Discovered: Daddy

by Marilyn Pappano

  He remembered coming to her house, remembered talking there to just about everyone he’d ever known. He remembered a room with an iron bed whose rails were cold to the touch, a room with little tables and a little glass lamp. He even — God help him — remembered coming down these stairs in the dark sometime before dawn. But he still didn’t remember her. Damn it, just how drunk had he been?

  Looking down, he studied the box, cut open with a paring knife discarded on the runner beneath it. A few pieces of the crib were gone, probably already carried upstairs where she planned to assemble it. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “It can wait. Isn’t your family expecting you for dinner?”

  “I saw Mike. He’ll make excuses for me. Mom and Pop won’t mind.”

  “And what about your wife? Won’t she mind? Or is she used to your excuses?”

  He gave her a quizzical look, opened his mouth to reply, then recalled one of the less enjoyable aspects of his undercover work on the Sanchez case: his so-called marriage. His relationship with Phoebe had been strictly business. As an FBI agent, she’d needed entrée into Sanchez’s inner circle. Since Emilio Sanchez had already known and trusted Nick, the bureau and the department together had come up with the idea of marriage. Unfortunately, the tale had made its way back home to New Hope and to his family, who had been shocked, surprised, excited, hurt and pleased, all at once. Nearly four months had passed before he was able to explain it all to them, emphasizing that he’d never been married and never intended to get married.

  Apparently that part of the gossip had failed to make its way to Faith.

  “I don’t have a wife,” he said quietly. “That was part of the cover I was using for the case I was working on.” He thought he saw relief pass through her eyes, but it was gone so quickly that he couldn’t be sure. “Is that why you never got in touch with me? Because you thought I was married?”

  Her cheeks red, she bent to pick up one of the honey-finished side rails and tried to bluff her way through. “Why would your marital status matter to me? I hardly know you, and you don’t know me at all, so why in the world would I want to get in touch with you?”

  “To tell me that you’re pregnant. To tell me that you’re going to have a baby. To tell me...” Hating the words, he swallowed hard and forced them out anyway. “To tell me that I’m going to be a father.”

  In the room Great-aunt Lydia had always called the parlor, Faith used a brass poker to jab at the logs burning on the grate, thankful for any means to alleviate even a little of the tension that made her body feel like a rubber band wound too tightly. Any minute now she just might fray and explode, everything inside her bursting free. All the anger. All the shame. All the hopes, the dreams, the need. The hurt, the sorrow and the fear.

  After months of praying for Nick’s return, she wished now that he would simply go away. It seemed that each time she saw him, things just got worse. First she fainted, then he told her that he didn’t remember her. Now he might as well have come right out and said that he found the idea of being a father totally repugnant. It had been in his face. It had been in his eyes. It had been in his voice when he’d said those dreaded words — I’m going to be a father.

  She had expected other reactions. That he might actually be happy about it. After all, he came from a large family, and his sisters were doing their best to make it a whole lot bigger. Was it so farfetched to think that the Russo sons might value family as much as the Russo daughters did? She had thought that he might not be thrilled, but at least not put off by the idea. She had thought that he might look forward to fatherhood even if he didn’t care at all for Amelia Rose’s mother. She had even thought that he might not care.

  But she hadn’t expected him to find the idea so objectionable.

  She had been prepared for him not to want her. She was nothing special, after all. Her own father hadn’t wanted her. Heavens, even her mother had had better things to do than raise her daughter, and Great-aunt Lydia had taken her in only out of a sense of duty. But for Nick not to want Amelia Rose, not to want a child who was a part of him...

  It didn’t matter, she insisted as she poked at the fire one last time. She had come this far alone and she could continue that way. She could love her baby more than enough for two people, could love her so much that she would never miss her father or any of the family that he could have provided.

  The floorboards in the center of the double door creaked under Nick’s weight as he came into the room. Faith had hoped, when she’d brushed past him a moment ago, that he would have the courtesy to leave, simply to walk out. She wouldn’t have blamed him and wouldn’t have minded. In fact, she probably would have been relieved. But he couldn’t make it that easy for her.

  “I deserve an answer one way or the other,” Nick demanded.

  She sat down in the rocker where she spent many of her evenings. It was a massive piece, more than a hundred years old, certifiably antique according to the owner of the shop where she’d bought it five months ago. She didn’t care about its age or how that affected its value. She had liked that it was big and solidly made, that the rockers were just the slightest bit warped from a hundred years of rocking, that the arms were worn smooth, that the slats curved against her back just so. She had sat down in it in that dusty store, had set it in motion and had sworn for an instant that she could actually feel her baby in her arms. She had bought it, not even blinking at the price, and had used it every day since. It brought her peace and made her feel secure.

  But not tonight. Not with Nick Russo in her house.

  “What answer do you want?” she asked, folding one foot beneath her, clasping her hands together, using her slippered toes to start the chair moving.

  He came closer. “I want you to tell me that I’m wrong. That it’s not my baby. That you and I didn’t —” He had the grace to look ashamed of his response. “But we did, didn’t we?”

  She drew a fortifying breath, then blithely answered with the untruths he wanted. “You’re wrong. She’s not your baby. You and I never even spoke the night of the party.”

  “Speaking is hardly a necessary part of the act,” he said dryly, then abruptly he locked in on her earlier words, on one in particular. “She? It’s a girl?”

  “I think so. I believe so.” She hadn’t been tested, but she had been convinced in her heart since the day the doctor had confirmed what her body — and the home pregnancy kit—had already told her. Of course she would have loved a son equally as much, but she had known that this first child was a daughter. A sweet little baby girl by the name of Amelia Rose.

  He moved still closer, circling around the sofa, taking a seat on the edge of the overstuffed cushions. “We did, didn’t we?” he asked again, looking as grim and unhappy as anyone Faith had ever seen.

  “I gave you your answer, so please leave.”

  “I want the truth.”

  “You have your truth,” she said stubbornly. “You don’t remember ever seeing me, ever meeting me, ever —” Breaking off, she shrugged. “That’s the only truth you need.”

  “Damn it, don’t play games!” he snapped, making her flinch. “Is this my baby?”

  Her fingers knotted tightly together, she took another deep breath and lied. “No. It’s my baby. This isn’t a game, Nick, it’s my life. It’s my daughter’s life. Any idiot can see that you don’t want a daughter, and every daughter in the world is better off with no father at all than with a father who doesn’t want her. Don’t worry about it. Amelia Rose and I have gotten along just fine without you, and we’ll continue to do so. We neither want nor need anything from you, so go back to Houston and forget all about us. You did it once before. You can do it again.”

  For a moment he stared at her, his eyes dark and angry. Then he leaned back against the cushions, tilted his head back and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, God,” he muttered, whispered, prayed. “I had been working some damned long hours. I hadn’t had much sleep that week, hadn’t eaten
anything that day. When I got here, someone gave me a cup of punch — plain fruit punch. I hadn’t taken more than a drink or two when Michelle’s nephews, the redheaded kids, brought me another cup. This one came from the back porch, they said.”

  Because of all the children at the party, the punch had been strictly nonalcoholic. Faith had made it herself. But she’d spent enough time in the kitchen — most of the evening, in fact — to see the steady stream of men cutting through on their way to the back porch. She hadn’t thought anything of it. That was the way things were done in New Hope.

  She hadn’t had a clue at the time what impact that back-porch stash was going to have on her life.

  “I don’t know who was supplying it, but the stuff would have stripped paint,” he went on. “I was trying to work my way around to the dining room, because I damned sure didn’t need to be drinking on an empty stomach, but I kept getting sidetracked. There were a lot of people to meet, a lot of people I hadn’t seen in a long time. Finally, I was feeling pretty lousy, so I went into the kitchen — it was the only quiet place I could find — and...” He shrugged. “Then it was morning.”

  The party had ended, and everyone else had gone home. Faith’s friends — Valerie and Wendy — who had shared hostess duties while she hid in the kitchen had offered to stay and help with the cleanup, but she had sent them home. It had been late, and she had been tired, and there was always Saturday for cleaning. Once they left, she had gone into the kitchen with an armful of dishes, and there he’d sat, arms on the table, head on his arms, eyes closed. Asleep, she’d thought. Knowing what she knew now, “passed out” seemed more likely.

  “What happened next?”

  Faith mimicked his shrug and stubbornly continued the lie that he so obviously wanted to believe but couldn’t quite buy. “Nothing. Everyone left and I locked up and went to bed. My friends came over around ten the next morning, and we cleaned up. If you spent the night here, I didn’t know it.” At her lie, Amelia Rose gave a kick, swift and unexpected, making Faith catch her breath. Never in her life had she felt as close to anyone as she had to her baby the past eight months, but she was seriously looking forward to the next phase of their relationship. No more heartburn, no more backaches, no more swollen hands and feet and, most especially, no more strong and well-placed kicks.

  He leveled his gaze on her. “I spent the night,” he said stiffly. “I remember coming down those stairs the next morning. I remember waking up naked.”

  She remembered waking up naked, too, and leaving the bed while he still slept. Even better, she remembered seeing him naked. As inexperienced as any grown woman could possibly be, she had been favorably impressed by her first up-close-and-personal encounter with a man. “Didn’t that set off some sort of alarm? Didn’t you wonder how you’d gone from fully clothed at the kitchen table to naked in a bed upstairs?”

  “I always sleep naked,” he said with a scowl. “I wake up that way every morning.”

  “In a strange bed? In a strange house?”

  The expression that crossed his face was eloquent in its regret. “I’ve experienced my share of mornings in a strange bed in a strange place.”

  Just what she needed to know, she thought bitterly. He didn’t remember her at all when he was sober, and even drunk he hadn’t thought she was anything special. She’d just been one more in a long line of anonymous women in unfamiliar beds. This man had a tremendous effect on her ego. Last February he had made her feel like the most important, most fascinating woman in the world. Now she felt insignificant. Ashamed. Dirty.

  He ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture that spoke of frustration. “Jeez, weren’t you using birth control pills or condoms? Don’t you believe in safe sex?”

  Trying to hide the stiffness spreading through her, Faith kept her voice soft and level as she turned the question back on him. “You think it’s entirely possible that you had sex with a complete stranger and that she’s now pregnant. Don’t you believe in safe sex?”

  Standing, he shoved his fingers deep into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out an old wallet, dug around inside for a few seconds then tossed two small, square packets on the table in front of him. “I never leave home without ’em,” he said sarcastically.

  “Then you don’t need to worry, do you? Obviously, this isn’t your baby.” Taking a deep breath, Faith got to her feet, and the chair rocked forward one last time, bumping the backs of her knees. “Go home. Spend some time with your family. Leave me alone.”

  She was on her way out of the room, fully intending to carry the rest of the crib upstairs to see if she could make any sense of the instructions that came with it, when he grudgingly spoke again. “When is she due?”

  She stopped without turning. “Next week.” She had no doubt that, in the silence that followed, he was mentally counting — and not liking the numbers he was coming up with.

  “If I’m not the father, who is?” The question was asked with a faint hopefulness, she suspected, that she would name another man, tempered by near certainty that any name she might give besides his own would be a lie.

  With a cool, mocking smile, she faced him one last time. “That, ” she said softly, “is the best-kept secret in town.” Then, with a broad, sweeping gesture, she motioned toward the front door. “Good night, Mr. Russo. Enjoy your visit. Have a good time at Michael’s wedding. And don’t feel that you need to speak to me again.”

  For a long moment he ignored her invitation to leave, then, with an audible sigh of frustration, he moved past her. He stepped over the crib rails to reach the door, then stopped and looked back.

  Faith kept her expression cool and mocking as she waited without moving, without even breathing. Whatever he’d been about to say, though, remained unsaid. His mouth settling into a thin line, he turned once more, opened the door and walked through it. The click when the door closed behind him seemed to echo through the entire house.

  Faith stood where she was, still smiling. “Cool” had now turned to downright icy, and rubbing her hands up and down her arms did nothing to ease the chill. With a forlorn sigh, she turned away from the closed door and the hallway scattered with crib pieces, and she went into the parlor, settling in the rocker, snuggling under one of Amelia Rose’s quilts. She didn’t have the energy tonight to lug the crib upstairs, much less put it together. Tonight she was tired and cold. Tonight she needed to simply sit here. Tonight, when she was feeling emptier and lonelier than she’d ever been before, she really needed to dream.

  But if she had any dreams left, she couldn’t think of them.

  Chapter 2

  Nick climbed the steps to the porch, moving at a reluctant pace toward the front door and, behind the carved wood, his parents and their questions. They would want to know what had come up, where he’d gone, why he’d taken so long, and they were certainly entitled to the answers. He just couldn’t give them.

  It was amazing how things could change. Six hours ago he couldn’t have asked for a better mood. He’d had a few badly needed days off. He was home to spend Thanksgiving with his family for the first time in years. In a couple more days he was going to stand up next to Michael and watch his kid brother get married. Then he was going back to his carefree and responsibility-free life in Houston.

  At least, that had been his plan. Until Faith Harper had shot it all to hell.

  Zipping his coat against the wind, he turned toward the north end of the porch and its wooden swing. He had helped his father hang it more than twenty years ago — and had helped him rehang it only a few months later, after all eight kids, along with half a dozen cousins and friends, had piled on, resulting in a hole in the ceiling where the anchor bolt had been. Antonio had scowled and fussed, but he hadn’t yelled, hadn’t punished them. He had hardly ever punished them, but it had rarely been necessary. All of them would have died rather than defy or disappoint their father.

  How disappointed was he going to be in Nick?

  Tremendously.


  Unless his eldest son did the right thing and married a complete stranger whom he couldn’t even remember meeting — who was, unfortunately, about to give birth to his child.

  His child. He was about to become a father.

  Sinking onto the swing, he examined the emotions roiling inside, searching for even the faintest hint of something paternal. He was a Russo, for God’s sake. They loved kids, every last one of them. Shouldn’t he feel even a little pleasure, a little happiness, a little pride that he was following tradition and continuing the line? Of course he should. But he didn’t. All he felt was despair. Dejection. Hopelessness.

  He had never wanted to get married in the first place, but he sure as hell didn’t want to enter into a marriage that was destined from the start to fail. It had to fail. Faith Harper was a stranger to him. He knew nothing about her...except that she had pretty blue eyes, was soft to the touch, and that she’d given him more pleasure in his dreams than most women had managed in reality. But it was easy to want a dream, to obsess over something that disappeared within seconds of awakening. The woman he’d met today was far more substantial — and far more dangerous — than any dream.

  Hell, he didn’t even know if the baby — if Amelia Rose—was his daughter. Faith could be playing him for a fool. It could simply be a bizarre coincidence that he’d gotten drunk and passed out at her house about the same time she got pregnant. She could even see him as a way out of what were obviously uncomfortable circumstances for her. Being single and pregnant in a town like New Hope couldn’t be particularly easy. What was it she had said when she’d commented that she had no husband? You live in the big city of Houston. You people down there aren’t as easily shocked as the small-town minds of New Hope.