Hoosier Dad

There are moments in a gal’s life that she dress-rehearses repeatedly. Like saying I do with the temerity of a queen, while still blushing like a princess. And if there is no I do in her future, probably ever, then she rehearses that moment when she gets to look her worst heartbreak square in the eye and prove in a single, regal stare that she is so much more than good—she is better than ever. Unfortunately for Sarah, when that moment came, all she managed was an unflattering slack-jawed drop of her chin.

Don’t you need to write that down? the handsome-as-ever Rich Cooper asked, nonplussed.

The man was, evidently, a moron. Sarah forced her mouth closed and picked up a pen. So, what you’re telling me is…you want to place a personal ad? For a fat, ugly, stupid wife?

Not fat, he said, as if explaining why he preferred white bread to wheat. Plump. I want a woman who isn’t obsessed with being skinny. But it’s not like I’m wanting a sits-in-front-of-the-TV-all-day sort of behemoth.

Behemoth? Sarah’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t look up, couldn’t make eye contact, or she might punch him. Men. They sickened her. Especially this one.

But he didn’t seem to notice he was making her nauseous, because he kept right on talking. And I said I wanted decent looking, but not stunning. And I never said stupid…I said I didn’t want a woman who was career oriented. I want a woman who is okay with working at home.

Sarah chewed the side of her cheek and scribbled the words on a notepad. The man was a Neanderthal, and should be skewered and roasted by any self-respecting woman. But the hell of it was…he was so damned easy on the eyes. She sighed as she glanced up at the casually tattered jeans, which revealed strong, muscular thighs, a small tear acting as a window to a light coating of blond, wiry hair. He was all man, smelling of freshly cut wood and…bubble gum?

Moving her eyes as quickly as she could from legs to eyes, she tried to pretend she didn’t notice how his T-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders, but hung loose at his narrowed hips. She worked her ass off to keep her thirty-something body tight. The least Rich Cooper could have done to make up for being such an ass was to get fat and go bald.

It was only fair.

But no. The universe continued to crap on her. Even his face was still perfect. His easy smile and clear blue eyes hinted at mischief, and tricked a girl into thinking his misogynistic tendencies were simply a guise for something deeper.

But Sarah knew better. She knew that below the initial shallow surface was nothing but rock. Total bed rock. Sarah’s blush deepened, and she squirmed in her seat at her own horrible analogy.

She never should have come back to Dodd, Indiana. This was a mistake. First day in town, and she runs into him. He evidently didn’t remember her, but she’d never forget him. Richland Conrad Cooper. King of the prom. Collector of hearts. Killer of virtue.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. Her foot tapped the air and her lips were drawn and pinched. She took a deep breath. She dealt with murderers on a daily basis—she could handle him. So, Dick. What you’re telling me is you’ve lost your magic touch and need to advertise for a bimbo?

He rested his body on the edge of the desk and leaned in toward her. He smelled delicious…definitely like bubble gum. She hadn’t chewed gum in a very, very long time. It made her mouth water.

He gave her a wink. It’s Rich, and truthfully? Bimbos come a dime a dozen. I need a mom for my girls.

And your idea of the perfect mom is a chunky gal without goals?

Muscular shoulders rolled inside the faded T-shirt. Sounds horrible, but yeah. I want an average woman. One who sees raising kids as something more important than a career.

Why don’t you give up your job? Raise your own kids?

He stared at her as if she’d given him a crossword puzzle to solve. His blond hair needed cutting—it was beginning to curl, and lent him a boyish charm that was totally undeserved. You think I can find a rich woman around here who will have me? Because I can’t move either.

Oh, my God. Seriously? She pushed out of her chair and circled the desk. Are you seriously stupid?

He swiveled his body toward her, but didn’t stand. Serious as a heart attack. I’m in over my head, and I need help. Help I can trust. A woman who can be a role model for my daughters. I don’t need any bar flies or bitches. I need a good woman who wants a home and a family.

Sarah shoved the notepad at him. But doing this…it’s…it’s insulting.

He read the paper. Okay, so maybe I could word it better—

Word it better?

Yeah. What if I say, ‘Wanted: a woman who cooks, likes kids, and would like to be a homemaker. And I will say I am a thirty-something construction worker who drives a fifteen-year-old pick up. That will weed out the gold diggers, the career women, and the hot babes.

There was no talking to him. He’d probably taken too many blows to the brain in his sporting years. And why did she care? Let him run his stupid ad.

Fine. She scribbled the words on the paper. How shall I sign it?

I thought of this on the way over— Hoosier Dad? I was going to go with Daddy. I thought that was catchier, but I’m trying to steer clear of that sort of element, if you know what I mean.

Shocking, she mumbled. Rich, avoiding skanks? Ha! But then he is evidently a dad. A dad who cares enough— Stop it! He is the enemy.

Not every girl I dated was a—skank? Really? You went with the word skank? All those years of college and you chose skank? But then I guess if you’re back here working at the paper, maybe rumors of your rise to power weren’t true.

Sarah took a deep breath through flared nostrils. Hands cold, cheeks burning, she wished she was out of there. What had made her think coming back to Dodd was a good idea?

He crossed tanned, muscle-lined arms over his chest and grinned at her.

The bell on the office door chimed.

I’m back. Tonya Little, the editor of the small-town rag, The Sunset Times, swept into the office. She was short and plump with a radiant smile and a sporadic work ethic…the perfect woman for Dick. Too bad they were cousins. Thanks for minding the shop. She set a brown bag from the hot dog booth on the desk. Hey, Rich, what brings you by? Little birds in town tell you we had a new resident?

No, I was here on business.

Oh? Well, if Harvey is hiring you to fix things in this place, you should start with the lock on the bathroom door. It’s broken.

No, he didn’t call me, but I’ll take a look at your lock.

And my ice maker at the house froze up again. Come over and fix it and I’ll make you dinner.

Can’t do dinner. Kari has a date tonight, and I need to be home to check him out. It’s that Heath boy.

Heath is a nice boy.

I don’t trust any boy. But I do need a favor. With Kari on a date, I have no one to watch Stacey. Can she stay with you tonight? My manager called off, and I’ll have to be there until at least midnight. I should sell the damn bar and be done with it.

Turn it into a restaurant, Tonya suggested.

Booze makes the money. And I need the money right now. Do you realize prom cost me $1000 dollars?

It didn’t have to cost more than a few hundred. You spoil them, Tonya said as she pulled foil wrapped hot dogs out of a bag.

Well, she didn’t have anything better than the other girls. Hell, I’m not going to tell my girls no because I don’t want to work a little harder.

Good lord, you work what? Twelve hours a day, six days a week? I’m sure no one would call you lazy.

Whatever. I’ll go check that lock. He turned his attention to Sarah as Tonya dug out fries. How much do I owe for the ad?

Sarah blushed. She didn’t work for the paper—she’d only stopped by the office to tell Tonya she was back in town, and Tonya had insisted on running out and getting them lunch.

Tonya handed him a hot dog. What ad?

I asked your new secretary to put me a personal ad in the paper.

Tonya laughed. My secretary? Who? Oh my gawd, you thought— Rich, you idiot. Sarah is a lawyer. She wouldn’t be working as my secretary.

Sarah’s throat was dry. She nodded and reached for her purse.

I thought maybe all the super-Sarah stories were just stories. Maybe she built up some bad karma for dumping me. Rich grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

Sarah’s stomach did a barrel roll. Her relationship with Rich had been the beginning of the end. Okay, so the end was a bit melodramatic, but it had taken Sarah years to get over the pain this man caused her. Hell, she could still use a bit of therapy, or so she’d been repeatedly told by every guy she dated since Rich broke her. She didn’t know what his game was, but she wasn’t playing it. If he wanted to be the one who got dumped, so be it.

She fished her keys out of her purse. Seems I was wise beyond my years.

Ouch. Rich grabbed his heart like it hurt. I don’t recall doing anything to deserve that.

Let’s just say I was hedging my bets. She tossed the notebook toward him and said, From the sounds of what you’re looking for, we’d never have made it in the long haul.

Tonya reached out and picked up the notepad. She read it and laughed. What the hell is this?

My personal ad, Rich explained.

It’s ridiculous, Tonya said.

No, it’s not. Rich sounded authentically shocked.

Yes, it is. Tonya added, And insulting. Makes you sound like an arrogant, juvenile pig.

The words make the man, Sarah said as she slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door. Tonya, I’ll give you a call later. I have so many things to do to get the office open and the apartment livable, and I’ve already wasted precious time.

Aw, come on, Tonya practically chased her with a silver package. At least have a hotdog.

No thanks. I’ve lost my appetite.

Tonya walked her to the door, gave her a hug, and whispered, Sorry. She nodded her head in Rich’s direction and added, I had no clue he was coming by. I never meant—

It’s all right. It was a refreshing reminder of what can be expected of men. But I do need to get things done. If I don’t get my place fixed up soon, the city may condemn it.

I’ll stop by after work and help you, Tonya promised.

You don’t have to do that.

I know. But I want to. Tonya squeezed Sarah’s arms. I’m so happy you’re home! I’ve missed you so much. So glad you decided you weren’t a big city girl after all.

Sarah nodded stiffly, took a last look over Tonya’s shoulder at Rich, and then bolted for the door.

~*~

Rich watched as Sarah walked through the gravel parking lot to her shiny black Audi. He had to admit, he hadn’t recognized her at first. And it wasn’t that she’d lost weight or gone from brown hair to blonde. The change was deeper. There was a hard set to her jaw and a coldness in her stare that was never there before. The Sarah he remembered would have smiled…would have blushed when he made jokes.

That girl, that old Sarah, was the kind of gal he was looking for.

A punch to his ribs jolted him from his thoughts. You dumbass! She’s a perfect catch, and you come in here and act like some sort of backwoods, knuckle dragging buffoon? And for the record…I think you started dating that beast you married when Sarah left for college. So technically, if you two were dating—which is highly questionable, because surely I’d have been told about it—a break up would have been your fault.

That’s not at all how I remember it.

Chapter 2

Sarah’s new office was nothing like the one she’d left behind. The glass and steel tower was replaced by a squat, brick rectangle. No more polished revolving door—the warped wooden one with the cracked glass was her new gateway. She was no longer part of Stollings and Reed. It was just Sarah Andrews, Attorney at Law. Or at least it would be once she had someone paint her name on the front window. As she dipped out of the bright sunlight into the dim interior of the building, she wrinkled her nose against the musty smell of the place. It was cool and dank, in desperate need of windows and light.

The unpacked boxes lining the cracked plaster walls left her tired. She didn’t even know which box held her pillow. The whole place was in shambles, like someone had picked up her life and tossed it across the county line. A light flickered above her head. The place probably had shoddy wiring too. Maybe she’d get lucky and the place would burn to the ground, and she could cash in the insurance for a beach shanty. She had considered that option when she received her severance package, but she chose to come home instead.

Looking at the gloom that would one day be her office, she assured herself she’d made the smart choice. Now she just needed to get her ass moving and get it all together. I am woman…hear me roar.

She locked the office door and headed for the stairs to the one-bedroom apartment above her new work space. The tiny hovel was also a far cry from her norm. Her modern furniture looked awkward and out of place with the aged hardwood floors and carved, antique wood work. The building had been erected in the 1920s. In its former lives, it had been a drug store, a dance studio, and before she bought it, a thrift shop. Multi-purposed, old, and almost used up.

It was a tired place in need of rehab, but she’d paid cash for it, with a little left to spare. Last year she wouldn’t have hesitated to take out a loan on a nicer place, but experiencing the reality of a life crash had taught her to be more careful.

She poured a glass of wine and settled herself on the white leather wrap-around couch. Her run-in with Rich was a depressing reminder of what happened when a smart girl repeatedly made the wrong choices, especially where men were concerned. Rich was her first love. He’d stolen her heart—by ripping it right out of her chest. She still had the scars to prove it. The hell of it was, he had no clue. To him, she was just one of many. For years she’d tried to hate him, but the truth was he had never made her any promises. Never told her he loved her or promised her a future. She was the fool. What was it her mother always said? The only way to make a man respect you is to demand it.

She swallowed the glass of wine in a gulp and pressed her head against the back of the couch. She had to let it go. The memories. The pain. The obsessive what ifs….

Forget about Dick! Her words echoed off the empty walls.

Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she had better things to worry about, like getting her office up and running. First and foremost, she needed to hire a secretary. Needed to get the front glass repaired. Needed to get the place painted so it looked less like a haunted house and more like a business. She should have stayed at the paper and gotten some advice on renovating from Tonya. But she couldn’t stand being in the same room with him another second.

God, when did I become such a chicken shit?

She went to the fridge and poured another glass of wine. Chugging it, she poured another. She was about to polish off a third when a call from the sidewalk caught her attention.

Sarah. Sarah Andrews. You up there?

She rubbed the dust off the window, reminding herself that a good cleaning was also in order. As she cleared away the grime, her heart skipped a beat, infuriating her.

Dick was paying her a visit. She tried to pry the window open, but it was painted shut and wouldn’t budge. She went to another window and shoved until she was breaking out in a cold sweat from exertion…or nerves and alcohol. She managed to crack it about six inches wide, then leaned down and yelled, What do you want?

Let me in. I want to talk to you.

Go away.

Come on, Sarah. Come down from your tower and talk to me.

My tower? My tower! Her cheeks flamed. She stormed downstairs and flung the door open. It hammered off the stoop wall, making the aged wood quiver. From that point, it all seemed to happen in slow motion—the bang of the door off wood; the creak of the shifting window casing; and the slow slide of the pane of glass as it fell and then shattered in a spray of shards as it hit the sidewalk. Screaming like a high-strung twit, she jumped back from the explosion and covered her mouth with her hand.

Rich was on the stoop in a flash. You all right? Any of it hit you?

She looked herself over. I don’t think so. It just scared me.

Scared me too. That should have been taped until it got fixed. If a kid had been walking by—

That would have been a serious liability.

Spoken like a true lawyer.

I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant….

He stepped past her, moving about her space like he owned it. You got a broom? Dust pan?

I think.

She looked around the box-filled room, not at all sure if she had one or not. She’d been here less than twenty-four hours, and in that time, she had closed on the place, stuffed too many belongings into too few square feet, and filled the fridge with wine and cottage cheese. Today she’d been determined to make a plan. But Dick kept getting in her way.

Rich stepped past her and opened a closet. There was an old broom. He took it outside and started sweeping. Sarah regained her train of thought and dug through the closet for a dust pan. Finding none, she ripped apart a box, fashioned a dust pan, and carried it outside and held it as Rich swept the shards onto it.

When did you get such a temper? They teach you that at Stanford? Replace your sense of humor with rage?

Still holding her piece of cardboard filled with glass, she faced him. Uh? Excuse me?

I asked—

I heard the question.

Then why ask why? He kept sweeping glass into a tidy pile.

Because it’s a stupid question. I do have a sense of humor, and I am very much in control of my temper.

He laughed, a loud, genuine belly chuckle.

Sarah threw the piece of cardboard in the trash. She didn’t need this. Who was he to taunt her? To laugh like nothing in this world mattered? It was men like him, who saw life as one casual connection after another, that had damn near ruined her.

It was the rage she felt that drove her, not some logical plan. It was like her foot had a mind of its own, kicking through his tidy pile of glass. He looked instantly shocked—eyes round, mouth hanging open. No doubt he thought she’d lost her mind. Instantly embarrassed, she stormed past him, heading for her apartment steps.

Seriously? He dropped the broom and followed behind her, catching her by the arm. Did you kick glass at me?

Hardly at you, she said, jerking her arm away.

You did. Like a spoiled brat, you kicked glass at me.

Quit acting like a baby. It barely hit you.

I’m acting like a baby?

Yeah, you’re acting like a baby.

What the hell is wrong with you?

With me? Her voice was a few octaves higher than she’d planned. Her cheeks blazed and her hands shook. There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re a pig. An insulting pig! I didn’t ask you to come here, so go away. She turned and made it up two stairs before turning and asking, What the hell are you doing here?

I came to apologize. I’m sorry if my ad in the paper insulted you.

It didn’t insult me. I don’t care if you want to make an ass of yourself.

I was desperate. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

You? Desperate? Ha!

He leaned his back against the banister, crossing his arms over his chest. Have I done something to you? Pissed you off somehow?

He probably didn’t even remember…had just turned her life upside down and smashed her heart to pieces for fun. It only mattered to her. Her eyes stung with the revelation.

Sarah bit her lip hard and spun away, moving as quickly as she could toward her steps. In her haste, her toe caught on the step and she fell forward, barely getting an arm in front of herself fast enough to break her fall. Her forehead smacked against a step and her arm lit up with a lightning bolt of pain. Before she could even consider her bad luck, she was scooped up and being carried through the office.

Put me down, she demanded.

No. I’m taking you to Fast Care.

I’m fine.

You’re bleeding.

I am? She touched her fingers to her burning hairline and came away with a hand covered in blood. I am.