Her Daddy

Chapter 2

Scarlett stared at the sign staked in the grass at the side of the highway. ‘Paradise Peak, population 1100,’ it read; a sign she hadn’t seen since her family had passed it on their way out. It was the same sign though, rickety and worn. It was a wonder the rotting legs hadn’t given out years ago.

This was it. Just a few more minutes and she would be home. At the moment though, the idea of coming home seemed more daunting than comforting.

Not for the first time on her eleven-hundred mile trek up the west coast, she wondered what the hell she was doing. This had seemed like a good idea six months ago in California. Now though, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d gone just a smidge—or off her rocker—crazy.

But it wasn’t crazy, she reassured herself. The oversized, glass-walled monstrosity her family had moved to in California had never felt much like home. Hell, she’d needed to use the intercom to call to the opposite side of the house. No, the quaint, ranch-style house she’d grown up in…that was home. Of course, home was situated in a place where everyone knew absolutely everything there is to know about…well…everyone. So, if she thought she could keep her homecoming quiet, she really was losing her marbles.

Realizing she’d slowed to a crawl’s pace, she forced her foot down on the pedal. It was too late to change her mind now. Besides, it was entirely possible nobody would recognize her and she’d at least make it through the day before the Paradise Peak Gazette’s only reporter was banging down her door.

She drove the half mile into town and stopped at the nearest gas station—the only gas station, actually. She filled the tank and thankfully remembered just in time to stop herself from feeding her bank card into the nonexistent slot on the pump. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to go into a store to pay for gas. But just because the rest of the world had embraced modern technology, the group of men who’d gathered near the store’s front door would have laughed at her nonetheless.

She smiled politely at them as she approached the store, clearly recognizing each one. James Henderson owned the used car shop where her dad had bought her first car; Peter Johnson was a teacher in the next town over, where all the Paradise Peak kids bussed to every day; and Adam Brady had been a linebacker on her high school football team. Jeez, the poor guy had been a hottie in high school, but at twenty-five, with a tire around his waist and a receding hairline racing headlong for the finish line, she hoped he’d used his good looks to their best advantage while he’d had them.

They looked her up and down with a gleam of appreciation in their eyes but not a hint of recognition on their faces. Had she really changed that much? Sure, she was no longer a teenager, but she was essentially the same person—dark hair, blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face that forever had her contouring and blending to emphasize her jaw—a necessity according to Antonio, the trendiest makeup artist at the Vitality salon in Los Angeles.

Of course, her hair was also halfway down her back now, her eyes and lips accentuated with the latest summer color palette, and her slim teenager frame had given way to just enough curves that Antonio said she’d be the envy of every woman at the Oscar’s. The clothing she wore probably disguised her as much as the other changes did. No longer dressed in cut-off jeans and T-shirts, the Armani pencil skirt, Valentino silk blouse and Jimmy Choo sandals had looked perfectly at home in Los Angeles. Here, they made her stand out like a designer thumb, and look about as much like that teenager girl as Adam Brady did.

She paid for the gas and left, happy to save the reintroductions for another day. She had a few important stops to make before it got too late. And so, she revved the engine of her steel-grey sedan—a trade-in from the red, sporty little thing that had driven her around L.A.—and drove out of the parking lot…and down the street a block and a half to the local diner.

And here is where it got tricky. If things hadn’t changed much—and it wasn’t likely they had—the local diner was the social gathering hub of the town. But she didn’t have much of a choice. She’d kept her arrival a secret from everyone but Rachel Deys--the realtor who’d sold her parents’ house for them eight years ago, and bought it back for her just last week. Of course, she’d made Rachel swear up and down she’d keep the sale a secret. The For Sale sign was even still standing in the house’s front yard.

Unfortunately, Rachel was also the afternoon cook at the diner. If she wanted the keys to the house, she was going to have to get them from the woman in there. In and out; that’s all it would be. All she had to do was get in there, make a beeline for the kitchen at the back and then make a mad dash out again without any one of the diner’s patrons recognizing her.

It could happen. And though on most days she would say it was probably more likely she’d win the lottery, if the guys at the gas station hadn’t recognized her, maybe no one else would either.

She hurried inside and glanced around the diner from the front entrance, trying to keep her appearance there discreet. She’d have to make her presence in town known eventually, but she was hoping to wade in slowly. Just a few hours to adjust.

That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?