Sasha’s Dad by Geri Krotow Page A

the bottom of Claire’s drive. The bus goes right by it every morning. And every afternoon on the way back to the bus depot.”
    She wasn’t giving him any wiggle room.
    “We’ll talk about it later, Sasha. Besides, Claire’s really busy with the llamas and trying to get her farm up and running.” He frowned. “She didn’t outright invite you, did she?”
    “Of course she did, Dad.” Sasha’s impatience shone from her eyes. “You know she’d love to have me out there.” Sasha looked down, pouting. “Besides, she was a friend of Mom’s. I like hearing about Mom.”
    Crap.
    He knew he shouldn’t have brought Sasha after that first visit. It only gave her and Claire time to talk. From the snippets he’d caught, most of the conversation revolved around Natalie as a child.
    He sighed and added some basil to the tomato sauce. It wasn’t the conversation that irked him; it was the fact that Sasha had already bonded with Claire. Just like that.
    Dutch put down the spoon and covered the pot of sauce. He made sure the flame was as low as he could get it before he slid onto the stool next to Sasha. He turned her toward him and held her hands.
    “I know you miss Mom, honey. You realize you can ask me or Aunt Ginny anything you want to about her, right?”
    “Of course I do, Dad. But you have to admit, neither you or Aunt Ginny was as close to Mom as Claire was, not when you were little or even my age.”
    Dutch looked into eyes as brown as Natalie’s had been. When did his little girl become such a young woman?
    “No. You’re right about that.” He’d known Claire forever—hell, they’d started with wooden blocks and had gone through video games, computer games, you name it, together. His interest in Natalie had come later, when it was obvious Claire had her sights set on anything but Dovetail. Or him.
    Claire, however, had been part of Natalie’s life forever.
    Dutch kissed Sasha’s forehead.
    “You can go with me next time, but please promise me that you won’t get your hopes up too much. Claire’s never had her own kids, and she doesn’t have to cater to us, okay?”
    “Dad, I’m not going to force you guys to be friends or anything. I get it.” Her posture of maturity almost fooled him.
    “Great.” He stood and went back to the spaghetti sauce.
    He knew Sasha didn’t really get it. Sasha didn’t want him to think she was playing matchmaker, but he saw the warning signs. She had no idea that he and Claire hadn’t needed a matchmaker once upon a time.
    His mind’s eye glimpsed an old image. Claire on an azure beach towel, her golden skin covered only by her bright orange bikini.
    His hand shook as he dipped the wooden spoon into the sauce, and it wasn’t from hunger. Neither was the perspiration that gathered on the back of his neck.

    C LAIRE STOOD on the stepladder and reached her dust mop to the top edge of the cottage wall. A little bit of oil soap and a lot of work was making the old place downright homey.
    She loved the smell of the cleaning potions as they washed away the dust and the musty odor of decades of disuse. The previous owners had used the cottage as a guesthouse, until they grew old and the friends who once visited passed on.
    Claire only knew about the cottage and the history of her farmhouse because she’d grown up in Dovetail. She made a mental note to go to the state archives at some point and make sure she’d gathered all the information available on this property. There was bound to be a good marketing angle in the history.
    As she cleaned, moving from wall to wall in the tiny house, she envisioned the shelves where she’d put bins of yarn. The counter with the cash register could go closer to the front door. It wasn’t going to be a huge store, but big enough to draw people in and provide education about llamas and llama fiber. Maybe she’d even have a few alpacas in the next year or two.
    “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Become an expert on llamas first.” She