The Good Father

Kara Lennox The Good Father

A book in the Second Sons series, 2009

Dear Reader,

Everyone yearns to be part of a loving family, one in which love is given and taken in equal measures, where each person contributes, and each person has a voice and is given respect. I’m so lucky to have been born into a big, noisy, loving family in which I was encouraged to grow and develop my talents, to be whoever I wanted.

Not everyone is so lucky, however. In The Good Father, I wanted to explore the feelings of characters who have never been part of a warm and loving family. They’ve had fleeting glimpses of it in their lives, but they’re both afraid to reach out for what they want, lest they be disappointed yet again.

Of all the heroes and heroines in the SECOND SONS trilogy, Max and Jane are probably the most complex. What they show the outside world only scratches the surface. I confess this book made me cry when I wrote it (think Kathleen Turner at the beginning of Romancing the Stone).

I hope you enjoy Max’s and Jane’s journeys toward love and belonging. With this book, the Remington cousins’ story is complete. Their uncle Johnny, who put everything in motion, would be proud.

Best,

Kara Lennox

Chapter One

Jane Selwyn’s knees felt watery as she made her way across the steaming asphalt parking lot toward the three-story office building. The Remington Agency was her last chance for gainful employment in Port Clara. In the span of a few short weeks, she’d gone from pampered, rich man’s wife to begging for a job from the man who had unwittingly broken up her marriage.

Not that the marriage hadn’t already been gasping its dying breaths. But Max Remington’s flirtations had finished it off in a hurry.

Jane stepped into the building’s cool interior and checked her appearance one last time in the lobby mirror. She straightened the lapel of her red power suit and glossed on another layer of lipstick. Her silk blouse was already damp and sticking to her skin-August in South Texas was brutally hot, even on the coast. Still, she looked the part of a successful executive. Unfortunately, her pathetically slim portfolio told a different story.

For six years she had devoted her days to keeping herself and her home beautiful for her husband and raising their daughter. Scott had freaked out whenever she even mentioned getting a job. But now it was just her and three-year-old Kaylee, and no money. Employment was a necessity.

Everyone said she was crazy to ask for so little in the divorce. But no one had known how desperate she’d been to get out with no one else hurt. Now she was the proud owner of a sleek cabin cruiser-her settlement-and a single mother of a gorgeous child, both of which ate away at her meager savings.

She never would have applied to the Remington Agency if she hadn’t exhausted all other possibilities.

The agency was on the third floor of Port Clara’s nicest office building. Jane paused before the door and sent up a prayer that Max would see past the humiliating events of their early acquaintance, past her short resume, and give her a chance.

She straightened her spine and opened the door, then sucked in a breath of surprise. She hadn’t expected a local ad agency to be quite so upscale. Though the reception area was small, it screamed class with its stone floor, rough limestone walls, and water cascading down a waterfall in the corner. With all the ferns and the muted lighting, she felt as if she’d entered a small corner of a rain forest.

A stylish woman of indeterminate age sat at a semi-circular desk that looked as if it had erupted right from the stone floor. She smiled serenely at Jane.

“May I help you?”

“I’m Jane Selwyn. I have an interview with Mr. Remington at one o’clock.”

The receptionist, whose nameplate said she was Carol Washington, looked at Jane with sympathetic brown eyes. “Didn’t you get my message?”

Oh, no. Her cell phone had run out of juice just before lunch. Currently it was charging in her car. “I didn’t check my voice mail,” Jane stated without apology. “Is there a problem?”

“Mr. Remington had to run out-some type of printing emergency. He told me to extend his apologies.”

“Oh.” Jane almost sagged with disappointment. “Can I reschedule, then?”

“Actually, Mr. Remington has already made a decision about the artist.”

“Without even interviewing all the candidates?”

Carol hesitated. “I’m sure he would look at your work as a courtesy.”

A courtesy? Like hell. He’d caused her divorce, or at least accelerated the timeline. The least he could do was give her a shot at the position. “I’ll just wait here until he returns.”

“Why don’t I make you another appointment,” Carol said smoothly.

So he could cancel that one, too? “I’d prefer to wait.” She was going to see Max Remington today, one way or another.

Carol nodded just as a door opened behind her and Max Remington appeared. “Carol, has John Canfield-” Surprise registered on his handsome face as he spotted Jane and recognized her. “Jane? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to interview for the artist position.”

“You’re Jane Selwyn? I thought your last name was Simone.”

Jane inhaled sharply. He was even better-looking than she remembered. After a few months in Port Clara he’d acquired a golden tan, and his unruly hair had turned more blond than brown.

He wore neatly pressed jeans riding low on his slim hips and an open-collar shirt, no tie, no jacket, and she felt ridiculously overdressed. Few people wore suits in their laid-back beach community, but she’d thought it appropriate for an interview.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his lingering gaze said he approved, but not in a completely professional way.

Her face flushed. She told herself it was the weather.

“I changed back to my maiden name.” She’d wanted nothing to remind her of Scott.

“I told Ms. Selwyn that the job was already filled,” Carol put in.

Max quickly overcame his surprise and smiled, revealing even, white teeth. “It’s great to see you again.”

Jane stood, fumbling her portfolio before she could extend her hand to accept his warm handshake. “I’m surprised you would make a decision without interviewing all of the candidates.”

“Well, now, I was leaning toward one applicant, but I haven’t made a final, final decision yet.”

Carol peered at him skeptically over her half-moon reading glasses.

“Why don’t you come back to my office,” Max continued. “Pardon the mess-the workers are still putting in the finishing touches.”

Mess was right. Men were laying carpet in the hallway, painting walls, installing light fixtures. Jane had to dodge ladders, sawhorses and paint buckets, and once she nearly tripped because her attention was focused on her potential employer’s buns.

She’d sworn up and down to her ex-husband that she hadn’t been flirting with Max that fateful day of their first meeting a few months ago. But he’d certainly been flirting with her, and on some level she had responded to him. How could she not? How could any woman with a pulse not feel drawn to such a gorgeous male?

He held the door of his office open, and she entered. It was large but not ridiculously so and a little bit messy,