Building the Perfect Daddy

by Brenda Harlen

  “But Monica spent the weekend mountain biking at Warrior Creek, where she took an unfortunate spill and broke her leg.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Lauryn said, her concern immediate and genuine. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Ryder nodded. “She’s going to be fine, but she’s also going to be in the hospital for a few days and laid up for several weeks after that.”

  “So who’s going to design my kitchen?” Lauryn asked, feeling slightly panicked.

  “You are,” he told her. Then he dropped an enormous binder on the table in front of her. “With a little assistance from what Monica refers to as her planning bible.”

  “I think I’m going to need a lot of assistance.”

  “Haven’t you been thinking about this kitchen renovation since you bought the house?”

  She nodded. “I must have redesigned this room a dozen times in my mind over the years, but I never made any final decisions. Probably because I wasn’t sure this renovation was ever going to happen.”

  “It’s going to happen now,” Ryder assured her.

  And, surrounded by the cameras and his crew, she was finally starting to believe it.

  * * *

  The morning taping kept Lauryn tied up longer than she’d expected, and it was after noon before she was able to make her escape. Then she had to meet Kylie’s bus, load both of the kids into the van and head over to her parents’ house so that Susan could watch them while Lauryn relieved Bree, one of only two part-time employees at The Locker Room.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about feeding Kylie and Zachary. She’d called her mother before she left home to let her know they were going to be hungry, and Susan had lunch ready when they arrived—including a sandwich for Lauryn to take with her. Thank goodness for my family, she thought to herself as she kissed Kylie and Zachary, then gave her mom a quick hug. She honestly didn’t know how she would’ve have made it through the past nine months without them.

  Mondays tended to be quiet at the store. Not that The Locker Room did a brisk business any day of the week, but on Mondays, in particular, the hours seemed to drag. With few customers to tend to, Lauryn spent her time tidying up displays and re-shelving misplaced merchandise. When the bell over the door rang, she turned toward the front of the store with a ready smile on her face.

  The smile froze when she recognized the man who walked through the door.

  “Ryder.”

  “Hello, Lauryn.”

  “Is there something I can help you find?” she asked, pretending he was just another customer.

  “Actually, I was looking for you,” he said. But he took a minute to glance around the store. “You’ve recently done some work in here.”

  “A few cosmetic touches to refresh the store’s image.”

  “I like the color.”

  “Jordyn has a good eye for that kind of thing.”

  “An important quality in an artist, I would think.”

  She seemed surprised that he’d remembered the detail that she’d dropped into a casual conversation several days earlier, but Ryder had always believed that good customer service started with paying attention to his clients and listening to what they wanted—which was why he was here.

  “We need to decide on a cabinet style and color as soon as possible. My supplier is expecting a big order for a new development in the north end, and we want to get yours in ahead of that or the original four-to six-week time frame could end up being ten to twelve.”

  “Then I guess I’d better decide on my cabinets.”

  “Based on what seemed to catch your eye when you were looking through Monica’s book, I’ve narrowed it down to three choices,” he told her, setting three photos on the counter.

  “This is a shaker style, obviously in white. This is a mission style in cherry, and this is an inset design in dark walnut,” he told her, pointing to each picture in turn. “Of course, there are numerous other colors available in each of the styles—including birch and maple, which are both very popular.”

  Her gaze shifted from one picture to the next and back again. “I like the crisp, clean look of this one,” she said, indicating the shaker style.

  “It’s a classic,” he assured her.

  “But I’m not sure about the white—more specifically, how it will hold up against sticky fingers.”

  “Peanut butter and jelly won’t magically disappear, but they will wipe off easily.”

  “On the other hand, this dark walnut has real impact.”

  He smiled. “You’re all over the map, aren’t you?”

  “I’ve been waiting a long time for this and I can’t imagine that I’ll ever want to redo the kitchen again, so I want to be sure that, whatever I choose, I’ll be just as happy with it five or ten years from now as I am today.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed. “So why don’t you hold on to the photos for now, but try to make a decision by Wednesday.”

  She nodded as she gathered up the photos and tucked them beneath the counter. “I’ll let you know when I’ve decided, but it won’t be before tomorrow. I’m working here until the store closes at eight tonight.”

  He scowled at that. “And then you’ve got to go home and pack up your kitchen?”

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be cleared out by the time your crew arrives in the morning,” she assured him.

  “I’m not as concerned about the cupboards as I am about you—that’s a long day.”

  “I’m used to long days,” she said.

  The next words were out of his mouth before he considered what he was offering—or wondered why. “I could bring over some boxes later and help with the packing up.”

  “Thanks, but I can manage.”

  “I’m sure you can,” he agreed. “But I don’t understand why would you refuse the offer of free labor?”

  “Because I learned the hard way that nothing in life is ever really free.”

  “Cynical, aren’t you?”

  “Realistic,” she countered.

  “You can call it what you want,” he told her, “but you’ll see me around nine.”

  She sighed. “Why are you doing this?”

  He wasn’t entirely sure of the answer to that question himself. Since she’d first opened the door to him on a rainy morning, he’d had more questions than answers. But for now, he only shrugged. “Maybe I feel guilty that I pushed you into agreeing to do the show without fully appreciating the impact it would have on your life.”

  “I am getting a new kitchen out of it,” she reminded him.

  He nodded. “And tonight, I’ll help you clear out the old one.”

  * * *

  Lauryn had found a few empty boxes in the storage room at The Locker Room, so she threw those into the back of the van when she finally left the store after closing up. Then she detoured to her parents’ house again to pick up Kylie and Zachary, who had been fed and bathed and were all ready for bed. Still, she had barely finished tucking them in when she heard a soft knock at the back door.

  Ryder had brought more boxes with him, and while she was still skeptical of the reasons behind his offer, she couldn’t deny that he did provide the labor he’d promised. He started on the top cabinets while she concentrated her efforts on the bottom. And he meticulously itemized the contents of each box on the outside, then carried them into the dining room where he stacked them against an empty wall.

  “What’s all of this stuff?”

  Lauryn looked up. “What stuff?”

  He handed her an old shoe box. She lifted the lid to peek inside. “Oh. I’d almost forgotten about these.”

  “What are they?”

  “Cookie cutters.”

  “That’s a lot of cookie cutters.”

  She sifted
through the metal shapes, her lips curving a little. “I used to bake a lot of cookies.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged and put the lid back on the box. “It was fun. My sisters and I used to bake and decorate cookies with our mom, and it was a tradition I’d always imagined sharing with my own kids. Of course, that was before I realized that simply taking care of the kids would take so much time.”

  “You don’t bake anymore?”

  “Rarely.” She dropped the shoe box inside the larger box he was filling. “And when I do, they’re not the kind that I decorate with icing and colored sugars. I should probably get rid of that stuff, but I keep thinking—or at least hoping—that I’ll get back to it someday.”

  “Then you will,” he said, opening another shoe box filled with icing bags, tips and various other utensils that he assumed were also for her cookie decorating. He packed it up and Lauryn returned to boxing up the everyday dishes.

  “Did your mom bake cookies for you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  The blunt, dismissive tone surprised her even more than the response. “Never?”

  “She was always far too busy to concern herself with any kind of domestic or maternal duties.”

  “Busy doing what?” she wondered.

  “Back then, I’m not sure—probably medical research of some kind. Now Dr. Cristina Tobin is a research supervisor at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.”

  “Then maybe it’s a good thing that she wasn’t baking cookies for you when she came home from the lab,” Lauryn said, making him smile.

  “I’m sure that was her primary concern,” he noted dryly.

  “So your sister followed your mother’s footsteps into medicine,” she said, intrigued by this unexpected insight into his family. “Did your father work in construction?”

  “No, he’s a doctor, too. A cardiac surgeon at Emory.”

  “Wow,” she said, clearly impressed. “But you had no interest in medicine?”

  “Less than zero,” he told her.

  “A rebellion against your parents?”

  He considered her question for a minute. “I don’t think so. As soon as I got my first LEGO set, I always liked to build things, then knock them down and build them up again even better. Becoming a contractor seemed a natural progression from that.”

  “I’d say there are a lot of home owners who are extremely happy that you chose home renovations over medicine.”

  “Would you be one of them?”

  “Maybe you should ask me that question after my new kitchen has been unveiled,” she suggested.

  “I will,” he told her.

  Although the baby monitor was up in Zachary’s room, Kylie’s scream came through loud and clear, followed by gulping sobs that twisted Lauryn’s heart.

  “Mama! Mama! Where are you, Mama?”

  Lauryn raced up the stairs, anxious not only to alleviate Kylie’s growing panic but to quiet her before she managed to wake up her brother, too.

  When she entered the room, she found her daughter sitting up in bed, her eyes wide and her cheeks streaked with tears.

  “I’m here,” Lauryn told her, lowering herself onto the edge of the mattress.

  Kylie threw herself at Lauryn, sobbing against her chest. “I had a bad dweam, Mama.”

  She stroked a hand over her daughter’s silky hair, gently untangling the twisted strands. “I know, honey. But the dream’s over now and Mama’s here.”

  “You stay wif me?”

  “For a minute,” she agreed.

  Kylie scooted over to make room and patted the empty space on her pillow.

  Lauryn hesitated, not wanting to be away from her kitchen assignment for too long but knowing her daughter would settle more easily if she stayed with her awhile. So she lay down beside her. “Close your eyes and go back to sleep, honey.”

  “You close your eyes,” Kylie said.

  So Lauryn did...for just a minute. Because comforting her children always comforted her, too. And maybe taking an extra minute away from the not just sexy but sweet Ryder Wallace would help her restore her equilibrium. Maybe.

  Chapter Nine

  Through the baby monitor on the counter, Ryder could hear the soft murmur of voices, though he couldn’t hear the actual words. Kylie’s outburst had given him quite a jolt, and before he even realized what was happening, Lauryn was racing up the stairs to her daughter.

  He was surprised by the urge to follow her, to see for himself that everything was okay with the little girl. But it really wasn’t any of his concern. Whatever monsters existed in Kylie’s nightmares, he had no doubt that Lauryn would handle them. After only a short acquaintance with her, Ryder didn’t doubt that she could handle anything.

  Though she might look all soft and fragile, he knew that there was a steely strength beneath her silky skin. She was as much a warrior as a nurturer, and he was in danger of becoming infatuated with both parts of her.

  He focused his attention on his task, pausing only to reply to a couple of text messages that came through on his cell phone. One from Arielle—a veterinarian assistant he’d dated for a few weeks in the summer—and two from Samantha—a high school gym teacher he’d gone out with exactly once. He replied to both that he was busy with work and unavailable for the foreseeable future, without a hint of regret that it was true.

  Even before Ryder to the Rescue had made him a pseudo-celebrity, he’d attracted a fair amount of attention from women, and he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed his popularity. His sister had occasionally accused him of enjoying it too much. But he was always honest about what he wanted and he always treated the women he dated with respect. Recently, though, he’d found himself starting to grow weary of the whole dating scene and wondering if he wasn’t ready for something more.

  He immediately shook his head, appalled that such a thought would even cross his mind. Of course, he wasn’t weary of the dating scene. Short-term relationships were the hallmark of his life; commitments and entanglements were to be avoided at all costs. Then his thoughts drifted to the mother who was upstairs now, soothing her frightened child, and he acknowledged that there might be circumstances in which the benefits exceeded the costs.

  Ryder pushed the tempting thought aside. He was nearly finished in the kitchen when Lauryn made her way back downstairs.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I just snuggled with Kylie for a few minutes, to make sure she was settled, and I guess I fell asleep, too.”

  “That’s okay,” he told her. “I managed to carry on without you.”

  She looked at the stacked and labeled boxes, then at the empty cupboards. “I feel like the shoemaker who wakes up to discover the elves have done all of his work.”

  “You still have to figure out where you want everything in the dining room,” he told her. “But that can wait until the morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is Kylie okay?” he asked, sincerely concerned about the terror he’d heard in the little girl’s voice.

  Lauryn nodded. “She’s sleeping soundly now.”

  “Does she often have bad dreams?”

  “Not so much recently—thank God,” she told him. “But for a while, she was waking up almost every night, and occasionally several times in one night.”

  “Any idea what triggers that?”

  “You mean other than her father suddenly disappearing from her life?”

  He winced. “I guess that would do it.”

  She nodded. “The pediatrician has assured me that it’s a fairly normal response to what she’s been through and that she’ll eventually outgrow them.”

  “Was she okay last Saturday night—at her sleepover?”

  “She was,” Lauryn confirmed. “Which is a big step. S
he used to love staying at my parents’ house, but sleepovers have been few and far between over the past nine months.”

  He could understand that Kylie would want to stick close to the one parent she had left, and he wondered again about the kind of man who could walk away from not only his wife but his beautiful daughter and unborn son. His own parents had hardly been role models, but they’d accepted the responsibilities of parenthood—or at least those they couldn’t abdicate to the nanny.

  “It’s hard to see the changes in her,” Lauryn admitted softly. “She was always an outgoing and affectionate child who never shied away from strangers.”

  “She certainly didn’t shy away from me,” he noted. “Even on day one, after you’d closed the door in my face, she invited me to have tea with her.”

  Lauryn smiled a little at the memory. “Well, you did give her flowers. A girl never forgets the first boy who gives her flowers.”

  He didn’t know if that was true, but he liked to think the little girl would remember him when he was gone. And as soon as the kitchen was done, he would be gone, so it would be crazy to even think about starting something with Lauryn. But he couldn’t deny that he was tempted.

  “Everything changed after Rob left,” she said, picking up the thread of their previous conversation. “She started to panic anytime I was out of her sight. I was in the hospital for two nights when Zachary was born, and she was almost inconsolable during that time.”

  “Who stayed with her then?”

  “She stayed with my parents.” Lauryn went to the fridge—relocated to the dining room—and retrieved a bottle of chardonnay, then looked around as if trying to remember what she’d done with the wineglasses. Since he’d packed them away, he found the box easily.

  “You’re not having one?” she asked, when he handed her a glass.

  “Are you offering to share?”

  “Sure.”

  So he retrieved a second glass and poured wine for himself while Lauryn sipped hers.