by Wyatt, Dani
PLEASE, DADDY
DANI WYATT
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NEWSLETTER
A NOTE TO MY READERS:
I appreciate every one of you.
DEDICATED TO:
All the women who get that little tummy flutter
when he calls you ‘baby’.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Are you…
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Copyright © 2021
by Dani Wyatt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
www.daniwyatt.com
Editing Nicci Haydon
Created with Vellum
Chapter 1
Merrick
Dying alone isn’t the worst thing. But, it’s also not great.
The scent of bacon, pancakes and greasy fried food mixes with the smell of black coffee as I take a draw of the steaming liquid from the heavy brown mug as I think about the subject line of an email my mother forwarded me this morning.
It was a blog or article, or some shit written by a P.R. person from findingyourmatch.com; a dating site my mother won’t shut up about lately.
In the booth in front of me, a Shirley Temple look alike toddler with curly hair and dimples keeps popping up and giving me a shy smile.
When I smile back, she ducks down and her mother gives me a sympathetic shrug.
“I’m sorry. She has a fascination with police officers.”
“It’s okay.” I shake my head with a wave. “It’s a perk that comes with the job.”
Winking at the kid, I take another sip of coffee and wait for my usual breakfast order to arrive. Four or five mornings a week I’m here at The Over Easy Diner getting my less than heart heathy morning start.
I straighten my leg under the table, trying to work out the cramp that started a few days ago after I tried to take up jogging thinking I needed to watch my expanding mid-section a bit more.
That was a mistake. As a hobby, or a fitness routine, clearly isn’t my thing. When I need to get into a foot chase, I hold my own so I’m going to put away my aspirations of running off the fifteen or twenty pounds extra meat I’ve packed on over the last five years.
Besides, Dad-bods are a thing these days from what I hear, even though I have no interest in finding anyone that is interested in mine.
Wincing as I stretch, Margaret the diner owner and a friend of mine comes out from the swinging kitchen door with two plates, shooting me her usual bright smile as she heads my way. I like Margaret. She and her partner, Dawn, have become friends over the years. The love between them is hard to miss, and I guess even a guy like me, without a romantic bone in his body, has some distant appreciation for what they share.
“You okay there?” She tips her head to look under the table where I’m folding and unfolding my aching leg.
“Yeah. Pulled something.”
She slides two white plates in front of me as my mouth waters at the sight and scent of the wonderous food. “Getting old, Sheriff?” She cocks her hip and settles her fist at her waist.
“Every day.” I sit up and admire the perfection of the bacon, two eggs over easy, sausage and extra well-done hash browns on my plate. Food is my one sin and I enjoy it in a way that is almost dirty.
“Well, if thirty-two is old, I’m ready for the home.” She chews her gum on a smile knowing my age because my parents threw me a surprise birthday party here a couple months ago. I hate surprises. “And don’t even think I’m going to tell you how old I am. A lady never tells.” Her signature rose-red lipstick is perfect, day and night. She wears her auburn hair up most days in a controlled twist, and her whole style could have dropped straight out of a 1950’s classic diner.
“And a gentleman never asks,” I counter. “My mama taught me well.”
“I’m sure she did. They were here night before last as usual for Wednesday senior special.”
I nod with a half-smile. I live in the same town where I grew up. My father was the sheriff before me, and he and Mom are still kicking up dust wherever they go. She made him retire after forty-six years on the force and one heart attack. They’ve been driving each other nuts ever since.
She also taught me to cook, which I do well enough. I just don’t really enjoy cooking for one, so I end up here most times or at the Rusty Nail Bar & Grill on the other side of town.
They’re great parents, always supportive and proud. I graduated from a local college with my law enforcement degree, then went right to the academy. It’s a small town and it didn’t take me long to gain the respect of the other deputies, and when it was time for my dad to step down, I had the support of the community, as well as my fellow officers, to fill his boots.
Or try to, at least.
I’ve worked my ass off to not let anyone down, even when the choices were difficult. One of many things I learned from my parents, doing the right thing isn’t always easy and the easy thing isn’t always right.
The bells tied on the top hinge of the front door jingle as it opens, and Margaret turns toward the sound. Stepping inside the small diner, Summer grins at us both.
Margaret’s daughter is a good kid; she’s dating the son of one of my deputies and I’ve made sure he understands he’s to treat her with respect or he will have to deal with me.
Her hair, as always, has all eyes turning her way, looking more like it belongs on a fantasy unicorn than a young woman. Blazing stripes of purple, pink and green in a straight cut that hits just at her jawline, offsetting a sweet smile that I’ve grown to love.
“Well, hello, Lawman. You put down any bad guys today? Oppress the weak?”
She bites her tongue between her teeth she grins, and some might think she’s being antagonistic, but truth is she graduated from the local high school last year and is attending the same college I did, studying criminal law.
She’s wearing her signature black combat boots. Today they are paired with yellow leggings and a way-oversized vintage-looking gray ROTC sweatshirt.
Where the neckline of the sweatshirt hangs down, you can see the tops of the bright colors of the tattoos that cover most of her arms, back and torso.
“Not yet. Day’s still young though.” I raise my coffee mug to her as she steps over and bumps her hip into her mom.
“Morning, Mama Mia. How sizzles the grill?” Summer winks at me and Margaret shakes her head.
“It’s sizzling alright. You’re an hour late.”
Summer gives me a big smile and the silver stud in her tongue flashes in the fluorescent lights as she shrugs. “You know I believe time is fluid. Clocks are oppressive.”
I tilt my head. “You know att
orneys charge by the minute? So, you might want to get on better terms with time or you might not get paid.”
She rolls her eyes. “I want to do pro bono work. Money doesn’t motivate me.”
“Money may not motivate you, but it keeps the lights on and your tuition paid.” Margaret pops her red lips at her daughter. “Now, go get into uniform and get to work.”
“Slave labor was outlawed in 1865, you know,” Summer snaps back, but it’s all in good fun.
She and Margaret are more like sisters. Margaret had her at seventeen, raised her as a single mom. Sort of a Gilmore Girl’s deal. Summer’s father was a carnival guy, passing through town taking advantage of young women as he went giving them fake names and a flashy smile.
If I could ever find him, I’d quietly make sure he couldn’t ever manage to…do that…to any other girls.
Margaret’s parents disowned her when they found out she was pregnant and from the little I know, they’ve never even met their pretty amazing and only granddaughter.
Margaret and Summer moved here about ten years ago from an adjoining county and Margaret started waitressing at The Over Easy the week they arrived.
When we found out she was pretty much alone in the world, my parents became pseudo-grandparents to Summer and I’ve done what I can to be a helpful sort-of-brother to Margaret, and adopted uncle to Summer.
Margaret worked hard from the day she started at the diner, and two years ago, bought the place from the former owner.
“If you’re comparing your life to the life of a slave, I’ve not done my job as a mother or human very well.” Margaret gives her a playful disapproving look and Summer twists her lips into a wry smile.
“Just joking,” she sing-songs as she spins on her heel and disappears into the back, her faint voice giving cheerful ‘hellos’ to Rodney the cook and Mike the dishwasher.
“So,” Margaret starts, and I hear that tone in her voice. “Janice Morgan’s daughter is in town.”
I restrain the groan that tightens my throat. “That’s nice. Hope she has a good visit.”
“Uh huh. I bet you do.”
“My food’s getting cold.” I take my fork and cut off a section of my egg and lay it on top of half a slice of toast, then gather it toward my mouth.
“You of all people should know time isn’t always promised. Maybe you should consider the idea that a woman, wife, girlfriend…kids,” she raises her eyebrows, “might be something good for you.”
I broke three ribs and had to have my spleen removed last year after a semi rammed into my cruiser during a high-speed chase on the interstate. Ever since, Margaret and my mother have been on me to find someone, settle down a bit and make some babies for them to spoil.
I chew and swallow my bite, following it up with a bite of the bacon, keeping my eyes forward and hoping my silence will put this topic to rest.
“Okay.” Margaret retreats. “I just don’t like you being alone. You’d make a great father.”
“Thanks.” I take a long breath as she reaches up to poke a pencil into her hair and rubs her lips together.
I’ve dated in the past, nothing serious but even so, when you were the sheriff’s son and then the sheriff, every move you make is under the microscope.
So, it’s been a long fucking time since I considered dating. Even in a small town, I’ve seen the worst of people. I’ve watched more times than I can count love turning to hate in the blink of an eye.
The whole soul mate, love of my life? Well, from what I can tell it’s precarious at best. And I guess I’ve never met anyone that made me want to take that risk.
I’ve come to think I’m just not wired for it, no one has ever given me that ‘thing’ people talk about, that ‘boom’ or whatever it is. And, even if I found it, I’m still not sure the odds are in favor of it lasting. My parents are the exception, but doing my job, I’ve seen far too many former soul mates become sworn enemies.
The bells on the door jingle again as I heap a fork full of hash browns into my mouth savoring the salty buttery flavor, and Margaret and I look up to see her partner, Dawn, smiling as she comes through with a handful of flowers.
“See? Isn’t it nice to have someone to love you?” Margaret gives me one last look before Dawn comes up and hands her the bouquet, pressing a solid kiss on her red lips.
“Hi, Sheriff.” Dawn glances my way then right back to Margaret. “Just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“You’re too good to me.” Margaret presses the mixed bouquet of roses, lilies and daises to her face on a deep breath.
Dawn’s arm slips around Margaret’s shoulders and she leans in to whisper something in her ear, which makes Margaret’s cheeks go red.
“Uh, you ladies need some privacy?” I chide, but there’s always something oddly uncomfortable when I’m around people showing affection.
Maybe I just don’t want to admit to myself there is something missing in my life.
Dawn pulls her face from Margaret and kisses her softly, then steps back. “I gotta go. Just wanted you to know I love you. Back to work.”
“Thank you.” Margaret sniffs the flowers as Dawn waves at me, then at Summer, who chirps at her from the open service window between the kitchen and the dining room.
I chew and swallow my bite as Margaret turns toward another table waving her over as my radio goes off and I hear Malcolm, one of the other deputies, come through.
“We’ve got a few reports coming in from that medieval fair deal out there on Baldwin Road. Wallets being lifted, jewelry missing…the word is, most of the thefts are happening during a sort of belly dancing or some such music sort of show they have going on. You want to go out there? Or I can head out? I hear there’s a dancer there…like total smokeshow chick.” He pauses and I hear the hope in his voice. “I’m happy to go check it out.”
I push the button on my radio and turn my mouth to where it’s clipped on my shoulder, an odd twitch in my dick I’ve not felt in forever when he said, ‘there’s a dancer there…’.
It makes me pause for a second, not remembering the last time even the sight of a woman made me hard let alone the mention of one. “I’ll head out. Leaving The Over Easy now.”
Malcolm’s staticky voice answers, sounding less enthusiastic than his words would suggest. “Sounds good. Say hi to Margaret from me.”
She nods as she walks away. Turning, she tosses a final comment over her shoulder. “Be careful with those dancing girls. I hear they cast spells on lonely men…wouldn’t want you to fall under a spell.”
I shake my head as I leave my money on the table and slide out of the booth, then out the door and into my cruiser.
The heat of the late summer morning is ramping up, the interior of the car blasting me as I pull out of the parking lot, down the street, wondering if I’ll ever know what it’s like to fall under a woman’s spell.
Chapter 2
Kezia
“Please don’t screw up again.” Genevieve, one of my ‘sisters’, fixes the sparkling hair piece at the back of my head, then spins me around by my shoulders to stare into her glaring blue eyes. “Got it? I really don’t want to find myself on rations for a week because some dude figured out we lifted his wallet.”
She’s three inches taller than me but it always feels like more. She’s older as well, but I’m not sure by exactly how many years because I never have birthdays and don’t even know how old I am for sure.
From what I can put together, I’m around nineteen. But I look younger, and that—along with the genetic jackpot I won from whomever my birth parents were—is the reason I’m on task with lulling unsuspecting men into watching me dance while others in our group take care of business.
If you can call thievery business. In my family, we do. Among other things.
“When am I not on rations?” I reply to Genevieve, who for a second gives me a sympathetic look. Then she shakes her head and is right back to business as my stomach twists and growls, reminding me
that I had not earned a morning meal.
In my world, everything is bartered or earned. Mother and many of our pseudo ‘fathers’ in the clan made it clear last night my performance did not meet their standards and the take was short, as well as my tips.
When I questioned that perhaps it wasn’t my dancing that was lacking but the efforts of the others that move through the crowd with their trained fingers, what I earned was the absence of morning rations.
Genevieve drops her voice. “Don’t let them hear you crabbing or you know Mom’s favorite saying…” She pauses and we finish in unison: “If you think things are bad for you now, they can always be worse.”
The people I call mother and father are not the ones that birthed me. That’s no secret in our lifestyle. They are my third set of ‘parents’ since I came to be with the nomads that are my family.
I used to think someone among us must have some solid information about who I am and where I came from, but I gave it up long ago. The most I know, from something I overheard years ago, is that I was born in Roscommon County, which is where we are now.
Doesn’t much matter, it’s probably not the truth and even if it is, I don’t know my birth parents’ names or a birthdate, and how would I get to anyone or anyplace to find out more? I don’t drive, I’m watched all the time, and everyone is so afraid of the consequences of leaving, no one is willing to even talk about it.
I wiggle my toes in the dirt under my feet. My off-white skirt is permanently darkened around the hem from years of dancing around on the ground, the delicate floral embroidery just another of the skills I’ve been taught since I was young enough to understand the poke of a needle.
