Twist of Fate by Louise, Tia (free ebook reader for ipad .txt) 📗

Her blue eyes widen, and she smiles like we’re playing a game. “You can be my daddy?” She bounces on my lap clapping. “You can be my daddy!”

“Wait, no.” I think I’m screwing this up. “I really am your daddy.”

She smiles, hopping off my lap and dancing around me, golden curls flying. “You’re my daddy!”

“Yes, I am.” I smile, but I’m still not sure she believes it’s actually true.

“Come on, then!” She takes my hand, skipping across the street, pulling me behind her.

We go right into the store, and Daisy looks up from behind the counter expectantly. “How’d it go?”

“Mr. Scout said he can be my daddy now!” She takes off around the store, alternately kicking her legs behind her and lifting her arms.

“She’s happy. She’s doing her ballerina dance.” Daisy grins up at me, and I’m less worried our daughter is having a seizure.

“I don’t think she understands it’s for real.”

“She’s little. She’ll grow into it.”

Sliding my hand across her waist, I move a little closer. “What would she think about Daddy spending the night with Mommy?”

Daisy’s cheeks flame pink, and it’s my favorite response. “You might have to arm wrestle her for the bed.”

I remember my baby with her arms over her head sawing little girl logs in the middle of her mother’s bed. My eyes travel to the iron and brass bed I was working on earlier.

“Maybe she needs a royal upgrade?”

Her nose wrinkles and she leans closer to my chest. “You’re kind of a natural when it comes to this parenting thing.”

“I won’t let it go to my head.”

Twenty-Six

Daisy

“It’s the vase you found in Dad’s store all those years ago.” I’m at the counter, talking on the phone with Spencer, and Ms. Nelly Rushmore stands beside me, nodding along to my every word. “The deep purple one with the lavender inside instead of the white. It’s so unique, it has to be the one she means.”

“I’m sure it’s the one she means, but that doesn’t mean I want to sell it.” Spencer’s voice is irritable on the other end of the line.

“But it completes her grandmother’s set.” Ms. Nelly’s eyes soften like she might cry, and my heart surges at her joy. “If you just let her hold it for a little while—”

“Let her hold it?” Spencer is indignant. “Then she dies with it in her possession and one of her greedy offspring absconds with it. Suddenly no one knows anything about a borrowed vase, and that’s how priceless antiques go missing for generations.”

“It’s a piece of Fenton art glass, Spencer. It’s hardly a priceless antique.” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head at Ms. Nelly’s offended face.

Covering the receiver with my hand, I whisper to her, “I’m just saying that to make him cave.”

She smiles with relief, but Spencer isn’t budging. “I know antiques as well as you—better. I know them better than you, and I’m not giving this old crone my vase.”

“You sound like a big ole baby.” I force a laugh, but it’s more nervous than convinced. When Spencer digs in his heels, it’s pretty much over.

Ms. Nelly’s face turns more worried than confident, and I figure I should give it a rest for a little bit.

“Just think about it, Spence.”

“And on that note, goodbye.”

He ends the call abruptly, but I pretend like he didn’t. “Okay, then. Chat soon.”

I lower the buzzing phone, and the eighty-eight-year-old church organist searches my expression for any sign of optimism. “Did he say he might consider it?”

Her voice is wobbly, and I can’t bear to let her down. “I’m going to drive over and talk to him in person.”

“Oh, no!” She clutches her neck. “That’s too much. You don’t need to drive all that way.”

“He’s just in Columbia. It’s not that far.”

When Scout returns from walking the girls to school, I wave him over. “I’ve got to drive to Columbia to try and convince Spencer to give me a vase for sweet little Ms. Nelly Rushmore.”

“You want me to ride with you?”

I think about it. “Our last road trip was when we got that yellow chair from Dad.”

“I remember.” He grins, sliding a hair off my cheek. “I’d better go in case you need help carrying the vase or punching Spencer in the nuts.”

“Stop it.” I laugh, imagining how that would go. “We’re not using force to get it.”

“If you change your mind, just give me the signal.”

“Let’s go. We need to be back before Melody gets out of preschool.” Her overprotective daddy pauses, and I catch his arm. “Don’t worry. I can call Donna to pick her up if we get delayed for any reason.”

Out on the road, we’ve got the windows down and the radio blasting. Of course, I put on classic Olivia Newton-John, because duh. I love hearing him sing it. We’re both singing at the top of our lungs. It’s a clear, blue sky, and the temperature is mid-70s.

My hair’s pulled back in a tiny ponytail. It’s getting longer, which doesn’t really work for me. I’m in my usual baggy overalls and tank top. Scout’s in a maroon tee and jeans as always. It’s so natural and easy. It feels so much like it will last forever.

Columbia is so much closer than Greenville. Slowing down, I make the first of many right turns, exiting the Interstate, and as soon as I do, the horn on the Bronco goes off in a loud, long Hoooonk!

My stomach jumps to my throat. Actually, I think it jumps past my throat into my mouth, and I flash a look at Scout. “Why did it do that?”

He frowns, leaning forward as if he can examine the front of the truck from where he sits. “Did you accidentally bump it?”

“No!” I look all around. The light changes, and I start to go. As soon as we reach the next intersection, I put on my turn signal and start another right turn.

Hoooonk! It blasts out again, and I cringe. The person in front