Sparks Fly

Chapter Twenty: Ghosts and Long Ago Friends

She made a tsk sound, and stared into laughing blue eyes. "What on Earth would you have done if I hadn't come home?" Rain asked. She pressed the lever with her foot to open the trash can lid and dumped the black balls of dough inside. "You probably would have burned the house down, and then how was I going to talk father into keeping you?"

"I wouldn't have needed your father, Rain Sullivan," the older woman replied, her hands on her hips. "He can starve for all I care. I've told you before, I stay because of you."

Rain felt warmth at Isa's words, but she knew better than to dwell on that. "I'm all grown up, Isa. I can fight my own battles."

The cook, and the closest thing Rain had to a mother figure now, nodded, a slight smile on her face. "I've no doubt you can. But until the fools who surround you understand that you shouldn't have to face every new day as if someone was out to hurt you, until your father remembers he didn't cease being a father the day he stopped being a husband, you're stuck with me."

It was stuff like that which made Isa indispensable. She was the only soul in the world who understood her when Rain thought she was all alone. Rain managed a slight curve of her lips, as she pushed the sleeves of her navy blue cardigan up to her elbows. "And I'll forever be thankful that I have you in my life," she said simply.

The brightness of Isa's clear blue eyes looked suspiciously like tears, but the woman knew better than to get emotional. She straightened her stout shoulders to her full 4-foot-9 frame and set out to make a fresh batch of her famous biscuits.

Together, the women worked hard for the next thirty minutes, Rain effectively forgetting that her father had asked for her to return home without much explanation.

But, of course, Randolf Sullivan wasn't a man known for spontaneity, and much less known for his outward shows of affection. Which left only one reason for the man's request. If there was one thing no one forgot about the Sullivan Patriarch, it was that the man always had a plan. Nothing was ever left to chance, and when something disrupted those carefully laid plans, there was usually a price to pay.

Rain shivered, already loathing the fact that she was going to be the one facing her father's cold wrath. He never beat her, not at all. To do so would require some contact between the two of them, and her father had long since made it clear he would never touch the girl who had taken the love of his life from him. She was too soiled. Too dirty.

The great Randolf's wrath was much worse. His words were cruel, yet perfectly acceptable since he was the one who clothed and fed her. His face was a mask of indifference, his beady brown eyes devoid of any warmth, any life. If ever there had been a man capable of making someone feel unwanted and impure, it was the man she knew now as her father.

Sometimes she wondered why he spent so much of his money and influence on silencing the truth of what she survived. If he couldn't be bothered to even care about her, it had to be a waste of effort right?

Rain heard his voice before he rounded the corner into the kitchen. As per usual, he was being the shrewd businessman, discussing the terms of yet another property deal. It was only Tuesday morning, not that it made any difference to him.

She knew from the silk material of his gray suit jacket that whatever matter had forced him to seek her company this morning, it wasn't pressing enough to keep him home to enjoy breakfast. He was overdressed for omelettes and orange juice. That was nothing out of the ordinary though.

The slight curving of her lips was automatic, as was the ritual of setting out a plate for him when she knew he wouldn't be staying. But she was a creature of habit, so it couldn't be helped.