Daddy in the Making

by Crystal Green

  “It’s...” He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Oh.” Had a memory been triggered? One he didn’t want to share?

  Rita leaned back in her chair, distancing herself, cursing her weakness in succumbing to him, even if it was just for a moment. What had she been doing?

  Duh. The answer was easy, wasn’t it? She’d completely forgotten herself and put herself in the exact same place she’d been in that night, when he’d charmed the pants off her and then broken her heart.

  Was she crazy, setting herself up again for a repeat performance? And this time the stakes were much higher.

  Rita straightened in her chair. Next time she would do everything within her power to make sure nothing like this happened again.

  No. Correction. There wouldn’t be a next time.

  She folded her napkin and set it on the table. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to box up the food.”

  When he opened his mouth to argue, she held up a hand.

  “This was a mistake. I think we both know it, too.”

  “I didn’t mean to...” He gritted his jaw, then loosened it. “I meant it when I said that I didn’t like to see you sad. I got carried away. That’s all it was, Rita.”

  “Okay.”

  And that was all she really had to say, because it seemed as if she didn’t believe him...and as if he maybe didn’t even believe it himself.

  She sighed. “You and I both know that neither of us can afford to get carried away.”

  He stared out the window again, just as the rain picked up, throwing itself against the glass. Then, with a nod, he agreed with her, his lips forming a grim line, his jaw tight. A little piece of her heart seemed to break away from the rest of her once again, and she promised herself that this would be the last time her heart would crumble.

  Definitely the last time.

  She drew in a breath, but it only made her feel the ache in her chest that much more keenly.

  “I hope you have everything you need,” she said.

  For some reason, it seemed as if she’d struck him.

  “I told you before—if I have any responsibilities where you’re concerned, I’m going to be a man who’ll take care of them.”

  She cradled her tummy, as if securing her heart. “You don’t have any responsibilities, Conn. I want this baby, and the best thing you can do is to let me raise him or her in a stable home. I provided one for Kristy, and I’ll do it again.”

  His brow furrowed. “So that’s it then?”

  “Don’t you think that’s it?”

  A storm brewed in his gaze, and she could tell that her words had knifed into him. All he knew was that he was a playboy, a lighthearted bachelor who might provide a bad example as a father.

  Shoulders tight, he signaled for the waiter as Rita waited for him to say something else.

  But he never did, and an uneasy feeling washed through her, just as surely as the rain was streaking down the windows like tears that she refused to cry anymore.

  * * *

  The road back to Conn’s home the next morning seemed longer than it actually was.

  The rain had eased off, drying the asphalt that speared through the pastures and white fencing on his way to the Shadow Creek Ranch, where he would be able to retreat to his cabin and finally move on with life.

  His brother Emmet had come back to St. Valentine to pick him up a couple of hours ago, and they’d remained quiet so far, listening to the crisp wind whistle through a seal near a window that needed some mending. But that didn’t stop Emmet from sneaking looks over at Conn every so often, curious as hell about what had gone on while he was away.

  Finally, about a half hour from the ranch, Emmet could stand it no longer.

  “You’re driving me loco, Conn. Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Nope. I got as much as I could out of a visit to St. Valentine, and it’s nothing to chat about.”

  Bullshit. All that’d gone on was that he’d learned he was going to be a father. And that the mother thought he wasn’t fit for it.

  Worst of all, in spite of her blunt words, he’d gone and stolen a kiss from her.

  But how could Conn tell anyone about all that when he didn’t understand half of it himself?

  He’d been pained by what she’d said about him, but he couldn’t refute any of it—not when all he heard from his brothers was about his playboy past and how he was an expert at enjoying himself with women but not tying himself to them.

  But...a baby.

  Something like fear seized him, making him think that Rita had been right to point out his unsuitability. Maybe it wouldn’t be fair to a child to put all his issues on him or her. Maybe he would even end up complicating Rita’s life when she already had everything under control, the picture of a loving mom who didn’t seem to need a partner to raise a well-adjusted daughter.

  Hell, just look at how he’d even reacted with her, giving her that impulsive kiss. It’d been ill-advised, but at the same time, it’d rocked Conn from head to toe, and not just in a physical way.

  There’d been a flicker of memory that had never turned into a full-fledged image. But, more important, something had come loose in Conn, causing a miniavalanche of feelings he was still trying to grasp.

  An overwhelming flood of affection and...well, questions. Hopes. Things like a deep yearning to... Do what?

  The answer was balancing on an edge inside of Conn, and it frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn’t shake that one memory loose.

  Didn’t this just go to prove the instability that Rita had pointed out?

  That was the reason he’d left.

  Emmet gave him another long look, and Conn rolled his eyes.

  “Jeez...what?”

  “Something’s just off about you.” Emmet returned his gaze to the road. “You’ve always been a lone wolf when it comes to keeping most of your thoughts to yourself, but this is ridiculous.”

  He was getting annoyed with his brothers always reminding him of who he’d been. “Why do you keep pointing out my worst qualities? Has it ever occurred to you that I might’ve left them behind?”

  “Because you’ve forgotten them?”

  Conn didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking out the window at the passing oaks curled over the country road, constructing a sparse tunnel of sorts. “The old Conn could come back, but I’m not sure I can warm up to him. If he gave all those women he seduced a bad attitude like he did Rita, then I have to assume he didn’t care much about them in the first place. He didn’t seem to treat women very well, for one thing.”

  And just imagine how he might treat a baby. Like a toy that he would leave behind when it lost its shininess?

  Emmet grinned wryly. “Oh, but you did treat them well, Conn. At the time. I told you before, though—you had a graceful way of getting out of any serious entanglements and you left the girls happy.”

  “How do you know that for certain? Did you ever meet any of those women?”

  Emmet shrugged. “Can’t say I ever did. But you always made it sound as if you left them smiling.”

  Another stretch of road ran by the window as they abandoned the oaks and the gray sky appeared, reflecting the color of Rita’s eyes.

  He could only hope he’d left the other women smiling.

  Emmet laid off Conn the rest of the way, and it wasn’t too long before they pulled into the road that ran past the main Colonial-style house on the Shadow Creek Ranch—four hundred and fifty acres of land that housed Brahman cattle.

  Emmet pulled into the driveway, next to two beat-up trucks that belonged to their older brothers. “Mom’s got lunch going. She wanted to see you before you holed up in your cabin for a rest.”

  “I don’t need a nap.”

  “Don’t argue that with Mom. She’s got doctors’ recommendations on her side.”

  Conn just about bit his tongue as he got out of the truck. There were a
million things to do now that he was back. But who was he to go against the Word of Mom?

  They went around the back, where an herb garden preceded a deck where Bradon and Dillon, Conn’s oldest brothers, were sitting in lawn chairs under the cloudy sky. Their boys—all three of them—came bounding over from their spot off the side of the deck, where they’d been digging in the dirt with plastic toys.

  “Uncle Conn!”

  Bradon’s five-year-old twins bashed into Conn’s legs first, followed by Dillon’s waddling toddler. They all hugged Conn, nearly toppling him.

  “Whoa,” he said, laughing, patting them on their shoulders. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

  “Yes, you were!” shouted Nate, the more outgoing twin.

  “Yeah!” Ned, his brother, echoed him. “We missed you!”

  Meanwhile, Conn ruffled their two-year-old cousin Jacob’s thick dark hair—a feature that didn’t escape any of the Flannigan brood.

  Ned tugged on Conn’s shirtsleeve. “Want to dig worms with us?”

  Dillon spoke up. “I’m sure Conn would rather sit and have a beer. Right?”

  Conn shrugged. “Maybe later, kid.” He winked at the twins, and they scrambled off to do some more worm harassing. Jacob did his best to catch up with them, the sight of such short legs in baggy jeans making Conn chuckle.

  But his laughter died when he thought of another child—the baby. Rita’s baby.

  His baby.

  He brushed off the thought, because, as Rita said, it was for the best that he was here and she was there.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Hey,” Bradon said, standing up and coming over to Conn so he could hand him a beer. “You plan to just stand there all day?”

  With one smooth move, Emmet walked out from behind Conn and scooped the beer out of Bradon’s hand. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Bradon chuckled, then lightly pushed Conn toward the table with brotherly affection. Burlier than any of the brothers, he’d been the football star in the family—a fullback—until his knee had given out during an All-American game and destroyed his dreams of going pro.

  Dillon was the baseball master—a pretty good pitcher—but his heart had always been on the ranch, much like Emmet’s and Conn’s. He’d even married his childhood sweetheart, Hayley, before settling on Shadow Creek for good in their own cabin, just as each brother owned.

  “Any luck in St. Valentine?” he asked.

  “Got a few mental nudges,” Conn said as Bradon cracked open another beer and handed it over. He briefly told them about Rita, leaving out most of the details. Hell—a lot of the details. “Day by day, flashes are coming to me, but...”

  “But it’s not enough,” Dillon said, compassion written all over his tanned face. He tipped back his cowboy hat and took a sip of beer.

  Conn took a swig too, then said, “I don’t think flashes will ever be enough. Not until they make one big picture of the past.”

  Emmet sat back in his chair and propped a booted foot over his knee. “Funny. There’re a lot of people who’d love a clean slate in life.”

  “Like you?” Bradon asked.

  “My life’s perfect.” Emmet saluted them with his bottle. “Nothing else I ever wanted but to be free under an open Texas sky, and I’ve got that in spades.”

  As he drank, Conn wondered if Emmet was being facetious. It was his brother’s tone that made him second-guess.

  The creak of an opening screen door turned their attention toward the house, where Mom stood in the doorway.

  “I see our wanderer is back,” she said, her hand on a curvy hip that was covered by an apron that read Goddess of the Hearth. Her dark hair glinted with silver streaks, cut in a short, no-fuss style.

  “Mom,” Conn said, rising to go to her, then hugging her.

  She was stronger than she looked as she embraced him right back. “How did it go?”

  He used his stock answer. “Fine. During lunch I’ll tell you the little I accomplished.”

  “Good. The girls are inside, seeing to the last touches.” She was talking about Trixie and Hayley, Bradon’s and Dillon’s wives. “It’s time for y’all to come in and wash up, though.” She motioned toward the boys. “I don’t want any dirty angels at my table.”

  As she went back through the door, he caught a whiff of home—meat loaf, vegetables and fresh-baked bread. The wafting aroma must’ve gotten to his brothers, too, because they were already out of their seats, urging Conn inside.

  He managed to get through the meal with just as many scant details as he’d offered Emmet on the ride home and, after they’d gotten their fill, Conn had Emmet drop him off at his place. As his brother pulled away, Conn merely nodded a goodbye to his brother, mostly to thank Emmet for staying mum about his adventures with Rita—sleeping with her, and even getting her pregnant, if Emmet suspected anything about it. Once inside the log cabin, which he’d built with his brothers over the years until he’d moved into it in his early twenties, he tossed his duffel bag on his quilted mattress in the bedroom and unzipped it.

  He pulled out jeans, socks, a couple of shirts, aiming to toss them in his hamper, just as something fell out of the bundle and clanked to the wooden floor.

  Conn didn’t move as he caught a glimpse of Rita’s necklace, with the R split in two.

  Like gold lightning, an image hit him, whisking him away. His lips brushing hers, a pow of agonized need tearing through him, a craving so strong that all he wanted to do was hold on to it...

  It was the kiss from last night. But that wasn’t all. On its tail came another flash, and suddenly, he was engrossed in an older memory.

  White-wedding frills and church flowers. Sitting with his mom in a pew as Bradon stood at the altar with his bride, Trixie. Mom dabbing at her eyes with a linen handkerchief, leaning over to whisper, “It’s out there for you, too, Conn. I found it with my Owen, bless his soul, and all you have to do is look a little harder.”

  Then, another memory—one that clashed with the first.

  The morning after, with Rita in bed still sleeping, the early light whispering through a gap in the curtain as he thought, I’ve got to have more from her....

  The mental pictures slipped away to nothing just as quickly as they’d come and, after a second, Conn bent down to get the necklace.

  It gleamed in his palm. What had the memories meant? Could they mean that, when he’d left Rita that morning, he truly had intended to come back?

  But for just how long?

  Rattled, Conn sat on the bed. Strange, how these memories had come one right after the other: His mom telling him that he was going to find love, then him, looking down at a sleeping Rita in bed. The connection didn’t make sense, especially if he only meant to have a brief affair with her.

  Frustration chewed on him once again. This was just like last night, when the post-kiss memory had only begun to inch toward a precipice, toward a fall where everything might finally crash down and jar him into true reality.

  But he still wasn’t there. Even now, he was being teased by bits and pieces.

  Conn looked down at the necklace in his hand, seeing how the R still hadn’t come together, knowing that with just one push, it could very well become whole again.

  A real man—a man who had himself together—would push.

  So who was Connall Flannigan? More important, who did he want to be?

  Didn’t he have a choice in the matter?

  He pushed the necklace together so it formed a solid letter.

  R for Rita.

  And that’s when he knew.

  * * *

  “Let’s get a good look at your bundle of joy,” said Dr. Ambrose as she waited for Rita to push her sweats just low enough for her curved belly to protrude over the waistband.

  She lay back on the table in the exam room, tugging up her loose pink sweatshirt. “I thought things would be more difficult with this pregnancy,” she said while the doctor rubbed gel over her tummy. “The only minor complaint
I have is that I tend to get dizzy sometimes when I get up too quickly. That’s about it, though.”

  Dr. Ambrose, who’d been Rita’s practitioner since she was a child, nodded. “You should make it a point to relax more.”

  “I will. I’ve got a lot of things coming up, like Vi’s wedding this weekend, and the rehearsal dinner and bachelorette party tonight. But I definitely won’t overdo it.”

  “Good. Are you eating enough protein? Sometimes your blood sugar is affected when you don’t get enough of it, or if you’re not eating regularly.”

  “I’ll make sure I’m doing that, too. Otherwise, I’m feeling really good this time around. Kristy exhausted me. I slept all the time and was always moody.”

  The doctor gave her an understanding smile. She didn’t have to say that Rita had been going through some massive troubles during Kristy’s pregnancy, just after Kevin had revealed his affair and he’d left them both in the cold.

  Rita tried not to think that, maybe, the doctor was even wearing a little of that caring, yet definitely chafing, “You should’ve known better” expression that everyone else in St. Valentine seemed to have, too.

  She exhaled. Paranoid. That’s what she was. Dr. Ambrose had always been considerate and never said an annoying word to her. It was just that, ever since Conn had come around—and especially after he’d left again—she’d sensed that people on the streets were monitoring her, just as they’d done when she’d gotten pregnant the first time.

  Conn. She could still feel his kiss, the gentleness of it, and there was that masochistic part of her that wanted him here to see his baby on the screen.

  But fat chance of that. She’d chased him off well and good.

  “You’ll do just fine, Rita,” the doctor said in her soothing, maternal voice. She even wore her faded brown hair in a relaxed granny bun that had a pencil sticking out of it, and her kind blue eyes were rayed by laugh lines. “All pregnancies are different. Don’t create problems by worrying about why nothing is wrong with this pregnancy.”

  As Dr. Ambrose put the transducer against Rita’s tummy, she tried to relax, but failed.

  She was still wanting Conn here. Still somewhat regretting that he wasn’t, even though it was for the best.