Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1) Read online

  A loud roar went up from the crowd, reminding Clare of where they were. What was she doing? Desperately, she pulled back, shoving at him. "Stop it." Breathless, Clare leaned her head back against the metal truck, trying to regroup. "Don't you have to get back to the game?"

  He nuzzled her neck and pressed his hips even more tightly against hers. "We're at bat, and I was just up last inning. I have a minute." He growled softly and bit her shoulder. "I forgot how sports get me worked up. Sports, beer, and male bonding do wonders for a guy's libido."

  She started giggling, desire leaping through her. Damn the man for being so irresistible! How could he be getting her this worked up at a family picnic? "What are you, eighteen?"

  "I feel like it." He kissed her again, and her whole body trembled with longing as he tore through her defenses, stopping only when she was hopelessly tangled around him and panting for more.

  He grinned, resting his forehead against hers while they both tried to catch their breath. "Tonight, Clare," he said quietly. "If your door is shut, I'm coming in anyway."

  Her belly tightened with sudden desire, raw terror and giddy anticipation. "That's rather presumptuous of you."

  He pulled back, looking steadily into her eyes. "If you don't want me to come in, lock the door. Otherwise, I'm coming in. Get it?"

  She swallowed. Here was her chance to tell him she wasn't going to get involved. To deflect his advances before he consumed her good sense. "Griffin—"

  "Dad?"

  Griffin jerked away from Clare so quickly she almost fell down.

  Standing ten feet away, a chocolate ice cream cone in her hand, was a girl Katie's age. She had a shocked look on her face, and her eyes were the deep, dark brown of Griffin's.

  His daughter.

  Chapter 15

  Griffin couldn't believe how tall Brooke was. How grown-up. How beautiful. Her brown hair was long now, tossed over her shoulders. She was wearing crisp new jeans, ones bearing the logo of In Your Face's stiffest competitor. Her shirt was like Katie's, a little too snug, and she was wearing blue eye shadow. She was almost a woman, this girl. This amazing girl. His daughter. For a split second, his throat tightened and his chest constricted, and all he wanted to do was tear across the grass and scoop her up in his arms like he'd done so many times when she was little.

  He even took a step toward her, and she stiffened, freezing him right where he was. "Brooke," he said. He had no idea what to say. He didn't want to scare her, or drive her away. Could he hug her? Tell her he missed her? He hadn't devised a plan yet. He had no strategy. Just an ache in his chest. "What are you doing here?" he finally asked, at a loss of how to approach her, how to bridge the void.

  "Dan's brother plays for the Angels," Brooke said. She stared at him as if she'd never seen him before. "You threw a grapefruit."

  Griffin hesitated. Was that bad? "Um... yeah..."

  "But you would never throw a grapefruit. You would never even play softball." Brooke's brow was furrowed. "All you do is work. I don't understand why you're here. Playing softball." Her gaze slithered to Clare. "Kissing a woman in public."

  Was that good or bad? Griffin swore under his breath. He had no idea what to say. How to respond.

  "Your dad is changing," Clare said gently. "He doesn't always work anymore."

  "Really?" Brooke looked at Clare. "So, he changed for you? And not for us?"

  "No." Griffin stepped forward. He had to take control of the conversation. He had to take advantage of this moment, this chance to talk to her. "Listen, Brooke, I miss you. I'm up here because I want you to come home with me. Back to Boston."

  Brooke gave him a look of disgusted disbelief. "And do what all day while you work? Who will do my homework with me? Who will come to my school play? Will you?"

  Griffin ground his jaw. "I'll try—"

  "You always try." Brooke's jaw jutted out in that familiar look he'd seen so many times, and suddenly she didn't look like a young woman anymore. She looked like the little girl he'd held on his knee and read stories to. Young. Breakable. Fragile. "But work always comes first with you. The softball is a lie." She looked at Clare, anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't believe it. He'll burn you."

  "Brooke!" Griffin reached for her, but she sidestepped his attempt.

  "Dad." Brooke took a deep breath. "I want to change my name."

  Griffin frowned, trying to adjust to the change in topic. "You don't like Brooke?"

  "No, I don't like Friesé." She lifted her chin. "I want to change my last name to Burwell. I want to be Brooke Burwell."

  Griffin felt like something sharp had just been plunged into his chest, and he gripped his ribs against the sudden pain. He was barely aware of Clare moving closer, but when she slipped her hand in his, he gripped it tightly, as if she could keep the world from tipping over right in front of him. "Did Mom tell you to say that?"

  "It's not Mom," Brooke said. "I didn't even ask her. She doesn't even know."

  "Then why—"

  "Mom, Dan and the twins are all Burwells, and I'm not. I want to be like them. I want to be part of the family."

  "Twins?" he echoed, his voice like some distant sound in his pounding head. "What twins?"

  She hesitated. "You didn't know Mom had twins in February?"

  "Shit, no." Hillary had babies?

  "Well, she did, and now I have two sisters." Brooke smiled, and he saw genuine affection on her face. "I have a family now, and I want to belong. I need to change my name. I want to be a Burwell like the rest of them."

  Griffin shook his head, fighting desperately against the feeling that the world was crumbling beneath his feet, struggling for a handhold to keep his head above water. "No, absolutely not. You're my daughter—"

  "I don't want to be your daughter! I want to be Dan's!" Brooke stomped her foot. "You never let me be happy. If you cared about me at all, you would let me be happy! Go back to Boston. Leave me alone!" Then she whirled around and ran, disappearing around the front of the truck.

  "Brooke!" Griffin sprinted after her, but when he rounded the bumper, he couldn't see her. Too many kids playing, people chatting, bodies moving everywhere. He searched the crowds, but he couldn't find her. "Brooke!" He bellowed her name, desperate to find her.

  But she was gone.

  "Griffin." Clare touched his arm as she ran up beside him. "Wait a sec."

  "I have to find her. I can't let her go like that." He started to run again. He felt like his dream. Panicked. Crazed. Hopeless. The crowds were too thick, too many people. Too much noise. Somewhere out there was his daughter, and he couldn't find her. He started grabbing stranger's arms. "Where's my daughter? Where did she go?"

  People looked at him, but no one pointed the way. The ocean was closing down on her, taking her away, sweeping her into its depths. "Brooke!"

  "Griffin!" Clare jumped in his path and grabbed his arms. "Listen to me!"

  "I can't. I have to find Brooke—"

  "By playing softball and throwing that grapefruit, you showed Brooke a side of you she's never seen," Clare said, cutting off his protests. "You made progress, Griffin! You have to let her absorb it! You can't force it right now! Stop!"

  You can't force it. That was like what Norm had said. He looked at Clare desolately. "I can't lose her. I might not ever find her again."

  "She lives one town away," Clare said gently. "You can find her anytime."

  "But I can't. I can't get in to see her." He searched the crowds, but no Brooke. No daughter. "She's gone."

  "She's not gone," Clare said. "She's in that crowd, and she's watching what her dad does right now."

  "So, I have to find her then—"

  "No. You have to show her that she can trust you."

  "She can. I swear to God, she can. I can't lose her." His throat was dry, his palms sweaty. "I can't."

  "I know." Clare set her hands on his face, and the feel of her skin against his was like a shot of calmness and sanity in his crazed mind. "But she's a fifteen-yea
r-old girl and you can't force her. Go play softball, and show her that you're different than the dad she remembers."

  He gripped Clare's wrists, holding her hands to his cheeks, afraid she would let go. "You think it'll work? It has to work."

  "Griff!" Jackson shouted. "Come on! We're back on the field."

  "If you let down your team, she'll see that," Clare said urgently. "Softball is important in this town. She knows that. She'll be watching to see whether people can count on you."

  Griffin swore under his breath and clasped his hands on top of his head, trying to think, trying frantically to strategize, to make the right move. Go after Brooke, or let her go? "I don't know."

  "You both need time to process," Clare said. "You don't want to say things you'll regret, and you don't want to force her to do the same. Go play ball. Show her that you're the kind of guy who spends the evening at a family picnic instead of work. She needs to see that, Griffin. She really does."

  He closed his eyes. He could feel the truth of Clare's words, penetrating his need to rip the place apart to find his daughter. "She can't change her name without my permission, can she?" He opened his eyes and looked at Clare, the attorney. "Can she?"

  "No, Griffin, she can't," Clare said. "It's going to be okay. You're going to work this out. She can't disown you or change her name."

  "She's still my daughter?" His voice cracked, but he couldn't help it. "You're sure?"

  Clare smiled. "She's still your daughter."

  "Griff!" Jackson jogged up. "Come on, man. Talk to Clare later. We've got a game!"

  "Go play softball." Clare stood on her tiptoes and lightly pressed her lips to his, telling him that she accepted him exactly as he was, that he wasn't some awful bastard. "She needs to see that."

  "Yeah, okay." He took a breath, trying to calm his mind. "If you see her, don't let her leave. I want to talk to her after the game."

  "I'll do my best."

  "Come on!"

  Reluctantly, he let Jackson coerce him back to the field. But he never stopped scanning the crowd for his daughter. Was Clare right? Was she still there? He had to know.

  He was already on the mound, softball in hand, preparing for the first pitch, when he finally found Brooke.

  She was sitting on a red and black plaid blanket, holding a small baby in her arms. She was bent over the child, her face soft and happy as she spoke to it. Hillary was leaning over Brooke's shoulder, and she was also smiling at the baby.

  His ex-wife was wearing a fleece, jeans and a pony tail, and she had a tender expression on her face. That was the woman who'd redefined cold as a household condition? The woman who'd hated him for his work schedule, but spent more money on designer clothing than he'd spent on the mortgage? He'd never seen that tender look on her face. Not ever. Not even when Brooke had been born. Who was she? Why had Burwell brought that out in her when he hadn't?

  And Brooke... Griffin couldn't help but smile at the way she was wiggling the baby's nose. Brooke would be a good big sister. She really would.

  On Brooke's other side was Burwell, holding another baby in his mutton arms. The behemoth had a pink burp cloth over his shoulder and was administering a bottle like he knew how to use it. Was that what it took to be a man? A husband? A father? Griffin had never held a bottle in his life or changed a diaper, and it had never even occurred to him to do it.

  The five of them were huddled together, oblivious to the outside world, surrounded by baby blankets, rattles, and a picnic dinner.

  Griffin felt his world sinking as he stared at the scene.

  Who the hell was he kidding?

  If that was what Brooke wanted, he couldn't compete with that.

  "Griff." Jackson jogged over from second base. "Hey, man. What's going on?"

  Griffin couldn't stop staring at the scene, and Jackson followed his gaze. "That's my daughter and my ex-wife." The words felt thick. Ex-daughter? Is that what he should say? Mother of hell.

  Jackson whistled softly. "Son of a bitch. That sucks."

  Griffin almost grinned at the intensity in Jackson's words. The man got it. "Well said."

  Jackson clapped his hand on his shoulder. "There's only one thing to do, my man."

  "What's that?" Go over and beat the hell out of Burwell?

  Jackson held up the softball, then slammed it into Griffin's glove. "Kick the shit out of their softball team, of course."

  Griffin laughed, some of the tension easing from his chest. "You think that'll work?"

  "Crushing your opponent's hopes and dreams? Yep. It's the only way to go." Jackson slammed his hand down on Griffin's shoulder. "You good?"

  Griffin gripped the stitching of the ball. "Yeah, I'm good."

  And as Jackson returned to the base paths, Griffin turned his back on the perfect family and eyed the player at bat. But he couldn't pitch. He couldn't throw the ball. He couldn't think of anything but the family sitting in left field.

  So, he turned and looked back at the one table he'd been drawn to all night. He had to see Clare. He had to connect with her. He had to feel her.

  And there she was, with her cute pony tail, her display of amazing cupcakes and the smile she reserved just for him. And unlike his daughter or his ex-wife, Clare's attention was focused fully on him.

  He jerked his chin at the Burwell clan, and he saw her gaze swivel toward them, taking in the situation. Jackson was yelling at him to pitch, the other guys were giving him grief, but he waited, unable to summon any action until he heard from Clare.

  Clare knew how to be a mom. Clare knew how to love her daughter. Clare's daughter loved her. If Clare wanted him to pitch, then he would. He trusted her to know what was right.

  Clare put her hand over her heart and nodded at him. Play ball, Griffin, she was saying. Play ball for your daughter.

  So he did.

  For Clare.

  For his daughter.

  For the Pirates of Birch Crossing.

  Griffin lost.

  The game.

  The chance to talk to his daughter.

  The night.

  Brooke and the Burwells had left during the ninth inning while Griffin was on the mound. He hadn't been able to go after them, his focus had snapped, and he'd relinquished the game-winning run while his daughter drove off in an extended cab pickup.

  And now it was well after midnight as Griffin pulled his truck into the driveway of Clare's house and leaned back against the seat. Beers with the guys hadn't helped his mood, and now he was back at the rambling farm house he was calling home.

  The house was dark. Clare and Katie were in bed.

  What was he doing playing around in Maine? Maybe Brooke was right. Maybe he should go back to Boston. But the thought tanked his mood even further.

  Forget it. He wasn't going back. Not without his daughter.

  He needed to focus. He needed to get his work going. He needed to get his trump card into alignment, and he needed it fast. Brooke had been wearing those fashion jeans. She was into them. He needed that company for his daughter. So he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his partner.

  Phillip answered on the first ring, always available no matter what time of day, just like Griffin. "Good news on Brooke?" he asked.

  "No." Griffin got out of the truck and headed up the stairs. "What's the status on In Your Face? Did you get answers to my queries yet?"

  "Still working on it, but I'm hearing rumors that I'm trying to track down."

  "What rumors?" Griffin pulled open the screen door and walked inside. The house was quiet and still, just like his condo, and just like his house had been when he'd been married. Hillary and Brooke had always been asleep by the time he got home. Not that he'd expected Clare to wait up for him, but after today, yeah, well, he'd thought maybe Clare would be different.

  But her door was firmly shut, and the light under her door was off. He was living the same life, just in different surroundings.

  "They told me that they've got other interest
," Phillip said, "and that they expect an offer in the next twenty-four hours."

  Griffin poked his head in the kitchen. Empty. Dark. No desserts on the counters. "Do they have a legit offer or are they just trying to drive up the price?"

  "I'll know by morning. I have some leads on it. But if they do get that offer, it changes the playing field."

  When Phillip told him the price, Griffin slammed the door of the kitchen shut in frustration as he headed back to the hall. "They're not worth that." Not yet. They'd be worth ten times that amount after Griffin and Phillip took them and ran the business for five years. But today? No.

  "To us, yeah, but to others they might be."

  "Well, maybe the others see something we don't." He had to buy that company. He had to find justification to pay that price. It was a teen jean company, and he had to get it for Brooke. "I'll go through the files again—"

  "No chance," Phillip interrupted. "We're not going to offer at that price."

  "We're not letting this company get away—"

  "At that price, we sure are. There are a thousand businesses around," Phillip said. "There's that one for high tech kitty litter. Do you know how many tons of litter are sold each year?"

  "Kitty litter? We're not buying kitty litter. I want In Your Face." Would Brooke come back to him for kitty litter? No chance. In Your Face was the only one that would suffice. "We sold Free Love to position ourselves to move on this deal. In Your Face is our focus. We're going to make it happen."

  "If the price goes up, you're on your own," Phillip said. "I'm not biting."

  Griffin knew that it would take a hefty investment from both of them to buy it. He couldn't swing it himself. No matter how heavily he leveraged himself. "Then preempt with an offer tonight. Lowball with a twelve hour cutoff."

  "We don't have the paperwork in order. Are you losing your mind up there in the woods? You actually want us to fork over a few hundred million without ironclad paperwork?"

  "Shit." Maybe he really was losing perspective. Griffin flexed his hand as he walked down the hall toward his room. Phillip was more aggressive than he was, and it was Griffin who usually had to pull him back. If Phillip was saying no, then it was a no. "See what you can do to make it happen."