Firefighter Daddy Page 9

  When he looked up, she was smiling at him. “I’m so glad you two could make it. My mother is looking forward to meeting you.”

  He was intrigued by the prospect of meeting her, too. He took a quick look around to see if he could spot her. He imagined she’d be tall and blond, like her daughter, and probably wearing something even more outrageous, in keeping with her paintings. Maybe a long, flowing caftan or something. If people still wore caftans.

  Finally, Rory raised an arm and waved exuberantly. “Mom! Over here!”

  Mitch couldn’t identify the object of her enthusiastic gesture until the crowd parted and a tiny, small-boned woman emerged. She was wearing a pair of extremely wide-legged black pants, a high-necked, hip-length tunic affair made of patchwork—a quilt?—and shoes with ridiculously high heels. Even with the several extra inches, she barely cleared Rory’s shoulder when the two of them embraced.

  With voluminous hair in an orange-red shade that surely didn’t occur in nature, she more than lived up to her name. Mitch doubted she’d had the name or the hair since birth, but she was as beautiful as her daughter and she looked exactly like the kind of woman who would name her child Sunshine.

  “So?” she said to Rory. “What do you think?”

  “Definitely your best work ever. I love every single one of them.”

  “Have you picked your favorite?”

  Rory laughed. “Trust me, Mom. None of these will fit in my apartment, but I especially love the canvas behind the reception desk. The one that looks like a pod of whales surfacing at sunset.”

  “That’s one of my favorites, too. It’s called California Gray. I’ll have them mark it sold and we’ll keep it at my place until you have room for it.”

  Mitch stared hard at the painting. Gray whales? He assumed that was what she meant. And a sunset? All he saw were huge splashes of dark blue and red and orange paint.

  “I have a canvas from each of my mother’s series,” Rory told them.

  That explained all the artwork he’d carried upstairs when she moved in.

  She placed a hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “Mom, this is Betsy’s son, Mitch, and his daughter, Miranda.”

  Copper extended her multi-ringed hand. “Ah, yes. The firefighter.” Then she shifted her attention to Miranda and smiled. “And what do you do?”

  She giggled. “I go to school. I’m in Miss Sunshine’s class.”

  “You are? Is she a good teacher?”

  “The awesomest!”

  “I thought she would be. Do you like art?” Copper asked.

  Miranda’s head bobbed excitedly. “We do art at school, and Miss Sunshine’s bringing us here on a field trip next week.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Did you paint all these pictures yourself?” Miranda asked.

  “Yes, I did. What do you think of them?”

  “I think they’re very watery, like the ocean.”

  Copper’s smile indicated she was impressed. “That’s an excellent observation. I was thinking about the ocean when I painted them.”

  She shifted her attention to Mitch. “She’s very perceptive for someone so young.”

  He was tempted to tell her that Miranda didn’t get it from him, but he had a hunch Copper Pennington already had him pegged. Before he could think of something intelligent-sounding to say about her paintings, they were joined by a tall, intellectual-looking man and a young, hip-looking woman.

  “Dad? What are you doing here?”

  Rory hadn’t said anything about her father joining them, and her surprise suggested she hadn’t been expecting him. In an instant, Copper’s demeanor switched from warm to icy. Her greeting was a single word.

  “Sam.”

  If his appearance caught her off guard, she wasn’t letting on.

  Rory hugged her father warmly, but when she spoke to her mother, there was a hint of accusation in her tone.

  “Did you know he was coming?”

  “Of course. He knows better than to show up at one of my openings unannounced.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “He asked me not to.”

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Sam said. “And I wish the two of you wouldn’t talk about me as though I’m not in the room.”

  Copper gave him a wry smile. “If you’d rather we talked behind your back—”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Rory said. “Let’s be nice.”

  “Nice isn’t in your mother’s vocabulary.”

  Copper ignored the jibe and studied his much-younger companion instead. “At least I’m not—”

  Rory cut off her mother’s response. “For heaven’s sake, stop. Please.”

  She made another round of introductions and while she did, Mitch took stock of the newcomers. Rory’s father was as carefully put together as his ex-wife, albeit very differently. If he was deliberately striving to look literary, he’d succeeded. Longish salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail. Bifocals low on his nose. Black turtleneck. Charcoal tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. Blue jeans. His only accessory was the stunning young brunette on his arm.

  “I’d like everyone to meet my assistant, Daisy Dumont,” he said.

  “It’s spelled D-a-y-z-e-e.” She smiled as though she was revealing a secret.

  D-a-y-z-e-e? What was wrong with D-a-i-s-y? At least with that she wouldn’t have to go through life spelling her name every time she was introduced.

  Sam made a pretense of taking Dayzee’s hand in his. “Copper. You’re looking well.”

  Between Rory, her mother and the girlfriend, Mitch wondered who would strangle Sam first. He usually was not a fan of family drama, but this was more interesting than art. Especially this art, because no matter how long or how hard he stared at these paintings, he couldn’t make out anything familiar. At some point he would have to say something to the artist, and he had no idea what that would be.

  These are mighty big paintings for such a small woman. Even he knew better than that.

  Nice use of color. Duh.

  Go ahead and strangle him. Yep. Under the circumstances, that seemed most fitting.

  “Did you fire your last assistant or did she find a real job?” Copper asked. Ouch.

  Sam didn’t respond.

  Her next comment was addressed to Dayzee. “How’s the book-writing business these days?”

  The young woman looked completely at a loss, making it clear that whatever she did to “assist” Sam, it didn’t involve his literary pursuits.

  Sam seemed to take his wife’s barbs in stride. “Dayzee’s on my PR team.”

  “How nice. What’s your specialty, Dayzee?” Copper asked. “Reader satisfaction?”

  Rory elbowed her mother, and Mitch found himself feeling sorry for her. If this was an indication of what her family life had been like, no wonder she’d sworn off having one of her own.

  Dayzee gave them all a benign smile. She didn’t look offended, probably because she missed the innuendo. “Your daughter is adorable,” she said to Rory, giving Sam’s arm a playful swat. “Naughty man. You didn’t tell me you were a grandfather.”

  It was a few seconds before it dawned on Mitch that she thought Rory was Miranda’s mother, and then he had a hard time drawing a breath.

  Rory broke the stunned silence. “I don’t have children. This is Mitch’s daughter.”

  Dayzee mustn’t have been paying attention when they were introduced.

  Miranda, who had started to fidget, tugged on her grandmother’s sleeve and whispered something to her.

  “Excuse us,” Betsy said. “We need to find a wash-room.”

  Mitch nodded his thanks to his mother as she hustled Miranda away. Thomas and Annie took advantage of the opportunity to escape with them. After they left, a tall middle-aged woman with a gallery name tag pinned to the lapel of her gray blazer approached them. “Ms. Pennington? We’d like to get started in about ten minutes. Is there anything you need?”

  “I should check the pod
ium.”

  “Good idea. I’ll help you get set up.”

  “Rory, would you come with me? I’m giving a brief introduction to the show and I’d like you to check my notes.”

  If it was an excuse to get Rory away from her father, it worked. The three women walked away, leaving Mitch with Sam and Dayzee.

  “I totally see what you mean about how impossible she is,” Dayzee said.

  Given that Copper’s former husband had shown up with a woman young enough to be his daughter, Mitch had admired her restraint.

  “Welcome to my world,” Sam said, but he wasn’t looking at Dayzee. He craned his neck a little, his gaze still on Copper, even though she was now by the podium on the other side of the gallery and partly obscured by the crowd. Dayzee kept talking, but Sam seemed only to have eyes for his wife. Ex-wife.

  Dayzee tapped Sam’s shoulder. “I’m going to look for the little girls’ room. Would you be a sweetie and get me a drink?”

  Sam dragged his attention back to her. “What would you like?”

  “I’d like a vodka Collins, but I’ll bet all they have is wine.”

  “Red or white?”

  She shrugged. “White, I guess.” She swung away and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Sorry about that,” Sam said after she was out of earshot. “Copper and I like to push each other’s buttons.”

  No kidding. Mitch mustered a smile that probably didn’t come close to looking sincere.

  “She’s a spitfire.” Sam’s gaze briefly followed Dayzee, then returned to Rory’s mother.

  Mitch wondered which woman he was referring to. Maybe both. But Rory’s family dynamics were none of his business, so he wracked his brain for something else to say. “My wife loved your books.”

  Sam gave him a thoughtful look. “You said that in the past tense.”

  Damn it. Should have played it safe and talked about the weather. “Oh. She, ah, passed away. Car accident.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Mitch nodded.

  Sam glanced awkwardly around the gallery. “I’d better get Dayzee’s drink. Can I get you something? A glass of wine?”

  “No, thanks. I’m driving.”

  “Right.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait for my daughter.”

  Sam headed for the bar, and Mitch relaxed a little. He shouldn’t have mentioned Laura. The idea of a young mother losing her life always made people uncomfortable.

  The next half hour was mercifully uneventful. Miranda returned with two crackers, some orange cheese and a handful of carrot sticks on a napkin, while his mother carried the much-anticipated glass of pop. To Mitch’s relief, Sam and Dayzee didn’t rejoin them. He could see them across the gallery, talking to Rory.

  After Copper was introduced, Mitch picked up his daughter so she could see the podium. True to her word, Copper’s remarks were brief but enlightening. The paintings had been inspired by her home on the northern California coast. The size of the canvases represented the majesty of the marine mammals, especially the gray whales’ annual migration.

  He glanced at his watch and realized it was well past Miranda’s usual bedtime. He checked with his mother to be sure Thomas was driving her home, half expecting Miranda to plead for more time, but she only had one request.

  “We have to say goodbye to Miss Sunshine.”

  No argument there. He scanned the room and spotted her standing in front of the painting that was now part of her private collection. He and Miranda squeezed past several groups of people to get to her.

  “Miss Sunshine! G’bye! We’re going home.”

  Rory checked her watch. “Oh, my. It is getting late. Would you mind giving me a ride? My mom’s hosting a private cocktail party when this is over, but that’ll be too late for me.”

  “No problem.” No problem at all.

  “Yippee!” Miranda said, bouncing up and down.

  “I’ll see my mom tomorrow, but I need to say goodbye to my father. He leaves for L.A. first thing in the morning. Just give me one minute.”

  Mitch hung back while she said her goodbyes, but he was acutely aware of Sam’s scrutiny when Rory said she was going home with him. He knew what she meant by “home,” but did Sam?

  Powell Street was still bustling when they stepped outside, but it seemed quieter and less claustrophobic than the gallery. They walked the three blocks to where he’d parked, while he listened to Miranda’s chatter and occasionally responded to it. He hoped she wouldn’t mention the cable car as it rolled down the street to the turntable, and for once her attention had been diverted.

  He held her hand, and he saw her stick the other into Miss Sunshine’s while she babbled about something that happened at school that day. For a couple of very intense moments, he felt connected, part of a family again, and he knew they looked like one. They were even walking in unison. Dayzee had assumed Rory was Miranda’s mother, likely because their hair color was so similar. By default, that meant Dayzee had also assumed Rory was his wife. Nothing could be further from the truth, but that didn’t stop him from pondering the possibilities that might present themselves after Miranda was asleep. He glanced down at Rory’s turquoise-polished toes and knew exactly where those possibilities would start.

  Chapter Seven

  Late Friday afternoon, Rory trudged up the two flights of stairs to her apartment with her overstuffed school bag, two sacks of groceries and some great finds from a vintage clothing store she’d discovered. She’d splurged on a trio of red, white and black Bakelite bangles, and she had also found an outrageous pair of pink marabou mules for playing dress-up with Miranda. She was seriously out of breath when she finally reached the top of the stairs and unlocked the door to her apartment.

  Buick was sprawled on his back on the sofa.

  “You lazy old cat,” she said.

  He blinked twice, yawned and closed his eyes again.

  Rory dumped her bags on the kitchen table and gave Buick a belly rub on her way to the other end of the apartment, shedding her school clothes as she went. She flung her plum-colored slacks and gold shirt over the back of a chair, kicked her shoes into the closet, and pulled on a comfy pair of black exercise pants and a white camisole. The air in the apartment felt a little chilly, though, so she pulled a bright red boat-necked sweater over top. She enjoyed being cozy and casual at home as much as she loved putting together dressy outfits for school.

  She put away the groceries and tossed the DVD she’d rented onto the coffee table. Then she took the jewelry and shoes out of the thrift-store bag and slipped the bracelets onto her wrist. The colors were perfect with what she was wearing so she left them on. The shoes were over-the-top crazy, but she slipped them on, too. They definitely did not go with her outfit, but they were still fun and she was sure Miranda would be delighted with them.

  Would the little girl’s father approve? Rory looked down at her feet. Thinking about what Mitch might think of these shoes made her smile. She left them on and opened a fresh can of cat food. Buick immediately rolled off the sofa, meowing as though he hadn’t eaten in a month and rubbing himself against her calves while she scooped the food into his bowl.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Me, too.” While he ate, she heated a can of vegetable soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich. When they were ready, she pushed aside some magazines and junk mail on the coffee table, set down her soup mug and plate, and settled onto the sofa.

  “Friday night and I get to do whatever I want.” It would be nice to have a date once in a while, though. Maybe she’d meet someone at Nic and Jonathan’s wedding. While she sipped her soup, she read the back of the DVD case. Since she didn’t have plans tonight, she’d settle for staying home with Colin Firth.

  “A girl can dream,” she said to Buick. He ignored her. He had finished eating and was busy licking a paw and swiping it over one ear. He paused momentarily at a sound from the stairwell.

  Rory sat up straighter and listened. Were those footsteps?r />
  Yes.

  They were too heavy to be Miranda’s. Could it be Mitch?

  She smoothed her hair and shrugged off the wide neck of the sweater to expose one shoulder. She didn’t intend to flirt with him, but she was a woman and it felt good to be around a man who was attracted to her. Especially when the feeling was mutual.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She tucked the feathery pink shoes under the coffee table, thinking this might not be the time to test his reaction to them, and went to open the door.

  It wasn’t Mitch. It was his mother.

  Rory hitched her sweater back onto her shoulder and silently scolded herself for acting like a schoolgirl.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” Betsy said. “Thomas was given two theatre tickets and invited me to see a play with him. It’s very last-minute and I’d love to go, but Mitch is out tonight and it’s too late to find a sitter. I was wondering—” She paused, as though reluctant to ask.

  “If I’ll sit with her?” Rory volunteered. “I’ll be happy to.”

  “You’re sure? You don’t have plans?”

  “It’s been a hectic week and I have a busy day tomorrow, so I decided to stay in and watch a movie. If you have a DVD player, I can just as easily watch it at your place.”

  “Mitch brought one when he and Miranda moved in, but I don’t know how to use it.”

  “I can figure it out. Should I come down right now?”

  “No, I don’t have to leave for half an hour. Take your time,” Betsy said. “I really appreciate this, and I won’t make a habit of asking. In fact, if Mitch gets home before I do…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell him it was my idea.” Rory doubted very much that Mitch ever asked for help, but that didn’t mean his mother shouldn’t.

  “Thanks. This play has had great reviews, and I hate to turn down free tickets.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’m happy to help out if I can.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate this.” Before Betsy left, she took a quick look around the apartment. “How’s everything up here? Do you have enough storage space?”