Date With a Single Dad

by Ally Blake

  He walked her out, taking the bag of clothes while she carried the seat. As they secured Darcy in the backseat, he added, “I kept the playpen and change table. Any time you need a break, Darcy’s welcome to come stay with Uncle Wyatt.”

  “Thank you.”

  As Barbara started the engine and backed out of the driveway, Wyatt stood and lifted his hand in farewell.

  When she was gone he went back inside, but the house felt instantly different. Empty, and lifeless. For two weeks it had been filled with noise and discord, but also with happy moments and somehow, family. Darcy had gone home with her mother, but he would see her again. He was her uncle. But Elli—soon she’d be leaving and heading off to wherever life was going to take her. And he missed her most of all. The way she looked sitting across from him at the table, or the way she joked with him about his sweet tooth. How she looked cradling Darcy in her arms, giving her a bottle, and how sweet she tasted when he kissed her.

  He stared out the kitchen window, looking over the dark fields. They undulated like inky-black curves as cloud covered the rising moon. Droplets of rain began to splash against the pane, suiting his mood. He had tried to tell her what he wanted earlier today and she had been too afraid to reach out and grab it. He knew he couldn’t force her to change.

  But he also knew he didn’t want to give up.

  She was still at the Camerons’, and he was here. Both of them alone. It didn’t make sense, not when he wanted to be with her so much.

  Energized, he went to the door and pulled on his boots, followed by his oilskin. All the things he should have said this morning he’d say tonight. It didn’t have to be too late. He opened the door and was flipping up his collar when he saw her.

  Standing at the bottom of his steps, her hair in strings from the rain, her shoulders huddled in her jacket.

  For a split second they both hesitated, stared. Then he took one step outside and held out his hand.

  She came up the steps and took it, her fingers ice-cold as his wrapped around them. Without saying a word, he pulled her into the circle of his arms.

  They stood that way a long time, with the rhythmic patter of the rain falling on the roof of the veranda and the door wide-open behind him. Finally he kissed the top of her head, the scent of vanilla and citrus filling his nostrils.

  “Come inside,” he murmured, and he drew her in out of the cold and damp.

  Once inside he could see the evidence of hard crying in her pink face and puffy eyes. It gave him hope. She’d been so contained, so cold today he’d had moments wondering if maybe he had imagined their connection. And then there was Darcy to consider. He knew part of the reason she’d left first was so that she wouldn’t have to watch Darcy go.

  “Darcy’s gone home with Barb,” he said, watching, gauging her reaction.

  “I know.”

  “The house seems empty without her.”

  “I know.”

  She said it so sadly he wondered if that was the cause of her distress, and not him at all.

  “Where were you going just now?” She tilted up her face, droplets of rain clinging to her pink cheeks.

  “I was coming for you.”

  The world opened up for Elli as he said it. Her heart, so withered and afraid, expanded, warm and beautiful. She had been coming for him, too. But hearing him say it, seeing the agony etched on his face, gave her a rush of hope.

  Her bottom lip quivered with emotion and she reached out for him. Her hands spanned his ribs through the heavy jacket and he threaded his fingers through her hair. Firm hands tilted her face until she was forced to meet his gaze.

  “I was coming for you,” he repeated, and then he kissed her.

  When he finally released her, she admitted, “I was coming for you, too.”

  Elli had spent hours crying and hurting, but at the end of it there had been no solution. The pain of letting go of Darcy was what she’d dreaded, but in the end it wasn’t the loss of Darcy that cut deepest. It was Wyatt. She didn’t want to be held prisoner by fear anymore. She’d known that even if it never worked out, she had to make the important step of telling the truth. She would never know unless she asked. His welcome was more than she had dared hope for.

  “Wyatt, I … I want to answer what you asked me this morning.”

  They were still standing next to the front door, water dripping from their coats, but Elli didn’t care.

  “Okay.”

  “You asked me what I wanted,” she began, tucking the wet strands of her hair behind her ears. “And my answer is the same as yours. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, my whole life. I was always a puzzle to my mom, and my friends, and then my coworkers. I didn’t have lofty aspirations like they did. I didn’t want to be a lawyer or a doctor or a model, or even rich. All I wanted was a home, with a husband to love and a couple of kids. I wanted the kind of marriage my mother and father had and I wanted to be a mother more than anything. And for a while I had all that, or very nearly. And it all went up in smoke. And now, finally, I know why.”

  “Elli, I’m so sorry about that—”

  “No.” Elli cut him off. “I want the past to stop defining me and I want to prove that a pattern doesn’t have to be continued, just like you. I’m done with settling, Wyatt. I convinced myself I could have it all with Tim, and I was wrong. I know I was wrong because …”

  The next part was the hardest. It was putting herself out there, being emotionally naked. But what was the alternative? What more did she have to lose? Nothing. This afternoon had shown her that. She had cried and felt a bleakness unlike anything she’d felt before, even in her grief about William. Today she had, for a moment, given up hope, and the emptiness was more than she could bear.

  “I know I was wrong because I didn’t really love him. I loved the idea of him, I loved the fantasy of the perfect life I could have with him. I thought we would have it all. But it turned out it was nothing. Because I know now what it is to really love someone. The way I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  Her voice faltered to a near whisper as she finished, trying desperately not to cry, trying to fight back the fear she felt in admitting such a thing. Wyatt was gaping at her, saying nothing, his face a mask of surprise. And well he should be surprised. After holding things so tightly in her heart, letting them out in such a rush was unexpected.

  “I gave up last time without a fight. Maybe because it wasn’t worth fighting for. But you are, Wyatt. I don’t want to walk away from you. I want those things with you. Is there a chance you might want them with me, too?”

  She stood back, chin quivering, waiting for his answer.

  He exhaled, the sound an emotional choke as he stepped forward. “Look at you—you’re soaked.”

  She let him unzip her jacket and slide it down her shoulders. It dropped to the floor in a damp puddle. He cupped her jaw in his hands and forced her to look into his eyes.

  “I love you, Elli.”

  He dipped his head and kissed her, the sweetest thing she had ever known. “It took you long enough,” he murmured against her lips, and then he wrapped his arms around her ribs and lifted her off her feet. “I told myself I had to wait for you to be ready. But tonight, alone … I just couldn’t.”

  She nuzzled against the collar of his jacket, smelling the unique scent of leather and rain and man mixed together. Joy rushed through her, chasing away the fear. Wyatt wouldn’t say it unless he meant it. He loved her. She closed her eyes. She could handle anything if he truly loved her.

  A laugh bubbled past her lips. “Long enough? We’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

  He only squeezed tighter. “We spent more time together the last two weeks than most people do dating. We shared things, things I hadn’t told another person. What does time matter, anyway? I knew the night on the porch when we kissed.”

  “Then? When you pushed me away and decreed our relationship had to be platonic?”

  “Yes, back then.”

  She laughed aga
in. “You were faster than me. I couldn’t admit it to myself until I saw you in the rocking chair with Darcy.” Tenderness overcame her. “Loving you meant facing a lot of things I was trying not to face, you know.”

  He finally eased his hold on her and drew back. “There’s so much I want to tell you. I don’t know where to start. About Barbara today, and about me, and my plans …”

  His dark eyes glittered with excitement and Elli felt uplifted by the possibilities. “One thing at a time,” she teased.

  “Come here,” he said. He shed his jacket, hung it on the hook and took her hand, leading her to the rocking chair. This silly chair, responsible for so many things, shaped and polished by his hands. Hands that were capable of so much. As he sat and pulled her onto his lap, she lifted his hands to her lips and kissed them.

  “I was so scared to come here, afraid you didn’t really feel the same.”

  “I’m glad you did,” he replied, turning his hands over so he could grip hers and mimic her action. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage without you.”

  “Me?” She looked at him, surprised. “Are you kidding? Look at this chair, the porch, the door. All the improvements you’ve made around here. Is there anything you can’t do, Wyatt? That’s one of the things I noticed right off. You’re so very handy.”

  “I had to be, growing up. God knows my dad was never around. I looked after my mom.”

  “Like you’re looking after Barbara?”

  The easy expression on his face faltered a little. “I suppose. I felt like I let her down.”

  “Why?”

  The hesitation lasted only a moment. “Because my parents only got married because my mom was pregnant with me. And my father never let me forget that he was stuck in that marriage because I’d been born. When things went badly, he made sure I knew it was all my fault.”

  “Oh, Wyatt, that’s a horrible thing to say to a child!” Suddenly pieces began to fit. “So you take on responsibility for everyone?” Her stomach began to twist. “For me?”

  He closed his eyes. “Maybe at first. Maybe I did, because I could see you were broken and I wanted to fix things for you. I tried for a long time to make things okay for my mom, even though she kept telling me it wasn’t my responsibility. But this morning I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t fix you. That’s something you have to do for yourself. It killed me watching you walk away. But I kept thinking that if I pushed, if I didn’t give you that chance, some day you’d blame me, too. And it would be too hard to truly have you and then watch you walk away.”

  Elli leaned back against his chest. “It wasn’t until this afternoon when you weren’t there anymore that I realized. Being without you made it very clear how much I love you. I couldn’t picture going on without you. I knew I had to try.”

  “I was looking out the window thinking what a fool I’d been to let you get away. I was going over to ask you to give us a chance.”

  “I left because you said you wanted those things but you never said you wanted them with me.”

  He sighed, putting his chin on the top of her head. “And I didn’t say it because I was afraid of scaring you away completely.”

  “We’re idiots,” she decreed, and felt him smile against her hair.

  “No, we’re not. Because we both came to our senses.”

  For several minutes they rocked in the chair, absorbing each other, forging a new bond, two parts of a bigger whole.

  “What now?” Elli finally asked. She wanted him to ask her to come back so they could work on their relationship. What she didn’t expect was what he said next.

  “How do you feel about ranching, and this house?”

  She sat up a bit so she could turn her head and look him square in the face. “It’s very cozy here.”

  “Could you be a rancher’s wife? I’m no doctor, and I know we had very different upbringings.”

  Could she! “What difference does that make? What does it matter what you do?” She touched his cheek. “I just need to be where you are. I love it here. I’ve felt more at home in this house than any place I can remember. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.”

  “And children? I understand that’s a touchy subject. Are you okay physically? God, I never even asked that before. And I get you must be scared …”

  Having children was a scary idea, only because she knew what it was to love so deeply and lose. But the dream had just been traded in—it hadn’t died. She still wanted to be a mother, more than anything. “Nothing comes without risk,” she said quietly. “And the idea of babies … oh, Wyatt,” she whispered, and the back of her nose stung. “Not just babies. Your babies.”

  She couldn’t say any more. Instead, they let the idea flower, fragile and tender.

  “Whatever happens, we’ll weather it,” he said in response.

  “I know,” she replied. And she did know. This was what the real deal felt like.

  “I love you, Elli.”

  He looked up at her, his brown eyes so incredibly earnest and that little piece of hair flopping over his forehead. She reached out and smoothed it away.

  He grabbed her finger and kissed it. “Marry me?”

  “In a heartbeat,” she replied, and she knew what it was to be home at last.

  Millionaire Dad:

  Wife Needed

  Natasha Oakley

  About the Author

  NATASHA OAKLEY told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for ‘crowd control’, she loves to escape to antiques fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her website—www.natashaoakley.com.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THERE was no one there.

  Lydia Stanford set her heavy briefcase down and banged again on the dark blue front door of the cottage, stepping back to look at the top floor windows that peeked sleepily out of a roof of handmade tiles.

  It was picturesque, but she wasn’t here to admire the view and it all looked ominously quiet. There was no glint of movement in the upstairs rooms. No sound of radio or television in the background. Nothing.

  Well, nothing except the half-open window above the ramshackle single brick addition at the back. She lifted the brass plate covering the letterbox and peered inside. ‘Ms Bennington? Are you there?’

  Total silence.

  ‘Ms Bennington? It’s Lydia Stanford. We have an appointment at ten.’

  Had an appointment at ten, she corrected silently. It was now nearly twenty past. Damn and blast the woman. Where was she? Lydia straightened and shook back her hair. What exactly was she supposed to do now?

  Was it possible Wendy Bennington had forgotten their meeting? Lydia wrinkled her nose and stared at the closed door as though it held all the answers. It didn’t seem likely she’d have forgotten. The woman was in her late seventies but had a mind so sharp she made politicians quake at the knees the minute she opened her mouth. She’d lay money on her not forgetting a thing. Ever.

  Which was why she’d grabbed at the chance to write an authorised biography of Wendy Bennington. It was the kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity which meant she’d broken off her first holiday in five years. Why she’d got the first flight back to London and had immersed herself in researching the inveterate campaigner’s astonishing life.

  So where was she? Lydia peered round the empty garden as though she expected to see Wendy Bennington walk up the path. Just yesterday the older woman had sounded so enthusiastic about the project; surely she wouldn’t have gone out? And leaving a window open? No one did that any more.

  Lydia sucked in her breath and considered her
options. She could, of course, get back in her car and drive back up the motorway to London. Or she could go and get a coffee in Cambridge and come back in an hour or so. Either one would be an irritating waste of her time.

  She pushed the bell and rattled the letterbox. Even though it didn’t seem worth doing, she bent down and shouted loudly, ‘Ms Bennington?’ Through the narrow opening she could see the green swirly patterned carpet, but nothing else. The cottage seemed completely deserted.

  She half closed the plate, her fingers still on the brass. It wasn’t a voice or even a definite noise that made her pause. Perhaps it was a sixth sense that something was wrong. She called again, ‘Ms Bennington, are you there?’

  Silence. And then a soft thud. Almost.

  ‘Hello? Hello, Ms Bennington?’

  She couldn’t be absolutely certain, but she thought she heard the sound again. Not a footstep or someone falling … nothing that obvious. But something. She was almost sure of it.

  Lydia straightened and shifted her briefcase into her other hand. Of course it could be nothing more exciting than a cat knocking over a waste-paper basket, but …

  But if that soft noise had been the elderly lady’s attempt to attract attention she wouldn’t thank her for walking away and leaving her. Would she? She’d expect her to use her initiative … and do something. Which meant …

  What?

  Lydia chewed gently at the side of her mouth. It had to be worth a try at getting into the cottage through the open window. If Wendy Bennington had been taken ill …

  It was possible. She might have fallen. Accidents in the home were very common, after all. If anything like that had happened, trying to get into the cottage would be the right thing to do. She glanced down at her watch, now showing twenty-five minutes past the hour.

  With sudden energy, Lydia quickly walked round to the back of the cottage and stared at the small upstairs window. It was tantalisingly open. If she could just climb on to the flat roof, reaching the window would be child’s play. It didn’t look that difficult.