“We know, Vernon. The Bugle office,” Darcy said, standing up. She extricated herself from the crowd and waved him into the room. “Come in, Tom, and sit for a while. Mother, perhaps you could get him some iced tea? And maybe see Vernon out? He has to get back to the Bugle office. Freda, if you’ll just hand me Montana, perhaps you ladies might want to get those flowers out of your cars before they wilt—the flowers, that is. Not your cars.”
It apparently didn’t hurt to be specific with this group. Having gotten their marching orders, everyone acted on Darcy’s instructions. As Tom watched from the safety of the entryway, they crossed each other’s paths and went their directed ways. Darcy got her baby back and, in the next instant, the room cleared. Doing his part, Tom opened the door and stepped aside, allowing the various ladies to pass by him, nodding at each one as they did. Some skinny older man in a shiny suit left with them. Margie Alcott headed for the kitchen.
And finally…they were alone. Tom stared at Darcy, who stood in front of an Indian-print recliner with her baby in her arms. She looked great. And tired, the poor kid. But great. Great enough to make his heart beat faster. Great enough to have him driving an hour from Phoenix, just on the off-chance that she might want to see him one more time. And now…here she was, staring at him, waiting. At a loss as to how to get the conversational ball rolling, Tom finally decided on the obvious. “I’m impressed. You really know how to clear a room.”
She grinned at him. “Being a teacher makes you bossy.”
“I expect it does.” He nodded toward the bundle in her arms. “Mind if I take a look at her? Or has she been pawed over enough for one day already?”
“Oh, she probably has. But I think she’d like to see you. Come sit on the sofa with us. I haven’t gotten to look her over yet myself, if you can believe that.”
“I saw the crowd. I can believe that.”
Darcy turned to the dark-blue leather sofa to her left and sat down at one end, carefully placing her child on the middle cushion. As she did, Tom stepped into the living room and crossed it, thinking how friendly it was between them today, as if she’d never told him to go away and not come back. But she seemed pleased to see him, and he was glad for that. Really glad.
Because he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. After all, this was the first time he’d seen her when she wasn’t in a crisis—or in the hospital. He’d never noticed her slender, shapely legs. Or how tanned her arms were. Or how her black curly hair glimmered with red highlights as the sunlight streamed in through the big picture window behind her. How much prettier she was than the open vista he could see out there, the cactus-dotted desert, the blue sky, and the distant shadows of the dark mountains. But most of all, he noticed that her warmth and graciousness made his pulse go into overdrive. Made him feel silly and young and ready to whoop out loud.
Keeping his love-choked emotions on a tight rein, Tom carefully sat down at the sofa’s other end and put his Stetson on the coffee table in front of him. He shifted slightly, turning to put an arm along the sofa’s spine, as he watched Darcy unfold the baby from her receiving blankets. Then…there she was, Montana Skye Alcott, an alert, cuddly baby girl, dressed in white booties and a long thin gown with ducks on it. She waved and kicked and made faces and grinned and blinked and yawned. Tom felt his chest swell with pride. This baby was his—whether or not he could ever call himself her father.
“She’s pretty cute, huh?”
Tom looked up and met Darcy’s gaze as she leaned over the baby, bringing her curl-framed face very close to his. His grin faded and his gaze settled on Darcy’s lips. All he’d have to do to kiss her would be to inch forward a bit…But Tom swallowed that notion and just nodded. “Yeah, she sure is. You make awfully pretty babies, Miss Alcott.”
Darcy sat back, looking embarrassed. “Thank you. You want to hold her?”
Tom’s heart fluttered. “I’d love to, if you think it’s all right. I’ve held babies before. Lots of times. For Sam—”
Darcy chuckled. “It’s okay Tom. I don’t need a resume. I have no doubt that you’re much better at this than I am.” She picked her daughter up and placed the child in his arms.
Tom thought he would die from feeling the exquisite fragility of the tiny girl he held. She fit right in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t breathe. He was afraid to. He might hurt her. And he couldn’t believe how he was acting. He’d held lots of babies. But this was different. The baby in his arms bore his name. It was that simple. She was his. And so was her mother. Full of wonder, he looked over at Darcy…and saw the hesitant look on her face. His heart thumped. “What’s wrong? Am I doing this wrong?”
Shaking her head, she put a reassuring hand on his arm. “No.” But her voice sounded tight. “You just somehow look…right holding her. That’s all.”
“You sure? I can put her down. I—”
Darcy squeezed his arm. He wanted so badly to reach over and kiss her and tell her how much he loved her, to tell her she didn’t ever have to be scared or alone again. “No, Tom. You’re fine. Really. I mean it.”
He exhaled. “Okay. If you’re sure.” Then he concentrated for a moment on Montana Skye, noticing her thick dark hair. Like her mother’s. Her dark eyes. Like her mother’s. The baby flailed the air with her teeny little fists. Tom smiled, caught Darcy again staring at him. “She’s going to give this old world a bunch of hell, you know it?”
“I fear it,” Darcy told him. “And that would make her just like me, poor kid. Tilting at windmills.”
“I’ll bet that doesn’t pay much.”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask Cervantes.”
And there it was. That quick, educated mind of hers. Everything about her was a turn-on, a surprise. Tom beamed at her.
But Darcy suddenly looked down at her lap and exhaled sharply. Tom sobered as he gently rubbed Montana’s arm…not much bigger, it seemed, than one of his fingers. “What is it, Darcy? What’s wrong?”
She looked over at him. “Everything. And none of it’s your fault. And that’s why…look, the other day, at the hospital…well, I just want to say I’m sorry about my behavior, Tom. I don’t know what came over me. But you certainly didn’t deserve it.”
Tom smiled at her. And she was nice, too. Really nice. He saw the glint of gathering tears in her eyes. His chest tightened. “Don’t worry about it. In fact, I probably owe you an apology, Darcy. Because you were right. I was sitting there in your hospital room wondering what the hell I’d just done. I mean, giving your baby my name. I never even thought about how it would be for you.”
Wiping at her eyes, she cocked her head at a questioning angle. “What do you mean…for me?”
“I mean you being an Alcott and her being an Elliott. She will have all those questions you brought up. I realize that now.”
“No, she won’t.”
Tom frowned. “She won’t?” Acute disappointment ate at him. “Oh, I see. You changed her birth certificate, right?”
“No. I didn’t. I didn’t call the nurse. I just…well, I decided to have her go by Alcott. Your name’s still on her birth certificate. But I thought it would be easier for her—at least, at first—if her last name was the same as mine.”
Some of Tom’s disappointment eroded, but not all of it. “I see. Makes sense.”
“You don’t like that, do you? You thought I’d call her Montana Elliott.”
He’d hoped she would. But he just shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter if I do or don’t like it. She’s not my baby. She’s yours. You’ll do what’s right for her, I expect, Darcy.”
She exhaled raggedly. “I wish I could be as sure of that as you sound.”
Tom shifted the wriggling baby in his arms and frowned. “What do you mean? You’re a smart woman. Educated. You got yourself this far. You must have a good head on your shoulders.”
“Well, except for where love is concerned.”
He couldn’t argue with that. But he tried. “Maybe. But that doesn’t have anythi
ng to do with loving your daughter. You’ll be a fine mother to Montana, and I admire that in you.”
Darcy smiled, looking grateful. She started to say something else, but the front door opened and in blew the three other older ladies, their arms full of flowers…including the roses that he had brought Darcy. And then, from the other way, came Margie Alcott with that promised glass of iced tea.
Tom gently, carefully handed the baby back to Darcy and stood up, reaching for his hat. “I expect I ought to go. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. And it looks like you have—”
“Oh, pooh.” Margie Alcott waved at him to sit back down. “Here. You didn’t even have your tea yet.” She put it in his hand. “Now, sit right back down and have your visit with Darcy.”
Tom looked Darcy’s way, wanting her approval. “It’s just easier to go along with her,” she assured him. Tom grinned and sat down, only then realizing that Margie was still talking to him.
“When I get my bridge club gone—well, I suppose they’ll want to be introduced to you first. Anyway, once they’re gone I want you and Darcy to go into her bedroom and—”
“Mother!”
Tom didn’t know where to look. Certainly not at Darcy, who was laying the baby in her receiving blankets on the sofa cushion. So he settled for taking a huge swig of the tea. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Or how much he genuinely liked iced tea. Enough to scrutinize it carefully for several moments.
“Oh, Darcy. I don’t mean like that. For heaven’s sake. I was talking about that baby crib in there.”
“What about it?”
To Tom’s ear, Darcy sounded downright suspicious. He chanced a peek at her. Sure enough, her eyebrows were lowered.
“Well, I never could get it all put together right.”
“But you told me you had.”
“I know. But there were too many parts, and I couldn’t figure out where all of them went. And I didn’t want you to worry. But now I’m half afraid to lay that precious baby in it for fear it’ll collapse around her.”
Darcy sank back against the leather sofa’s thick pillows. “Oh, dear God, Mother. Don’t say things like that.”
“Well, it’s the truth. So I thought I’d get Tom here—” She turned to him. “By the way, it’s nice to meet you.” All he got to do was nod before she continued. “So I thought I’d get Tom, as long as he’s here, to take a look at it for us and make sure it’s safe for Montana. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
Tom saw his chance and jumped in. “I think it is. I’d be glad to troubleshoot for you.”
Darcy rolled her head. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve put up a crib or two in my time before.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. Remember I said Sam had five babies?”
“You know a Sam who had five babies?” That was from Margie Alcott.
Tom turned to her. “Yes, ma’am. Sam’s my older sister. Samantha. She taught me a thing or two about babies and their contraptions along the way.”
Margie Alcott’s eyes lit up. “She did?”
“Mother. Stop it right there.”
Tom looked at Darcy. “What’s wrong?”
She looked tired, but she was grinning—and shaking her head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say another word, Tom.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you do, you’ll find yourself Eligible Bachelor Number Two.”
6
DARCY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on her twin bed with her mother next to her, who cuddled a sleeping Montana in her arms. They silently, companionably watched Tom trying to wrestle into submission an ornately carved, stubbornly constructed baby crib.
From her viewpoint, though, Darcy figured—even if she didn’t know him—she’d be happy to buy a ticket, climb the bleachers along with a throng of women, find her seat, eat her popcorn, and just watch him…oh, say…reconstruct a building, for example. Or put together a puzzle. Or paint a brick wall. Or rewrite, by hand, the entire phone book. Mud wrestle. It didn’t matter…as long as he was naked, of course.
It was true. The man was perfectly constructed, a work of art himself. Clothes couldn’t hide that, any more than she could hide, from herself, that she wanted him. Wanted him bad. Well, who wouldn’t? It’s not fair. Just look at him. The man’s physique screamed Take Me Now!
Darcy sighed. Great. She’d just objectified Tom. Made him a sex object, a great body with no thoughts or personality. Well, shame on her—especially since she knew all her own arguments. She didn’t want a man in her life…yada, yada, yada. Well, not wanting a committed relationship doesn’t mean I’m dead. Nor did it mean that her libido had been stitched up along with everything else. She could still appreciate his fluid movements, his muscled legs, that broad back—another sigh escaped her. She’d better stop right now with all this wanting him, before the rest of her body caught up with her thoughts and gave her hell.
“What’s all that sighing about, Darcy? Your bottom hurting?”
Darcy froze, wide-eyed. Her nails dug into her knees. His back to her, Tom made a choking sound. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if it took an act of conscious will, Darcy turned her head until she faced her mother. “No. My…bottom’s not hurting, thank you.” It was, but she wasn’t admitting it.
“Well, that’s good. Because it will when the numbness wears off—”
“Can we talk about something else, Mother?” Darcy counted it a victory that she got her words out without shrieking.
Margie patted Montana’s back and stared at Darcy. “Now, don’t get upset, honey. It’ll get your hormones bubbling and then you’ll be crying.”
“Now, Mother—let’s talk about something else now.”
“All right.” Her mother looked Tom’s way. “Just look at all that trouble he’s having, Darcy Jean. I told you it was a nasty piece of furniture. Myself, I got a blood blister on my thumb, trying to deal with it.” She held it up for inspection.
Warmed, despite herself, by her mother’s past attempts with the crib, as well as by every bit of support, emotional and financial, she’d unstintingly given in the past several, trying months, Darcy hugged her mother and then eyed her own infant daughter. She rubbed a finger lovingly over the child’s soft forehead. “I appreciate your war injuries, Mom. And I’m sure Tom appreciates your encouragement now.”
“I do,” he said. “And I’m doing fine over here.” Pieces of crib and tiny bits of necessary hardware littered the carpet around him. “Be done in a jiffy.”
No, he wouldn’t. That much was obvious to Darcy. Because, using one hand to hold up two ladderlike side-slats that threatened to collapse onto one another at any second, he picked up a screwdriver from the tool box Margie had presented and…lost his grip on his handiwork. The slats slowly, gracefully banged together and then backwards against the wall.
Darcy jumped at the sound and felt her mother do the same. She glanced at her baby. Surprisingly, Montana slept on. Darcy exchanged a what-do-you-know look with her mother. Then she heard Tom mutter something under his breath—something, no doubt, that was probably best left unheard. Darcy took pity on the man. “You don’t have to do this, Tom. I’m sure you hadn’t planned to sign up for crib construction when Mom had you tracked down and told you to come out here today.”
Tom turned to her. So did her mother. They spoke as one. “What do you mean—”
“Darcy Jean, I never—”
“She didn’t—”
“I went to the hospital—”
“He went to the hospital—”
“—and they gave me directions—”
“—and they gave him directions out here—”
“I hope you don’t mind—”
“They’re not supposed to do that—”
“Never mind.” As amused as she was overwhelmed with their denials, Darcy held up a hand. “Okay, I’m sorry.” She turned to her mother. “You really didn’t coerce him into coming out here?”
&n
bsp; “She didn’t.”
Darcy’s heart took a thrilling leap as she turned to Tom. “She didn’t?”
His blue eyes regarded her sincerely. “No. Like I said, I came out here because I wanted to. I went to the hospital, where I was told you’d just left. Then the nurse at the desk gave me directions here. She said she wasn’t supposed to do that, but me being who I am and seeing how I’d helped deliver Montana…well, you know the rest.”
“Yes. I read about it in the newspaper,” Darcy said drolly. “Didn’t I, Mother?”
The older woman’s eyes widened…guiltily. But she recovered beautifully. “Do y’all smell something that’s soured?” She bent over the sleeping infant in her arms and sniffed at her. “Phew. I think this child has christened her diaper.” She stood up. “I’ll just take her in the living room and change her there where all that stuff—” She began her retreat from the room. “—they gave you at the hospital is and then I’ll—” She exited the room and took a sharp turn to her left, heading up the hallway. “—do something else, I don’t know what. It’ll come to me.”
Darcy waited a moment, giving her mother a chance to leave, and then turned to Tom. “Is she a piece of work, or what?”
“Museum quality,” he assured her, adding a wink to his words.
“She means well. Underneath that busybody exterior is a heart of gold. Even if she does go a bit far sometimes.” Warmed by his wink, and itching to stroke his face, his jaw, his neck…Darcy felt self-conscious now that she was alone with him in her bedroom, knowing he’d sought her out on his own. That knowledge had done nothing to settle her reawakening libido.
Hunkered down on a knee, with a screwdriver in his hand, looking like an open invitation, Tom smiled back at her. “She goes a bit far? You’re talking about me being Bachelor Number Two, right?”
Drive-By Daddy & Calamity Jo Page 7