by Melissa Beck
He widened his stride. Time to get back to Gretchen and Amy.
Reaching his SUV, he hopped inside and drove with his windows down. The wind whipped at his hair, and the sun warmed his face. The air smelled like leaves or crops or whatever. Not smog. Huh. Nice.
He thought about Williams again. He seemed to know Gretchen pretty well. Had they dated? He'd said he was a friend, but maybe he'd been a very good friend. He couldn't see them together. Wally seemed too laid back. And yet, Daniel could see he might be endearing to women in a puppy-dog-to-take-home-and-nurture sort of way. Gretchen had returned here for some reason. Maybe it was Williams.
Frowning over that as he pulled into Gretchen's drive, he suddenly realized he'd given no thought to what he was going to say to her. And he prided himself on being a strategist. He didn't trust people who winged it in confrontations and seemed to go on intuition. And yet, here he was, without a plan because he couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. Parenthood? The idea popped in to tease him, to make him grit his teeth, only to vanish as soon as he tried to concentrate on solutions.
What the hell was he going to do?
Walking to the house, he looked around for Amy and saw the jacket she'd discarded on the slide. He went and picked it up. It hardly weighed anything. Wadding it into a loose ball, he carried it with him to the front door.
He knocked.
No answer.
Probably couldn't hear over the TV or something. Or maybe Gretchen would refuse to see him again.
He pounded with his fist a few times.
She yanked the door open. Her wet hair hung straight, making circle puddles on her pink T-shirt just above her breasts. A little more drip and—he jerked his gaze up, to catch the wrinkled brow and wary look in her eyes.
"I wasn't expecting you back so fast.” Placing one bare foot atop the other, she jutted a hip closer to him. “I'm not ready."
"I have to get back to Chicago. I really can't give you any more time."
She sighed, glanced at the jacket in his hand, and opened the door wide. “Come in, then."
He moved inside. After setting Amy's jacket on the kitchen table, he turned and checked out the living room. “Where is Amy?"
She picked up the jacket, shook it out and slipped it over the posts of a straight chair. “She's taking a nap. She woke up too early this morning."
Disappointment flashed through him. He raised his brows. “Can I see her?"
She looked doubtful. Finally, with a sigh, she said, “Follow me."
He shadowed her down the narrow back hallway to a darkened room.
Stopping in the doorway, she touched an index finger to her lips.
He caught the hint, nodded, and moved to her side. Amy lay in a frilly canopy bed, curled around a huge stuffed bear. Her lips were parted slightly, but she didn't make a sound.
Daniel's throat clamped shut. His heart thudded in his chest as he resisted the urge to step closer. She looked like the most innocent thing he'd ever seen, like an angel resting there.
Gretchen turned, and motioned him away from the door.
He gazed at Amy again, and swallowed around the lump in his throat, knowing it might be the last look he got of her today. Finally, turning, he followed Gretchen back toward the kitchen.
As she moved into the living room, he noticed the feminine sway of her body.
He sat on the sofa in the spot he'd occupied earlier.
She took the chair, straightening her back and placing her feet on the floor this time instead of tucked up beside her. She appeared ready to stand up fast, as if she might suddenly end their visit. “I thought we'd said all we needed to earlier. But if there's anything else before you go—?"
He had an idea of what he wanted to say to her now. A plan had developed as he stood in the doorway of Amy's small bedroom and watched her sleep. No, maybe it'd started when he listened to Ray's message earlier. Amy was his. His flesh and blood. He couldn't abandon her. He couldn't live with himself, knowing she might want her father the way he'd wanted his own parents.
He looked around the room, from the flowered curtains in the window to the cuckoo clock ticking rhythmically on the wall of the toy-filled dining area. He breathed in the scent of warm toast, something he'd failed to notice earlier. “You've given our daughter a nice home,” he said. “Obviously you care a lot for her."
"I don't just care about her, I love her. She's all I have."
He nodded, the wheels turning in his mind now. “I live a comfortable life. I have my apartment, a staff, and money for the best private schools."
Her gaze narrowed. “Are you saying I'm not giving Amy what you think she deserves?"
"No.” He wasn't sure how to go about this. His body thrummed with adrenaline, as if he'd just come in from a steep-incline run. “I'm just saying I have a good life, too, and there's room in it for my daughter."
Her mouth tightened. “Did you come here to tell me you want to take her?"
"No, I only wanted to find out if she was my daughter.” He leaned forward, pressing his forearms hard against his thighs to keep from jiggling a heel up and down. “But now that I've seen her—” He bowed his head. When he looked up again, he said simply, “I don't have relatives. Just my brother and his boys."
So? her slight frown seemed to imply.
"I'm saying I have room in my life for this child."
"Huh!” Turning from his gaze, she shook her head. “You don't know what you're talking about. You don't even know her.” She swung her attention back to him. “You say you can give her school, a penthouse and money. Servants, too?"
"Staff, yes.” He raised his brows, and quickly added, “I can give her anything she wants."
"Four-year-olds have unique concepts of what they want. Right now she wants a purple tutu and a fairy wand."
He nodded soberly. “My administrative assistant could track those down."
"She also wants a pink motorized car."
"Then she'll have it."
"No she won't."
"If she wants it—"
"There's a difference between ‘want’ and ‘need.’ Amy wants it, but she doesn't need it. It's expensive and she's only four. If you give her a toy worth hundreds now, what will you give her when she's six?” Her eyes had widened slightly as she spoke, and her words had taken on more emphasis. “And even more important, what about broken bones? I don't know how fast those things go, but they have some speed. She could get hurt."
He frowned.
"Where would she ride it in Chicago? Up Michigan Avenue?"
"Okay.” He held a hand up. “For now, no motorized car."
"And no living in Chicago."
"Why not?"
She heaved a sigh. “I have another solution."
"What's that?"
"Go home. Forget we ever knew each other."
Another door closing on him. In self-defense, he fired back, “I want to know my daughter. I want her to know me."
"She isn't something to own, Daniel. We're not fighting over a possession here."
"I'm just saying I can take care of her, same as you can."
"I don't doubt that your money can buy her things.” She speared his gaze with those powerful navy eyes. “But can you give her love?"
His temples throbbed. His ex-wife claimed he was closed and coldhearted. Selfish. Maybe he'd forgotten how to care. “I can try,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “Not good enough."
Finally, in frustration he blurted, “Why are you the one who should raise her?"
Her eyes darkened. “I told you. She's my life."
He sat there, thinking things over, until an idea formed. A ploy that wasn't in his best interest. But it could keep the door open, keep this link that he needed more time to come to terms with. He sent her a guarded smile. “I've been meaning to take a vacation. This might just be the time and place for it."
She thrust herself out of her chair. “You are not staying here."
>
He held her gaze as he stood up, dropping eye contact only long enough to pull his cell phone from his pants pocket and punch a number from his directory. While Gretchen shot him daggers, he said, “Valerie? I'm staying in Ohio a few days. Mind going over to my place and packing my things?” He chuckled. “Yes, you can leave my tux out. Forward all Toyco-related emails and calls for now. Oh, and send seven grand from my personal account to Ray Irwin ASAP. You have the address.” Then he hung up.
"What, exactly, are you trying to prove?” Gretchen demanded, hands on her hips.
"That you can trust me with my daughter. That I really do want to be in her life in whatever way you'll allow."
She chuckled and waved him off. “I've got a big picture of you, Daniel Nicholson, hanging around Marydale."
"I won't be hanging around town per se,” he said, striding to the front door. “I'll need to be right here, so I can spend as much time as possible getting to know Amy."
"You're not staying here,” she blurted, quickly catching up to him.
"Oh, I'm not planning on staying here.” He stepped out onto the front porch and glanced back at her as she braked at his heels. He pointed to his right, toward the “For Rent” end of the house. “I'm staying there."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Four
Daniel forced his eyes open and squinted at his watch dial. Five-thirty, his usual wakeup time. Good. He'd get up in a minute. His lids drifted down again. He could afford a few more winks, a little more shuteye before—
Snapping his eyes open, he quickly surveyed the darkened room, the thrusts of his heartbeat thumping him back into the land of the awake. He wasn't in a hotel room on a business trip. He was in Gretchen's house. He'd found her.
Found his daughter.
He hadn't seen either of them since demanding to stay here, a fact Gretchen was none too happy about as she threw spare towels at him and threatened to have the landlord charge him double.
This bare-bones side of the duplex evoked memories of Gretchen's space, brimming with rugs and chairs, pink walls and crayon drawings, photos on the fridge, dishes on the table and kid toys on the floor beside dog toys. Here, you got the big fillers, the furniture, and that was it. Back home, he would have fallen asleep to the TV last night, and be catching up on world news right now. But no TV. Oh, well. He'd slept like a baby in the quiet room.
Even now, he could hear himself breathe, which made him aware of that same odd weight that had compressed the air in his lungs yesterday, like a cement mixer dumping its load smack on top of him. Why wouldn't it go away? Was this what being a father meant, this sense that something hidden deep inside had been laid open and exposed? He didn't even know the child. If just knowing for certain that he was a father meant he had to deal with feeling this way, then maybe he'd made a mistake with this mission.
He climbed from bed and stared at his naked reflection in the full-length mirror. He looked the same as always, even if he felt different.
Desire to know his child had brought him here. Seeing the little girl, something had made him want her, want to be her father.
What if she wanted him, too, and Mommy Gretchen wasn't saying so? What if she missed having a father? He could be a father. He could achieve it somehow, some way. He'd prove to Gretchen that he was willing to take this step. Screw the mixed feelings. Chalk them up as nerves and move forward.
He headed for a shower and a shave.
After checking his email, he went out the front door, strode to Gretchen's and knocked.
The door opened just wide enough for him to glimpse Amy's pink cheeks and bright eyes.
Scuffling noises sounded behind her.
"No!” she yelled over her shoulder.
Suddenly the door flew open and a pair of hyper-tuned dog eyes and gigantic, drooling jowls popped into view.
Uh oh. The damned dog.
Daniel backed up so fast he tripped over his own feet.
Scooby bounded at him, happily taking advantage of his wavering stance to plop plate-sized paws atop his chest.
The dog's weight bent him backwards toward a glass patio table. “Back off!” he bellowed, dodging wet swipes from a tongue the size of a cow's.
He wrestled the amorous beast off of him, and when Scooby danced back for more attention, grabbed the big goober by his belt-sized collar and held on.
"Move out of the way, Amy,” he commanded. After turning the dog around, and with an encouraging shove, he managed to get him safely back inside the house. Stepping in behind Scooby, he shut the door.
"What on earth is going on?"
Daniel looked up to find Gretchen standing in the hallway, glaring at him. Noting the terrycloth robe she gripped closed at her neck, he frowned in surprise. “Are you just getting up?"
She nodded toward the window. “It's still dark out. What time is it?"
"Six-thirty."
She scowled. “Go away."
"To where? You're the only person I know around here."
Her frown deepened. Seeing it, he bit back a rush of humor. Angry or no, she looked pretty cute standing there in that frumpy robe, her hair all tumbled, like yesterday. Her pretty eyes bleary. Sleepy-sexy.
A hand slipped into his.
He jerked his attention downward and found Amy standing there, face upturned, brown-eyed gaze hopeful.
"I got new cereal,” she said, eyes twinkling in the same way as if she'd announced instead, “They crowned me Queen of The World."
His throat tightened. Her fingers fluttered against his, warm and light, reminding him of a baby bird he'd once held.
"Want some? It's got a rainbow in it."
"A rainbow, eh?” Her Winnie the Pooh nightgown, riotous honey-toned curls and small bare feet made him feel awkward, out of sync with her, and at the same time, strangely comfortable. “I, uh, don't eat breakfast."
"That's silly!"
"You called me silly yesterday.” He tried but failed to keep a note of humor from his tone. “Is that your favorite word, or what?"
She shook her curly head. “You're just silly."
"How can I avoid being silly, then?"
"Eat cereal!"
He glanced at Gretchen and caught her yawning.
"You could go back to bed,” he suggested. “Amy and I can hang out and get to know each other."
"No, I'm fine,” she insisted, straightening. “Let me change and I'll be right back."
He watched her hustle down the hall. Why the hurry? Did his presence bother her so much that she didn't want him spending any time around Amy without her?
When he looked back at Amy, she was in the act of pouring cereal into her bowl. Half of it landed on the kitchen table. Observing the pile of flakes and seeing her slight frown of concern, he said quickly, “This part can be mine."
"Okay!” she said, brightening again.
He grinned. Scooping up the spilled cereal, he put it in the other bowl she'd gotten out.
She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a jug of milk that she carried toward him, biting her tongue with the effort.
He gritted his teeth as he watched, but resisted the urge to rush over and relieve her of her burden. She was making such a valiant attempt at it on her own, and if she were anything like him, she'd prefer to be the one in charge. At any instant, though, she was bound to drop it and they'd catch hell when Gretchen returned to find them standing in a sea of white. He didn't want her to get into trouble. She was too happy-go-lucky. She wasn't sullen, the way he'd been. She didn't deserve the “heat."
When she scooted safely to within a few feet of him, he grabbed the jug, and with a sense of relief and pride in her ability, poured milk into their bowls.
They picked up their spoons and crunched away. Rainbow-colored cereal tasted pretty good. When was the last time he'd had cereal? Not in this decade.
While they ate, he struggled with something to say. What did adults say to kids, other than to scold them or tell them what
to do? He wracked his brain, trying to recall some inspiring adult/child moment from his past. But all that came to mind were the tongue-lashings, or the growling belly he suffered after being excused from the table for one crazy reason or another. Pouring salt in someone's drink. Pinching someone under the table. Spilling milk. Any other infraction of the house rules that a foster sibling had committed and then blamed on him when they got caught.
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came to him. Finally, looking around for a subject, he saw two four-inch-long paws sticking out from under the table, and blurted, “Do you ever step on Scooby?"
"Nope.” Amy didn't even look up. She was busy pushing cereal back onto her spoon before she stuck it in her mouth.
Silence.
Maybe she wasn't much of a conversationalist yet. He set his spoon down and just watched her happily chomping away.
"B-I-N-G-O, B-I-N-G-O.” She looked at him, and giggled. “That's the doggie song."
"I don't know that one."
She rolled her eyes. “You know it. Everybody knows it."
"Sorry.” Who knew this song was a need-to-know thing? If his mother had sung it before her death, he couldn't remember.
Amy set her pudgy hands on her hips and sang more slowly so he, the obviously inadequate adult, could finally learn this important lesson.
He smiled and relaxed back in his chair. Inadequate or no, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.
Gretchen breezed back into the kitchen, carrying a stack of folded towels that she put away in drawers.
Daniel followed her moves with his gaze. He couldn't help himself. She looked damned good. Nice breasts, the clingy sweater had him thinking. He dragged his attention away and it settled lower, on the jeans outlining her hips and showcasing the slender length of her legs. His body responded appreciatively. She was a beautiful woman, with soft curves, wide eyes and honey-brown waves of hair falling below her shoulders.
She came over to stand beside him, and as she lifted the cereal box to close it, he caught a whiff of her perfume. Vanilla? Some sort of flower? Whatever it was, it wasn't overwhelming like some women's.