by Melissa Beck
To stay, maybe.
Of course he wouldn't stay. She knew that. She just couldn't stop herself from looking at him and wishing he were different.
She strained to see Daniel's car as she rounded the corner. There! There it sat, in the same place it'd been this morning when they left for town.
Uh oh. That white pickup pulled up behind him could mean only one thing—
"Joel's here!” Amy chirped.
"He sure is,” Gretchen muttered. She'd forgotten all about him fixing the loose section of gutter in back of the house. She should've called and put him off a week. Now he'd surely met Daniel, without any prior warning or explanation on her part. She sighed. Just what she needed, those two male egos butting up against each other.
As she and Amy climbed from the car, she heard the telltale scraping and pounding created by her voluntary handyman. The racket grew louder as they rounded the side of the house.
She found Joel balanced high up on a ladder, sporting his usual ensemble of white T-shirt and carpenter's pants, and hammering away at the gutter. Only thing missing was his baker's apron, which she assumed he'd left hanging on the wooden peg in the shop. She inhaled deeply, certain her nose had picked up on the yeasty aroma of the shop that clung to him.
"Hi, Joel!” Amy greeted.
"What's up, Squirt?” He glanced down, his gaze resting warmly first on her, and then Gretchen.
"I'm not a squirt! I'm a girl."
"Oh. Excuse me.” He pulled his brows together, all contrite, before grinning again.
"Come down, Joel,” Amy implored. “I wanna show you my garden."
"In a minute, Little Bit."
"I'm not—"
"I know, I know.” He slid Gretchen a bemused “Help me out of this” look.
She smiled.
He returned to aligning the gutter with the roof's edge and nailing it in place. The rough planes of his face held a fine sheen of sweat from his labor. His pecs shifted and his biceps flexed, reminding her of times when she'd visited him in the bakery's kitchen and he'd been kneading bread, rolling it out, carrying heavy-laden pans to the ovens.
She recalled standing by while two of his female customers blushed over his off-center grin, and murmured appraisals of his “cut” body. Little did they know that the first time he bestowed that teasing smile on her, he'd just beaten her in the seventh grade spelling bee with the word “flatulence.” But his broad shoulders hadn't enticed her until high school. Even then, she'd only used him for comfort after Rick Floyd had asked Mitzi Chaplin to prom.
She left him hammering, and after a quick glance toward Daniel's windows at the other end of the house, went inside with Amy.
She scurried around, sorting the mail, filling the dog's water bowl and checking Amy's backpack for homework assignments. Maybe Daniel wasn't there after all. Maybe he was out walking, or running.
Ten minutes later, someone called to her from the doorway.
Daniel? Her heart pounded as she headed for the door.
Nope, it was just Joel.
"Wipe your feet,” she directed, and he shuffled his Nikes back and forth a time or two on the mat.
He moved inside like the former football player he was, lumbering in an oddly agile way. In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and helped himself to a beer. Unscrewing the cap with his palm and flinging it onto the counter, he leaned against the counter and took a healthy drag from the bottle. Then he leveled his gaze on hers. “Whose SUV is that out there?"
Heat tingled up her neck. “The new renter's."
"What new renter?"
"Just an acquaintance from Chicago."
He squinted at the bedroom hallway that abutted the other side of the house. “Is he here now?"
"I don't know,” she snapped, and instantly regretted it. Joel wasn't prying. Of course he'd be curious. He sure was looking at her funny now. “Did you get the gutter fixed?” she asked, changing the subject.
Still frowning slightly, as if he hadn't quite made the switch of topics in his head, he nodded.
"Thanks.” She sent him a brief smile. “I'm sure my landlord will be happy, too. He's got to be sick of hearing me complain, first about the gutter and now the leak in my bedroom."
He nodded in the direction of the hallway again. “Should I check it out?"
"Nah, I can handle a little primer and ceiling paint.” She didn't want him getting any ideas about her bedroom. She'd been trying her best to keep such thoughts out of his head and out of their friendship. But things had changed since Debby signed his divorce papers. She could sense it in the way Joel looked at her.
He swallowed the last of his beer. Leaning around from the kitchen to the laundry room off the hall, he tossed the bottle into the recycling bin. Swinging back in her direction, he said, “You didn't come by for your bread today."
"True."
He held her gaze. Tenderness laced his expression. “I have two loaves for you in the truck."
She pointed out the window over the sink, at the shreds of plastic strewn across the driveway. “Sorry. I think they were a Scooby snack."
He moved to stand by her, brushing her hip with his as he leaned over the sink to see out the window. “What's that mutt good for? He can't hunt. And he's too goofy to be a guard dog."
"Yes, but he gives good kisses and we love him."
Straightening, he turned toward her. “I give good kisses, too."
"Be serious!” she scolded, knowing he wasn't joking.
His gaze drifted to her mouth.
She slid away, down the counter to where she'd been stirring brownie ingredients for the snack she'd promised Amy.
A door slammed. Shuffling noises, followed by a colorful curse, vibrated through the walls.
Peering out the window again, Joel groaned. “Look at that dog. Wagging his tail and making up to a stranger."
Stranger? Gretchen dropped the wooden spoon she'd been stirring with and shoved up against him. “Not again!"
She ran for the door, with Joel going, “What the hey?” behind her.
"Scoo-by!” she groaned, catching up to Daniel. He stood with feet planted in the gravel drive, hands at the dog's shoulders to push him off.
She grasped Scooby's wagging tail to get his attention, and through gritted teeth, said, "Down."
Ears flattened to his head in submission, the dog obeyed.
"Well, at least you don't have to worry about people sneaking up on you with him around,” Daniel conceded, brushing at his chest.
"Your shirt,” Gretchen moaned. Dirty paw prints marred its crisp whiteness. “I'll wash it for you."
"I might let you, since I can't seem to find the dry cleaners around here."
She arched a brow. “There's just the Laundromat. But being a city boy, I doubt you'd know how to work the machines."
He glared.
She smiled.
For a few seconds, they stared at each other, until the little electric shocks of attraction running through her made her self-conscious. Breaking eye contact, she said, “So, what have you been up to since I last saw you?"
"I've been on a conference call. Right in the middle of it, some idiot started banging on the house."
"That's Joel,” she explained. “He came by to fix the gutter."
His features seemed to register something, before he said, “Well, what he almost ‘fixed’ was an ad deal I've been working on. It was hard to concentrate with all that hammering."
"He's finished now,” she assured him. “Come on in and let me wash your shirt."
As he followed her into the house, he began unbuttoning his shirt. But once he spied Joel standing there in the kitchen, his fingers stilled.
Joel nodded in greeting.
Daniel nodded back.
Gretchen cleared her throat. “Um, Daniel, this is Joel Osbourne. Joel, Daniel Nicholson."
Daniel stuck out his hand.
Joel gripped it. “Dog really nailed you."
"Yeah, he keeps
mistaking me for a chew biscuit.” He started buttoning up again.
"Oh, take it off,” Gretchen prodded. “I'll wash it and throw it in the dryer with the load I've just started."
"Well...” His gaze drifted from her well-meaning look to Joel's narrow stare.
Joel's assessing reaction to Daniel surprised her. He was usually so happy-go-lucky. Maybe the disrobing had put him off. “See, Joel, in the city, people send their clothes out to be laundered,” she quipped, hoping to spark some humor. “Daniel wouldn't be able to work the machines at Speedy Suds."
"Oh.” There was no lightness in his tone or in the way he eyed Daniel.
Daniel returned to unbuttoning.
Gretchen stood by, waiting for his shirt and hating the uncomfortable silence.
Daniel's biceps muscles worked back and forth with little effort as he shrugged out of the garment.
Realizing she was staring, Gretchen glanced up at his face.
He lifted a brow. A twinkle of amusement glowed in his eyes.
Her face heated, and she looked away. What was she supposed to do now? This wasn't working, this plan to appear nonchalant about Daniel in front of Joel to maintain status quo. Daniel disrupted things. Maybe getting rid of one of them would ease her discomfort.
She turned back to Joel. “So ... you were leaving?"
"Amy wanted me to see her garden.” Before she could object, he turned toward the hallway and bellowed, “Amy? You coming?"
Amy skipped out from the back rooms, her pink stuffed bunny under her arm. When she saw Daniel, she stopped. “Mommy said you were working."
"I was, but I'm finished now."
"Yea! You can see my garden, too.” Running to the door, she flung back, “Well? Come on!"
They followed her like army recruits. Daniel held the door for Joel, who tossed Gretchen a quizzical look. She urged him on with a wave of her hand. After they'd closed the door behind them, the worry set in. Joel's look had said it all. He wanted to know what was going on between Daniel and her. What would she tell him? And what would she tell Daniel about Joel?
She didn't owe Daniel any explanation, and yet she kept rehearsing one while she washed the brownie bowl and wiped the counter. Joel was a friend. They'd never been intimate. Thoughts of him hadn't kept her awake at night, the way thoughts of Daniel once had. Even after she left Daniel, knowing full well that she couldn't hold on to someone like him, she'd found herself dreaming of a life with him. But she knew it was a pipedream. Daniel Nicholson wasn't interested in settling down any more than he'd been interested in having a child, or so she'd thought.
But now, five years later, here he was, saying he was interested in his child. Could that mean she'd misread his vibes about settling down, too? More importantly, was she hoping that was the case? Was that hope the reason for this blasted confusion, these rolling emotions, the “You can stay,” when it should be, “You go now."
She pressed the heels of both hands against her temples. Ugh. She couldn't take this much longer. He'd seen them. Time for the little reunion to come to an end, before it was too late.
As she returned to straightening up the kitchen, that “too late” nagged at her. Too late for what? No, she didn't even want to consider what that meant. Hurrying to the living room, she flipped on the TV and listened to the rattle of advertisements. Anything to clear her head and drive away this crazy anxiety.
Outside, Daniel stood across from Joel, eyeing him over Amy's dirt plot. What was the big guy to Gretchen? He frowned down at Amy as she poked her finger in the crusty earth, trying to find the seeds she'd planted yesterday. What did he care what their relationship was? He had no claim on Gretchen. And yet—
"You from Cincy?” Joel interjected into his thoughts. “Bengals fan?"
"Nah.” Daniel met his discerning gaze. “Bears."
"Unh. Chicago.” He flattened his lips together—a move that implied he liked the other team. The line on his brow deepened. “What's your business?"
"Advertising. Yours?"
"I've got a bakery."
Daniel nodded, somewhat deflated. He'd figured him for a day laborer. A painter, in his Mr. Clean clothes. He wouldn't have guessed he was an entrepreneur.
"Did Gretchen meet you in Chicago a few years ago? When she went to see her college roommate?"
Daniel looked down at Amy, squatting in the dirt like a little toad. She wasn't singing anymore. She'd tilted her chin up to them. Her earthy eyes captured his. She held her stick in mid-air, like a director's baton that'd paused and stopped her music. “Yeah,” he said, keenly aware of the little girl's attention. “That's when we met."
Now the baker studied him with a new intensity. “That was a hard time for Gretch, after her fiancé left.” Amy had gotten up, wandered over to some tired mums in the flowerbed and begun plucking them. “She went to find herself in the big city, but it ate her up and spit her out.” He shook his head. “Made my gut ache, seeing her that way. But she's okay now. She look okay to you?"
"She looks great.” No doubt about it, the country life had certainly put color in Gretchen's skin and a sexy glow in her eyes.
"You staying long?"
"I don't think so.” Then, because Joel's not so subtle prying about Gretchen and him made him uncomfortable, he added, “I did promise Wally Williams I'd help him with a bit of marketing."
The other man's gray eyes bore into his. “Don't work for him too long. He might start taking measurements."
Daniel grunted. Was there seriousness to the big lug's tone that didn't make the joke very funny?
Joel's gaze tracked their little tour guide, who'd moved on to the play area and started swinging. “I think she's bored with us."
"Come push me!” she called out.
Both of them moved, but Daniel moved faster, and got to the swing first. Grabbing its linked chains, he pulled back.
Amy wobbled in the seat, and slid sideways. Then, with a little “Uh!” of alarm, she suddenly fell forward and hit the ground knees first.
Still holding the swing back, Daniel stared in shock as tears welled in her eyes.
Joel reached her in two strides, and bent to gently wipe the dirt off her jeans. Pulling her into his arms and standing again, he said, “What a trouper.” He patted her back as her lower lip wobbled. “Good thing you didn't cry. Mommy would've charged out here and given us a piece of her mind."
She nodded slowly, and cast Daniel a glance that wrenched his heart.
"Want me to swing you?” Joel asked.
She hesitated, but nodded again.
He sent Daniel a stern look, and he released the swing.
The baker set her down on it as if he'd done it a thousand times. “All situated?"
She didn't respond, but Daniel noticed how white her knuckles were this time as she gripped the chains.
Idiot, he berated himself, clenching his jaw.
Joel placed his big hands on her hips and pulled her back. When he let go, she flew forward with a squeal of delight.
He pushed some more, and as Amy giggled, Daniel felt his heart lighten again. He caught himself grinning, and wondered when the fear for her had changed to this crazy sense of relief. Oh, well. She was in safe hands with Joel.
The admission brought a pang of emotion.
When Amy wanted to push off from the ground with her feet, he walked back over to Daniel. “Hey.” He clapped Daniel's back. “Don't worry about it. When it happens, it's best to get her right back on. A ‘hair of the dog that bit ya’ kind of thing."
Daniel nodded. The guy could be Amy's father. He looked the part. Acted as if he wanted it, too. And by the way he'd ogled Gretchen, he seemed anxious to at least step into some sort of role here. Assuming, that was, he didn't already have one.
He watched Amy, who had stopped and was just sitting on her swing, digging a small trench in the dirt below with her sneaker.
She slid him a brown-eyed glance.
He lifted his brows.
Her rosy lips curved.
Good. She didn't seem to be holding a grudge over his dumping her like a sack of potatoes.
"Want me to show you how to whistle with some grass?” he offered.
"Okay.” She hopped off her swing and came over.
Joel looked on with a skeptical expression as, with a satisfied grin, Daniel bent to pluck just the right blade of grass.
* * * *
Gretchen had noticed Amy go flying past the living room window on her way to the swing set. Tiptoeing across the carpet, she'd holed up near the drapes and peered through the old sheers covering the window. The swing set was close to the house, in a spot where she could keep an eye on Amy whenever she played there. So she was able to see Daniel's eyes widen in shock and his jaw clench when Amy fell off the swing.
Gretchen's throat constricted, and she turned, ready to run out to them. But in the next instant, Joel appeared, wiping at Amy's knees and soothing her.
Thank goodness she'd had on her jeans.
As Joel settled Amy on the swing again and took up pushing her, Gretchen glared at Daniel. But he had eyes only for Amy. They made these little faces at each other, winking, grinning. Joel didn't seem to notice as he waited between pushes.
Then Daniel grew serious. He looked from Amy to Joel, and back.
What was he thinking? That Joel played the part of daddy well? Her heart dropped a few floors inside her. She didn't want him thinking that. Joel was not going to be Amy's father. Daniel was her father.
Not that she needed him to be. Just that it was a biological fact and she accepted that much of it.
After a few more pushes, Amy grew tired of the swing. She glanced at Daniel again, and then went over to him.
No one but Gretchen could see the look on his face as he bent to pick some grass—the most tender, sincere expression she'd ever seen on a man.
Her breathing stopped, and her heart seemed to, too.
In the next instant, he rose and turned away, and all three of them began picking grass, holding it to their mouths and attempting to whistle with it.
Gretchen pivoted around and stared blindly at the room. She realized she'd put her hand at her throat, and lowered it. Wow. Maybe Daniel was a little more complicated that she'd given him credit for. Or maybe she was being silly. Maybe she'd read more into that look than was there. What could he know about real feelings? He turned quick advertising sales and he switched relationships before they could head toward matrimony, which had already failed for him. She couldn't fault him on that, since his spouse-to-be had at least stayed through the vows.