Daddy by Surprise

by Debra Salonen

  She pushed his hand away. “In your dreams maybe.”

  Maybe. Had he imagined everything? “We didn’t have sex?”

  She shook her head. “Of course, we had sex. That part was real. I meant your X-rated movie scenario. I don’t do X-rated. Ask either of my ex-husbands. I’m too uptight.”

  “Like a proverbial schoolmarm?”

  She let out a little cry. “You’re making me crazy. I don’t know what happened or why, but it shouldn’t have and I know there’s going to be hell to pay for it.”

  He sat back on his haunches. “Why?”

  “Because that’s the way things happen in my life. Do you want to know my track record? O-for-two. Men were put on the planet to disappoint me. And vice versa, if you ask them. The swoo giveth and it taketh away.”

  He blinked. “You lost me.”

  “Better now than later,” she said cryptically. Pulling in a deep breath, she gathered her sheet and blanket like a regal cape and scooted off the bed, showing obvious care not to touch him. She paused to pick up her clothes, then hurried to the bathroom. Once inside, she tossed the blankets to the floor and closed the door.

  He heard the lock click emphatically.

  He blew out a sigh of his own and pivoted to rest his back against the headboard. What a hell of a way to ruin a perfectly wonderful dream, he thought grouchily. If he closed his eyes, he could still picture his dream self. Cool and confident. A cross between Adam Cartwright and Clint Eastwood’s character in those spaghetti westerns that made him famous. All charisma and untamed dark energy. A helluva lover. Better than I ever was with—

  “Stop gloating.”

  He opened his eyes. He’d been so caught up in the memory he hadn’t even heard her open the door. His face went hot, but he denied the charge. “I’m not. I’m…remembering.”

  “Well, don’t,” she snapped. “What happened didn’t happen. Not really. That wasn’t me.”

  “You were hot.”

  “Shut up.”

  “We were hot.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. What happened was a mistake. I’ve made plenty in my life. All involving the wrong men. I don’t even know you well enough to say just how wrong you are, but…never mind. I need to go now. Can you drive? Or should I call my friend to pick me up?”

  He looked down. The swollen mass on his chest looked almost normal. A slight puffiness still outlined the black tattoo that encircled his bicep, but the itching had subsided. He shifted around so she could see his back. “I feel okay. How’s my neck look? Maybe great sex is a better cure than antihistamines.”

  Her low growl filled the room, as if from one of her namesake’s larger relatives. Puma. Cougar. Angry lioness. “Then get dressed, because we’re leaving.”

  She marched toward the door, chin high, but he could tell she was blinking back tears. “I’ll wait outside. And I need to use your phone again,” she said, snatching the cell from the table where she’d set it the night before.

  “But I’m starving,” he said, getting up. The bulk of his clothes were right where he’d left them, neatly draped over the chair in the corner. He pulled on his pants. Strange how his clothing had felt different when he’d been Mad Jack. “Can we at least eat breakfast, first, then I take you home?”

  She fumbled with the safety lock.

  “I’ll meet you at the bike,” she said, opening the door. She glanced at her watch. “Tag’s dad is going to have my head if he tries to drop off Tag early and I’m not there.”

  She was out the door before he could ask her why the guy thought he had the right to drop off their kid outside the set times. Jack finished dressing and used the bathroom. He would have liked a shower, but that was going to have to wait. Besides, he wasn’t in any hurry for his tattoos to wear off. They were a reminder of the best night of his life. If not for them, he probably never would have been in the same room with Kat, let alone the same bed.

  KAT FOUND a shady spot within eyeshot of the motorcycle that reminded her all too vividly of the coal-black horse that Mad Jack had ridden in her dream. She groaned softly and fought back tears. Not only was she a loose woman of questionable morals, she was losing her mind. She needed help. And there was only one person she dared call. Libby.

  After a deep breath to steady her hand, she flipped open the phone and punched in the number, remembering too late that there was a time difference between the Hills and the West Coast.

  “Hello?”

  “Lib? Did I wake you?”

  “Kat? No, I’m up. Jenna and I have started taking early-morning walks along the beach. She spent the night with Shane, though, so I’m alone. Coop insists I carry my phone when I go out. I figured this was him checking up on me. He worries like an old woman.”

  Kat smiled for the first time in what seemed like several centuries. “He loves you, Lib. It’s good to worry when you love someone.”

  “I know. I tease him about it, but actually he’s so sweet I can hardly believe this life of mine is real.”

  Kat was envious. It was natural to kindle a little flame of hope when you witnessed love of this kind in someone else’s life. For a while there, Kat had even dared hope that that kind of love would happen to her. But, no. Instead, she’d spent the night with a client and wound up making love to a figment of her dream—only for real, too.

  “Is something wrong, Kat?”

  Kat wasn’t sure where to begin…or if she should mention the dream part. Would everyone think she was crazy? Maybe she was. “I gave a guy a couple of tattoos and he wound up having an allergic reaction.”

  “To henna? Is he suing you?”

  “No. Not exactly. He provided the ink…That’s not why I’m calling. Before his body started swelling like a puffer fish, he’d asked me to show him around the Hills. A paid guide. I said sure. I never turn down a chance to make money, right? But when we got to Custer, he started to go into anaphylactic shock and had to see a doctor. Because of the shot the doctor gave him, he couldn’t drive. We had to get a motel room.” She paused. “The town is packed. There was only one room left.”

  Libby giggled. “This story is starting to sound familiar. Was it in a stable?”

  Kat let out a small wail. “Not exactly. And there weren’t any angels or drummer boys, but…I suppose there could be a baby,” she said very, very softly.

  Libby was quiet so long Kat wasn’t sure she’d heard her strange confession. Then, her voice filled with gravity, she said, “You must have had a good reason to sleep with him. I’m going to assume he’s a really great guy and you’ve fallen in love with him.”

  “Nice try, Lib, but I don’t even know him. He seems okay. Safe. Nice. But I didn’t mean to sleep with him. And I didn’t. Not exactly. Not him him.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me. I’m sitting down now.”

  Kat looked around to be certain nobody was close enough to overhear her confession. “The guy I slept with was in my dream. He was a gunslinger back in 1876 or something. I was a schoolteacher. I remember seeing a dead body on the street and I told him he was callous and unfeeling, then the next thing I knew we were ripping each other’s clothes off.”

  “In your dream.”

  “I thought so. And I can understand why I dreamed this. I was reading a history book about Seth Bullock and I sorta remember dosing off. But I have no idea where this Mad Jack guy came from. I mean, he’s nothing like the Jack I tattooed. Nothing.”

  “Hmm,” Libby said in a tone Kat knew well. Her friend wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions. “So, in your dream, you made love with Mad Jack.”

  “Big-time. It was incredible.”

  Libby coughed. “But when you woke up, the real-life Jack was in bed with you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Awkward.”

  “Tell me about it.” Kat knew her body. She had no doubt whatsoever that the sex she’d enjoyed in her dream actually too
k place.

  Neither said anything for a minute or so, then Libby groaned. “They didn’t have AIDs in the eighteen hundreds, Kat. You have to go get checked right away. And you’re the most fertile person I know. At least, tell me you’re on the pill.”

  Kat closed her eyes and looked skyward. “Why would I be on the pill, Lib? I have no social life. I have no time for a social life.”

  Libby cleared her throat. Kat knew what was coming next. “When you go to the doctor to get checked, ask him for a morning-after pill. There’s a small window of opportunity. I can’t remember how long. Are you home?”

  “Not yet. I’m waiting for…Oh, there he is.”

  “Mad Jack?”

  Kat snorted. “No. The allergic dentist from Denver.”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t panic and marry the guy. I’ll go online and see what I can find out about your options. We’ll figure this out, Kat.”

  “Thanks, Lib. I’m feeling a lot less homicidal—and/or suicidal—than I was earlier. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  She closed the phone and stood. Jack waited beside the bike, helmets in hand. She took hers from him, but didn’t put it on. “Maybe we should have breakfast. And talk.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE COFFEE SHOP was packed. Jack’s bike was just one of a dozen or more parked in a glittery array of chrome and leather on the street. Kat watched him exchange a few polite nods with the other newcomers. He didn’t stick out as a R.U.B. quite as much as she’d imagined he would.

  Had something changed? Or was it her? Making love with a person probably had that effect. She’d only been with two other men in her life. And she’d only gone to bed with them after the usual rites of courtship, which had involved wine and beer, respectively. Plus, she’d been distracted by their swoo.

  She’d been so sure that Jack’s swoo was manageable. And he’d been dead to the world last night when she’d checked to see if he was still breathing. But something had gone wrong. And she honestly didn’t know what to say to him.

  “Got a booth in the corner, hon,” the waitress who was seating people told her. “Good timing.”

  “The food must be great here,” Jack said, taking a plastic menu from a rack on the counter. “Judging by all the business.”

  “Our cook believes in serving big portions. Soaks up a lot of the mornin’ after,” she replied wryly as Kat and Jack trailed behind her. “You both look like you could use a splash of this.” She filled two thick white mugs from the steaming carafe in her hand without waiting for a confirmation, then turned to leave. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  Kat slid into the side of the booth facing the back of the restaurant. She’d worked the Days of ’76 and the bike rally for enough years that people tended to recognize her. Not that she was a celebrity, like Cooper, but she didn’t feel like putting on a fake smile if someone greeted her. Jack took the opposite side, although it wasn’t as easy for him to slide in, thanks to the straps on his leather chaps.

  He pulled one of the cups closer and ripped open two packets of sugar. He glanced at the menu as he stirred his coffee. “I’m going for the number four, I think. How ’bout you?”

  I’ll take a morning-after pill, please.

  Yes. That was definitely the smart thing to do. Just to be safe.

  “English muffin. Extra crisp.”

  He looked at her. “That’s it? I’m buying.”

  “It’s not about money.” Although it was always about money. Most months she barely scraped by. Student loans, grants, a couple of small scholarships, an occasional check from her father when he sold a buffalo or two. The child-support payments her ex-husbands made barely covered food and clothing for her two growing boys. Any sacrifices that were required to make ends meet came on her end. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Oh. I understand. You’re upset. My sister lost thirty pounds during her divorce. She said she just couldn’t eat.”

  Kat smiled. “I was the opposite. I gained weight both times. Food was comfort.”

  “Then you must have been a toothpick before you got married, because you’re perfect now.”

  She would have corrected him—she was anything but perfect—or explained about the stress of being a single mom with two rambunctious boys. But their waitress returned to take their order.

  Kat was reluctantly impressed that Jack got her request right and added two large orange juices. A luxury at her house.

  “So, do you want to talk about what happened now or after breakfast?”

  Never. “Now, I guess,” she said, taking a sip of coffee.

  He reached around to his back pocket and produced a handsome leather billfold. Kat could see several credit-card logos that she recognized. The cards were either gold or platinum. There was cash, too. A lot more than she ever carried. But she knew he wasn’t trying to impress her because he quickly tucked it away after he found what he was looking for. “Here’s my business card,” he said, sliding it across the table. “I have a service that knows how to reach me twenty-four/seven.”

  She studied the high-end, professional design. Treadwell and Associates. “How many associates?” she asked.

  “Eight. Wait. Seven. I’m the eighth. We provide a full gamut of dental options for the whole family, from children’s dentistry and orthodontia to an oral surgeon and adult cosmetic dentistry. That’s my area.”

  “You don’t work on kids.”

  “No.”

  He said the word with such finality she had to ask, “Why?”

  “My father was a family dentist. Worked alone for thirty years. Had a thriving practice. Loved helping people so much that he often opened the office on weekends to work on kids who couldn’t afford to pay for dental services.”

  Something in his tone reminded her of the dead look in Mad Jack’s eyes when he told her why he gave up on people. “One day, one of his charity kids accused my dad of touching him inappropriately. The politically correct way of saying my dad was a pedophile.”

  “Oh, my God. What happened?”

  “Nothing good. Dad’s insurance company talked him into settling on the condition the complaint was dropped. That’s not the same as being vindicated in court. Rumors spread. Dad’s business fell off. He retired early. And died too young.”

  Kat could hear his pain. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to work on kids. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. Dad was a great guy. He loved kids. He didn’t do what that child said he did. The boy later recanted. Claimed his stepfather coached him and his mother—a drug addict at the time—made him say what he did.”

  “How horrible for your family.”

  Jack shrugged. “I still followed in his footsteps. I simply specialized in an area that doesn’t require me to deal with children. I’m not good with them. Ask your son.”

  Kat already knew Tag’s opinion of Jack, but she kept it to herself. “I think I heard you say your mother lived near you. Did she remarry after your father passed?”

  She pictured her own mother. Now on husband number five. Or was it six?

  He fiddled with the empty sugar wrapper. “No. She had her career to occupy her. Banking. She was a vice president of one of our local banks. She just retired.”

  Kat slipped his card into her hip pocket. She already had his cell-phone number programmed on her phone at home. Not that there would be any reason to contact him. Not if she did the smart thing.

  She realized he’d asked something that she’d missed. “Sorry. What?”

  “Since we’re strolling down memory lane, I wondered about your childhood. Happy? Messed up? Normal?”

  “Normal?”

  His eyebrow arched in a way that told her she’d revealed more with one word than she’d intended. “I have no idea what that is. But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve fighting for custody of a kid you then ignore because of all the other drama in your life.”

  “Your parents are divorced, I take it.”

  She took a deep
breath and let it out. “Okay. Here’s the short version. My mom is a needy person who grasped at any hint of security. My dad is a rancher who likes people to think he’s more successful than he is. Mom saw the outward trappings and thought she had it made. Only, by the time I was born she realized she’d made a terrible mistake. Dad abuses alcohol and when you’re in the middle of nowhere with two kids from a previous marriage and a tiny baby and a crazy man who tells you you’re dirt, your options are limited. She took his pride and joy—a ridiculous boat of a car that my half brother called the pimpmobile—when she left. Dad couldn’t very well sic his attorneys on her for custody of the car, so he went after me. They battled for years.”

  “He must have wanted you in his life.”

  “He wanted to win. He has this Old West thing about never giving up a square inch of land or a single concession when negotiating with the enemy. He tells everyone my mother made him spend my college fund on lawyer fees.”

  He cocked his head. “Do you have a relationship with him now?”

  “Sorta. I lived with him when I was in high school. Mom was married to a psycho preacher at the time and I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Dad pretty much ignored me the whole time, but that was okay because I had my buffalo to keep me occupied.”

  His cup wobbled as he set it down. “Buffalo?”

  “I talked Dad into buying a few head of bison when I was a sophomore. He kept them even after I moved out and got married. The boys and I visit the ranch to check on them every couple of weeks.”

  “Where’s this?”

  “Near Belle Fourche. Northern Hills. Lately, Dad’s gotten involved in marketing the meat for sale. His half of the herd, not mine. But he keeps my freezer filled, and that’s come in pretty handy at times.”

  She was saved from spilling any more of her guts by the arrival of their food. As promised, Jack’s platter-size plate was heaped with three eggs, hash-brown potatoes and a slab of ham half an inch thick.

  Her muffin looked silly by comparison.

  Their waitress slapped down a bottle of ketchup, a little container of hot sauce and a plastic tub filled with various flavors of jelly without being asked. “Enjoy,” she said. “Holler if you need more juice.”