The Daddy issue

by Melissa Beck

  He outran her, making straight for the man who'd climbed from the SUV.

  "Oof!” the poor guy grunted as the hundred-pound beast pinned him to his vehicle.

  "Sorry,” Gretchen warbled, hurrying to haul her dog off the man. If she blew the duplex rental because of this, Mr. Scott would not be happy.

  She gripped Scooby's collar as tightly as she could, but he lurched forward anyway for a slurpy lick across the guy's tightened mouth.

  He groaned and craned his neck to escape the dog's reach.

  "Amy!” Gretchen yelled toward the house. “Call the dog."

  "Here, Scooby!” Amy's voice sounded tinny coming around the edge of the storm door. “Come get a treat."

  The dog pricked his ears. Dropping to all fours, he did a one-eighty and galloped toward food.

  Gretchen watched him as long as she could, afraid to turn and see the displeasure in the stranger's expression. But when she did look up at him again, she saw only her reflection in his sunglasses.

  "Again, I'm sorry about the Welcome Wagon,” she managed, hands on her hips and still breathing hard from the exertion. “I promise we usually keep our dog in his run or inside."

  Brushing off his jacket, he didn't respond.

  Oh, man. She'd probably blown the rental already. Watching his long, broad fingers work away the dog's dust marks, she lifted her gaze to the straight set of his shoulders, and upward again to his firm mouth. No. It wasn't—

  He reached up and removed his shades.

  Her eyes widened. Daniel?

  "It's okay, Gretchen.” The low tone of his voice vibrated up her spine. “I'm sure the dog wasn't expecting me, either."

  Her mouth fell open. “Wh-what are you doing here?"

  "We need to talk."

  "I, uh, I'm waiting on someone to come look at the house.” The house. Panic gripped her. Amy was in there, only yards away. She could make a run for the door and lock the two of them inside—but could she trust her shaky knees not to sink her to the ground before she got there?

  Across the street, Elmer Martin started his tractor. Her heart's pounding nearly drowned out its rumbling rhythm.

  "Maybe you could make time for me since I'm here.” Daniel's rich baritone somehow rose above the tractor's racket. His gaze penetrated hers, before drifting downward.

  She dipped her chin to see what he was looking at. Her T-shirt had inched up, exposing bare skin above her hip-hugging yoga sweats. With trembling fingers, she yanked her shirttail down. When she looked up again, his concentration had shifted to a point beyond her.

  She started to turn, but something about the way his gaze widened and his lips parted gave her pause. When his chest lifted and stilled, her heart leapt into her throat.

  "Amy?” she called in a strained voice, eyes riveted to Daniel's.

  A sticky hand slipped into hers, sending doom coursing through her. She slid her gaze away from Daniel, to catch Amy standing there, looking up at her.

  "Mommy, is he a daddy?"

  The innocent question rang in Gretchen's ears as she pivoted back to Daniel.

  He stood frozen in place, his gaze glued on his daughter. Only his Adam's apple lifted and fell when he swallowed.

  Amy dropped Gretchen's hand and hopped into the space between them. Hands on hips at the waist of her pink corduroy skirt, she tilted her head way back to see six-foot-something Daniel. “Are you a daddy?"

  He gaped at her a moment longer, before emitting a guttural, “No."

  Her face fell. But in the next instant, she looked at Gretchen, shrugged and announced, “I'm gonna go swing."

  "Okay,” Gretchen scratched out.

  Daniel's head swiveled as he watched Amy's retreat. Only after she'd climbed onto a swing and kicked herself into motion did he turn back to Gretchen. Fiddling with his sunglasses, he grated, “I wasn't prepared for that."

  He wasn't!

  His gaze roamed over her features now, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

  Was he searching for a resemblance to Amy? Because now that he'd had a look at his daughter, he suspected the secret she'd been hiding all these years? She folded her arms across her belly, over the nausea churning there.

  "We were going to talk.” His voice seemed deeper, more definite now.

  Forget it. Go away. On the other hand, he couldn't have come because of Amy. He didn't know anything, and ordering him off the property would seem strange and emotional.

  She didn't have to tell him anything.

  She turned and started trudging toward the house. Let him follow, or even better, stay put.

  He chose to follow.

  With each crunch of his heavier tread behind her, uneasiness rattled her bones. She had to concentrate on her steps because her feet seemed to have gained five pounds. One thought drove her on: See what he's here for, and then he'll leave.

  As he walked behind Gretchen, Daniel glanced back at the small girl playing on the swings. Could she be his? He sucked in air, and then exhaled, attempting to clear the bunched-up feeling in his gut. Nope. No help at all. Whatever had tugged at him the instant he laid eyes on this child wasn't about to release him.

  He lost his footing for a second, stepped on a rock, and it jolted him into paying closer attention.

  Gretchen climbed the front steps.

  He bolted ahead of her, to open the storm door and hold it for her.

  When she brushed past, he glimpsed her taut body, medium-sized breasts and slim hips that he'd noticed earlier in her low-rise pants and clingy top. Hard to believe she'd ever been pregnant.

  When she crossed the threshold, he came in behind her and they stopped in a narrow foyer with a worn slate floor.

  He glanced around, easily taking in three rooms at once because someone had done some creative knocking out of walls. The diminutive galley kitchen to his left sported a small eating area with a table that he could reach out and touch from the foyer. The longer, wider room on his right—a living room with sofa and chairs—contained the square footage for formal dining on one end but instead provided storage space for a molded plastic playhouse and three piles of toys.

  The entire place would fit into the kitchen of his new loft apartment.

  Waving at the living room area, Gretchen indicated two chairs and a sofa corralled around a glass-and-chrome cocktail table salvaged from another decade. “Have a seat.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “Coffee?"

  "Black,” he accepted as its aromatic scent registered around his nerves.

  He moved onto worn carpeting with vacuum tracks at its outer edges. After tossing aside pillows lined up along its back cushions, he sank down on the sofa. Sitting felt good, considering he'd about been knocked off his feet at the sight of the little girl.

  Tightness banded his chest. Swallowing around a dry throat, he kicked his feet out and then pulled them back. He tried to expand his lungs again, but the alien pressure remained, as if someone had tossed a heavy metal net over him.

  Behind him, Gretchen banged cabinet doors, familiar sounds that seemed to come from another dimension.

  He rubbed his neck. Why hadn't he asked his brother what one should expect, being a father, before he hopped on the plane and came here? How had Sam figured out how to be a good father to his three boys? But he was jumping ahead of things, as usual. She hadn't confirmed his suspicions yet.

  Too keyed up to sit, he leaned forward, preparing to spring up and pace or something, just as Gretchen stepped from the kitchen into the living room.

  He sat back again.

  She bent to set the drinks on the table in front of him, and spilled coffee onto the carpet.

  "Drat!” She frowned at the brown spot, before hurrying off, he assumed to find a towel.

  Returning, she got down on one knee and began scrubbing away at the spill. Straight honey-brown hair slid over her shoulders. As she pushed it back behind her ears, he noticed how her black lashes fringed navy blue eyes. Eyes that belonged on a dark brunette. They se
emed enticingly out of place on her, with her lighter hair and fair skin.

  How could he have forgotten those eyes?

  Because you were seeing her through a fresh-out-of-divorce-court haze, that's why.

  She stowed the towel before coming to sit Indian-style in one of the matching armchairs. Picking up her steaming coffee, she sipped it. The mug teetered in her hand as she set it down on the table they shared. When she'd straightened again, she melded those pleasantly startling eyes to his. “Um, how'd you find me?"

  The hesitancy in her tone was so unmatched with the directness of her gaze that it caught him off-guard. He frowned slightly, but then brushed it off. Of course she'd be anxious, if she'd really been keeping a kid secret from him.

  "I ran into the college friend you'd been staying with when we met. She remembered me and kindly brought me up to date on you. Then she showed me a photo.” A photo that looked very much like the ones of his mother that he'd saved in an old album. “From there it was easy to count back four years or so."

  "I told Charlotte not to see you.” There was no levity in the statement, and in her eyes he saw a storm brewing.

  He answered by not answering, and watched her mouth tighten.

  "Hey, it doesn't matter how I got here. The point is I'm here. We both know why."

  He shifted in his seat. His knee jiggled up and down of its own volition. He stilled it, and stared hard at her. “Is she mine?"

  Her lips parted, but she didn't say anything.

  Emotion rose in his throat. “Well?"

  She swallowed. She sat there, her breasts moving up and down as if she breathed thin air. Finally she closed her eyes and bobbed her chin.

  So he'd been right. That was his child out there in the yard.

  She was a blood tie. Related to Sam and to their parents.

  He forced himself to grab air and fill his lungs, before slowly heaving it back out. “How?” The question that had threatened to burn a hole in his gut these few weeks since he'd bumped into Charlotte now grated out in a voice he barely recognized. “You told me you were safe."

  "I thought I was, but it didn't work.” She sat back a little then, her deep-water gaze suddenly colder. “It wasn't on purpose, if that's what you're asking."

  He growled, and looked away. When he turned back to her, he said, “So I'm straight on this, we had sex and you got pregnant and decided not to tell me."

  "Why would I?"

  "Why wouldn't you?"

  Her hand shook as she reached for her coffee. She picked it up, and quickly clamped both hands around the mug. Staring into its contents, she shook her head slightly. “It didn't make sense to rope us both into a relationship when the last thing we wanted was something permanent."

  She looked up again, and Daniel noticed a fresh line of concern on her brow, and a shine to her eyes. Her breath shuddered as she inhaled. “My fiancé stood me up at the altar. You'd gotten divorced and were looking for fun. We went out for a whole two weeks, and then you quickly moved on. What kind of family starts out that way?"

  "You opted to make all the decisions on your own, then?"

  "Well, you weren't the pregnant one. You were free. Why saddle you with a child from our time together?"

  "You didn't have to. All you had to do was tell me I had one."

  "But you hated the thought. I remember you went off about it."

  He shook his head, and clenched his jaw. This whole thing revolved around one stupid comment he'd possibly blurted between beers? “I don't remember. But if I did, it's because I was pissed as hell at the time.” He ran his palm down his weary face. “Let's just say I didn't realize until after I got served papers that my wife wanted my money and my sperm but not me."

  She frowned. “What do you mean?"

  I mean, the “promise to love” part of her wedding vows was a joke. “When Anne's biological clock started ticking, it started the meter running on our marriage."

  She pursed her lips. “Because you didn't want kids."

  Geez, she'd drive it out of him, anyway. “Because I discovered, during the course of our trying for a baby, that she didn't really want me.” Humiliation burned inside him. “She blamed it on my being too involved with work. I'm sure that didn't help. But now I'm also sure our marriage was over from the start."

  "Why didn't you tell me that?” she said, more quietly.

  "I just told you more than I've ever told anyone."

  She nodded, with a softer expression on her face. “I still say my forcing you to be a father would have been manipulative, too."

  "And running away without allowing me a choice in the matter wasn't?” He regarded her with suspicion still, certain that she hadn't told him the real reason she left.

  She shot up out of her seat. “Look, if we're finished here, I need to get going with my day."

  He rose, too, and stood there a moment, drained of energy, before trudging after her on legs that now felt as if he'd run a marathon.

  When she reached the front entry, she opened the storm door and called, “A—my!"

  Daniel came up behind her in the doorway. He watched her look right and left for the little girl, leaning outside, her features softening when she'd located the object of her attention. The joy in her expression made something catch inside him.

  Amy came skipping to the porch, and clambered through the doorway.

  "Where's your jacket?” Gretchen scolded gently.

  "On the slide."

  Her mother sighed, but didn't look too perturbed. “Go wash your hands, then."

  "O-kay!” Amy cut her eyes at Daniel before flitting through the kitchen to enter a hallway that he figured led to the bedrooms.

  He didn't have to keep his gaze on her. He could have followed her trail by the little tune she hummed. And yet, he found himself staring at her bouncing curls until she turned the corner.

  When he looked at Gretchen again, her gaze had sharpened.

  "Well,” she said. “Goodbye."

  The finality in her tone was like being thrown against a concrete wall. It drew him up straight, made him realize he hadn't planned anything past coming here and getting at the truth. But something now made him reluctant to step back out into the day. Curiosity? Guilt? He raked his hand through his hair. Hell, how should he know?

  Tilting her head, Gretchen fired off the same put-you-in-your-place look he'd seen high-ranked women executives employ, and just as effectively. No doubt about it, she wanted him gone.

  He glanced toward the hallway, where he'd last seen the little girl. She was his. He still couldn't believe it, and shook his head.

  "Do you need anything?” He made eye contact with Gretchen again. “Money, or—"

  "No.” Her mouth tightened.

  He nodded, torn inside. Ripped, somehow, over this situation, so that he couldn't focus, couldn't solve it, the way he prided himself on solving things. He stepped through the doorway, and then he turned and blurted, “I want to see her again before I leave town."

  "That's not a good idea.” She darted a glance toward the hallway. “It'd be best if you never came back."

  "I'm coming back."

  Her gaze narrowed. “What is it you really want?"

  "Gretchen, that's my daughter.” The words sounded foreign to his ears, but he went on. “I want to make sure she's happy."

  Pink spotted her cheeks. Her eyes flashed. “Of course she is. Why would you think otherwise?"

  "People thought I was, when I was a kid."

  The challenge in her gaze wavered, before she lifted her chin. “This isn't about you. It's about Amy. She deserves better parents than either of us, but she has me and I'm doing my best.” She pressed her hands together in front of her. “You saw her. Now please, go back to Chicago."

  He stared at her, feeling the rug being yanked out from under him.

  Amy came back into the room, and they both turned at once and looked at her.

  Moving to stand at her mother's side, she angled her
alert gaze at Daniel. “Don't you want to live here?"

  "Uh...” He backed up a step.

  "It's a duplex,” Gretchen explained, irritation barely banked in her tone. “The lady who rented the other side for a long time had to leave recently. We thought you were a renter when we heard your car pull up."

  Right. The “For Rent” sign. “I'm just visiting today,” he told Amy. “Your mom and I are, friends."

  She blinked, but kept looking at him.

  "Well.” He jiggled the keys he'd retrieved from his pants pocket. “I'll be on my way."

  He started past Gretchen.

  "Are you coming back?"

  He froze, and pivoted back around to the little girl. In a softer tone, he said, “Would it be okay if I did?"

  "Yep. ‘Cause Scooby likes you."

  "Scooby?"

  She rolled her eyes. “Our dog, silly!"

  "Oh.” Disappointment lanced through him. It wasn't that she wanted to see him again. “I don't know about that. I like being alive, and I think Scooby thought I was his dinner."

  "No he didn't. He liked you."

  "Really?” He arched a brow. “I don't know about those things, since I've never had a dog."

  Her eyes rounded. “Never?"

  "Is that hard to believe?"

  She bobbed her chin.

  "Why?"

  "I had to wait until I was three to get Scooby. But you're already old."

  "Amy!"

  "It's okay.” Daniel flashed Gretchen a brief smile. “I remember when I thought thirty-four was old, too."

  Amy turned and galloped into the living room, where she fell on the carpet in front of a TV tucked up on a shelf.

  Kiddie music burst onto the airwaves.

  "Ahem."

  Daniel dragged his gaze from the child to her mother. She looked ready to send him to that big dog of hers on a platter.

  He'd shocked her, no doubt. Shocked himself, too. He had no set road map for this meeting, for this day. The first map on parenting he'd been given had burned up in a fiery crash along with his mom and dad. The second had been torn and scarred by his foster parents until it was undecipherable.

  Gretchen held the doorknob, and opened the door wider.

  He moved toward her.