Jackie's fingers hovered over the dictionary. She knew her father could lie beautifully, but she also knew he had an uncanny way of coming out on top. With a sigh of disgust, she dropped her hand. 'I'll concede. I know how to be a zuckly player.'
'That's my girl.' Pleased with himself, he began to add points to his score. Jackie lifted her glass of wine and considered him.
J.D. MacNamara was quite a man. But then, she'd always known that. She supposed it was Nathan's description of his own father, his family life, that had made her stand back and appreciate fully what she'd been given. She knew her father had a tough-as-nails reputation in the business world. He derived great pleasure from wheeling and dealing and outwitting competitors. Yet she'd seen the same self-satisfied look on his face after pulling off a multimillion-dollar business coup as she saw on it now as he outscored his daughter in a game of Scrabble.
He just loved life, with all its twists and turns. Perhaps Nathan was right about children inheriting more than eye color, and if she'd inherited that joie de vivre from her father, she was grateful.
'I love you, Daddy, even if you are a rotten cheat.'
'I love you, too, Jackie.' He beamed at the totals. 'But I'm not going to let that interfere with destroying you. Your turn, you know.'
Folding up her legs, she propped her elbows and stared owlishly at her letters. The room was gracefully lit, the drapes yet to be drawn as sunset exploded in the eastern sky. The second parlor, as her mother insisted on calling it, was for family or informal gatherings, but it was a study in elegance and taste.
The rose-and-gray pattern of the Aubusson was picked up prettily in soft floor-length drapes and the upholstery of a curvy sofa. Her mother's prize collection of crystal had been moved out some years before when Jackie and Brandon had broken a candy dish while wrestling over some forgotten disagreement. Patricia had stubbornly left a few dainty pieces of porcelain.
There was a wide window seat in the east wall, where Jackie had hidden playing hide-and-seek as a child and dreamed of her latest crush as a teenager. She'd spent thousands of hours in that room, happy ones, furious ones, tearful ones. It was home. She hadn't fully understood or appreciated that until now.
'What's the matter with you, girl? Writers are supposed to have a way with words.'
Her lips twitched a bit. J.D. had already fallen into the habit of calling her a writer several times a day. 'Off my case, J.D.'
'Hell of a way to talk to your father. Why, I ought to take a strap to you.'
She grinned. 'You and who else?'
He grinned back. He had a full, generous face with that oh-so-Irish ruddy skin. His eyes were a bright blue even through the glasses he had perched on his nose. He wore a suit because dressing for dinner was expected, but the vest was unbuttoned and the tie pulled crooked. A cigar was clamped between his big teeth, a cigar that Patricia tolerated in dignified silence.
Jackie pushed her letters around. 'You know, Daddy, I've just began to think about it, but you and Mother, you're so different.'
'Hmmm?' He glanced up, distracted from the creative demands of inventing a new word.
'I mean, Mother is so elegant, so well groomed.'
'What am I, a slob?'
'Not exactly.' When he frowned, she spread out her letters on the board. 'There,
'What the hell is this?' J.D. waved a blunt finger at the word. 'No such thing.'
'It's from the Latin for sly or cleverly adept. As in 'My father is well-known for his hyfoxal business dealings.'
In answer, J.D. used a brief four-letter word that would have had his wife clucking her tongue. 'Look it up,' Jackie invited. 'If you want to lose fifty points. Daddy,' she said to distract him again, 'how do you and Mother stay so happy?'
'I let her do what she does best, she lets me do what I do best. Besides, I'm crazy about the old prude.'
'I know.' Jackie felt her eyes fill with the tears that never seemed far away these days. 'I've been thinking a lot lately about what you've both done for me and the boys. And loving each other might be the most important part of all.'
'Jack, why don't you tell me what's on your mind?'
She shook her head but leaned over to stroke his cheek. 'I just grew up this spring. Thought you'd like to know.'
'And does growing up have anything to do with the man you're in love with?'
'Just about everything. Oh, you'd like him, Daddy. He's strong, sometimes too strong. He's kind and funny in the oddest sorts of ways. He likes me the way I am.' The tears threatened again, and she put a hand to her eyes, pressing hard for a moment. 'He makes lists for everything and always makes sure that
'Then what's the problem, Jackie?'
'He's just not ready for me or for the way we feel about each other. And I'm not sure how long I can wait for him to get ready.'
J.D. frowned a moment. 'Want me to give him a kick in the pants?'
That made her laugh. She was up and in his lap, her arms tight around him. 'I'll let you know.'
Patricia glided into the room, slim and pretty in a silk sheath the same pale blue as her eyes. 'John, if the chef continues to throw these disgraceful temper tantrums, you're going to have to speak to him yourself. I'm at my wit's end.' She went to the bar, poured a small glass of dry sherry, then settled in a chair. She crossed her legs, which her husband still considered the best on the East Coast, and sipped. 'Jackie, I came across a new hairdresser last week. I'm convinced he could do wonders for you.'
Jackie grinned and blew her hair out of her eyes. 'I love you, Mother.'
Instantly, and in the way Jackie had always adored, Patricia's eyes softened. 'I love you too, darling. I meant to tell you that your tan is wonderfully flattering, particularly with your coloring, but after all I've been reading lately I'm worried about the long-term effects.' Then she smiled in a way that made her look remarkably like her daughter. 'It's good to have you home for a little while. The house is always too quiet without you and the boys.'
'Won't be seeing too much of her now.' J.D. gave her a fatherly pinch on the rump. 'Now that she's a big- time author.'
'It's only one book,' she reminded him, then grinned. 'So far.'
'It did give me a great deal of satisfaction to mention, very casually, of course, to Honoria that you'd sold your manuscript to Harlequin Historicals.' Patricia took a delicate sip as she settled back on the cushions.
'Casual?' J.D. gave a shout of laughter. 'She couldn't wait to pick up the phone and brag. Hey, there, what do you think you're doing?'
Jackie turned back from her study of his letters. 'Nothing.' She gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. 'You're doomed, you know. You're never going to be able to use that ridiculous collection.'
'We'll see about that.' J.D. dumped her off of his lap, then rubbed his palms together. 'Sit down and shut up.'
'John, really,' Patricia said, in a tone that had Jackie running over to hug her. When the doorbell rang, Jackie straightened, but her mother waved her back. 'Philip will get the door, Jacqueline. Do fix your hair.'
Dutifully Jackie dragged her fingers through it as their graying butler came to the parlor entrance. 'I beg your pardon, Mrs. MacNamara, but there's a Nathan Powell here to see Miss Jacqueline.'
With a quick squeal, Jackie leaped forward. Her mother's firm command stopped her. 'Jacqueline, sit down and pretend you're a lady. Philip will show the man in.'
'But-'
'Sit down,' J.D. told her. 'And shut up.'
