Unless he changed his mind.
He stopped rocking and propped his feet on the rail. Eyes closed, he considered the possibility. Change his mind? Let Katie go off to live wherever Sarah found a job? Settle for being a part-time father, for seeing his daughter every other weekend and maybe in the summer? Stand back and watch while some man took his place in Katie's life?
Never.
So what other options did he have? What solution would allow him to have Katie, and Sarah, too? Marriage.
He said it out loud, testing its sound, its flavor. Marriage. He and Sarah had talked about it often enough—her failed marriage, his lack of desire for one, her parents', his parents' and their grandparents' marriages. It was the obvious solution to his problem. Through marriage, Katie would remain with him without the trauma of a court battle. Through marriage, he would gain a wife, a beautiful wife, and the chance to have other children. Through marriage, he could have Sarah, could be with her and make love to her without guilt or shame.
How many times had he told her that he didn't want a wife? How many times had he lied to her? But if they were married, the lies would stop. There would be no deceptions, no misleading, no dishonesty. There would be no lawsuit. If she agreed in the next thirteen days to marry him, she would never even have to know what he had planned. His guilt would be absolved; his needs would be satisfied; his daughter would be protected. All with one brief, simple courthouse ceremony.
He grimly rolled his head from side to side. What reason did he have to believe that Sarah would even consider marriage to him? She spent time with him because of their daughter; she wanted to go to bed with him because of… His frown deepened. Physical urges. That was as good a way to describe the need as any other. If she hadn't lied to him yesterday, it had been nearly two years for her. That was a long time for any need to go unsatisfied. She wanted an affair for thirteen days, at the end of which she expected to get Katie back, pack up and leave. To deal with his guilt, with the honor that she was so certain he possessed, he had to have more. He had to have a commitment, a promise, a future. He had to have marriage.
He could approach it bluntly, openly. We both want Katie, so let's get married and raise her together. And pray that she didn't find such a proposal as calculating and cold-blooded as he did.
Or he could woo her. He could take the affection that she'd already shown him and try to turn it into something more. Not love. He'd never received love from anyone but Katie, and he had long ago learned not to expect it. He didn't need Sarah's love to have a good marriage. But warmth, caring, friendship—surely those were things she could give, things he could live with.
But what if she needed love? Could he give her that? It pained him to look too closely at the answer, that maybe he already did love her. How could he let himself love a woman who had never intended to be part of his life? How could he love a woman who never would have seen him again after that weekend if she hadn't been unlucky enough to get pregnant? Affection, caring, friendship—that was what he felt. And, of course, desire. The same physical urges that drove her. That was all, he insisted. And he believed it. Tonight, in the cold, quiet dark that surrounded him, he let himself believe the lie.
October 20
Sarah was tugging her jeans on when Daniel arrived to pick her up for the festival Saturday morning. She fastened them quickly, then pulled on a plain white shirt, buttoning it as she walked to the open door. "I'll be ready in a minute," she called.
From his position beside the truck, Daniel nodded in response. She returned to the bathroom, where she tucked her shirt into her jeans and refastened them. Without makeup or perfume or jewelry, there wasn't much left for her to do besides comb her hair. For a moment she indulged her feminine vanity, wishing she could look her best for Daniel. If he saw that she could be pretty with makeup, earrings, a necklace, perfume, maybe some nicer clothes, would he be impressed? Would he be more attracted to her?
She didn't think so. He'd said Thursday morning that she was pretty … but Thursday afternoon he'd told her that he didn't want her, that it would be wrong for him to want her. The problem wasn't with her appearance, she admitted glumly. It was what was inside her, or what Daniel believed was inside. He thought she was easy, without morals, without shame. He thought she was the kind of woman who could give up her baby because she found the child inconvenient. He couldn't see past his judgments and condemnations to the woman who loved her daughter more than life itself, to the woman who loved him.
And she couldn't help him. She couldn't tell him her secrets just so he would forgive and accept her. She couldn't play on her son's tragedy to gain Daniel's approval. She wanted his trust and faith to be given freely, not on the condition that she provide him with satisfactory reasons for the actions. Such justification wasn't fair to Tony, and it wasn't fair to her.
Sighing softly, she practiced a smile in the mirror. For twelve more days she would be Daniel's friend, because that was all he would accept from her. Then she would have Katie, and he would be out of her life. He would be Katie's father and nothing else. Like thousands of divorced mothers, she would see him briefly when he came to get Katie and when he brought her home, and they would be awkwardly, painfully polite to each other, for their daughter's sake.
And she would never fall in love with anyone else again.
She took some money from her purse and stuffed it, along with her keys, deeply into one pocket. After locking the door, she went outside to join them.
Katie was still in her car seat, chattering softly to herself. Her conversation was serious, Sarah thought with a grin. Her dark blue eyes were somber, her full pouty mouth unsmiling.
Slowly Sarah walked past the truck to watch Daniel. He was unloading firewood, adding it neatly to the small stack that remained from the first load. When he finished, he turned to face her. In a matter of seconds her easy grin was transformed into a forbidding frown. She looked from him to the stacked wood, then back again, and the frown grew colder.
No more charity, she'd told him a few days ago. He met her frown with one of his own, daring her to challenge him. If her pride was hurt, that was too bad, but he'd be damned if he'd let her spend the nights down here in an unheated house with nothing but a pile of blankets to keep her warm.
Friendship was one thing, Sarah thought despairingly, but this was too much. She didn't want anything that he gave only because he felt obligated. She didn't want him taking care of her when he couldn't care about her. "Take it back."
"No."
She moved closer, until she had to tilt her head back to see him. "I don't want it."
"But you'll use it." If he had to come down here every night and every morning, he would make sure she used it.
"Daniel—"
"Sarah." He brushed his hand over her hair. It was just a gesture, easy and meaningless, but two weeks ago he couldn't have made it. "You can't make me take it back."
He was right. He was so much bigger and stronger than she was that she couldn't make him do anything. "At least let me pay you for it. How much would that amount of wood cost?"
He opened his mouth to tell her that he didn't want her money, that she couldn't afford it, anyway; then he saw the hopelessness in her eyes. She expected him to refuse payment, to make her pay instead with her pride, so he named a price. It was less than the market value of the firewood, but he saw her flinch.
She mentally reviewed her bank balance and silently groaned. "I'll write you a check—"
"After you find a job." If she found a job. If she agreed to his proposal—if he found the courage to make it—maybe she would choose not to work. Maybe she would stay home with him and Katie and be a full-time wife and mother. "Okay?"
Relieved, she nodded. "Thank you, Daniel."
"Are you ready?"
With another nod, she returned to the truck. She was looking forward to this trip into town today. On Thursday, while Daniel had worked on the booths, Linda Schmidt had described how they would be de
corated, the rides that would be set up for the kids, the crafts and foods and games that would be available, and it had sounded like a wonderful way to spend a day with Katie and Daniel. In spite of his rejection later that afternoon, she was still determined to have a good time.
Traffic was heavy on the highway into town. The streets that formed the town square were blocked off, and rides, games and picnic tables filled both lanes. They had to park several blocks from the square on a quiet side street filled with lovely old houses.
"I like Sweetwater," Sarah commented as they walked, their pace slow to accommodate Katie's chubby legs. "It seems like a nice place to raise a kid." When she got no response, she dared a sidelong glance at him. His expression was solemn, his mind miles away. "I have to come into town next week. To look for a job and a place to live."
He looked at her then. The end of the month was approaching, her lease on the farmhouse was running out, and, he would bet, so was her money. If everything worked out, she could move directly from the farmhouse into his house, and she wouldn't have to worry about money. All she would have to do was what she'd been doing for the past week and a half—take care of Katie. He would take care of everything else.
Misinterpreting his grim mood, she hastened to reassure him. "I meant what I said before, Daniel. You'll be able to see her as often as you want."
"Tell me, Sarah." They had almost reached the square, and he stopped to get her answer before they approached the crowd ahead. "Is there anything you wouldn't do for Katie?"
She gave it a long moment's consideration, then shook her head. "No. She's my daughter."
Daniel nodded once, and they began walking again.
She's my daughter. The simple statement told him everything. She would do anything in the world for Katie. She would love her, help her, support her, fight for her. She would defend her, teach her, encourage her. She would, if convinced that it was in Katie's best interests, even marry for her. That was all he needed to know.
The sights and sounds of the eighteenth annual Harvest Festival were too much for Katie to take in. From her perch on Daniel's shoulders she stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at everything, not certain which sight she liked best.
"This is wonderful," Sarah said after a weaving walk around the square. "When I was a kid, my mom loved to go to fairs—not the big state fairs, but little county ones, where everyone knew each other, and the merry-go-round was the most sophisticated ride. She especially loved the crafts—the quilts and clothes and the lace. She always said she was going to learn to do some of them … but she never had time."
A faint sadness came into her eyes, and Daniel wished the childlike wonder would return. It made her look so young, so carefree and happy, and he liked it when she looked happy. "It must have been hard for her, supporting the two of you."
She nodded. "She worked hard. My father didn't pay child support, of course. Men are like that."
"Not all of them." He couldn't understand a man who would abandon his children any more than he could understand a woman who did. "I would have supported you and Katie if I'd known."
Unexpectedly, she wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him a hug. "I know." Knowing instinctively that he was blushing at her public display, she stepped away. "Cotton candy!" she exclaimed, spying bags of the pink-and-blue confection hanging from the sign of a booth. "Can Katie have some?"
Before he could answer, she was halfway to the booth, pulling money from her pocket. She picked up a bag of each color and held them up for Katie to see. "Pink or blue, Katie?"
She pointed to the blue, then leaned down from Daniel's shoulders to claim it. With a laugh, Sarah shook her head, clasping the bag tighter. "A little at a time, sweetheart. I don't want you to get sick." After paying and returning the change to her pocket, she headed toward an empty bench in the park, where Daniel put the girl down.
Sarah tore off a chunk of the wispy spun sugar and handed it to Katie, who wasn't quite sure what to do with it until her mother showed her. "Has she ever had candy?" Sarah asked suspiciously after seeing Katie's surprised but enthusiastic response to the treat.
Daniel gave a shake of his head. He'd never developed much of a taste for sweets himself, so it had never occurred to him to buy them for Katie.
Laughing, Sarah pulled another big piece from the paper cone. "Oh, Daniel, you're entirely too good, you know that? Every child should have a father like you." Her tone was teasing, but the compliment was sincere. When she had first found out almost two years ago that she was pregnant, she had wondered why God was so angry with her—first Tony, then the pregnancy. But she had been blessed in one respect; she couldn't have found a better man to have a baby with if she had searched all her life.
When Katie finished the cotton candy, her hands and face were coated with a sticky blue crust. She grinned, first at her mother, then her father. "More candy, Daddy."
He directed a dry look in Sarah's direction. "Now see what you've done?"
Sarah wetted a napkin at the nearby drinking fountain, then returned to scrub the girl clean, amid demands for more candy. "We've created a monster," she teased.
"We created a child," Daniel corrected. "You created the monster."
Sarah looked up from her kneeling position, the look on her face soft and wondrous. Was that the first time he'd ever acknowledged her role in producing Katie? he wondered ruefully and guessed from her reaction that it was. Katie was no longer his daughter, or Sarah's, but theirs. A joint production, a joint responsibility. That would be one of his selling points, if he needed any, when he asked her to marry him.
For just a moment he sat motionless. He was really going to do it, wasn't he? Last night he'd gone to bed thinking about it, certain that it was the most foolish idea he'd ever had. But he was going to do it. Daniel Ryan, who had boasted that he would never get married, that he didn't want a wife and, more importantly, didn't need one, was going to propose to Sarah Lawson.
Sarah Ryan. He liked the sound of that—light, happy, beautiful. Like her. And he liked the idea of being married. Even if there was no love involved, what did it matter? Good marriages were built on other things—respect, friendship, affection, understanding, trust. Love was a bonus. They could be satisfied without it.
"Go, Mama," Katie pleaded, trying to pull Sarah to her feet. "Go, Daddy."
Daniel stood up and offered a hand to pull Sarah up. For a long moment his fingers remained laced with hers; then, slowly, he pulled away. "Go, Sarah," he softly imitated their daughter.
It was, Sarah decided, the most wonderful day of her life. She rode the merry-go-round, standing beside Katie's horse, for countless whirls while Daniel watched them from the sidewalk. They ate cotton candy and hot dogs and warm, salty pretzels, and drank tall icy cups of Coke. They visited each crafts booth and watched the games and took Katie to the petting zoo, with chickens, ducks, rabbits, a pony and a lamb. By the time they got her out of the small enclosure, she was pleading with her father to take the lamb home with them.
And she met people—Zachary Adams's parents and grandparents, Linda Schmidt's family, and Leon Peters's wife, along with practically every other person in Sweetwater County. She wondered if all these people made it a point to greet Daniel every time they saw him, or if her presence had something to do it. She sadly suspected that it did. The introductions were awkward for him at first as he wasn't sure quite how to refer to her. He settled quickly on giving just her name, accompanied with his usual scowl. No one dared to question him further.
"You've got to quit doing that," she remarked, shifting the sleeping Katie to her other shoulder.
"Doing what?"
"Frowning at everyone who comes over. You're going to make them think you're disagreeable."
"I am disagreeable," he said, giving her a suitable frown. It only made her laugh.
"They're just curious. You can't blame them. You show up one day with a baby that's obviously yours, and a year later I come, and she's obviously mine, too
. They just want the details."
"I'm not annoyed with them." It was true. Although at one time he would have resented such prying into his life, he knew these people. They weren't malicious, just nosy.
Before he could continue, there was another interruption, this one from Zachary. "Is Katie going to enter the contest this evening?"
"What contest?" Sarah asked, shifting again. She had turned down Daniel's offer to carry Katie, enjoying the feel of the small warm body cuddled snugly against her too much to give it up, but now the added weight was getting heavy fast.
Zachary gently brushed a curl of Katie's hair from her face. "The costume contest." At Sarah's blank look, he explained further, "They have a contest for the best costume after the sun goes down. Fortunately, the festival is always held close to Halloween so it's not a problem for the parents."
"We didn't know, so we don't have anything for her." She glanced from him to the big man beside her. "Daniel…?"
He didn't need to hear her request to know what she wanted. He stepped closer and carefully took Katie from her. The little girl settled into the familiar cradle of her father's arms with a soft sleepy sigh and a gentle snore. "We'd probably better head home soon, Sarah."
She nodded. "Zachary, your town does a good job of throwing a party."
"It gets better every year." He looked from her to Daniel, then back again, his gaze speculative. "Maybe you can see for yourself next year."
Her smile was slow. "Maybe I can."
The sun was setting, turning the sky a dozen shades of rose, purple and blue, as they started toward the pickup. Sarah walked a few feet from Daniel's side, humming along with the band set up in the middle of the square. Soon the stars would be out, the sky would turn dark, and the lights would come on. There would be a dance tonight, with babysitting services provided in the church, while the older children rode one last ride, played one last game. Even though it would be chilly without the sun's warmth, the people wouldn't mind. They would simply put on the jackets and coats they'd left in their cars and enjoy every last minute of pleasure that the Harvest Festival offered.
SOMEBODY'S BABY Page 14
