The Daddy issue

by Melissa Beck

  "Who spilled?” she said a little sternly, pointing at the milk and bits of cereal on the table.

  "I did,” he quickly replied, to cover for Amy.

  "Daniel didn't spill it,” Amy piped up. “I did it."

  Daniel tensed, awaiting the reprisal.

  Gretchen cupped her daughter's chin, and patted it. “Thanks for being honest.” She shot Daniel a condemning glance.

  Amy peeked sideways at him.

  Good. She hadn't had to suffer punishment due to a mere accident. He shrugged and winked.

  With an impish look in her eyes, Amy hopped out of her chair, came over and tickled his side, her little fingers barely pressing his shirt to his skin.

  An enchanted warmth surged through him. He chuckled, and fibbed, “That tickles.” He held his fingers out and wiggled them, as if to go after her next.

  Letting out an ear-piercing squeal, she took off toward the living room.

  "Thanks,” Gretchen muttered, taking up their empty cereal bowls. “That's just what I needed to hear so early in the morning."

  He watched her hair swing forward, and noticed the slim length of her fingers as she shifted crumbs off the table and into her palm. Her hands reminded him of when they'd met, when she'd been a jilted bride who'd returned her ring only days earlier. She'd told him about it in a defiant tone, as if she didn't care at all. But he had seen the pain in her eyes.

  "Want me to go out and get us some coffee?” he offered, genuinely sorry for disrupting her morning two days in a row.

  She eyed him. “I make it here.” Then she went back to the counter area to start the pot.

  He sat back, to await a cup. “I have a coffeemaker, but I've never used it. Never even taken it out of the box."

  She cast him a knowing look. “Welcome to the real world.” She came over to wipe the table. “And speaking of the real world, we don't usually get up around here for another hour."

  "Sorry. I was eager to see you and start our day."

  "My day starts with dropping Amy off at school. Then I'm going to the shop to supervise the unpacking of more Christmas stock.” After a pause, she said, “What are you going to do around here all day?"

  "I'll go with you to drop Amy off, if that's okay. Then I thought you and I could talk about the future. But if you're tied up, I guess I'll come back and work from here."

  She stared at him a moment, before coming over to him and leaning in. Her scent wafted to him and wreaked pleasant havoc with his sense of smell.

  Glancing toward the living room area, she murmured, “I let you stay last night because it was late and I was tired of fighting you. But now I want you to go back to Chicago.” Turning her midnight blue gaze on his, she said, “I don't understand what you're trying to prove."

  He moved an inch closer, saw her eyes widen as he invaded her space, and uttered a low, “It's simple. I don't want to be wiped out of Amy's life the way you wipe the crumbs off this table.” His gaze locked on hers. “You've kept me away too long already."

  He watched her swallow, before she tore her gaze away.

  "Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.” He leaned back. “On the other hand, I don't think I'm asking anything unreasonable."

  She glanced at him, her brow wrinkled, her eyes filled with—worry?

  Not good. Making her skittish wouldn't help convince her that he could do this job of being Amy's father.

  "How can you have any idea what you're asking? You're saying you want to try and do what I do with Amy?” She waved at the room. “Look around, Daniel. This is not you.” She pointed the sponge at his chest. “People like you eat brunch. You don't eat frosted cereal."

  "I just did.” He eyed the sponge. “And don't point that thing unless you're gonna shoot it."

  Her mouth tightened, and she set the sponge down. “You're trying to prove something now. But tomorrow you'll be bored, lonely and starved for the kind of fun that you won't find around here."

  He shook his head. “If you're saying I'm on my best behavior around Amy to impress her, you're wrong. I don't know how to act around kids in the first place, much less finesse them."

  "It's your business to sell things to people. Don't try to tell me you wouldn't know how to sell yourself.” Her eyes held no humor. Turning away, she said, “Amy, turn the TV off now. Time to get dressed."

  Daniel rose, reluctant to leave and yet pulled to the work that had followed him from Chicago. “I've got to check my email again. I'll be right back."

  "If you're not ready when it's time to leave, we'll go without you."

  "Oh, I'll be ready."

  Following him to the door, Gretchen drew up close to him and said under her breath, “I'm not giving you custody."

  He looked down at her flushed cheeks, full lips, thrust-back shoulders and pert breasts. He meant to brush her gaze with his, but such emotion flared in her eyes that he couldn't tear himself away. That look sucked him in, trapping him like a sailor swimming the ocean's surface one instant and in the next becoming lost in its depths. Energy surged between them, a sizzling hot push-pull that set pleasure throbbing through him.

  Then she looked away.

  The air chilled.

  Frowning, he dragged his gaze from her, turned and shoved out the door.

  Gretchen closed the door and rested her forehead against it. She turned and stared at the kitchen table, too numb to move. Daniel's mere presence intimidated her, with the way he carried himself, those blasted bore-through-you eyes and that quick mind of his producing irrefutable comebacks. All of it had her stomach tied in knots as if she were thirteen again, and “in crush” with her science teacher. On the other hand, there was a huge difference between puppy love and this situation. When Daniel moved in close, he reminded her with just a look and a change in his tone exactly what they'd had together. Without mentioning anything sexual, he zapped her back five years and into his arms.

  Numb? Oh, no. She wasn't numb to Daniel Nicholson in any way. He just had this ability to sweep her mind of reason and permeate her body with feeling, separating the two in a way that made her bite her lip with concern.

  "Why did I have to go and sleep with one of the most powerful, driven, spoiled men in Chicago?” she muttered under her breath. He could have just about anything and he'd come here for Amy. Well, he wouldn't get her.

  I won't even allow you in close enough that you might hurt her with your leaving.

  But he'd already held Amy's hand. Amy had warmed to him. She couldn't stop the sense of betrayal that flared over that.

  She had to figure a way to get him to leave, and the sooner the better for Amy and for her. But right now, she had to get her daughter to school on time.

  Heading down the bedroom hallway, she found Amy struggling to put on socks that didn't go with the outfit she'd laid out for her. As she helped her find another pair and get her sneakers on, she wondered what Daniel was planning. Was he going to follow them around all day?

  "Owww!"

  Glancing down, she realized she was trying to cram Amy's left foot into her right shoe. “Oh! Sorry, baby."

  "I'm not a—"

  "I know, I know.” She kissed her head. “You're not a baby. You're my big girl."

  Amy scooted around on her bottom to face her. “Is Daniel our new neighbor?"

  "No, sweetie. I told you, he's just staying for a few days."

  Amy's lower lip came out. “I want him to be our new neighbor."

  Gretchen glanced at the Tinker Bell clock on the dresser. “Oops,” she said, relieved that they had no more time for the touchy topic. “We need to get a move on."

  After seeing to Scooby's needs for the day, she hurried Amy out the door and to the car.

  Daniel wasn't around. Good. She wouldn't have to deal with the uncomfortable feelings he stirred up.

  She'd hopped into the driver's seat and crammed the key in the ignition when the front passenger door opened and Daniel stuck his head in.

  "You weren't planni
ng on going without me, were you?” He sent her a knowing smile as he climbed into his seat.

  "Daniel!” Amy clapped with delight. “Are you coming to my school?"

  "Sure.” He shifted in the seat to face her. “I want to see it."

  He turned back around to Gretchen. “Well?” A facetious gleam lit his eyes. “What are we waiting for?"

  She sent him a stony look and shifted into gear. Her fingers shook against the wheel as she started toward the highway. He'd stuck himself to them like glue—but only until she could get him back to Chicago. Until then, she'd have to grin and bear it or people might begin to suspect something.

  Maybe her plan could be as simple as giving him the runaround until he got bored and practically begged to leave Marydale.

  Then she and Amy could be happy again. Happy and safe.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  Daniel wasn't sure what to do. Gretchen had dropped him off in the center of town, and with nothing but a “See you later” and “I have work to do,” had left him standing there.

  He supposed he'd eventually jog the three or four miles back to her house.

  He walked over to the town square bench to call the office and check on things. While he waited for Valerie to transfer him to the creative department, he kept an eye out, expecting that character Wally Williams to show up any minute and demand his seat.

  When he'd finished his call, he put his phone away. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulled Wally's business card out of his wallet, flicked at it, and decided to kill time by checking into the casket business. Maybe Wally could fill in some blanks about Gretchen. The better Daniel knew her, the better he could deal with her. They needed to get along, for Amy.

  The shops marching along Main across from the park formed the straight part of the “L,” with Marydale Casket Company's stately brick façade completing its perpendicular end. He strode down the sidewalk and reached the old colonial-style building in five minutes, by his watch. He whistled, amazed by the efficiency of small towns. No having to elbow someone aside to get the taxi at the curb, no zipping across town on the raised rail or waiting in lobbies for the next elevator.

  Once inside the casket company, he found himself standing on a hall floor constructed of old white marble that had him thinking, creepily, of grave markers. Now, where to find Williams? Spying a woman in an office to his right working at a desktop computer, he popped his head around the door. “Excuse me? I'm looking for Wally Williams."

  "Nicholson, right?"

  Daniel jerked around and saw Williams lounging in a doorway. Today he wore khakis, a wrinkled white shirt and a tie with color-splashed fish swimming across it. Good God. That fashion statement was more like “I rent beach property” than “I sell caskets.” Oh, well. Maybe he had such a niche in the casket market, it didn't matter that he hardly dressed the part.

  Daniel strode over and offered his hand. “How's it going?"

  "Couldn't be worse.” Williams grasped his hand, before turning and motioning him into his office.

  Daniel looked around in surprise at the piles of papers, stacks of books and towers of miscellaneous junk. How could anyone work in such a mess? Maybe that was what Williams meant by “couldn't be worse."

  "The truth is, business is really slow,” the casket maker said, as if reading his thoughts. He hefted a pile of magazines out of a chair so Daniel could sit. When he had yanked his own desk chair out and flopped into it, his gaze landed speculatively on Daniel. “That why you're here? Decide you need a casket?"

  He held up his hands. “Don't start sizing me up yet. I'm healthy."

  "You never know. Best to ‘be prepared,’ to quote the Boy Scouts."

  "Yeah, well, I'll get around to it one day. For now, I'm just here because Gretchen is tied up for a while."

  Wally tilted his chin. “What was it you wanted with Gretchen? You say you're a friend. Then why haven't you been to visit her before?"

  "How do you know I haven't?"

  "Haven't seen you around."

  Daniel frowned. “Do you see everyone who comes to Marydale?"

  "Yup."

  He figured that was an exaggeration. No place could be that small. “Well, I've been busy growing my business."

  Wally was still eyeing him as if not completely buying his story. “What's your business?"

  "I'm in advertising."

  "Advertising,” Wally groaned. “Finneyville Caskets is killing me with advertising right now. Horning in on my territory with telemarketing."

  Daniel drew his brows together. “I've heard of them. They're out of Indiana."

  Wally nodded.

  "They're your biggest competitor?"

  He nodded again. “They sent out a mail pack the other day. Laudermilk Funeral Home in Cincy told me about it when I called on them. They showed me Finneyville's rate sheet.” When he shook his head, not a hair in the thick red hedge budged. “I can't match those rates. I've got bills to pay."

  "This is interesting,” Daniel murmured. “I've read that lately even the funeral industry has begun competitive marketing."

  "My old man would turn over in his grave,” Wally groused. “Word-of-mouth and handshake agreements, that's all it took in those days.” With a low growl, he swiveled in his chair and stared at his bookcase.

  Following his glance, Daniel noticed a car collection perfectly lined up on those surprisingly dust-free shelves. Corvettes, Porsches, Rolls, Bentleys, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, he had collected miniatures of the best makes from over the years, including a diminutive Spyder detailed precisely like Daniel's real deal. So he and the coffin-maker had discriminating taste in cars in common.

  Wally turned back to Daniel. “Pop told me I needed to come out of my shell if I wanted to keep MCC in the black. He felt I wasn't personable enough.” He paused. “Do you think I'm personable?"

  "Sure.” He couldn't be sure, though. He'd barely met the guy. All he knew for certain was that he needed professional marketing help. “You know, sales is all in the presentation. Maybe you're not going about selling yourself or your product the best way possible. I could help with that."

  Wally tilted back in his chair and stretched his legs by putting his feet up on the corner of the desk. “I'll sell the caskets. But sell myself?” He shook his head. “I'm not Pop. I'm not glad-handing. I'm not running for office. What you see is what you get."

  Daniel tried not to gape at the suede slip-ons he'd plopped on the desk. What the hell were they? House slippers? Moccasins? Slip-a-mocs?

  Wally sighed. “Anyway, right before you and I met yesterday, I'd decided to throw in the towel."

  "What? What are you talking about? People have to be buried in something."

  "Yeah, a Finneyville casket.” Wally's morose expression showed how much it stung to admit it.

  Daniel pressed his lips together. He'd worked hard to build his agency. He wouldn't dump it just like that. Surely this company had some viability left in it.

  He stared at Wally's car collection, trying to think of a way for the two of them to connect and be of help to each other. “You know, I have a Spyder like that one. A full-scale one."

  "You do?” Wally's eyes lit. “Where is it?"

  "In my parking garage in Chicago. It's this year's model."

  Wally turned back to him, disappointment evident in his downcast expression. “I want one,” he murmured, picking up the miniature version from the shelf and turning it in his hand, almost as if he could rub it and poof it would grow to full scale.

  "But all your spare cash goes into MCC. Right?"

  Wally nodded.

  Daniel made a decision. “I'd like to help you get back on your feet and be able to afford your dreams."

  "Yeah, sure.” Wally scrutinized him. “Fancy guy like you wouldn't hang around here long enough to help anybody. Hell, I'll bet you wear those girlie tassel shoes because you don't even have time to tie shoelaces."

  "And let me
guess about your shoes,” Daniel shot back. “You wear them because someone wouldn't let you bury their ninety-year-old grandpa in them."

  They grinned at each other.

  "You're right,” Daniel allowed. “I won't be here long at all. But I can't stand quitters. I'm not quitting on something that Gretchen and I have going.” Meaning Amy. “I want your commitment that if I'm not quitting on that, you won't close this place down."

  "I don't see how you and Gretchen have anything to do with me. And I still don't see why you'd help me."

  "I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm starting a new chapter in my life.” Even as he said the clichés, Daniel realized how corny they sounded. “I like you, Wally. I don't want to see you fail."

  Wally's face lit. Jumping up from his chair, he thrust out his hand. “Well, why didn't you say so?"

  Because I thought you might be dating Gretchen and I didn't like the idea. Now, though, he had a gut feeling that the coffin maker hadn't dated her. Wally meant it when he said they were just friends.

  He smiled as they shook hands. It'd been a while since he'd had time for friendship.

  Wally came around the desk and pointed at the door. “Want to go look at my coffins? I mean, you may like me, but if you don't like my products, you won't be able to help me sell ‘em."

  "Very true,” Daniel concurred, and followed him out the door.

  They left for the plant in Wally's cluttered truck. “So are you and Gretchen dating?” Wally asked as he drove. “Is that what you're working on?"

  Daniel only raised a brow, a response that Wally didn't see.

  "Better stay clear of Joel if ya are."

  "Who's Joel?” Daniel asked, with an instant catch in his gut. Gretchen had a boyfriend?

  "So you are going out with her?"

  Daniel felt his collar getting tight. He needed some explanation for lurking around Gretchen. Caught between having to lie or reveal what Gretchen had forbidden him to say, he opted for, “You could say that."

  "Guys usually run away from her fast,” Wally said with a warning look. “So I won't expect to know you for long.” He drummed on the steering wheel as he waited at a light. “You know about her fiancé leaving?"