Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(39)

He inhaled and it was a quivering breath. “Thanks.” And he turned and walked into his little girl’s room.

Sean stood in the doorway of the lavender bedroom for a moment, watching. Rosie had a very large play-kitchen wall unit and she was busy there. She was wearing a yellow princess dress that had seen better days—must be a costume she made supergood use of because she looked like a little princess vagrant. On her bare feet were some oversize plastic sparkly pumps and, stuck lopsided into her red curls, a tiara. She was talking softly to herself while she stirred nothing in a pan on one of the play stove burners.

“Hi, Rosie,” he said quietly.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, but went immediately back to work on her cooking.

“Okay if I come in your room?” he asked, and she answered with a shrug. He cleared a space filled with toys, dolls, picture books and unrecognizable kiddie paraphernalia and sat on the edge of her bed. “Watcha doin’?”

“Making stuff…”

“Do you like to cook?”

She nodded and turned toward him. “I like to cook on the real stobe, but only wif Mommy or Grandma.”

“Sounds like a good policy,” he agreed.

She walked toward him, holding the pan in one hand and a spoon in the other. She stretched the spoon toward his mouth.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Chicken,” she said, pushing the spoon at his lips.

He wondered where that spoon had been and made a slight face at the possibilities.

“It’s bery good!” she insisted.

He opened his mouth a bit and let her spoon in some imaginary chicken. “Mmm. That is good. Are you supposed to be cleaning your room right now?”

She turned back to her stove before saying, “No. I’m making stuff.”

And he thought, Yeah, right. “Want some help in here? Putting away toys and your things?”

“No.” She turned back to him again, pan and spoon in hand, and lifted the spoon to his lips.

“More chicken?”

“Brocc’li. It’s bery good for you.”

“Hm. And not too filling, either,” he observed. “Listen, I was wanting to ask you a couple of things. Like about your daddy. What do you know about your daddy?”

She turned back to the stove again, very busy, very intent on her imaginary project. “He has a big plane,” she said without looking at him. “He’s bery important with a big plane.”

“Is that so?” She nodded. “I have news for you, Rose. It turns out I’m your daddy. How about that?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. She didn’t look terribly impressed. “Where’s the plane?”

Sean’s hearing was exceptional, despite the roar of jet engines for the past ten years and the blasting of rock bands in the O Club on top of that. He heard a muffled giggle he recognized as Rosie’s mother. The sneak. He leaned over to peek out the bedroom door, but he didn’t see her.

“At Beale Air Force Base. That’s where the plane is kept when it’s not flying. Would you like to see it sometime?”

Rosie nodded so vigorously her curls bounced and her tiara slid farther to one side. “Can I go for a wide in it?”

“That’s not allowed, I’m afraid. You can go inside with me while it’s parked on the ground.”

“My mommy goes in the helifropter.”

“You mean helicopter?” he asked.

Again she bobbed enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. Helifropter.”

“She mentioned that.” And he braced himself for the difficult questions—such as, Where have you been? Why are you here now? Are you moving in with us?

But she asked, “Do you have a dog?”

He shook his head. “But you do, don’t you?”

“Harry,” she said. “Do you have a grandma?”

“I used to,” he said. “When I was little like you, I had two grandmas. My mommy’s mother and my daddy’s mother.” Now would surely come the tough questions.

“Do you have a bike?”

He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. Do you?”

She shook her head. “But I have a all-trebain-beekle.”

“Huh?” he asked.

“I’ll show you it,” she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the bedroom and through the house to the garage. She opened the door and there, beside Franci’s car, sat a pink and purple miniature plastic quad. An all-trebain-beekle.

“Wow. Does it run?”

She made a face at him as if he was a total idiot. Then she hopped down the step into the garage, climbed into the vehicle, flipped a switch and applied her foot to the little pedal. It moved about one mile per hour forward until it hit the wall.

“That’s awesome,” he said. “Come on, Rosie. Your room is a disaster. I’ll help you pick up toys while we talk about stuff.”

“Noooo,” she whined.

“Didn’t Mommy ask you to? I don’t know about you, but when my mommy asked me to do something, I didn’t dare say no.” He took her hand. “Let’s clean up a little, then you can make me some more chicken and broccoli. And I’ll tell you all about my plane.”

“Can I have a wide in it?”