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parlor, hesitant to venture farther without an invitation.
    Just as she started to call out, Jackson came around the corner, his expression thunderous. “Sorry about Chloe’s rudeness,” he said, yanking on his tie, tightening it.
    Bentley worked to appear confident and in control. “It’s not your fault.”
    â€œIsn’t it? I’m not so sure.” The tie ended up short; he swore and started over. “Come on in.”
    Bentley followed him into the large, light kitchen. Here, as elsewhere in the house, instead of renovating and updating, the interior had been meticulously restored. Chloe sat at the table, her expression sulky.
    Bentley turned to Jackson. “Your home is lovely.”
    â€œThanks.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and held the pot out to her. She shook her head, and he set the coffee on the warming plate just as smoke began to billow from the toaster. Jackson swore again, popping up the now-blackened bread. He looked at it for a moment, as if deciding whether to eat it anyway, then tossed it into the trash.
    Bentley clasped her hands in front of her and told herself she was not charmed by his domestic ineptitude. “Did you do the restoration yourself?” she asked.
    â€œMmm.” He dropped another slice of bread into the toaster. “Bit by bit. I bought it before the area was considered anything more than an eyesore. Now, it’s—”
    â€œMother hated it,” Chloe interrupted. “She said it was old and ugly and should have been demolished.”
    â€œChloe…” Jackson said, a warning in his tone.
    The girl’s chin inched up. “She says Daddy could have been somebody, but that he preferred to throw his life away on lost causes. She says—”
    Jackson wheeled around to face his daughter. “That’s enough, young lady! Up to your room. Now!”
    Chloe jumped to her feet, her eyes filling with angry tears. “Fine, I won’t talk. I’ll be a good little girl and keep my mouth shut, just like you want me to.” Turning, Chloe fled the kitchen.
    For long moments, Jackson stood and stared after his daughter, a vein throbbing in his neck. Bentley checked the ridiculous urge to put a hand on his arm; instead she clasped both of them in front of her. Jackson Reese, she suspected, would not appreciate the show of sympathy.
    Silence stretched between them until, finally, he turned to her. The expression in his eyes—made up of frustration, anger and despair—tore at her and she tightened her fingers. It would not be smart to soften toward this man; he would use it against her. But still, seeing this big, strong man made weak from fear and love for his child made her soften. She couldn’t help herself.
    â€œChloe wasn’t always this way,” he murmured, a catch in his voice. “She used to be so bright, so eager to please, so happy. There was always something…hopeful about her.” He shook his head and met Bentley’s eyes. “Or maybe it was that looking at her made me feel hopeful.”
    Jackson popped his toast up. “It’s only been in the last year and a half that she’s changed. She was living with her mother. It wasn’t working. They fought. Her grades slipped until she was flunking out of school.” Jackson rubbed his eyes wearily. “Then, eight months ago, Victoria just up and sent her here. No warning for either of us.”
    â€œI’m…” Bentley let the words trail off. After all, what could she say? She was sorry? That she understood? Those platitudes would mean nothing to him. She said instead, “That would be hard to adjust to.”
    â€œWe haven’t, yet.” He laughed, the sound raw and without humor. “Maybe we never will. I don’t know.”
    Bentley bit her lip. The situation with her own parents couldn’t be more different, and yet something plucked at her, something begging to be