Daddy, Unexpectedly

by Lee McKenzie

  “Not bad.” Better than she’d expected.

  “I thought you might like some coffee. It’s decaf.” Kristi winked. “Just in case.”

  “Thanks, but you didn’t have to. I should go.”

  “I know. I assumed you’d want to avoid the Callahan-McTavish household’s Saturday-morning madness, and I thought you might like to have something while you get ready but it looks like you already are.”

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not! You have a busy day ahead, what with buying a new house and all. A good thing, given everything that’s happened.” Kristi set the coffee cup on a hall table and hugged her. “Have you listened to Luke’s message yet?”

  “No.” She’d been tempted to last night after she’d crawled into bed, but was afraid to trust her reaction to hearing his voice. She had avoided it again this morning for the same reason. “I’ll wait until I’m home.”

  “I completely understand. Will you call me after you’ve sealed the deal on the house?”

  “I will.” In spite of her momentary panic last night, she knew it was the right thing to do. The house was exactly what she’d dreamed of, practically perfect, really, and the few things that weren’t quite right could easily be made so, especially with Sam and Kristi’s help.

  “And you’ll call after you listen to Luke’s message?”

  That actually made Claire laugh. “You really want a report on that?”

  “Sweetie, I’m thrilled about the house, you know that, but I’m dying to hear what Luke has to say. And you need to give him a chance to explain, especially under these circumstances.” She gave Claire’s belly a playful pat.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll call. Just don’t hold your breath.”

  “Come on, I’ll walk you out to your car.”

  You really do have the best friends in the world, Claire told herself as she backed out of Kristi’s driveway. She was leaving a lot of things behind, mostly unpleasant ones, and heading into a future filled with equal parts excitement and uncertainty. Knowing her friends wouldn’t let her go it alone made all the difference.

  * * *

  LUKE WOKE THAT MORNING with a clear head, a heavy conscience and a dog who was ready for a run.

  “First things first.” He pulled on the jeans and T-shirt he’d stripped off and tossed on the floor a few hours ago, brushed his teeth and went into the kitchen.

  He pulled open the fridge, snagged the milk carton and opened the spout. He checked the expiration date before he took a swig and poured the contents down the sink. Good thing he took his coffee black, he thought as he filled a pot with water, turned on the stove and snagged a jar of instant out of the cupboard. Just a week, and he’d already become accustomed to all the fancy gadgets in Claire’s kitchen.

  Mostly, though, he missed her. Missed waking up to the warm body next to his, the mind-blowing morning sex, the cozying up for coffee afterward. He’d screwed up, and other than apologizing he didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he couldn’t. Or maybe he shouldn’t even try.

  He spooned coffee crystals into a mug while he waited for the water to boil. He’d been close to having a drink last night. Somehow he’d found enough inner strength to talk himself out of it, but next time he might not be so lucky. And there would always be a next time. What if he couldn’t stop himself?

  One day at a time, they said. At least he’d figured it out last night. But then he’d hit the highway and lost himself in the adrenaline rush of high speed on the open road. That had been stupid, and completely irresponsible.

  Claire didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve her. He needed to apologize to her, even try to explain why he’d let his team believe he had “sweet-talked” her into letting him stay with her, and why, for the sake of the investigation but also for her own safety, he hadn’t been able to tell her what and who they had under surveillance.

  Be willing to make amends. Huh. Back to step eight already. More like back to step eight again.

  He found his phone in his jacket pocket, checked it for messages. A voice mail from Wong saying there was a meeting at one o’clock. Another from his sponsor, offering to meet for coffee that morning. And a text from Cam, apologizing for the screwup. Nothing from Claire. No surprise there.

  How was he supposed to handle this? He had more experience with effing things up than fixing them. He had already left her a message. Now he needed a Plan B because if he kept calling, he’d be as bad as Donald. She didn’t need any more of that kind of crap in her life.

  Send her flowers? Right, because this was just like a birthday.

  He still had the key to her condo—he’d needed to lock the dead bolt on the way out. Would she let him give it back in person? That might be his best, and only, shot. Now to figure out the timing. Best to give her twenty-four hours to respond to the message he’d left yesterday. Then, if he didn’t hear from her, he would send her a text message about the key, and he’d make a point of letting her know he had no intention of using it.

  Rex jabbed Luke’s leg with his snout. “I know, buddy. We both need to let off some steam.”

  He’d change into sweats, pound the pavement for half an hour. Then he’d grab coffee and get a pep talk from Norman, go to his meeting. After that, if he still hadn’t heard from Claire, he’d move on to Plan B.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two weeks after sealing the deal on her new home, Claire stood in the middle of her kitchen and surveyed the stacks of cardboard boxes, all neatly taped shut and labelled with their contents. The movers would be here in the morning and tonight would be her last night in the penthouse condo that had never quite felt like home.

  Chloe sat hunched on a stool, eyeing the piles with disdain.

  “You’re going to love our new home.” Claire stroked the soft fur on the top of her head. “I know you don’t believe that now, but you’ll see. The dining room has a big window with a window seat that looks out onto the back garden, and you can sit there and watch the birds.”

  She had always wanted a window seat, and it was just one of the many things about the house that made it so right for her. By some miracle—and she didn’t even believe in miracles but she couldn’t think of a better way to describe it—Brenda Billings, her Realtor, had found a buyer for the condo, despite its hefty price tag and the fact that a mere two weeks ago the police had raided a brothel in the next building. She still had difficulty wrapping her head around that one. The owners weren’t taking possession for two months, but Donald had agreed to the sale in spite of his now obvious financial woes.

  The divorce papers had been signed, and although the Beatrix Potter book had stayed in Claire’s possession, Donald still called or sent a text message about it every day, sometimes both and often more than once. She deleted them as they came in and did her best to ignore them, and would have found it laughable that a grown man was fixated on a children’s book if he wasn’t so darned annoying.

  * * *

  AFTER SHE’D FINALIZED the purchase on the house, she had listened to Luke’s first phone message. He had apologized, offered an explanation about wanting to protect her, which was why he hadn’t told her about doing surveillance and hadn’t told his colleagues about their relationship. A truckload of manure as far as she was concerned. She had already known he was working undercover, and what possible difference could their relationship make to a handful of other police officers? The truth was obvious. He hadn’t mentioned the surveillance to her in case she said no, and he hadn’t mentioned the relationship to his colleagues because there was no relationship. He’d only let her believe it was about the two of them. And about making sure Donald left her alone, so make that two truckloads.

  The day after Luke left that message, he had texted her with an offer to come by or meet her someplace to return the key. She had sidestepped that by telling him to drop it off at the Ready Set Sold office. He had done as she’d asked and she had made a point of not being there, although she’d been given a
n earful by their office manager. Marlie had called her the instant he’d left, gushing about what a “gorgeous hunk of manhood” he was and admonishing Claire for letting him get away.

  But Claire hadn’t let him go, she’d sent him packing, and it had been the right thing to do. Somewhat to her surprise, he hadn’t given up. Every day he’d sent a text message, always in the evening after she’d finished doing some packing and was getting settled for the night. At first they were short and to the point.

  Left the key with your secretary.

  The next day he’d written, I get that you don’t want to see me. If you change your mind, can I buy you a latte?

  After she ignored those, the messages became less serious.

  Rex would like to know if Chloe misses him.

  Rex wants to know if there are any dog biscuits left.

  Since he hasn’t heard from Chloe, Rex wonders if he’s in the doghouse, too.

  His pattern had become predictable, and she found herself looking forward to the message. It was schoolgirl silly, but it was true.

  Sam and Kristi insisted the messages meant he was genuinely sorry for what he’d done, that he wanted a second chance, and that Claire should give him one. But she couldn’t let herself do that. Not yet.

  She still needed to take a pregnancy test, but she had decided to wait until she was in her new home. If she was having Luke’s baby, and in her heart she hoped she was, then she wanted that news to be connected to her new home, not the condo. She had too many negative associations with this place. The house represented a fresh start, a new chapter in her life. If that included the baby she had dreamed about for so long, she was ready for it. And fully prepared to raise a child on her own, since she knew Luke didn’t want to be part of a fresh start with her.

  And that’s why she couldn’t reply to his messages. Not until she knew for sure, one way or the other. It had been three weeks since the first night they’d slept together, she still hadn’t had a period, and she’d felt queasy when she got up that morning. Those things could be due to stress, or they could mean she was having a baby.

  The pregnancy test she’d bought that morning had been tucked away in her handbag, and tomorrow the waiting would be over. After that she would have to answer one of the two big questions.

  If she wasn’t pregnant, should she respond to Luke’s messages? Consider letting him back into her life? The part of her that had recklessly become that woman a couple of weeks ago screamed yes! But her sensible side reminded her there was no future with a man who couldn’t commit to a family.

  If she was expecting, then she needed to figure out how to tell Luke, and when. Claire was inclined to wait, but Sam was emphatic that he needed to know right away. She had made a similar mistake, not telling her husband, AJ, about their son, Will, and they had lost three precious years of being together as a family.

  There was no danger of Luke wanting a family, he had already made it perfectly clear he didn’t, but of course he had a right to know. And Claire always did the right thing. She just needed to work on the timing.

  “La Cucaracha” blaring on her phone dragged her back to the present. This time it was a text message.

  Doesn’t make sense to have so much money tied up in an old book. Willing to split the $$ when we sell it. Call me.

  “Oh. My. God.” She deleted the message, wishing she hadn’t read it at all. “We’re not discussing this, ever, and we are not divvying up any money because I am not selling the book.” What part of this did he not understand?

  The book was still locked in the safe at the office, and she had already decided to keep it there until Donald got his share from the sale of the condo. He and Deirdre were obviously having financial problems, but Claire hoped he would forget about the book once he received his share from the sale of the condo.

  She ran a hand over her belly. “Maybe I’ll have someone to read it to.” Maybe.

  A month ago she would never have believed she could be hoping and praying to be pregnant. Now the prospect of raising a child on her own held none of the worry it would have then, and she knew why. She couldn’t have the man she loved, but if she could have his baby, she would love their child with all her heart.

  If there was a baby.

  She scooped Chloe into her arms and held her close in spite of the animal’s loud and vigorous protest. “Please let there be a baby,” she whispered. “Please.”

  * * *

  LUKE SLOWED THE TRUCK to a crawl and scanned both sides of the street as he drove past Claire’s condominium complex. No sign of the Lexus. Either Donald had backed off, or he was being more discreet now that he knew Luke was onto him.

  Every day since Claire had told him to get out, Luke had driven by, sometimes more than once. He hated that he did it, but he wasn’t looking for Claire. Or so he kept telling himself. He was keeping an eye on Donald.

  He had also sent her a text message every day, and although she had only responded to the first one, with instructions for returning her key, he was sure she read them. He wanted to do more, but aside from making sure Donald wasn’t hanging around, there wasn’t much else he could do.

  He already knew what he’d say in tonight’s text message, though.

  Should he send her a housewarming gift, too? Or would that be too much?

  Probably too much. He wouldn’t know what to give her, anyway.

  Another children’s book? She had so many already, he wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Still not a bad idea, though. He’d file that one away for future reference.

  This would be the last time he needed to come here. The day he’d dropped off her key, he had found out from the woman who worked in her office that she had purchased the house she’d been so excited about and would be moving at the end of the month. The woman, who had introduced herself as Marlie, probably would have spilled more information if he had asked. But she also would have told her boss, he had no doubt of that. She had referred to Claire as one of her angels—she called the three women Marlie’s angels—which suggested they had a close bond and a good working relationship. He wouldn’t expect anything less of Claire.

  The only thing he couldn’t figure out was how she’d ended up with a jerk like Donald Robinson. She was beautiful, smart and sexy as hell, and she was a good person. Hardworking, honest—not exactly the first things to come to mind with a real estate agent, but no doubt it was those qualities that made her so successful at it.

  It killed him to think she’d been date-raped back in college, but he hated the idea of her being with Donald almost as much. That sick son of a bitch’s hands on that knockout body was pure torture, the long drawn-out kind that started as a slow burn deep in his gut. The hotter it got, the further it spread, until it cut off his breath. Like it was doing right now.

  Claire believed that selling the condo and moving into a place of her own would put an end to any further communication from Donald. Luke doubted it would, but for her sake he hoped she was right.

  Luke cruised past her building and sure enough, there was a moving van parked in front, back doors open, and a man was pushing a dolly loaded with boxes up the ramp.

  Did Donald know she was moving today? Most likely, but the better question was did he know where she was moving? When she’d shown Luke the real estate listing, he had made a mental note of the address and had already scoped out the neighborhood. Unlike the busy streets downtown, if Donald hung around Claire’s new place in that fancy car of his, he’d stick out like a snowman in July. Did the guy have enough smarts to realize that? Hard to say, but in case he didn’t, Luke intended to keep an eye on him.

  * * *

  THE MOVE WENT OFF WITHOUT a hitch. For the past two weeks, Claire had spent practically every waking moment organizing and packing. It had paid off today, and it had also helped her keep her mind off Luke. Having the support of the two best friends in the world was also a help. Make that a godsend.

  “Have I told you how much I love this house?
” Kristi was unpacking table linens into the bottom drawer of the vintage sideboard Claire had found online.

  Claire unwrapped the silverware chest Nonna DeAngelo had given her and set it on top of the sideboard. “Once or twice.”

  “Or ten,” Sam added.

  Kristi made a face at her.

  Sam responded with one of her own. “Hey, I love it, too. I just don’t wear my heart on my sleeve.”

  They made Claire laugh, and she loved them for it. They had been waiting here when the moving van pulled up, had already helped her unpack and organize the kitchen. They intended to stay until Claire took the pregnancy test, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Sam finished replacing the switch plate cover, stuck her screwdriver in her back pocket and tested the dimmer switch she’d just installed.

  “It works,” Claire said.

  “Of course it works.”

  “That’s such a pretty chandelier,” Kristi said, closing the drawer. “And that’s the last box we had to unpack in here.”

  “Good. It’s time we took a break.” Claire went into the kitchen and returned with three chilled bottles of water and a vegetable tray and dip she’d picked up at the deli. “Let’s sit,” she said, setting them on the dining room table.

  Sam unscrewed the top of her bottle and took a long drink as she settled onto one of the chairs. “Ah. I needed that.”

  “Me, too.” Kristi joined her. “Mmm, nice and cold. Sit,” she said to Claire, patting the chair next to her.

  She could use a break but she was antsy and on edge, partly energized by the exciting newness of all this, but mostly anxious about the pregnancy test. She was all but convinced she was pregnant, and she would be disappointed—no, devastated—if she wasn’t.

  She took the chair next to Kristi, though, and sipped some water.

  “This might be a good time to show you the plans I’ve been working on for your attic.” Sam dipped a celery stick and crunched. “You might not want to do the work right away, but it’s something to consider.”