Page 24 of His Fantasy Girl

He’d make a bloody good father. Wouldn’t he? Truth was, he had no clue. He’d never even thought about a family. Never wanted one woman enough to settle down. He’d always presumed he would never marry. After all, he was hardly surrounded by role models.

But he’d grown up to the age of ten—the same age his daughter was now—barely knowing his father. Though he’d been aware of Rory’s existence, his mother had made sure that they didn’t spend time together. She’d even told him that Rory didn’t want him, had never wanted him, which might well have been true at the time. All the same, Rory had made the most of a bad situation, and when Logan had finally gone to live with him, he’d never doubted that his father wanted him around.

What did his daughter think? That somewhere she had a father who didn’t give a shit, who’d never wanted her. He’d make sure she knew different. He might make a crappy father, but his daughter would know it was Logan who was lacking. Never her.

“I need a drink.” He stood up and crossed to the bar, pulled a bottle of single malt scotch and a couple of glasses from the shelf below, and carried them back to the booth. His father had taken a seat and was still studying the photo as Logan slid in opposite and poured them both a drink.

“I don’t think there’s any doubt she’s a McCabe,” Rory said.

“No. She looks like Tamara.”

“She looks like you.”

They sipped their drinks in silence for a minute. Logan emptied his glass then refilled both. He looked at Rory and something occurred to him. “You realize this makes you a grandfather.”

Rory choked on his drink. “Bugger.”

“Yeah.”

“So what happens next?”

“I meet her.” A cold, hard lump settled in his stomach. What if she took one look at him and ran for cover?

“Is her mother okay with that?”

“I presume so. Apparently she wants to meet me. That’s the only reason Abby told me. Otherwise I would never have known.”

“Is that all she wanted? Not money?”

“How the hell should I know? We haven’t exactly gotten around to discussing details yet.” His dad was a cynical bastard. Anyway, he supposed he should pay something toward her maintenance. How had Abby coped alone all these years? Had her family helped? He knew absolutely nothing about her, though she’d obviously managed to carve out a career for herself, which couldn’t have been easy.

Shit, the mother of his daughter was a police woman. No wonder she was wary of letting him into their lives. He picked up the photo again and studied it. There was nothing of Abby; she was all McCabe. Had that pissed her off?

God, he had a daughter. It was beginning to sink in.

Would she like him? Or would she take one look at him and decide he should have stayed away. Maybe he should have a haircut or something. And he couldn’t believe he was thinking like that.

“Her name is Jennifer,” he said. “Jenny.”

“Nice name.”

He poured more scotch. It wasn’t every day you found out you were a father. What if she hated him? “I’m scared.”

“Daughters are scary things.”

“Thanks, grandpa.” He pushed himself to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Rory asked.

“To phone the mother of my daughter.” At the last moment he grabbed the bottle of scotch and took it with him to his office.

“Well, tell her I take back what I said.”

He stopped and stared down at Rory. “And what did you say?”

“That she should stay the fuck away from my son.”

“A little late for that.”

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