Paper Moon by Linda Windsor Page A

dancing. Rigid compared to her partner’s ease on the floor, the teen talked nonstop.
    At the music’s end, Karen led her debonair partner back to the tables and introduced him to her father and Caroline.
    â€œSeñor y Señora Madison, el gusto es mío .”
    â€œNo, silly.” Karen’s giggle bubbled from the toes up. “This is my dad. Miz C is Annie’s mom.”
    Tall, tan, and fair-featured, the obviously American youth stood out in the nightclub. His impeccable manners, as he introduced himself as John Scott Chandler, made him extraordinary in any setting.
    â€œWhere are you from, John?”
    There was a guard-dog edge nipping at Blaine’s show of cordiality. Or perhaps it was just fatherly instinct. Caroline’s father had passed away before she had reached the age of sixteen.
    â€œChicago, sir.”
    â€œYou look older than a high school student,” Blaine observed.
    â€œActually, I was an exchange student in my senior year. Now I’m a senior at the University of California here in Mexico City.”
    â€œWhat part of Chicago are you from? What does your father do?
    What’s your major? ” Blaine barely gave the kid the time to reply to one question before he fired another.
    Was this overkill, or should she be asking questions too? Her mother radar on full alert, Caroline looked across the room where Annie and a young Mexican boy were going over the DJ’s music list.
    Karen had reached the end of her endurance. “For heaven’s sake, Dad, are you writing a book?”
    White smile gleaming, John brushed her protest aside. “Hey, it’s okay. He’s a parent. It’s what good parents do.” He extended his hand to Blaine. “Nice meeting you, sir. You too, Miz C.”
    His undaunted “It’s okay” would have done, but “That’s what good parents do”? A little too much icing on the proverbial cake.
    â€œNice meeting you too, John,” she answered.
    As John led Karen out to the dance floor, her voice wafted back to the table. “Now he decides to be a parent!”
    â€œThere goes a con artist, if I ever saw one,” Blaine observed in a sawmill whisper.
    â€œSo what set off your fatherly red alert?”
    â€œHe wouldn’t look me in the eye. Tells me he’s hiding something.”
    Where fatherly suspicion had been, a mix of hurt and confusion now ruled his expression. Caroline could almost see the one emotion trying to squeeze the other out of his heart.
    â€œIf only I were as adept at reading my daughter as I am others. Talk about mixed signals. One minute I’m the dad of the year; the next, I’m the worst thing that’s happened to her since her mom died.” He clenched his fists. “I don’t pay enough attention to her. Then I’m too intrusive. How’s a parent to know?”

    Blaine could hardly believe he was asking a stranger advice on his daughter, but a fish out of water is a desperate fish. He had learned to handle diapers and training wheels, bring the anticipated presents when he returned from a trip, attend the annual Parents’ Day at school. He’d been king in his daughter’s eyes, and Karen was his little princess. Then things fell apart at the castle.
    After Ellie died in a car accident, the drinking that led to it left him with a hovel of cracked walls and a broken rule. His mom said Karen was angry, that time would heal . . . all the right Christian platitudes.
    He’d done all he knew to help Karen through the ordeal, but sometimes she acted as if her mother’s death was his fault. It wasn’t as if he’d abandoned Ellie and her problem. He’d been through many a hellish night helping his wife through withdrawal from alcohol. He’d hired the best doctors and sent her to the best clinics. He’d read so much about dealing with the problem that he could have opened a clinic himself. But in the