Free Crescendo by Jeffe Kennedy Page A

read in the public record.
    â€œThanks,” she repeated. “Coffee’s on me.”
    â€œMake it less than five dollars’ worth and you’re on.”
    Her father waited at a table, a coffee and oatmeal in front of him, cellophane packets of fruit and nuts unopened. He glowered when she waved, then drummed his fingers impatiently when she took cups out to the cops.
    â€œOkay, missy.” He folded his hands on the table when she sat. “You’ve played your games long enough. Why did you force me to come here?”
    â€œHere meaning Starbucks, right? Because I didn’t force you to come to Santa Fe—you offered.”
    â€œYou know exactly what I mean—treating me like a stranger who can’t be allowed in your home.”
    She shrugged and took a bite out of the pink Cake Pop she’d bought herself for breakfast, savoring the sweetness. “I didn’t feel like being yelled at this morning, and even you won’t make too much of a scene in public.”
    He sat back, his jaw clenched, then took a deep drink of his coffee and used the cup to gesture at her. “What the hell are you eating? That’s hardly a healthy breakfast.”
    â€œIt’s nummy.” She grinned at him, hoping her teeth were covered in bright pink sprinkles. “How come we never had cookies?”
    â€œOh, I see.” Her father nodded knowingly, and then spoiled it by frowning at the ragged guy shuffling past selling sage bundles. “You’re playing the poor little rich girl now. You had everything anyone could desire, but Daddy didn’t love you. I call bullshit.”
    â€œDo you?”
    â€œWhat—love you? Of course I love you. You’re my daughter, my only child, my heir. Why else would I have gone to such lengths to make sure you stayed by my side?”
    She cocked her head, sucking off the last of the frosting from the stick. “I think there are lots of reasons to want to control people, and not many of them have anything to do with love.”
    He shook his head, an old dog shooing away flies. “I don’t have time for your shit, Christy.”
    â€œThen make time.” She said it crisply, as he would have—and took satisfaction when he acknowledged the point.
    â€œWell, look who’s grown up.” He spoke without irony. With grudging respect, even. It was enough to make her realize she wasn’t ready to hear what he knew about the Sanclaro connection. They had other business to get out of the way first.
    â€œI hated you for a long time, for what you did to me.”
    â€œPerfectly reasonable attitude.” He thumbed open the oatmeal, tried it, and made a face. “I’m supposed to be eating this for my heart. I tried to tell the doc I don’t have one.”
    She folded her arms and glared at him.
    â€œWhat do you want here—an apology?” He stabbed the spoon at the table, breaking it. “I apologize! Does that change anything? It doesn’t bring your mother back. It doesn’t make me a better father or even a decent man. It doesn’t change a damn thing.”
    â€œIt changes something for me.”
    â€œDoes it? Then have my apology—I don’t expect your forgiveness. I did the rehab, the counseling. Everything I could do. I tried to make it up to you, but I did a shit job of that, too.”
    â€œThis is a good start.”
    â€œIs it? Good. What’s next on the agenda?” Back to business immediately. She felt a surge of affection for him, with all his flaws and difficult ways.
    â€œLet’s talk about the Sanclaros.”
    He eyed her and sat back, wiping his mouth with the flimsy paper napkin. “Is this about your supposed engagement to Roman Sanclaro?”
    She should have known he’d find out without her telling him. She held up her left hand, where the opal glittered. “This is the engagement ring. Anything to say about it?”
    Davis