The Once and Future Father

by Marie Ferrarella

  The car arrived and she followed him in. Lucy pressed the button for the second floor. “Why not? Best defense she could get.”

  As they stepped off the elevator, he opened his mouth, then shut it. He then gave in to the impulse that had been tugging so madly at him for so long that he’d lost all track of time. Holding the infant seat and its occupant against him with one hand, he snagged Lucy with his free hand and pulled her to him.

  Her gasp of surprise ended against his mouth as he kissed her—hard—right there in front of the bank of elevators on the second floor, with people getting off another car, hurrying to keep their appointments.

  Lucy went from zero to intoxicated in a second. Her head spun and her blood surged through her. She fought the urge to give herself up to the sensations slamming through her like race cars coming out of a tailspin and careening into brick walls. This wasn’t the time or the place.

  But if she thought that, why didn’t he? He was the last word in private, always had been, and what he was doing right now was the complete antithesis of private.

  Not at all certain if her knees hadn’t permanently locked in place to keep her from sliding onto the floor, she drew back. It took her a second to focus on him. “What was that?”

  “The best defense against your mouth I can mount.”

  She was having trouble dragging air back into her lungs. Still shaky, she pressed her fingers to her mouth before trying to speak again. “You really think so?”

  Because another car had stopped and there were people beginning to disembark, he motioned her toward the corridor and the doctor they were going to see. “Got you to stop talking for a minute, didn’t it?”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  Dr. Rafe Saldana was running behind schedule thanks to a faulty alarm clock and a night of hospital rounds that had ended in the wee hours of the morning. He didn’t like shortchanging his patients by hurrying them along. This meant he was going to have to cancel lunch with his wife and work straight through. He hoped Dana wouldn’t be too disappointed. He knew he was. Picking up the chart that had been posted outside the door, Rafe promised himself to make it up to her.

  Right now, he had a new patient to see to. Nodding, he smiled at them. The husband, he noted, was scrutinizing him as if he was intent on performing a dissection right then and there. It wasn’t uncommon in a first time father and Rafe didn’t take it personally.

  The pair, he thought looking at the baby who was stripped down to her diaper, did nice work. But then, they were a fine looking couple.

  Rafe put out his hand to the man. “Mr. Alvarez, hello, I’m Dr. Saldana. I met your wife in the hospital right after I examined Elena.” Sheila Pollack had come to him, the way she always did when the new mother didn’t have a pediatrician already picked out, and asked that he examine the newborn. He had a very soft spot in his heart for Sheila. She’d been the one to refer Dana to him. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

  Hearing the pediatrician refer to Elena as Dylan’s daughter, Lucy felt her heart tighten within her breast. It took her a moment before she could collect herself enough to correct the doctor.

  “Oh, no, he’s not Mr. Alvarez—”

  “Elena’s not mine,” Dylan told him tersely. It suddenly occurred to him that he almost mourned that declaration. He hadn’t realized, until this moment, that part of him actually wished that she was his daughter. “I’m just a friend.”

  The label, so stilted, so lifeless, felt heavy on his tongue. Worse, it felt like a lie. He wasn’t a friend. He was a man in limbo, stuck between heaven and hell and not knowing which was which or what direction to turn. As an afterthought, he gave the doctor his name. “Dylan McMorrow.”

  “My brother has mentioned a Dylan McMorrow,” the doctor replied.

  Saldana. The connection suddenly penetrated. “Is your brother Gabe Saldana?”

  “Right.” Rafe clasped Dylan’s hand again, shaking it firmly. “He told me you saved his life.”

  Dylan didn’t have an opportunity to downplay the incident. Lucy had made a sudden connection of her own. “You’re related to the man sitting outside my house in the wee hours of the morning?”

  Gabe didn’t talk about his work with any frequency, but this had been unofficial and off the record. And the reason he and Dana hadn’t been able to get together with Gabe and his wife in the last two weeks. Rafe looked at the mother of his patient with new understanding.

  “You’re the woman he’s guarding?” Rafe laughed shortly, shaking his head. “Well, well, well, small world.”

  And it was getting smaller all the time, Lucy thought, glancing at Dylan.

  Sheila Pollack pushed back on the stool she was sitting on, pulled off her plastic gloves and deposited them into the wastepaper basket with precision. She smiled reassuringly at her patient.

  “You can get dressed now, Lucy.” Sheila picked up the chart and made a notation. “I must say, you’ve made one of the fastest recoveries I’ve ever seen.” She glanced back several pages to double-check the figures. “Amazing. You’re down to the weight you were before you became pregnant and your body’s completely back in sync.” She let the pages fall back into place and closed the chart. “Someone must be taking very good care of you.”

  Already off the table, Lucy was hurrying into her clothes. The sooner she got ready, the sooner Dylan could drop her and Elena off at the shop and get back to his own work. He’d lost enough time because of them as it was.

  She stepped into her skirt and pulled it up. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Holding the chart to her, Sheila paused. “I caught a glimpse of him outside in the waiting room with Elena. Same man who brought you in, right? The police detective. Dylan McMorrow, wasn’t it?”

  “Right, Dylan McMorrow.” Lucy avoided her doctor’s eyes. “He’s just a friend.”

  “I see.” He was more than that, Sheila thought. Anyone with eyes could see that there was something going on between the two. It didn’t take inherent intuitiveness to spot that. “It’s none of my business, Lucy, but if you need someone just to talk to, you’ve got my home phone number.”

  Sheila had given it to her when Lucy had first discovered she was pregnant and alone, for all intents and purposes. “I appreciate it, but there’s nothing to talk about. Really.”

  Sheila placed a hand on her shoulder, the simple gesture speaking volumes. “Okay. For now, just take comfort in knowing that all systems are go.” Sheila caught her eye. “All systems,” she emphasized.

  Finished dressing, Lucy picked up her purse as she slipped on her shoes. She strove for levity. “Meaning I can return to my career as a fighter pilot?”

  “That, and even stop to get romantically involved with another fighter pilot if the occasion arises.”

  Despite the unexpected kiss, Lucy sincerely doubted that Dylan wanted to do anything other than just his job when it came to her. “No chance of that,” Lucy said.

  She’d heard that before, Sheila thought. And even believed it true when it came to her and Slade—before he’d become her husband. She was living proof that nothing was ever written in stone. “Where there is life, there’s hope, and chance finds us in very strange places in our lives,” Sheila said to Lucy. Their eyes met and she smiled. “For the record, I think he’s very good-looking in a dark, brooding way.”

  “Dark and brooding.” Lucy rolled the phrase over on her tongue. “That about sums him up.”

  Lucy first saw his reflection in the row of frames she had on display against the back wall. Dylan was walking toward her. With flowers. Spinning around, she saw that it wasn’t a trick of light, he had a mixed bouquet of daisies and carnations clutched in his hand, their heads bowed toward the floor and bobbing as he strode toward her.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion.”

  He thrust them toward her like a peace offering, except that there had been no declaration of war, no recent battles to recover from. Only the one th
at had originally been fought when he had walked out on her. He shrugged, looking around for Elena.

  “There was a kid selling flowers at the freeway exit. He looked down on his luck.” Selling flowers at freeway exits had been the way Dylan had first tried to earn some money—so that he could take his mother away someplace where she could be safe from his father. “I thought I’d help him out. You can put them in water or throw them away, makes no difference to me.”

  Oh, no, he wasn’t going to pull that again. She saw through him. “Yes, it does. Why do you say things like that?” She looked at the bouquet. A couple of the flowers were wilting, but it only seemed to enhance his gesture. “If I tossed these out, some part of you would be hurt.”

  He was beginning to regret his rash action. He should have known she’d make too big a deal out of this. “You give me too much credit.” Seeing the baby in her seat, he made his way over to her.

  Lucy followed him, determined to get him to admit to having some sort of feelings. Actions might speak louder than words, but she wanted at least one of the words, too. “No, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  Unable to help himself, he grinned at Elena. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I know I’m a good cop.”

  Doggedly, Lucy got in his face. “But you don’t seem to know you’re a good man, too. You went out of your way with Ritchie, with that boy selling flowers.” She gestured toward her daughter. “I’ve seen you with Elena when you don’t think I’m around. There’s a soft, sweet side to you, Dylan McMorrow, no matter how much you try to deny it. I’ve seen it, so you can’t lie to me,” she insisted.

  Their eyes met and held for a long moment. And then he shrugged. “Maybe you should go back to your doctor. You’re obviously delusional.”

  “I can see clearly, Dylan. And what I see—”

  He didn’t want to hear what it was she thought she saw. He had already ventured too far on a path he wasn’t supposed to be taking. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you don’t need me sitting guard on this sofa night after night. Maybe—”

  She blocked the hurt his words evoked. “What are you afraid of, Dylan?”

  He wanted to saying “nothing,” but it was a lie. And lies died when the truth was stronger. “You.”

  The quiet admission took her by surprise. Anticipation surged through her. She took a breath. “My mother used to say you should never run from your fears, but face them. Head to head. Toe to toe.”

  His eyes washed over her face, lingering on her mouth. “Did she say anything about lip to lip?”

  A smile curved hers. “She forgot that part.”

  But he hadn’t.

  Dylan took her into his arms and kissed her.

  Chapter 12

  He lasted another week.

  Dylan hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow he had managed to make it through an entire week. Seven more days of keeping everything within him self-contained and bottled up.

  But he knew himself and knew it was just a matter of time before the bottle shattered and what was inside it would come spilling out, drenching not only him, but Lucy as well. It was her he was thinking of now.

  Her he was always thinking of.

  Her voice, her laughter, her face, the light fragrance she wore that clung to her clothing and to the very air she passed through. And to him even when he tried to keep his distance.

  Standing now in her living room, with dusk softly creeping in to prepare the way for night, Dylan stared at the sofa with the bedding she’d put out for him and contemplated words he’d said to her a week ago in her shop.

  Maybe he shouldn’t be here any longer.

  They had driven home from the shop that evening in relative silence, emotions riding with them like silent, uninvited third parties. Alma had walked in on them earlier and interrupted the kiss that hovered between them, making it evaporate. Even after she’d realized her mistake and gone back into the storeroom, bidding them good-night, Dylan had abruptly retreated back into his armor. Back behind the barricades that had been erected to keep everyone out and himself in.

  It was safer that way.

  But it wasn’t more comfortable. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been, but it had been what he’d known and there was a certain comfort in that, in the familiar.

  Dylan fingered the edge of the pillowcase now, debating his next move. If he were being honest with himself, he hadn’t been comfortable inside his own skin for a very long time. The life he’d chosen, the one he’d fashioned for himself, no longer satisfied the marginal requirements he had.

  Nothing felt right anymore.

  The niche he’d attempted to reclaim after he’d walked away from her that first time, almost ten months ago, no longer fit. Nothing fit. Wanting Lucy had done that to him.

  Dylan let the pillow drop back on the sofa. It slipped, falling to the rug unnoticed. He couldn’t remain here, feeling this way. Knowing that if he released his hold on his feelings even just a little, a myriad of emotions would spring out all over the place like so many jack-in-the-boxes, simultaneously set off.

  Edgy, wanting to tell her of his decision before he weakened and changed his mind again, Dylan looked toward the doorway leading into the hall, willing her to walk in.

  She didn’t.

  He knew where she was. In the baby’s room, getting Elena ready for bed. He’d woken up early Sunday morning to find her there, working to transform Ritchie’s room into a nursery. There’d been tearstains on her face, the only evidence of her feelings as she packed away the last of her brother’s things. Not knowing what to say, he pretended not to notice.

  Instead, he gruffly volunteered his services when he saw her tackling the job of putting the crib together. He’d been just in time to rescue her from being done in by the springs when they came loose and almost fell on her. She’d been on her stomach at the time, screwing two sections of the railing together. She remained the most stubborn woman he knew.

  When they’d finished, she’d said something about his being good with his hands. Though he shrugged it off, the compliment had warmed him. In the privacy of his own mind, he’d had to admit that there’d been a certain amount of satisfaction, standing back and looking at the crib, knowing he’d been the one to put it together.

  He’d derived a great deal of satisfaction these last few weeks, helping Lucy care for Elena, more than he would have expected. More than he was accustomed to. Even solving a crime hadn’t felt like this, and up until three weeks ago, he would have sworn that was all he was about. Just his job. He was convinced that he had been completely hollowed out by his years of watching his parents interact; his job was all he had ever intended to be about.

  But now he wasn’t sure anymore.

  He wasn’t sure about anything. Except that loving Lucy would be a mistake.

  With a sigh, he made his way to the baby’s room.

  The door was ajar, with traces of light seeping out along the edges. The low sound he heard crept to him like the dusk. Slowly. Soothingly.

  She was singing to Elena, he realized. Humming was more like it. The sound went completely through him, embedding itself in his bones.

  The tips of his fingers on the door, Dylan pushed it open, not wanting to startle her and risk waking the baby. Her face averted from the door, Lucy was sitting on the rocking chair, the one she’d fallen in love with when they’d gone to the flea market more than ten months ago. She’d dragged him there and he’d pretended it was against his will, but he’d secretly enjoyed seeing the way her face lit up when she came across what she called a “treasure” that someone else in their short-sightedness had thrown away.

  The rocking chair had seemed like a hapless piece of junk to him, but because she wanted it, he’d bought it for her, telling her she had a weakness for things that looked as if they were beyond hope. She’d only smiled at him then, and told him to wait and see.

  He’d left her less than two weeks later.

  The rocking chair w
as fully restored now. She’d reinforced the broken arm, stripped off the coats of varnish, sanded it and then lovingly applied coat after coat of stain before sealing it all with a waterproof coat.

  The rocking chair was a symbol, he thought, a symbol of how stubborn she could be when she set her mind to something and what her determination could accomplish.

  He thought of Elena’s father. The man was a jackass to have walked out on Lucy.

  It took Dylan a moment to realize that Lucy wasn’t just singing the baby to sleep, she was nursing her. Mesmerized, he stood and watched her. The scene seemed so natural, so beautiful in its innocence, he debated slipping away before she noticed him.

  But he couldn’t get himself to move. Instead, he remained where he was in the doorway, watching. Wishing with all his heart that he could claim to be part of this instead of just someone on the outside, looking in. But his conscience wouldn’t allow him that luxury.

  When Lucy raised her eyes to his, looking so seductive and beatific at the same time, he thought he was going to swallow his tongue. Lucy placed her finger to her lips, then indicated Elena with her eyes. The baby had fallen asleep.

  Holding his breath, he watched her as she slowly rose to her feet, then gently place Elena into her crib. Her eyes on the sleeping infant, Lucy backed carefully away.

  His eyes remained on Lucy. On the blouse she had not bothered to close. Annoyed with his lack of control, Dylan upbraided himself as he turned away just as she reached him.

  “What’s the matter?” she whispered, easing the door closed. There was a monitor on beside the crib, with a receiver tuned to it in her bedroom and another turned on in the kitchen. Lucy intended on taking no chances with this precious miracle that had happened into her life so completely by accident. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

  Because he couldn’t string three coherent words together when she looked like that, Dylan began closing the buttons on her blouse himself, careful not to skim his fingers along her skin.