Page 7 of Treat Her Right

“My name’s Daniella, but no one calls me that. ’Cept Dad sometimes when he’s mad.”

Wynn gave a theatrical gasp. “Your father gets mad at you?” she teased, holding one hand to her chest. “Whatever for? Why, you’re such a little angel.”

Dani shrugged. “Not all the time. Sometimes I get into mis…mis…”

“Mischief,” Zack supplied, “and don’t make me sound like an ogre to our new neighbors.”

She beamed at him. “He’s the best dad in the whole world.”

“Much better.” Zack smiled and kissed her soft plump cheek. “She has her moments, and if angels can be rowdy and rambunctious, then the description does fit.”

Conan laughed, but Wynn gave him another of those tender, intent looks. He frowned and turned away.

“You don’t really fight with Conan,” Dani told Wynn, as if Wynn might not be aware of that fact herself.

“I would never take a chance on hurting him,” Wynn boasted. Then, pretending to share a confidence, she added, “Besides, he’s my brother and I love him.”

Dani sat back against her father’s chest and crossed her arms. “I want a brother.”

Zack choked.

Conan handed him a napkin, again staving off the awkward moment. “If you want to hear the real joke about Wynn’s hair,” Conan said, “then you should know that our father is a coiffeur.”

“What’s that?” Dani asked.

“A coiffeur,” Wynn explained, “is just another word for a hairdresser.”

Again and again, they took him by surprise, Zack thought. “That’s…interesting,” he remarked, and gulped down more of the awful vanilla coffee.

Wynn chuckled. “The fact that I won’t let him touch my hair makes him crazy. Which is why I won’t let him touch it, of course. Every time he sees me, he wails like he’s in pain.”

“And when she says wails, she means wails.” Conan sipped his own coffee before setting the cup aside. “My dad is likely to be the only flaming heterosexual you’ll ever meet.”

Zack stared.Flaming heterosexual?Did these two know any normal or mundane conversational tidbits? Couldn’t they go on about the weather or something? Together, they were the strangest people he’d ever met so he had no doubt the parents had to be beyond odd as well. He kept silent.

His daughter did not.

“Does that mean hairdresser, too?” Dani asked.

Wynn quickly swallowed her bite of muffin. “No, Dani, that means he likes to dress in silk and lots of gold chains and he has this enormous diamond earring.”

Oh Lord,Zack thought, and wished he could escape.

“Our mother, on the other hand, is the original hippie. She’s into all things natural and doesn’t wear any jewelry at all except for a plain wedding band.”

“But,” Conan interjected, casting a sly look at Wynn, “she loves my father enough to let him keep her hair trimmed.”

“Daddy would have a heart attack if I asked him to do my hair now. You know that. Besides, he likes to have something to gripe at me about.”

“Does your mom’s hair look like yours?” Zack heard himself ask, curious despite himself.

“Heavens no! I got my hair from some long-deceased ancestor.”

Conan leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “And believe me, we’re all beyond grateful that he is long deceased.”

Wynn shoved at him. “My father’s hair is brown and sleek, and my mother’s hair is blond like Conan’s, but longer—all the way to her waist.”

Dreading the answer, Zack asked, “When are they supposed to join you?”

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