A Mother's Day: Nobody's ChildBaby on the WayA Daddy for Her Daughters

by Emilie Richards

  “No? What happened?”

  He was left with a choice. He could be rude and refuse to answer, or he could spill his guts. And neither solution was in character.

  She seemed to sense his struggle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I’m sure that sometimes you’d rather forget what you do for a living.”

  “Today would be one of those days.” He found he wanted to tell her what had happened to him, wanted it more than he wanted his highly valued privacy. He didn’t know how to start, but he took a stab at it. “I had a kid take a shot at me today. He wasn’t impressed with how calm and reasonable I was. He was more impressed that I was about to arrest him.”

  Gemma dropped her knife at the word shot. “Farrell…that’s horrible. Awful. But you’re all right?”

  “Fine.” But he wasn’t, which was why he’d ended up on Gemma’s doorstep.

  “How about the kid?”

  “He’s in jail. And not for the first time.”

  She hadn’t gone on with her preparations. She stared at him, her forehead wrinkled, her face a paler shade. “You must have been pretty shaken up. You can’t possibly get used to that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, you do.” He paused, then he shook his head ruefully. “No, you don’t. Thank God it doesn’t happen often enough for me to get used to it.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  He found himself doing just that. She resumed her preparations, but she was listening intently. He couldn’t remember anyone listening to him that way before, head cocked, eyes focused on his. She nodded as he spoke, and her soft blond hair fell forward over her cheeks and caressed her collarbone. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and somehow, he couldn’t stop talking.

  “I arrested him once before, a couple of years ago,” he finished. “He was fourteen then. He hadn’t graduated to handguns and ATMs yet. That time he stole a box of candy to give his mother for Mother’s Day. Not that there was any guarantee his mother would have been around to eat it. She and his father are in jail more than they’re out.”

  “I want to say poor kid. But he could have killed you.”

  “They’ll put him away for this one, but he won’t get any help. I think there’s still something good in this kid, but it won’t be there by the time he’s free again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He liked that. No suggestions. No easy answers. Just a sincere statement of regret. “Me, too.”

  “You must see a lot of situations like that one.”

  “More than I want to.”

  She was chopping vegetables now, with an easy, practiced motion that sent them flying into neat little piles on the cutting board. Garlic sizzled in oil on the stovetop, and as he watched, the vegetables joined it. Next she sliced chicken and added it strip by strip until the smells were mouthwatering.

  The water in the enamel pot began to boil, and Gemma added pasta. “Well, it shouldn’t be long now. I’ll just do the asparagus, and we’ll be ready to eat.”

  Mary stirred restlessly, and Farrell realized she was beginning to whimper.

  “Uh-oh. I was afraid this was too good to be true.” Gemma washed and dried her hands. “Shall I take her?”

  “Why don’t I try walking her a little?”

  “She’d probably like that. But you must be dead on your feet.”

  “Believe me, this is exactly what I need.”

  She smiled her understanding. “Good. And maybe she’ll feel better if I can just get her dinner on the table.”

  The equivalent of six blocks later, Mary reluctantly allowed him to set her in a booster seat at her very own place mat. Gemma served her plain chicken strips and canned fruit and one stalk of asparagus. The little girl sat stone-faced, staring at her plate.

  “You know what? I suggest we eat quickly.” Gemma took her own seat and motioned Farrell to his. “This may be the calm before the storm.”

  He didn’t want to eat quickly. The food was delicious, even better than he had expected. And to his relief, the asparagus was edible, even if it looked like something Gemma had picked from an unmowed lawn. He was halfway through his meal when Mary began to cry in earnest.

  Gemma was on her feet, sliding the little girl from her chair, before he could swallow. “You take your time,” she said. “And that’s an order. I’ll entertain her a little, and when you’re done, I’ll finish my dinner.”

  He wondered if this was the way it was done in most families. Did mothers and fathers take turns comforting their children? Were there other women, like this one, who felt that a child’s minor cold was enough of a reason to miss a meal? He couldn’t imagine this kind of radiant goodwill, this attention to a child’s needs. The world he had come from, the one he saw each day out on the streets, was a different one entirely. He felt as if he’d just been set down in the land of Oz.

  And he realized he had no desire to find his way back to the land he was used to.

  Gemma was murmuring softly to Mary, who was snuggled into her arms as if she’d been born into them. Something stirred restlessly inside Farrell, not for the mother or the child, but for the woman. She had strength that shone beyond the wide green eyes and delicate features. She believed in what she was doing. She wanted to make a difference in the lives of children like this one so that they didn’t end up angry and desperate, like the teenager who had nearly killed him today. She was courage and wisdom packaged in a soft, shapely body that made his own ache with longing.

  He wondered what it would be like to be loved by this woman, to lie with her in his arms, her body stretched the length of his. He knew better than to yearn for things he couldn’t have. The lessons of his own childhood had taught him that.

  But just for a moment, he wondered.

  “Farrell?” She looked concerned. “Are you full already?”

  Farrell knew he could never get enough of Gemma or anything she offered. He shook his head, and warnings flashed through his mind. He had a sixth sense that told him when he was in danger. Today he had dodged a bullet at exactly the right moment.

  But somehow, he knew he was helpless to duck or dodge now.

  Chapter 5

  Gemma made potato salad for Patty’s barbecue and a big chocolate cake with mocha icing. She had a feeling that Farrell liked chocolate. The night he’d stayed for dinner, he had eaten a bowl of chocolate chunk ice cream that was the equivalent of a week of desserts for her. She had shamelessly dragged out the meal that night because she had enjoyed having him there so much. If she could have followed up the meal with cheese and fruit in the European style, she would have. If she could have forced him to drink yet one more cup of coffee and followed it with brandy and cigars, she would have done that, too.

  He had stayed for a while after the ice cream, anyway, patiently holding and walking Mary until the little girl finally gave in to sleep. Unfortunately, Farrell had put the little girl to bed, lovingly tucked covers around her sleeping body, then thanked Gemma for dinner and…left.

  Gemma had been surprised at the disappointment she’d felt. She didn’t want a relationship with Farrell Riley. But that night she had been sorry to see him go. She didn’t know what she had wanted. But when he had walked out her door, she had felt a loneliness she couldn’t pretend away. She had a full life, friends and more interests than she would ever have time to pursue. But the emptiness that had assaulted her after his departure wasn’t something she could fill by sewing new curtains for the playroom or reading a novel by her favorite author. She had felt unwillingly connected to Farrell that night. She had been drawn in by his warm generosity with Mary and by his reluctant story of the day’s events. She had been horrified to think that this man might have disappeared from her life before he had really entered it.

  And, as before, she had felt the strong pull of sexual attraction between them.

  She was almost surprised that he hadn’t called to say he couldn’t make today’s barbecue. By leaving the moment Mary was in bed, he had made it clear tha
t the child was their only tie. She thought that he felt the same physical tug that she did. Sometimes she found him looking at her with something close to desire. But clearly, Farrell didn’t want a relationship any more than she did.

  So why had he agreed to come to Patty’s today, even to pick her up first? And why, given the opportunity, hadn’t he changed his mind?

  Gemma realized she was staring into space. Since there were no answers to her questions, she busied herself by tucking the potato salad and cake into a picnic basket. Mary, who had been contentedly piling wooden blocks into rickety towers in the corner, came to investigate. Gemma was convinced that Farrell had worked some sort of magic the night he had lulled Mary to sleep, because the worst of her cold was gone the next morning, and now she was brighter and more cheerful than she had been since arriving on Gemma’s doorstep.

  Mary favored Gemma with a huge smile, and Gemma scooped her up for a hug. Mary hugged her back.

  Gemma’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure if she had imagined the faint pressure. Mary was not unresponsive. She listened, she watched, and Gemma was sure that she processed everything around her. But she was a child who had learned that she was safest if she kept inside herself. Now she was discovering that people listened when she cried, and tried to help her. And little by little she was learning that no one would punish or ignore her if she had a statement of her own to make.

  A statement like a tentative little hug.

  “You’re very special, Mary.” Gemma hugged her again. “A very special little girl.”

  The doorbell rang, and Mary scrambled to get down. Gemma’s hands went to her own hair. Not that there was much she could do with it. Fine, straight hair did exactly what it pleased. Today she had pulled it back from her face with a headband that matched the soft gold of her skirt and blouse. But the age-old impulse to primp before confronting an attractive man won out over good sense.

  Mary reached the door before Gemma did. She was in Farrell’s arms the moment the door was unlocked. He lifted her and kissed her forehead. “How’s my best girl today?”

  Mary crowed with delight. “Yes!”

  Farrell looked as startled as Gemma felt. Their gazes locked. “She’s talking?” he said.

  “A first.” Gemma took a deep breath. She realized that in a matter of seconds she had nearly been reduced to tears.

  “Well…” He looked down at Mary. “Definitely yes, sweetheart.”

  Gemma swallowed. “I bet she’d like to show you what she’s been working on in the kitchen.”

  Farrell and Mary followed her inside. By the time they reached the kitchen, Gemma had her emotions under control.

  Farrell set Mary on the floor, and Gemma watched the little girl run to the corner, making happy sounds. He made the appropriate fuss over her towers, insisting she was destined to become an architect. It was doubtful that she understood completely, but she beamed at the praise.

  For those moments Gemma had the chance to watch Farrell undetected. He was dressed in dark jeans and a silver-gray sweater worn over a dark turtleneck. Men in uniform had a certain allure. This man still had it in casual clothing. The sweater stretched over shoulders broad enough to take on a thousand problems. The jeans hugged long, muscular legs and slim hips. No one looking at him could guess he was a cop, but even in civilian clothes he still retained a certain authority, a subtle unspoken announcement that here was a man to be reckoned with.

  He looked up from Mary’s blocks and found her watching him. For a moment their gazes locked, as they had when Mary had spoken. But this time something other than amazement passed between them. The air practically sizzled. His eyes drifted down her body, then up again.

  “You look nice today.” He didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed.

  “Actually, I was thinking that you do, too.”

  A few heartbeats passed, then a few more. Neither of them looked away.

  “I’m glad you decided to come,” she said at last. Not because she wanted to break the spell. She was not uncomfortable with Farrell, not even when neither of them knew what to say. She just wanted to be sure he knew she was glad he was there.

  “I told you I would.”

  “And you never change your mind?”

  “Not if I’ve made a promise.”

  She wondered if he knew how rare that was. Jimmy’s promises had been worthless.

  Her gaze dropped to Mary, and the spell was broken. “We have Mary and the picnic basket, and I packed a bag with Mary’s toys, a change of clothes, a blanket…” She paused, trying to decide if she’d forgotten anything.

  “I’d be glad to drive, but I don’t have a car seat. Would you like me to move yours to my car?”

  “I can drive. It’ll be easier. Unless you’re one of those men who can’t stand having someone else behind the wheel.”

  “I have to put up with Cal’s driving. I bet I can handle yours.”

  She flashed him a grin and found he was smiling back at her. The fluttery feeling inside her was becoming an old friend.

  Farrell liked Gemma’s family. Patty was a brassier, louder version of her sister, but every bit as devoted to making the people around her comfortable. Katy, their younger sister, was a grown-up tomboy with short blond hair and a tendency to get down on the ground to roughhouse with her rambunctious nephews and her three-year-old son. Their husbands, John and Michael, obviously adored them, and although chaos had reigned from the moment Gemma and Farrell arrived, everyone pitched in and got along.

  “Feel like you’re trapped in the middle of a ‘Brady Bunch’ rerun?” Cal leaned against a picnic table in the backyard and handed Farrell a beer. He and Sheila, his hugely pregnant wife, had immediately fit right in with everybody else, and now Sheila was lumbering after one of the little boys in an impromptu game of tag.

  “‘The Brady Bunch’ was never this loud,” Farrell said.

  “My house was just like this. Lots of kids, lots of noise. We fought more, though. I figure we just yelled a lot to be sure we were heard.” Cal took a swig of beer. “What about yours?”

  He and Cal had been partners for two years, but Farrell had discouraged conversation about their respective pasts. He had come to terms with his life a long time ago, but he never thought of it as something to chat about.

  “Nothing like this,” he said.

  “You’re such a quiet guy. I always kind of thought you might be an only child.”

  “Good guess.”

  “I’m one of six, but I just want a couple of kids of my own. Sheila and I want to be able to spend a lot of time with them, you know?”

  “You’ll be a good dad.”

  “You think so?” Cal sounded pleased. “I get scared sometimes. What if I screw up?”

  “Maybe you will. But kids are hardy, and you won’t screw up often.”

  “Yeah? That’s good to hear. What about you? You always say you don’t want kids. Do you mean it?”

  “I mean it.”

  “You’re real good with Mary.”

  Farrell sought out the little girl with his eyes. She was safely ensconced in Gemma’s arms. Mary seemed fascinated by the other children, but so far she had resisted all attempts to involve her in their play. Farrell couldn’t blame her. Gemma’s nephews were a high-speed, high-impact bunch.

  “I’m not a family man,” Farrell said.

  “You’d have trouble convincing Mary of that. If she could talk, she’d tell you some stories about people who don’t believe in family. The ones who had her, for starters.”

  Gemma must have seen them looking in Mary’s direction. She smiled and started toward them.

  “I’m going to make Sheila slow down. If this keeps up, I’ll be a father before I’m ready.” Cal strolled off and left Farrell to wait for Gemma alone.

  “How are you doing?” Gemma settled herself and Mary at the picnic table beside where he was standing. “Is the noise getting to you yet?”

  “I can take a lot of noise.”

&nb
sp; “Good thing. It’s always like this, though. They aren’t doing it for your benefit.”

  Farrell dropped to the bench beside her. Mary wiggled onto his lap and cuddled against him as if she was ready for a nap.

  He stroked her hair. “She’s pooped.”

  “I know, but she’s enjoying this. I don’t think she’s seen many children.”

  Farrell was acutely aware of Gemma beside him. He hadn’t purposely avoided her since their arrival at Patty’s, but he hadn’t sought her out, either. She had been busy with her family, and he had stayed on the sidelines.

  Gemma lazily stretched her legs in front of her, shapely legs with trim ankles. The day was warm enough for sandals, and pink polished nails peeked out from crisscrossed leather straps. “John’s just about to throw the burgers on the grill. Are you hungry?”

  He turned to answer and found her face just inches from his. His heart slammed against his chest. He had thought about her constantly since the night he had stayed for dinner. And despite what he’d told her, he had strongly considered finding an excuse not to come today. In the end, he hadn’t been able to lie to her or break his promise. But he had considered it, because he was fast getting in over his head.

  “I am hungry,” he said, but he didn’t know which question he was answering. The one she had asked, or an unspoken one issuing from somewhere inside him.

  “So am I.”

  Neither of them spoke. Neither of them looked away. He felt Mary sagging into sleep against him. He felt himself leaning toward Gemma. The space between them contracted. The air between them was charged with longing.

  “Hey, Gemma,” Patty called. “Come pour the drinks, would you? The swarm is thirsty and I’m up to my elbows in ground beef.”

  Farrell thought he saw disappointment in Gemma’s eyes. He hesitated just an instant, then sat back against the table. “Go ahead. Mary’s comfortable where she is.”

  Gemma’s skirt swished against her legs as she went to join her sister. Farrell was powerless not to watch every step.