’s okay. But assume you can’t have boys over or go to their place unless I know them and have given approval.” Tristen glanced again at his daughter. How could she not have a boyfriend in the middle of her seventeenth summer? “Sure you don’t have a boyfriend? No crushes or anything that I need to worry about? Maybe this friend you wanted to stay with? Your mother and I eloped when we were only a little older than you, you know. I know what teenagers do.” He sat beside her on the bed. “So? Boyfriend?”

“I’m gay, Dad.”

He didn’t know whether to be relieved that there’d be no boys, or to allow the joy of hearing her call him “Dad” sweep him away.

“Gay, happy? Or gay, lesbian?”

“I prefer the company of females.” Her arms were crossed, eyes daring.

“Fine. Amend the no-boys rule to cover girls of the girlfriend persuasion. And at least I don’t have to worry about you getting pregnant.”

“Ha, ha.”

“What? It’s true. A father’s worst nightmare—your teenaged daughter becoming a mom while still in high school.” Other scenarios filled his mind and he amended his statement. “Well, one of the worst. Although really, that wouldn’t be too bad. It would just be hard on you, giving up your freedom. And teen pregnancies are fraught with risk, healthwise. What I mean is that it could be worse. I would like to be a grandfather some day. Just maybe not right away. You’re not pregnant, are you?” Tristen placed a fist over his mouth and cleared his throat. Time to shut his word hole.

“Are you allowed to have girlfriends over?” Dot’s dark eyes narrowed in challenge.

His mind flipped to the image of Melanie sitting on her motorcycle, and the way she’d given him attitude.

“Don’t have one,” he said simply.

“That’s lovely. You didn’t even stay with the woman you left us for?”

Tristen choked on his shock. “Excuse me?”

Dot glared at him, all her teenage hatred and hurt directed at him. It felt as though an evil cloud of black pain had been shoved in his direction.

“Your mother and I broke up because she was tired of me not being around. Did she really tell you I was with someone else?” His voice was low, almost too quiet. He pushed back the anger, knowing where it would take him if he let it grab hold.

“I just kind of figured.”

“Never assume.” He directed them out of the room, his moves sharp, laced with pent-up anger. “Your mother and I came to the end of our ride together, that’s all. Make sure you learn that lesson from us and communicate with your partner.” He pulled Dot into a tight, partial hug before letting her go. He noted she took a large step away, but then slowly eased closer as they moved down the hall.

When they reached the end of the corridor, he stopped, blocking her way. “I know you probably don’t want to know this, but there’s never been anyone other than your mother. Well, in high school I saw someone else for a while. But when I met your mom, that was it for me. Nobody since.”

“That’s pathetic.”

He wasn’t sure if she meant settling down so young or the self-induced solitude. Either way, spending the last two years mostly alone had been good for him.

“Can I work for you?” his daughter said out of the blue, head cocked to one side.

The expression “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” popped into Tristen’s mind.

“I’m not working a lot at the moment. Some real estate on the side when others want a vacation. A bit of rock work. Nothing exciting.”

“Fine.” His daughter crossed her arms and reduced her eyes to slits, jutting out her chin. “If I fail it will be because of you.”

Oh, look, the Tilt-a-Whirl was at work again. “Can you please explain?” he said, forcing himself to be polite.

“I flunked gym class.”

“But you’re an athlete.” She had been part of the starting lineup in soccer since age five. It didn’t matter if she had just entered the next age level and was the youngest on the team, she was always a starter. How could someone like that flunk?

“Whatever. I’ll just drop out.”

“No. Explain what you need.”

She told him in one long breath, “I’m short the number of credits I need to graduate on time. I have to do summer school or work experience or I won’t graduate. I missed registering for summer school.”

“So, what do you need for that?”

“A job.”

“Any job? How many hours?”

“I want to be a lawyer and the schools prefer law office experience, but anything would work.”

Little spider feet crept up his spine. Law. Melanie.

Tristen took a deep breath and turned to head to the kitchen. “Let’s have breakfast.” He pivoted to face his daughter again, knowing, like a fifth sense, that an excuse was about to trip off her tongue.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m a good cook, and I know you didn’t eat on the way up. You’re eating. Rule one.”

It was time to get this parenting party started.

* * *

Early Monday morning, Melanie stood outside the municipality office of Mr. Valos, an old family friend. His secretary, Nora, who was her former roommate, had snagged her an early appointment—first of the day—and Melanie planned to share her fantastic arguments on why Rubicore couldn’t continue their plans to destroy Muskoka. Mr. Valos would be convinced that he needed to put a lockdown on Rubicore’s plans, and she’d skip off into the future, somehow finding her share for the cottage’s taxes, and live happily ever after. The end.

Right. She really needed to figure out a solid plan for coming up with several thousand dollars over the next four weeks or she’d be the one responsible for losing the cottage. And that was not how she wanted to finally stand out in the Summer family. Being the only sister sent to Camp Adaker to be straightened out after their father’s sudden death as kids had been bad enough.

Melanie pushed open the tall door to Mr. Valos’s office. Who did they think was going to work here—giants? Yeesh. She padded across the carpet to the desk, giving the man a light hug of hello as he stood to greet her.

“Good morning, Mr. Valos.”

Had he gotten shorter? Because that was a really awkward place for his head—below her shoulder and a bit too close to her boobs. He was holding her as though he expected comfort, his arms hugging her too tightly. It was the kind of awkward that made a person want to toss their cookies a little bit. He finally released her and she struggled to keep her smile from wavering. She needed Mr. Valos on her side.

“Melanie Summer!” He held her hands in his, stepping back to take her in. “You look well. I heard you’d moved back after school. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you.” She smoothed the dress she’d worn yesterday. She figured if it worked on bikers, it might work on politicians, too. “How are you and Mrs. Valos?”

“Great. Just great. Golfing a ton. Got my par down by three points from last year.”

“And your daughter, Jess?”

“Married!” He clapped his hands in glee and sat down, leaning back in his chair.

“Jess is married?” Well, that took the cake. If that girl could do it, then why wasn’t Melanie getting any action? “That’s wonderful.”

“So, what can I do for you? Just stopping by to see my new office?” He held out his arms, showcasing the grand room.

“Actually, I was wanting to talk to you about a development slotted for Baby Horseshoe Island.”

“Oh?” He turned to push the intercom button that linked him with his secretary. “Let’s get Nora to set up an appointment.”

“Actually, I’m your first appointment of the day.” Melanie unbuckled her briefcase. “I’d like to discuss Rubicore and their proposed resort.”

“Yes, great for jobs and tourism.”

“Wonderful economic reasons to love a development,” she said cheerfully. His hand left the phone. “Although possibly not so wonderful for the environment.”

He laughed. “You been talking to that sister of yours? What’s her name? Belle?”

“Daphne.”

“Causes quite the ruckus, doesn’t she? I suppose that’s what happens when you lose your father so young. Such a shame.” He shook his head. “A crying shame. He was so good at poker.”

“I don’t believe our father’s death had anything to do with Daphne’s passion for animals and the environment. At Halloween, if you’ll remember when she was four—” Melanie laughed lightly, attempting to ease the edge from her voice “—she used to ask for donations for the no-kill shelter in lieu of candy.”

“Oh? She’s diabetic?”

“No.” Melanie sat up straight and placed a stapled document on Mr. Valos’s desk. “Anyway, about this development.”

“Should have sent Belle to that camp for emotional kids, too. It did wonders for you. You’re a lawyer now.”

“Camp Adaker,” Melanie supplied weakly.

“Yeah, yeah. That place. We’ll see what happens with that, then, eh?”

The room felt as if it was spinning. She was missing something. Something important.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s on that island.”

She’d been fund-raising for the camp almost every year since she’d gone there as a camper, and then as a counsellor. To say she believed in the camp and that it meant a lot to her was a complete understatement.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked.

The man stood. “I’m so glad you came in to visit, Melanie. Great to see you.” He placed a hand on her lower back as she rose to her feet, about to argue that she still had a few more minutes in her appointment time. He gave her a gentle nudge forward and she resisted, holding her ground, knowing that once he got her out of the room, it was over.

She needed reinforcements, someone who could sway Mr. Valos’s opinion, since he obviously still thought of her as a grieving child.

“I’d like to talk to the town council at their next meeting, as well. There are some serious environmental concerns, as well as ones regarding heritage loss, bylaw infringements, parking, traffic, noise, lighting, and even the footprint, which, from what I’ve seen, will be quite significant. I—”

“Very nice. Very nice. Create a presentation and we’ll see.”

“I have one.” Melanie held up her briefcase. She’d stayed up until four in the morning creating this presentation, then begged Nora to find a way to slide her into Mr. Valos’s schedule. And for what? Him to kiss her out the door? Not a chance.

She dodged him and headed to his desk, where she placed her laptop on the reflective surface.

Mr. Valos stood at the open door, seeming confused.

Melanie smiled, not making eye contact, so he’d be less likely to try and stop her. “I have all the information right here.”

Hearing Mr. Valos greet someone, she turned, full of smiles, hoping to woo another member of the council into hearing her presentation, especially since the next meeting wasn’t scheduled for a while. Time was of the essence.

Her smile dropped, then picked up along with her heartbeat as she spotted a tall man standing in the door. Tristen. She didn’t know whether to effusively rope him in, or be miffed that he’d refused to help. Either way, judging from the surprised look on his face, he wasn’t here to play hero.

“Ms. Summer,” he said with a slight nod. “I’m sorry, Vincent, I must have the wrong time. I’ll check back with Nora.”

Mr. Valos hauled him into the room by his shirtsleeve, seemingly with the opposite emotion he’d expressed while trying to drag Melanie out. “Stay, stay,” he crooned, straightening the sleeve of Tristen’s crisp dress shirt.

“I’m actually about to do a presentation about my concerns in regards to Rubicore’s proposed resort development on Baby Horseshoe Island.” Melanie turned back to her computer, waking it from sleep mode.

“This would be more appropriate at the next council meeting, Melanie. Ask Nora to be a dear and put you on the list, if we have time,” Mr. Valos said in an authoritative, patronizing tone.

“And will there be any planning meetings between the municipality and the developers before then?”

“Oh, can’t be sure,” he replied, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

“Shall we ask Nora? I’m sure she must know.” Melanie reached for his phone, lifting the receiver. “I’d hate for something to be approved that could endanger what everyone loves about Heritage Row. Muskoka is such a unique area of the world.”

“I think I’ll come back later,” Tristen said, turning toward the door.

“Yes,” Melanie chirped. “I believe we’re going to need some time here, and since I know you’re afraid of developments and developers, this might make you uncomfortable.” She punched a button she figured would get her through to Nora.

Tristen gave her a parting glare, jaw clenched hard. He slammed the door behind him, making the framed pictures rattle.

“Ms. Summer,” Mr. Valos said, his voice low with anger.

Oh, it was Ms. Summer now. Nice.

He gently took the phone from her and placed in its cradle. “Mr. Bell has been waiting to see me about a very important matter and I don’t recall seeing your name on my schedule. I think it would be best if we did this at another time.” He opened the door. “Mr. Bell. Please. Ms. Summer and I are done. Your time is valuable, and I apologize for the mix-up and to have kept you waiting.”

Butt kisser.

Tristen reappeared in the doorway, his expression livid. Melanie had to admit it was a terribly sexy look on him. It tightened his jaw in a way that made her long to run her hand down it. Slowly. And maybe follow up with her tongue and some love bites. Oh, heck. She was going to need a cold shower if she kept staring at his jaw.

Focusing on the space just beyond Tristen, she said, “Mr. Valos, I feel Mr. Bell could provide valuable input on this issue. Should he deign to weigh in.”

Silence stretched in the spacious room.

“Mr. Bell?” Melanie asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray her desperate need to have him not shut her down. To help her out.

The man in question looked away and Mr. Valos gave an embarrassed cough.

Fine. She’d show the wimps that she could do this without them.

She snatched her briefcase from the desk and said, “I’ll set something up with Nora—again—on my way out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Valos. Oh, and tell your wife that I would be happy to help her sort out the fender-bender she had last week if her insurance company is still giving her troubles.”

Head held high, Melanie stomped from the room.

“Nora?” She snagged her friend on the way out. “I’m going to need another appointment. One where Mr. Bell can’t shoo me out.”

“I’m so sorry. He was early. You should have had another ten minutes.” Nora’s cheeks flushed as her long nails clicked across the keyboard. “Let’s see what we can find.”

“And can I get a slot at the next council meeting to do a presentation, too?”

“You bet. Just give me a minute.”

Melanie hefted her briefcase, which was too light. Her computer. She’d left it in Mr. Valos’s office. “Excuse me.” She pushed open the door, not caring if she was interrupting some oh-so-important meeting between the two men.

“The land out by the highway. Did the rezoning go through? A client was wondering…” Tristen trailed off, looking away as Melanie strode back into the room.

She shot him a dirty look as she made her way to Mr. Valos’s desk.

So much for Tristen leaving his developer side behind. The liar.

“Sorry, boys!” she chirped. “Forgot my computer.”

“Dear, this isn’t the best use of your time,” Mr. Valos said gently, pushing her computer closer to the edge of his desk so she could grab it.

“Let me worry about how I spend my time.” She gave him a bright smile and tried not to kick Tristen as she passed him again.

He kept his eyes averted, jaw set, but she could feel his attention follow her as she crossed the room. She wished she was wearing something more adorable than the same dress she’d worn when they’d met yesterday. Why couldn’t she ever be that amazing woman in front of others? In command and in control?

And that better not be pity she saw in his eyes as he glanced up.

She glared at him and shut the door behind her, barely refraining from sticking out her tongue.

She needed to show that I’m-so-great-and-too-good-to-help-you man that she could do this. Would do this. Without him.