Daddy By Design? & Her Perfect Wife

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Then Trey realized what had him upset. It wasn’t just that Chelsi looked like him. It was that he was proud she did. As if he’d had something to do with her creation. Well, that did it. Trey’s single-male-and-liking-it genes rose up in protest. Easy, buddy. With this kind of thinking, can pushing a baby buggy be far behind? Or the tan minivan? And holding your wife’s purse in the mall while she shops for bras? Remember the race circuit. That’s your first love. Always will be. Run, man. Just hightail it out of here, dude, I’m telling ya.

  Trey knew he wouldn’t do that, but a more upsetting realization had just smacked him between the eyes: if Cinda’s baby looked so much like him, then that meant he looked a lot like the baby’s father, right? Okay, now here was some tricky ground. Trey pretty much believed that Cinda was attracted to him. He knew the signs. But could it be, at least in part, because he reminded her of her deceased husband? Oh, that would really suck.

  Trey told himself that he needed to know what Richard Cavanaugh had looked like. Just to put his mind at ease. Just so he’d know that Cinda wasn’t a vulnerable widow, one he was taking advantage of. But how the hell was he supposed to go about finding out what her husband had looked like? He couldn’t just, out of the blue, ask her. What reason would he give? Nor could he demand that Cinda produce a picture of the man. And he certainly didn’t think it would go over very well if he set out on a photograph-hunting safari of his own throughout her house. No doubt, Major Clovis would skewer him before he got to the stairs.

  Though still chuckling at the baby who refused to come to him, on the inside Trey was beating himself up. What the hell was he even doing thinking he had a right to question Cinda about her feelings about anything? He barely knew the woman. Only it didn’t feel that way.

  So here was the thing: He wanted to see her and get to know her. Yet he didn’t. If he did and came to really like her, which he thought he pretty much already did, then he’d have to confront and possibly abandon his own conviction about not being in a committed relationship right now because of the demands of his profession.

  Or he could not see her at all. Too late. Here he was in her family room and that was her standing in front of him. All right, so he couldn’t stop thinking about her and, yes, he had initiated this meeting between them. But now that he had, he was sorry—not because he didn’t feel anything for her, but because he did. And he didn’t like that. But since he did, it would really hurt now to find out that he reminded her of her deceased husband.

  Damn, this was like a splash of cold water in the face. He’d gone down roads and pathways here in the past few moments that were really not called for. After all, what the two of them were doing here was trying to even a score. That was it. So he was attracted to her. So he’d gone to some lengths to see her. So what? He’d been here before in his thinking with other women.

  No he hadn’t, Trey realized. Not even close. The way he felt about Cinda was new and different from anything he’d ever felt before. Hell, he’d only seen her twice in six months, but she’d filled every thought he’d had in that half a year. There was no denying that.

  So stick to the script, Trey told himself. What difference does it make who you might remind her of? You didn’t come here to ask her to marry you. You came here because she agreed to pretend to be married to you. So get over yourself.

  But he couldn’t. He realized that this ruse of his could work too darned well. After all, if he could see the resemblance between him and Chelsi, then so would everyone else, which, again, was what he wanted. But—and it was a big but—could he take a whole weekend of being told what a beautiful wife and daughter he had, with him already this attracted to Cinda and smitten with her baby? Wouldn’t that fill him with joy and pride? Oh, yeah, no doubt about that. All right, then, wasn’t it possible that he would then want to have that feeling permanently?

  Extremely possible. And it wasn’t fair to either one of them. He had his life on the circuit, and she had her baby and memories of her deceased husband.

  Very troubled now, Trey focused on Cinda, who was fussing with the baby’s outfit as he stood in front of her and watched. He put his hand on her bare arm. “Cinda, look at me.” She did, her expression sweet and expectant. Trey felt like such a jackass. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think I’ve made a big mistake in coming here. I don’t think this whole thing was a good idea at all. I think I should just leave.”

  6

  TREY WATCHED CINDA for the effect of his words on her.

  “Leave? But why? Because you almost kissed me? Or because I almost let you? I admit it was sudden. And unexpected. But—” Her expression mirrored her sudden concern for him. “Trey, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

  “I feel a little pale, but it has nothing to do with our ill-fated kiss. May I sit down?” He was already lowering himself onto the sofa’s cushions.

  “Of course.” Cinda sat with him, perching her daughter on her lap. The baby immediately clutched her mother’s heavy gold chain necklace in both fists and tried to stuff it in her mouth. Cinda held on to her daughter’s fists and turned to him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Should I call for Major Clovis? She is a nurse.”

  “No. God, no. I don’t need a nurse. I just need to get a grip.” Trey sank back against the supporting comfort of the sofa cushions. His knees apart, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, he stared into Cinda’s mesmerizing golden eyes. “Cinda, I think we should—”

  Chelsi let out a squawk, cutting Trey’s words off. She then pitched herself over in his direction, dragging her mother, via her gold chain, with her. “Oops.” Cinda righted herself and her daughter. “I think she wants you to hold her, Trey. You don’t have to—”

  “No. Let me see her.” This was perfect. Exactly what he needed to do. “I love babies,” he said holding his hands out. “And I never miss an opportunity to hold one when offered.”

  Cinda looked enormously pleased. “Okay. If you’re sure. Just let me get my necklace untangled from her fists.”

  As she gently pried her daughter’s fingers open, Trey realized that he already felt a sort of kinship with this baby. After all, he’d been there when she came into the world. But right now, Trey wanted to hold the little girl for a reason not having to do with her own preciousness. Despite his misgivings of a few minutes ago, his not seeing how he could just blatantly ask Cinda what Richard had looked like, he decided that maybe one live picture—of himself and Chelsi together—was worth a thousand words. What he wanted to witness was Cinda’s first and honest reaction upon seeing him and her baby together. He felt certain her face would reveal her emotions, and he might as well know them now as later.

  “Okay. There we go. Finally.” Cinda had untangled herself from her child. “I should know better than to wear anything she can get her little paws on.” With that, she scooped up her baby, holding the child up and out to him. “Ready? Be careful. She can be a handful.”

  “About like her mother, I suspect,” Trey quipped, striving to sound light and humorous, even though that wasn’t how he felt.

  Not yet handing the dangling baby over, Cinda looked at him questioningly. “No one’s ever said that to me before. Richard thought I was boring.”

  “Which is why the yaks got him.” Trey heard himself—and saw Cinda’s startled expression. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

  With a smile tugging at her lips, Cinda shook her head. “Actually, it was more funny than out of line.”

  “Whew. Dodged that bullet.” Trey took hold of the soft and chubby little girl whose limbs were flailing wildly. “Come here, you.” He turned her in his arms and greeted her. “Why, hello there, Chelsi. How you doing, huh?”

  The baby stuck out her tongue and gave him the raspberries, a rousing Bronx cheer, and chortled her happiness with her efforts.

  “I think I deserved that,” Trey said mock seriously.

  “Oh, God.” Cinda covered her eyes with a hand. “I am so embarrassed. Major Clovi
s taught her that.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Grinning, Trey focused on the baby. She was killer cute. He held her close to his face and turned toward Cinda. But the baby promptly grabbed two handfuls of his hair and, with more strength than he would have credited her with, pulled herself forward, her mouth open as if she meant to gnaw on his scalp. Making a sound of protest, Trey did his best to hold her at bay.

  “You’ll have to excuse her. She’s teething,” Cinda explained benignly, not offering him any help. “Either that or there are cannibals in the Cavanaugh bloodlines.”

  Trey was still fighting for his scalp, but this was just the opening he wanted. “Speaking of the Cavanaugh’s, what do you think? Do you see here the same thing that I do, Cinda?”

  “If you mean a man trying to keep a baby from snacking on his head, then yes I do.”

  “Not that. I meant not just any man and not just any baby.”

  Shaking her head, Cinda gestured her confusion. “Okay, specifically it’s you and Chelsi.”

  “That’s right. Me and Chelsi. And…?”

  “Me?”

  “Look again. Look closer. Do you see any resemblance here? Maybe between me and Chelsi and someone you knew and loved?”

  Cinda’s frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

  She really didn’t see anything. A bit heartened but still stubbornly pressing his point, Trey finally disentangled his hair and sat the chortling baby on his lap, facing her mother. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t see the resemblance here, Cinda? Look at us.” Trey divided his attention between mother and daughter. “Chelsi looks just like me.”

  Cinda cocked her head, now looking from him to her daughter and back to him. “Do you really think so? I admit your coloring is the same. I mean your skin tone. But that’s about it.”

  “Yeah? And our hair color?”

  She considered them both. “Your hair color is about the same, too.”

  “And our eyes?”

  “Blue. Oh, I get it. This is good since everyone in Southwood will believe she truly is your daughter, right?”

  This was very good. She was going nowhere near Richard. But Trey had to be certain. “That’s one way of looking at it. But I was talking about something else here.”

  Looking perplexed Cinda crossed her arms over her chest. “Something that made you want to leave, you mean? Maybe you’d better just tell me what it is, Trey. In plain English.”

  Inhaling for courage, he plunged ahead. “What did Richard look like?”

  “Richard?” She stared a bit blankly at him. Then suddenly she sobered. “Ah. I see. I can’t believe I was so slow. You and Chelsi look alike, so you’re wondering if you and Richard bear any resemblance, right?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.” Now Trey felt deflated. He’d brought her to this point, only now he didn’t want her to think about it.

  But Cinda looked just as pained as he felt. “I don’t really know what to say here, Trey, except I don’t know why it would matter. After all, we are just talking about one weekend of the three of us posing as a family. I mean, that’s all there is to this you-and-me thing, right?”

  “Maybe.” Trey held on to Chelsi and found he couldn’t look the little girl’s mother in the eye right now. The air between them seemed to settle, as if the air conditioner had just shut off. Hell, he’d opened this can of worms, so now he had to go fishing—and risk getting stuck on his own hook. He settled his gaze on her and opened his mouth to speak. “Look, Cinda, I didn’t mean to—”

  She’d held her hand up to stop him. “No. Allow me. Okay, look, I’m just going to say this. There is more going on here than your reunion. Between us, I mean. At least I hope there is, or I’m going to feel pretty stupid.”

  “No need. I feel it, too.”

  She nodded. “I want to say ‘good,’ but it’s obviously got you spooked, I can see that. Well, guess what? Me, too. Yet I’m thinking this topic, what Richard looks like, might be a bit premature. I mean, despite what this thing is between us, the truth is we hardly know each other. So wouldn’t it make more sense to postpone this until we see if we even like each other?”

  She was right, of course. And he was an ass. “Cinda, I didn’t mean to put this out there like that. There’s a reason why women shouldn’t ever talk to men. We’re clueless.”

  Finally she smiled. “No, you’re not. You’re actually very sweet. And I guess I should be flattered that you’d already be so far along in your thinking.” But then her expression crumpled, putting the lie to her words. “However, this has nothing to do with—”

  Leaving her thought unspoken, she abruptly stood up. She held her hands out for her daughter. “Will you excuse us a moment, please?”

  He wanted to say no he wouldn’t. He had a feeling he wouldn’t see her again if she left the room now. No doubt, Major Clovis would then come in, skewer him on a spit, and javelin-toss him out into the street. “Cinda, I didn’t mean anything by that. I really—”

  “No, it’s okay. I get it, Trey. You want to be certain that I, in my delusional grieving-widow state, don’t think of you as a substitute for Richard. Am I right?”

  Well, there it was. Everything he feared, and he had only himself to blame. “Boy, that sucks when said out loud, huh? Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you or insulted you, Cinda. It was the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “I think on some level I know that, Trey.” She still held her hands out for her child. “It’s just that I, well, I need to put Chelsi down for a nap.”

  “Oh.” Coddling the baby, Trey stood and handed her over to her mother. “Listen, if you want me to leave, Cinda, just say so. Maybe it would be best if I did, if we just forget everything and I go.”

  She took her daughter from him and kissed the top of the child’s head. Then she looked up into his eyes. Trey’s heart thumped dully as he met Cinda’s gaze. A sudden instinct had him wanting to gather her and her daughter into his arms, hold them forever, and tell them that everything would be all right. But that wasn’t his job or his privilege, he quickly reminded himself.

  Cinda inhaled and opened her mouth to speak. “No,” she said. “Don’t leave, Trey. That’s the last thing I want you to do. Please wait for me. I want to show you something.”

  “All right.”

  She turned away and Trey watched her go. She moved her slender body with ladylike grace that was somehow very sensuous. Just the way she walked, the gentle sway of her hips and the way her long, blond hair moved with each step…it was very affecting. It made Trey want to run after her and take her in his arms and tell her everything he was thinking. He made a tiny sound of self-deprecation. Hadn’t he just done that and with these wonderful results?

  Wait for me, she’d said. He watched her turn a corner out of the room, leaving him there alone. Feeling very much out of place, Trey shoved his hands in his pants pockets and looked around. The room’s very quietness accused him. But off to his right were French doors that looked out onto an expanse of immaculate lawn bordered by friendly looking beds of healthy blooming flowers. Trey walked over to the closed, beveled-glass doors and stared out. Wait for me.

  Should he? he wondered. Maybe it would be best for them both if he made his apologies and just left. He didn’t like to think he was chickening out, but, hell, it was obvious that Cinda was still vulnerable here. And he, well, he was awash in conflicting emotions himself regarding her. Trey shook his head. Teach him to get involved. Well, he wasn’t yet. Not much.

  UPSTAIRS, CINDA SOFTLY CLOSED the door to Chelsi’s bedroom. The drowsy little girl was more asleep than awake. Cinda stood in the hall, listening to see if her daughter would fuss or take her nap. Waiting and listening, she leaned back against the wall, which had her facing three decoratively shaped windows across the way. Cinda planted her hands at her waist and studied her sandals. I could hardly wait to see Trey today. And he is every bit as gorgeous and nice as I remembered him to be. Yet he thinks I’m a pathetic widow who
has him confused with her dearly departed husband.

  Of course, Cinda realized, she had done nothing downstairs to dispel that notion. Again she saw herself making that pretty speech and then essentially fleeing with her daughter. Cinda winced at her own behavior. What must Trey think? This was not going the way she’d seen it in her mind. And, darn it, she had such a nice lunch planned for the two of them.

  A happy gurgle of sound had Cinda listening again at the baby’s door. The little stinker was playing. Smiling, Cinda resumed her wait. She’d give the baby a few more minutes to settle in. As she did, she thought again about her dilemma. On the one hand, she didn’t owe him any explanations at all. They had no agreement, no arrangement. But on the other hand, it wouldn’t be so awful if they could come to one. She considered that, wondering how it would feel to have something real with a heart-stopping guy like Trey. An impromptu poll of her senses told Cinda she liked that idea.

  But this Richard thing was evidently a stumbling block for him. A valid one, she had to admit, because she knew firsthand how it felt to be second-best in someone’s heart. Richard had been a man’s man, a person more at ease with a life of masculine pursuits and testosterone-laden adventures than he had been with home and hearth. And her. So maybe she owed it to Trey to show him that in the nearly year and a half since her husband’s death, she’d worked through all those feelings and had done her grieving.

  She hated to admit it, but it hadn’t been all that hard. Not that she was coldhearted. And certainly, she was sad about his death. But she and Richard just hadn’t loved each other like they should have. That was probably the saddest part of it all. Still, Richard had seemed to have a pretty good handle on what he’d wanted from her. Loyalty and an heir. A good, quiet wife he didn’t have to worry about. A woman who would uncomplainingly keep his home fires burning while he globe-trotted from one adventure to the next.

  He hadn’t been mean or even unkind. More like benignly neglectful. But once she’d realized that he would never be involved with her, that he might be fulfilled but she wasn’t, she’d retreated into her happiness at the prospect of having a child. But even that hadn’t been able to keep her satisfied. So she’d left. And then Richard had been killed. It was sad, she was sorry, and she had mourned him. But now, fifteen months later, she had it all in perspective and she could even think kindly of Richard.