The Daddy issue

by Melissa Beck

  She turned and skipped over to her playmate.

  "Daddy,” he murmured to her back as he stood.

  He was aware of a thickness in his throat as he stared at his daughter. Oh, well. At least Gretchen wouldn't be ticked off that he told Amy the truth.

  She swung back around, and left her friend to come and stand in front of Daniel again. She looked up at him with those luminous eyes and he thought, She can tell. She knows. A thrill rushed through him as he waited for her to say—

  "I gotta go to the restroom."

  His stomach dropped. “Are you sure?"

  She nodded.

  Grabbing her hand, he looked frantically around. “We better find Mommy,” he said, and they started walking.

  Rounding the corner toward the lobby, they almost walked smack into Gretchen.

  "What's up?” she said. “Where's the snacks?"

  "We were waylaid.” Dipping his chin toward Amy, he explained her dilemma. Gretchen took her in hand and led her to the restroom, and after a deep breath of relief and a silent reminder that he was not cut out for parenting, he went to get the drinks.

  Gretchen returned without Amy, explaining she'd left her with her teacher and classmates so she could catch the older grades’ performances.

  "Good, because I need to talk to you.” Daniel told her about the boy asking Amy about her father. When concern lined her forehead, he quickly added, “She handled his questions like a pro, though. And once she explained her daddy was dead, that was the end of it.” He set his hands on his hips. “Wanna explain that one to me?"

  Her gaze froze on his. Grasping his arm, she tugged him around the corner and out of view. “I never said you were dead. She didn't ask for that much detail. She just wondered why she didn't have a daddy and I said because I couldn't find one good enough for us."

  He flinched. “I suppose you felt that was fair."

  "I know now it wasn't, and again, I'm sorry.” Her forehead lined. “As for why she's saying you're dead ... maybe she's decided it's an easier explanation."

  "She needs to know the truth. I almost told her just now."

  Panic filled her eyes. “Thank God you didn't. Give me time to think what it'll mean to her to find out and then to have you leave."

  "Think on it fast, then.” He stared hard into her compelling eyes. His gaze lowered to her lips, full and dark. What was it about her? Even when he should be angry with her, he just wanted to kiss her. No wonder Joel was on the prowl.

  Where was her “shadow,” anyway? “Did you leave Joel somewhere chatting about honey buns?"

  She smiled. “He had to go to the bakery to finish decorating a wedding cake for tomorrow. He's going to try and stop by after. I bought some ice cream for us to celebrate Amy's first stage performance. Can you come? She'll be upset if you have to go now, too."

  "Hey, I'm available.” Good. He'd have time alone with them again. “My only plans were to flesh out my ideas for Wally for tomorrow's meeting. But I can do that later. I'm a night owl."

  "I remember."

  When they'd returned to the auditorium, he thought about those two words, I remember. The way she recalled that detail about him made something expand inside him. What was she implying, though, with that sexy lift of her brow? Sitting close to her in the theater seats, he stole a sideways look at her. He took in her jaw line, and her collarbone, exposed by the wide scoop neck of her sweater. Nice angles. His gaze lowered to the small mound of breast, so close to his elbow. So close that his body hardened as he tried to picture its whiteness, and imagine its soft, firm texture in his hand.

  His gaze traveled back up to her mouth. Now, that he did know. He knew she tasted sweet and hot. She kissed with abandon, too, leaning closer to his body, pressing her tongue further, until...

  His body throbbed, ached, even, and he gritted his teeth.

  He should go back to Chicago tonight. All the ice cream in the world wouldn't cool him off now.

  * * * *

  When the performance ended and they'd collected their little singer, Daniel followed Gretchen and Amy home. After Gretchen started the coffeemaker, she told Amy to put on her nightie and they'd have ice cream. Afterward, she helped her brush her teeth before tucking her in and listening to her prayers.

  Flipping through the newspaper at the kitchen table, Daniel heard Amy bless her mother, her friends, and poor people. He smiled. She had a soft heart.

  "Oh! And could I get a new daddy?"

  His heart contracted.

  "Amen."

  He sat there, his breath echoing in his ears. She wanted a daddy? Elation shot through him, followed by fear. The father she prayed for was probably more like a fairytale, a guy who sat down to dinner with them each night, and ran with a kite and worked with his hands. A dad who stayed around.

  Gretchen moved into the room. She'd climbed out of the tall boots and the short skirt that had hugged her slim hips, and slipped into relaxation mode in jeans, T-shirt and thick socks. She looked warm and soft.

  He raised his gaze to her sexy eyes and met that look again, that reflective glance that made it seem as if she were hell-bent on reading his thoughts. Maybe she could discern his underlying fear. Maybe that was what made her want to protect Amy from him.

  "Thanks for coming to the play,” she said then. “It meant a lot to Amy."

  "I liked it. I like her."

  "She's doing all right, don't you think?"

  "She seems fine. But I'm no expert on kids. I have nephews, but I—” He bowed his head. “—I think I bore them. Guess I'm a little too, preoccupied.” The last word came out low. It sounded selfish. He couldn't explain that he avoided getting to know his nephews out of fear of rejection. That seemed immature. He looked up, expecting to see censure in her eyes. But there was none.

  The burning ache in his chest reminded him of that cutting need he'd always had for a deeper connection with people. And over that need was the fear of causing some screw-up. He didn't do this. He took risks in business, not in relationships. But Gretchen sat watching him, her face unlined by judgment. Her full lips turned slightly up at the edges, welcoming, and over the fear spread warmth, pulling at him, making him linger in the moment.

  She was a most attractive woman, with her soft features, her kind eyes. Five years ago, he'd put her in a predicament that should've been difficult and lonely, that should've made her sad and worn. And here she was. Happy. Vibrant. Forgiving.

  He was the one who'd ended up lonely and tired.

  Holding her gaze, he said, “Amy's lucky. Not everyone is cut out to be a parent, but you seem ... exceptional.” He thought of the little girl back in the bedroom, pictured her standing in the school hall in her dress and new shoes, gaping at him as if he were nuts to question whether or not she really had to go to the bathroom. “I didn't know four-year-olds could be so ... I mean, the way she talks blows my mind, it's so straightforward. It's like, we adults quit being so open at some point. But she isn't there yet. And her face! Everything is right there in her frowns, her smiles.” He remembered her kicking at the bully. “Or in her feet.” He chuckled. “She's a whirlwind sometimes, right?"

  "Oh, yeah.” Gretchen's lips curved. Light flickered in her eyes.

  He stared, entranced, thinking he could sit there all night and talk with her, and watch her, and it might be okay. Time really did stand still in Marydale, and now he was glad.

  Bedsprings creaked. Footsteps sounded in the hall.

  "Mommy?"

  Gretchen turned. “What, honey?"

  "I need a drink."

  She hopped up and went to pour the child some water. After she'd walked her back to bed and tucked her in again, she returned to the living room. “I think maybe we should talk outside on the porch,” she said, grabbing a granny-crocheted blanket off the back of a chair.

  He rose and followed her out.

  She settled on the porch swing. He considered taking one of the wicker chairs grouped around a glass-topped table a few f
eet away, but moved toward her on the swing. He eased down beside her, so as not to jar her. “I'm told my voice carries. I might keep Amy up if I'm over there by the door.” It was the truth and not a ploy to get close to her. Still, he silently applauded himself for the thought.

  She sat stiffly beside him.

  "Relax.” He started them swinging with a push of his foot against the painted wood floor. “I'm harmless."

  She shot him a doubtful look.

  "I'm harmless tonight."

  She didn't insist that he move away. So he leaned back, content just to be there. For a while, they rocked back and forth, listening to the occasional whir of a car passing on the road. The night air carried a chill, and Gretchen threw the granny blanket over her shoulders.

  Resting his arm across the swing's back, he moved himself a little closer.

  He'd never just relaxed on a porch swing with a woman. He'd never sat anywhere with one for very long without the motive of becoming lovers soon.

  His brushed his hand across Gretchen's shoulder, and squeezed it lightly. He felt great right then. Except, something nagged at him. “I heard Amy's prayer. I heard she'd like a new dad."

  She sighed. “She's started that lately."

  "What do you tell her?"

  She stared down at the shawl's fringe, where she'd been slowly braiding little sections. “See, there's where I'm not the great mom you may think I am. I usually pretend I'm preoccupied and don't hear her when she brings it up. Or I just say, ‘Maybe one day.’”

  "Why?"

  "Because like I told you, I'm afraid of how she'll react. How will I explain where you are?"

  "You mean if you'd said I was in Chicago, she'd want to know why?"

  She nodded. “'Why’ is a kid's favorite word. And how would I answer her?"

  "How about the truth for a change?"

  She met his gaze. “How would you answer why you met her and then left her?"

  He sighed. “I don't know."

  "So we're right back at square one, with me not wanting to tell her that Mommy picks men who won't stay."

  He reached out and touched her under her chin, and the feel of her warm skin beneath his fingers jolted him to sexual awareness. Gently, he turned her face toward him. When her lashes came up and she looked into his eyes, a glimmer of sadness touched her expression.

  It got to him. It had him drawing an unsteady breath. “It's not you.” He stroked her jaw. “You were right all along. It was me. I didn't know you five years ago. I didn't know you were the kind of woman who wasn't just out for fun. And frankly, I wouldn't have cared."

  "Why?” Her gaze regained its spark as she searched his eyes. “Why are men allowed to be like that? They certainly don't pay for it the way we do."

  He thought a moment, before admitting, “I've staked my business reputation on being able to analyze customers’ needs. But in my private life, I guess I haven't worried enough about other people's feelings."

  "Yes, but we've established that you're a guy."

  He traced her profile, running his forefinger from her forehead down over her nose and lips. “Yeah. I'm a guy. I'll bet you think I can have my pick of women, too."

  She eyed him, clearly not amused.

  "I can. But then they ditch me."

  "They ditch you?” Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You're kidding."

  "Nope. They leave. What do I have that they'd stay for? Money? Fame?"

  "Well ... yeah!"

  His mouth curved up at an edge. “Gretchen. Tell the truth. Would that be enough for you? Would you sell yourself to be married to someone like me?"

  She shook her head.

  "See? I'm not so desirable after all."

  "But you are!” Her gaze bore into his. “You just don't let them see the real you, Daniel. You're kind. You're honest. You're...” She bit her lower lip.

  He reached out and touched his index finger to her mouth again, and the pressure of his finger tugged her lip from her teeth's grip.

  Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Her lips were soft and warm, and she didn't pull away. She made a little sound, and he moved closer. Reaching under the shawl and accidentally under her sweater, too, he found her back and rubbed his palm slowly upward, feeling the fine bones and muscles there.

  She tilted her head, adjusting to the angle of his kiss. The move made blood rush to parts of his body that reacted instantly, tightening, straining. He thrust his tongue into her moist mouth. She moaned, and he drew her closer, exploring with slow kisses as he kneaded her back, pressing her breasts closer to his pounding heart and feeling hers pounding in rhythm.

  "This doesn't look like an ice cream social,” came a deep voice.

  Daniel opened his eyes.

  Joel stood at the foot of the porch steps, hands in his pockets, his blunt features assessing.

  Daniel swore under his breath as Gretchen pulled herself out of his arms.

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  Chapter Eight

  Gretchen ducked, wrapping her arms over her head as pillar candles rained down on her.

  When the stockroom was finally silent again, she straightened, lowered her arms and viewed the carnage. Wonderful. Now part of her freshly unpacked Christmas line would have to go on to the “scratch and dent” table. And all because she hadn't been careful when she moved a box of collectible ornaments beside them.

  Bending to pick up the red and green wax cylinders marred by fresh white scars, she muttered, “One simple kiss and your brain goes out the door."

  Only, it hadn't exactly been simple. And it hadn't been just one kiss. What Joel had interrupted last night was the second time in a matter of days that Daniel had taken her in his arms and mystified her with passion.

  In her current state of confusion, one minute she'd love how they'd just grabbed those moments of pleasure together, and the next, she'd question whether he really was attracted to her, or if he was just trying to lower her resistance so he could worm his way into Amy's life.

  She was probably just another pair of lips to him.

  He'd probably found her inexperienced and fumbling, and the fact that she even cared how she kissed him was not a good sign.

  She rubbed her shoulder where a candle had whacked it. The friction reminded her of the way Daniel had touched her lightly there, gently urging her into his arms. Tucked against him, she'd breathed in his aftershave, caramel-spicy, mixed with his own scent and warmed by his body's heat. At the memory, she took a deep, automatic breath, but all she inhaled were the heavy scents of evergreen and bayberry candles.

  "Oh, quit,” she muttered. “You just happen to be the only woman in close proximity lately, and he's acting on male impulse."

  "What'd you say, Gretchen?” Cile called from the other side of the closed door.

  Gretchen jumped back in shock, hitting her head on a wreath hanging from a nail. Tugging her hair out of its leafy grip, she called back, “Nothing. Just, counting to myself. A little early inventory."

  "Well, there's a guy out here asking for you."

  "I'll be right there."

  Daniel.

  She picked up the bag of pencils and novelty toys she'd come in search of, for something the kids could buy at next weekend's festival. After brushing her hair back behind her ears and drawing a breath into nerve-tightened lungs, she opened the door.

  Disappointment zipped through her. It wasn't Daniel. A skinny stranger with a cell phone pressed to his ear stared at her from across the room. As she moved toward him, he pocketed the phone, checked his watch and set his hands on his hips.

  She stopped a few yards away. “I'm Gretchen."

  "Miz Parks.” He flashed a brief smile. “Friend of Daniel's. He here?"

  "No.” She scanned his wrinkled shirt, new jeans and pricey sneakers and considered his brusque tone and time's-a-wastin’ aura. He could be a friend of Daniel's. She couldn't be sure, though. She hadn't been introduced to any of his frien
ds or relatives. Their time together in Chicago had played out in bars and bedrooms, for the most part. “I don't know where he is."

  "For real? I was under the impression he was with you."

  She stood a little straighter. “Why is that?"

  "People in the diner say you hang together."

  "People in the diner have too much time on their hands.” She set a hand on her hip. “Sorry, but I can't help you."

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Eula Miller scooting through the doorway, sporting that all too familiar knit shoulder bag that sagged down to her knees. But today she also clutched a knobby walking stick.

  "Hullo, niece.” She waved the cane toward Cile, who stood on the stepladder, dusting shelves.

  Cile smiled and nodded before returning to work, bobbing to the tunes playing into her headset from her CD player.

  Eula ambled over to Gretchen and the stranger. Lifting the cane, she tapped him on the shoulder.

  His brows shot up, and he jolted back a step.

  "Who're you?” demanded the town matriarch.

  "Friend of Daniel Nicholson's.” Keeping his eyes on Eula as if he feared she'd hurt him with her implement, he nodded toward Gretchen. “Miz Parks is a friend of his, too, right? A very good friend, from Chicago a few years back."

  Why bring that up? Gretchen glanced quickly from Eula to Cile, who thankfully was still plugged into her music. She couldn't have her friends asking questions about Daniel and her. What if they figured out the truth?

  "I guess we met, but I don't remember,” she said, bristling at his speculative gaze. “Tell me your name and I'll tell Daniel you're looking for him."

  "Don't bother.” His smile didn't reach his eyes. “I'm sure I'll run into him.” After a two-finger salute and a last wary glance at Eula, he headed for the door.

  Eula followed his every move with her eagle eyes. As he screeched his car out of its parking spot, her fingers twitched on the crook of the cane. Once he'd zipped past the shop's window and they could no longer see him, she turned to Gretchen and muttered, “They're a strange lot, reporters."