Page 84 of Protector Daddy

Sure, Reagan had come out to visit a few times before. It wasn’t as if this was our first meeting. But she’d come out for lunches or afternoons, never for longer than that. She hadn’t wanted to lie to her mother and I agreed with that. I didn’t want to be someone’s dirty secret, especially my own daughter’s.

I came down to them making breakfast. Something I had totally forgotten to do. I hadn’t even gone grocery shopping to make sure there were things to make. But Honey seemed to be doing just fine.

“I forgot to get groceries. Sorry.”

“No worries. These strawberries are just fine. I found this waffle maker thingy in the cabinet over the refrigerator.” Honey tapped a mint green machine I vaguely recognized from a couple Christmases ago. Why it had been shoved in a cabinet I rarely used—or even looked in. “Miracle of miracles, you even had syrup. Oh, I need butter.”

Honey went over to the refrigerator, used her beloved camera view, then opened the door to bend inside to grab the butter dish. Naturally, that bent angle in that snug dress did amazing things to her ass and I had to avert my eyes in the vain hope of not popping a damn erection while standing beside my daughter.

Worse, I looked back as Honey turned around and she was smirking at me, as if she knew quite well how she affected me. Evil woman.

“This place is really nice.” Reagan hopped on a stool at the counter and looked up at the array of copper pots hanging from the ceiling that probably had a fine coating of dust on them. I certainly never used them. “I mean, Gigi and Gramps’ place is wow too, but there’s so much light and you’re in the middle of the forest. Are there bears?”

Honey shuddered. “Not that I’ve seen.”

“No bears,” I assured them.

I wasn’t certain on that score. With wildlife, you couldn’t be too sure. Even the local ducks were in the process of trying to take over the town. But I’d never seen a bear near my house.

Honey whipped up batter as Reagan and I made small talk about everything and nothing. Then I took her on a brief tour of the house after Honey waved us off. Reagan seemed amazed by everything from the skylights to the indoor lap pool and the fireplace and the “kickass” four-poster beds.

By then, Boomer had been sequestered long enough and let out a howl.

“Oh my God, no way, you have a dog too?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you liked them.”

“I love dogs. Love them.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mom’s allergic, but honestly, she goes mental about getting anything on her white leather couch.”

Sounded like Penelope. My taste in women had seriously improved since high school

I stopped in front of the door to the den and glanced at my daughter before I turned the knob. “Brace yourself. He’s a big guy.”

“Like his owner.”

“Yeah.” Soon as I opened the door, Boomer raced out and then skidded to a halt at the sight of Reagan. She crouched to his level and held out her hand to sniff as an experienced dog person would. And like my crazy ass dog, he bypassed a sniff and went up on his hind legs to put his paws on her shoulders.

“Boomer, down!”

He didn’t even look my way before Reagan fell to her butt and took the dog in her arms like they were lifelong friends. He licked her face exuberantly then cast a withering look at me as if to say forget you and your rules.

“Aww, look at you. Aren’t you the cutest big boy?” Reagan giggled as Boomer gave her his version of a hug then bounded down the hall in the direction of the kitchen, finally in search of his original true love.

My girlfriend.

I held out a hand to Reagan to help her up. “Sorry. He used to have better manners. Guess I need to try training school again although he seemed to forget everything from the last time.”

Reagan jumped to her feet and dusted off the back of her jeans. “He’s a sweetheart. Didn’t hurt me.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Don’t be a worrywart.”

Little did she know worrying was basically line one in the parental handbook. At least the For Dummies version I carried in my back pocket.

I went back to the kitchen and found Reagan roughhousing with Boomer, the waffle iron beeping with an alarm, and Honey nowhere in sight.

“Honey?” I called, backtracking down the hall to the closed bathroom door. She didn’t reply but I heard the water running.

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