Summer Secrets by Barbara Freethy Page B

He’d always been one to get up with the sun, hangover or not. He was probably on his way to his boat or maybe to the Oyster Bar for a Bloody Mary.
    As she picked up the blanket, she caught a whiff of her father’s aftershave. The musky scent reminded her of childhood, the scent forever linked to her father, to childish hugs and Daddy’s strong arms. He’d once been her hero, her protector, the man who stood taller than all the rest. She remembered sitting on the floor by his feet listening to him tell stories about his adventures. His words would sweep her away. She could smell the sea and feel the splash of the waves, and she would shiver with the imagined wind. She couldn’t have stopped listening if she tried, and she never tried, because having her father at home was always special. He was gone a lot in her early childhood, running fishing boats, charters, whatever he could do to make a living. His frequent absences had made his rare presence that much more special, a time to be treasured, as her mother often said.
    But those times of treasuring had created a man who took for granted the devotion of his family, Kate thought now. And once her mother had passed on, the responsibility of taking care of Duncan had fallen to her, the eldest child. She’d cooked and cleaned and mothered her sisters and tried to make sure her father’s life always ran smoothly. She’d supported his every decision, including the one that had taken them to sea for three long years, always believing in her heart that Daddy knew best.
    As a grown woman, she realized that Daddy hadn’t known best for a very long time, and somewhere along the way their roles had reversed. Duncan had become the child, and she had become the parent. It was not the role she craved. And she couldn’t help but wish for the impossible, that he would wake up one day and be the father she craved, the kind of man who would listen and advise, who would laugh with her and come to her bookstore and tell her he was proud of her. But he had never been that kind of father. Proud of her, yes, but only when it came to sailing. The rest of her life -- her interests, her emotions, her ambitions -- had never been of concern to him. If it didn’t touch his life, he just didn’t care that much.
    Sometimes she hated him for not caring. But most of the time she loved him. He was her father, and she could still hear her mother’s voice in her head: Your father is the most special man in the world. You are a very lucky little girl.
    Maybe she just hadn’t figured out the special part yet. She sighed, as she took the blanket into the laundry room and tossed it in the pile to be washed. As for lucky, well, she could use a little luck, right now, because she had a feeling her father was the least of her problems. No doubt that reporter would be waiting for her when she got to the bookstore. And she needed to figure out how to handle him.
    As she returned to the kitchen, her eye caught on the laptop computer on the counter. She hadn’t had a chance to look last night, but maybe she should make the time now.
    Taking the computer over to the kitchen table, she got it started, then poured herself a cup of coffee. When she was logged on to the Internet, she quickly did a search on the name Tyler Jamison. If he was a reporter, he’d no doubt published some stories somewhere, and she was more than a little curious as to where.
    The answer wasn’t long in coming, but it was long in detail. The results jumped out at her.
    Tyler Jamison reporting from Somalia for Time magazine …
    An in-depth look at India’s Kashmir region by Tyler Jamison …
    Japan’s new royalty, Tyler Jamison, U.S. News and World Report …
    Kate’s jaw dropped farther with each entry. It couldn’t be the same man. A foreign correspondent, a man who covered war, whose words had been printed in every national magazine -- that kind of reporter didn’t write about sailboat races in Puget Sound. Something was