Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “No,” he said quietly, “I guess you didn’t.”

  Cinda had no idea what to say next. Apparently, neither did Trey. That left only the obvious between them to fill the gap—a pregnant silence. But as they stared at one another, a totally unexpected jet of sensual awareness sparked between them, catching Cinda off guard. Her gaze met and truly held his. Strangers across a crowded room…or a stuck elevator…whatever. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. The moment got warm, heating up with that whole man/woman thing. That kiss-me-now-big-boy feeling.

  Still staring at Trey Cooper, Cinda blinked. She could not believe this. Who’d have thought that in this ridiculous situation—and with me nine months pregnant—that now I’m going to feel a spark of connection, of attraction with some man?

  “So,” Trey said a bit too loudly, breaking the spell between them, “what happened to your husband? Do you mind me asking?”

  “No. I don’t mind.” Surprising her was the realization that she really didn’t. In fact, she realized now that she needed to tell him, a stranger, about Richard’s death, as well as the truth of how she felt about it—a truth she could hardly share with family and friends. “It was all really pretty stupid,” she began. “And I’m still mad at him. In fact, I may never forgive him. You see, Richard was trying to go around the world in a hot-air balloon. You know the type—bored multimillionaire adventurer. Almost a cliché nowadays, right?”

  “Sure.”

  He’d agreed with her, but his expression said he didn’t have a clue about what she was talking about. Different worlds, she supposed. “Well, anyway, he was ballooning and something happened to the equipment. The sick joke was he finally ran out of hot air. Ha-ha. So there he was over Tibet and going down fast.” Cinda paused and eyed Trey Cooper. “I know you’re not going to believe this next part. The falling balloon frightened a herd of yaks.”

  “Yaks?” Trey looked at her as if she’d said something as absurd as, well, yaks. “Those big, hairy buffalo-looking things with the horns, right?”

  Cinda nodded. “Right. So, anyway, the basket hit the ground, and—” She inhaled deeply for courage and then pushed out her words. “—Richard spilled out. The impact probably killed him, but the yaks stampeded and…trampled him, pretty much sealing the deal.”

  Trey Cooper’s features contorted with disbelief and horror. “Damn.”

  “Exactly. It was pretty bad all around.”

  “I’m sure it was.” The man had not yet blinked. “That’s quite a story.”

  “I know. And much stranger than fiction.”

  “I hear you. Well, still, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. And I thank you for not laughing. Some people have.”

  He shook his head. “Hey, I never laugh at death. My job revolves around the daily possibility of taking a permanent dirt nap—” His eyes rounded. “Oh, hell, excuse me. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you didn’t. It’s okay.”

  “And I was just teasing about throttling your husband, Mrs. Cavanaugh. I’m not the violent type.”

  “Imagine my relief.” Glad to have her story out, Cinda smiled at him. “Would you call me Cinda, please? Every time you say Mrs. Cavanaugh, I think my mother-in-law is behind me. And I have enough trouble right now without that image.” Conjuring up Richard’s mother sent a pang of disloyalty through Cinda. She looked down and away, then up at Trey Cooper. “Look, about Richard. Please don’t think I didn’t care. I did. It’s just that I’m mad at him—as silly as that sounds—for being so careless with his life.”

  “I can see how you would be.”

  “You’re very kind. I keep telling myself I need to get over it. Richard has been gone awhile.” Trey Cooper raised his eyebrows as he glanced the way of her pregnant belly. Cinda got his drift. “Well, not a long while. Nine months.”

  “Wow. That had to be tough…Cinda.”

  “It was.” Something about the way he said her name sent a thrill rushing through her. He was so easy to talk to, so attentive and sympathetic that she almost forgot she was stuck in an elevator. “Richard was killed before I even realized I was pregnant, so obviously I never got to tell him.”

  Trey Cooper’s expression morphed into the same one worn by people who are unwilling witnesses to a train wreck. “Cinda, does tabloid TV know about you? I swear, you keep this up and I’m going to be crying.”

  Embarrassed, Cinda bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with all this.” That was all she’d meant to say, but apparently today her psyche had a mind of its own. “Still, even if Richard had known about the baby, I don’t think it would have changed anything between us. We were separated. I think. I mean I’d left him, but he didn’t even realize it. Not for three days, anyway. But, oh well, that was our life.”

  The poor man trapped in here with her, a captive audience, just stared at her, his features a mask of sympathy.

  Cinda put a hand to her forehead. “There I go again. All this voluntary sharing of mine. Could I be more Tennessee Williams? More Blanche DuBois, depending on the kindness of strangers? You’d think this elevator car was named Desire, instead of Otis.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. All I want to know is what kind of idiot was Richard Cavanaugh not to have realized a woman like you wasn’t around anymore? To me, that would be like not noticing that the sun didn’t come up in the morning.”

  He couldn’t be more wonderful. Sudden shyness, and a telling prick of tears, assailed Cinda. “Thank you. I needed that—especially in this condition.” She rubbed her rounded belly. Trey Cooper stared at her…warmly, openly. That awareness bug was flying around them again. Cinda quickly pointed to the phone he held in his hand. “Maybe now would be a good time to try that emergency number.”

  “Right.” He put the receiver to his ear, listened, and then shook his head in apparent disbelief. “As long as you live, you are not going to believe this. The line is busy.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not lying. It’s busy.”

  Cinda swallowed the rising panic in her throat. “Busy? How can it be busy? It’s the emergency phone for this elevator—and we’re the only ones in it.”

  “Believe me, I’m aware of that. Maybe whatever knocked out the elevator, took out the phone, too. Add Edison to your list of inventors to hate right now.” He hung up the phone and then stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “Somewhere in here is a…aha, there it is.”

  He pulled out a pocketknife and held it up for her inspection. “Never leave home without it.” He opened the knife and turned away from her to face the control panel.

  This couldn’t be good. Cinda peeked around him to see what he might be doing. Dear God. He was un-screwing the metal facing plate over the buttons that marked each floor. She put a hand on his arm. “Trey, what are you doing?”

  He spared her a glance. “Taking this panel off. Underneath, there should be miles of wiring. Maybe I can figure out which ones to hot-wire and get this elevator back on the fast track again.”

  Cinda’s knees stiffened with her disbelief. “You can’t do that.”

  “Actually, I probably can.” His expression radiated confident good humor. “You’re the one who told me to do something, remember.”

  “Well, quit listening to me. What do I know? My point is this is not a ’56 Chevy. And I would appreciate it if you would not fiddle with the wires. You could blow us up.”

  He shook his head, unfazed. “That’s only if there’s a bomb. The worst I could do is fool with the wrong wires and send us hurtling down in a free fall to the basement.”

  “Well, thank God for that,” she said brightly, falsely. Cinda stared at his handsome but possibly crazy profile and retreated to the back wall. “I’m doomed. And so is my baby.”

  Trey reached out and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, don’t give up on me so easily. I have lots of ideas. If I can’t hot-wire the thing, I’ll remove tha
t ceiling panel up there and climb out on top of the car—”

  “No you will not.” Cinda sternly stared at her companion. “You absolutely will not.”

  He stepped back. “Are you always this bossy, Cinda?”

  “Are you always this impractical, Trey?”

  A flash of anger sparked in his eyes. “What’s so impractical about trying to get us out of here?”

  Suddenly, he was acting like Richard Cavanaugh all over again—all strut and no substance, not someone she could rely on. “Look, Trey, there are two things here you are not going to do. One, you are not going to do anything to get yourself killed. And two, you are not leaving me here alone. I have been there and done that. And I am not going through it again.”

  “All right.” He flipped his knife closed and shoved it back in his pocket. “You got any better ideas?”

  Cinda cast about in her mind—only to suddenly realize that she should have been casting about in her handbag instead. She suddenly brightened. “Yes I do. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before now. My cell phone. It’s in my purse. We can call someone.”

  Trey Cooper’s suddenly radiant expression said he forgave her doubting him. He stretched his arms wide, as if he meant to hug her. “Bless this technological age. We are saved. I could kiss you, Cinda Cavanaugh. And I just might do it, too.”

  2

  CINDA’S INSIDES FLUTTERED. What would Trey’s kiss be like? But then reality—which included her pregnancy, her ill-timed labor, and their current situation—set in and she looked away from his lips. “Not now,” she chirped, knowing she didn’t really mean it and that he probably hadn’t, either. “But I will take a rain check.”

  His eyes warmed. “You got it.”

  Her gaze locked with his. That intense, totally inappropriate awareness again flowed between them.

  Then, feeling silly in the face of his flirting with her, Cinda busied herself with rummaging around in her purse. “I call my handbag Wonder Purse. Everyone teases me about its size. But every time anyone needs something, it’s in here.”

  “I’ll believe you if you pull an obstetrician out of there.”

  “Wouldn’t we both be surprised? But I can do the next best thing. I can call one. My doctor’s office is on the fifteenth floor of this very building.” Cinda kept up her rummaging, telling herself that she was not undergoing another labor pain. She began to sweat. No such luck. It was a definite labor pain. Her hand closed around her slim cell phone. She pulled it out and shoved it into Trey’s hands. “Here. You’ll have to dial. Pain. Another one.”

  “Oh, no. Hang on, Miss Cinda. Hold on to me if it helps.” He held his arm out for her. Cinda clutched at him as if he were a life preserver. And in a way, if these pains came any faster, he very well might be. “Squeeze hard,” he said. “I don’t mind. What’s your doctor’s number?”

  Between shortened breaths, Cinda told him. He dialed, evidently got somebody and began—very calmly and practically—relating the emergency to Dr. Butler’s office staff. Cinda’s pain receded. Still clutching Trey’s arm, she rested her forehead against his muscled bicep. Even through his clothing, she could feel that he was big and strong and warm. Tears of gratitude for a solid, if temporary, presence to lean on, filled her eyes. She’d never had this with Richard, this support, this steadfastness. Not in the five years of their marriage.

  Cinda now realized she’d been wrong about this man. He wasn’t at all like the late Richard Cavanaugh. Instead, Trey Cooper was a rock, solid and dependable. And kind. She looked up at him, afraid her heart was in her eyes.

  “Hey, no crying,” he said tenderly, tipping her chin up with his free hand. With great casualness he planted a kiss on her forehead. “The nurse is getting your doctor. Evidently somebody’s already called building maintenance about the elevator being stuck. They’re working on it now. And the receptionist will call for an ambulance on the other line. So everything is going to be fine, all right?”

  Cinda started to thank him, but he gestured for her not to speak as he listened to whatever was being said to him on the phone. Finally, he nodded and said, “Hello, Dr. Butler. Trey Cooper here. Yes, she’s right here with me, although I’d venture to say she’d prefer being with you.” Grinning—a killer one that exposed an expanse of white and even teeth—he handed Cinda the phone.

  She took it, putting it to her ear as she pushed her thick shoulder-length hair back. “Dr. Butler? Oh, thank God. Yes, I’m fine. For the moment, at least. How many pains? Two. Maybe three. No, they’re not that bad…I guess. I don’t know. I’ve never had labor pains before. What? No, not very long. But I think they’re getting closer and harder. Okay. Here he is.” She held the phone out to Trey. “She wants to talk to you.”

  “Me?” Frowning, Trey took the phone. “Hello?” As he listened, his eyes widened and he stared at Cinda. “Her what? Birthing coach, if it comes to that? Oh, ma’am, we can’t let it come to that. Miss Cinda told me this baby is breach—what? That means it’s turned sideways? It is?” Sweat broke out on his brow. He ran a hand over his mouth. “Oh, lordy. No, I’m fine. I’ll do it. What? Hold on, and I’ll tell her.” He focused on Cinda. “She’s on her cordless phone. She and her nurse are already taking the stairs to meet us in the lobby when we get there.”

  When we get there. Such a wonderful phrase. Still, Cinda had her reservations. “She’s running down fifteen flights of stairs? That poor woman. She ought to be in great shape when she gets to the lobby.”

  “She’ll be fine, Cinda. And so will we…if there’s a God. In the meantime, I’m to relay her instructions to you and, uh, do what she says.”

  Knowing what a birth coach had to do—and see—Cinda understood his hesitation and felt her face flame. “Maybe you won’t have to do anything. I haven’t had a contraction now for a few—” A sudden, hard pain tore across her abdomen and cut her breath off. She clutched at Trey and the handrail, and began her breathing exercises. “Okay, this one’s bad. Talk to her. Tell her. See what to do. Oh, God.”

  Trey was wild-eyed. “It’s bad,” he said to the doctor. “She’s having a pain. Time it? I can’t. She’s holding on to my arm. I can’t get to my watch and hang on to this phone at the same time. What? Tell her to breathe?” With great pomp and seriousness, he told Cinda, “Breathe.”

  Feeling as if her insides were being torn apart, Cinda shrieked, “I am, you jackass.”

  “She is, you jackass,” Trey yelled into the cell phone before catching himself. “No. Wait. Sorry. Not you. I didn’t mean—do what?” The color drained from the man’s face. “Oh, I don’t think so. I can’t—okay, okay, I will.” He focused on Cinda and exhaled. “This is not my idea. But your doctor wants you to, uh, disrobe from the waist down. She says I may have to check your—”

  “You’ll. Check. Nothing,” Cinda snarled, her upper lip actually curling. “You tell her I said people in hell want ice water, too, but do they get it? No. Not in a million years.”

  Trey eyed her warily and spoke into the phone. “She said—oh, you heard that. What? You want me to breathe now?” He did. Deeply, slowly.

  The elevator car lurched. Cinda gasped. Trey cursed. “It’s the elevator,” he explained to Dr. Butler on the other end of the line. “It jumped or something. Yes, we’re okay. Maybe. Wait. Hold on. I think it’s—yes, it is. It’s moving.”

  As if it had never been problematical, the elevator car began a smooth and controlled descent. With her pain easing, Cinda stared up at Trey, wanting him to corroborate for her that she hadn’t lost her mind. “We are moving downward, right? And not in a free fall, right?”

  “Right.” He then enthusiastically told her doctor, “Yes, Dr. Butler. We’re apparently on our way. Where are you now? The fourth floor? Wow. You must be a world-class sprinter. Us?” He looked up to the lighted panel overhead. “Eight…seven. We’re on our way. Yeah. See y’all in the lobby.” He punched the end button and handed Cinda the cell phone, which she plopped into her purse. “Dr.
Butler’s meeting us in the lobby,” he said, as if reassuring himself as much as her. “With any luck, the ambulance has already arrived.”

  Another mechanical lurch—a last-gasp one that didn’t slow the car down any—had Cinda clumsily falling into Trey’s embrace. With his coat open and only his chambray shirt between her and his bare skin, his body felt warm and solid, his scent clean and masculine. His arms about her made her feel the safest she’d felt since before she’d left her parents’ home to marry Richard. “I’m sorry for speaking to you like I did. And thank you for staying with me.”

  His chuckle rumbled in his chest and vibrated pleasantly against her ear. “No apology necessary. But before you get all sentimental, remember that I didn’t have any other choices open to me.”

  Cinda pulled back and looked up at him. “Still, I don’t think you’re the sort who would have left me even if you’d been able to.”

  Looking suddenly embarrassed, he said, “You’re right. I would have stuck it out.” He frowned. “That didn’t sound right. What I mean is, I’d have stayed with you.”

  AND STAY HE DID. Trey reflected that he’d had no idea, when he’d spoken those words a few moments ago, just how true they’d become. But now he did. The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. A cheering crowd, a virtual welcoming committee, met them. To him, the participants looked more like they belonged at a disaster scene, instead of at the celebration of a new life.

  Outside, double-parked in the vehicle-clogged street were the blinking emergency lights of an ambulance, a fire truck, and several police cars—as well as a crowd of curious gawkers, some with cameras. Inside the lobby were several police officers warning people to stay back. Included among the bystanders were two smiling mechanics in greasy overalls. Obviously the heroes who’d fixed the elevator. With them were two emergency medical technicians, one to either side of a waiting gurney. In front of the crowd stood a woman in a white coat—Dr. Butler, presumably—pretty, dark-eyed, blessedly knowledgeable and in charge. A pony-tailed nurse who looked twelve years old but was clad in surgery scrubs stood behind the doctor. The only thing lacking was a partridge in a pear tree.