P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission

by Beth Cornelison

  “I want to see you again alone.” He tucked a wisp of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear, and a thrill raced through her. “Next weekend. Let me take you out to the Walsh family ranch. We can ride the horses out on the property or take the sleigh out and have a picnic.”

  “A picnic? In November?” She tried to sound light-hearted. A difficult trick considering her breath had lodged in her lungs the instant his bedroom gaze latched onto hers, and his proximity had her heart thundering for all it was worth.

  He nodded. “Beside a bonfire. I’ll bring blankets and hot coffee.” He shrugged and canted closer to her. “Or we can stay in and eat by the fireplace. Your choice.”

  Lisa cast a glance over his shoulder to the other parents and kids milling about the gymnasium. She could already hear the tongues wagging over the cozy scene between the fourth-grade teacher and one of the fathers. “I…I’d like to but—”

  “No buts. It’s a date.” When she opened her mouth to counter, he pressed his fingers to her lips, and a crackle, like heat lightning, fired from every synapse. “A real date. I know you’re worried about getting involved with someone, but I think if we talk about it, we can figure something out.”

  A bittersweet pain swelled in her chest. She wanted to believe there was hope for her to build a relationship with someone someday. And Peter was certainly the kind of man she could see herself falling for. But the power of her attraction to him also rang warning bells. The harder she fell for him, the more it would hurt if they couldn’t find an agreeable compromise about how the relationship would work.

  “We can go slow,” he said, seeming to read her mind. “But I want—”

  “Dad, Jeremy and I are gonna shoot some hoops out on the basketball court, okay?” Patrick called from the foot of the ladder.

  Peter jerked away from her and started down the ladder. “What about helping Ms. Navarre set up the booths? That’s what we came to do.”

  Lisa struggled for a breath as she followed Peter down the ladder.

  “Aw, Dad…” Patrick frowned and gave his friend a shrug.

  “You’ll have lots of time for playing later.” He handed Patrick a package of balloons. “Why don’t you guys blow these up for us? I know you boys are full of hot air, so…”

  Jeremy chuckled, and Patrick groaned at Peter’s joke.

  Feeling much steadier and in control once her feet were again on the ground and Peter’s heavenly scent wasn’t scrambling her thoughts, Lisa handed Patrick some ribbon. “Once you blow them up, tie them in bunches of three and put them up all around. Tie them to chairs, doors, anywhere you think the place needs sprucing up.”

  “Okay,” the boys answered together before wandering off with their new assignment.

  Using the distraction to gather her thoughts, Lisa fumbled with a poster she’d made for the bean-bag-toss booth and kept her gaze on her hands. “Peter, I’m flattered by the invitation. Can I think about it and give you an answer later today?”

  When she peeked up at him, he was still watching her with those dark bedroom eyes. She wanted to drown in those eyes, wanted to sink into their depths and forget that Mother Nature had cursed her with fibroids that had prevented her from getting pregnant and had eventually led to her hysterectomy.

  “Sure.” With a quick smile that said he knew he was being put off, he picked up the ladder and moved it down the stage to tack up the next section of the banner.

  Lisa swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. When she’d divorced Ray, she thought she’d endured the most painful effect of her infertility. She hadn’t counted on meeting a man like Peter, who made her want to be part of a family all over again.

  “Come on, sport, give it your best shot!” Peter called from the dunking booth as Patrick wound up to throw at the target.

  Since opening to the community three hours ago, the Fall Festival had been packed with children and their parents. The cheerful fall decor of pumpkins, dried corn stalks and colorful leaf collections gave the school a festive mood, and the scents of fresh popcorn and cotton candy that filled the air brought back memories of summer carnivals Lisa had attended as a child. Without a doubt, the festival had been a smashing success for the PTA.

  For Lisa, personally, the day had exceeded her expectations, thanks in large part to the man sitting in the dunking booth and his son, winding up for his pitch.

  “You’re going down, Dad!” Patrick hurled the tennis ball at the target, hit the bullseye, and Peter splashed down into the water to the cheers of the crowd gathered around the booth.

  Lisa saw Peter shiver as he came up from the cold water, although he hadn’t complained once. He’d been a good sport about sitting in the dunking booth for almost an hour. “Okay, I think poor Mr. Walsh has had enough. Who is our next volunteer? Principal Green?”

  A cheer went up from the gathered kids, who scrambled to be first in line to dunk the principal.

  Laughing at the kids’ enthusiasm, Lisa walked around to the back of the dunking booth just as Peter was stepping down from the perch and peeling off his sopping T-shirt. Her steps faltered, and she nearly swallowed her tongue.

  Peter Walsh’s muscled chest and arms, flat stomach and arrow of dark hair that disappeared into his wet jeans were fodder for any woman’s most sensual fantasy.

  “Can you hand me that towel?” he asked, pointing to the stack of clean towels waiting for the dunkees to dry off.

  She had to mentally shake herself from her gaping stupor in order to process his request and respond. “Uh, sure.”

  Patrick wheeled around the corner of the booth. “Ha! I got you good, huh, Dad?”

  “That you did, buddy. Along with several dozen other folks.” Peter shook his head like a dog, spraying Patrick and Lisa with droplets of water. Lisa raised the towel she was about to hand Peter as a shield.

  “Hey!” Patrick laughed.

  Peter tossed his son his keys. “Run out to the truck and bring me the dry clothes in my gym bag, will ya, sport?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  As Patrick trotted off, Lisa offered Peter the towel. “Thanks for doing that.” She hitched her head to the booth where Mr. Green was now taunting the kids trying to dunk him. “I know it was a cold job.”

  Peter shrugged. “Not too bad. Glad to help. Patrick really seemed to get a kick out of it.”

  “He wasn’t the only one. I think you’re lucky Maisie Colton was stopped when she was.” She rolled her eyes, thinking of the way Maisie Colton had elbowed people out of the way when Peter climbed in the booth, then spent twenty minutes and fifty dollars throwing balls, trying to soak Peter. Had other parents not intervened and insisted Maisie give someone else a chance, Lisa had no doubt Maisie would have soon started throwing the tennis balls right at Peter’s head. Yet Peter had been a good sport, keeping a smile on his face, despite the daggers in Maisie’s eyes as she’d dunked him over and again.

  “More money for the school. Glad my family’s feud with the Coltons proved lucrative for the Festival.” He flashed her a wry smile.

  When he shivered again, Lisa winced. “Let me buy you a hot chocolate at least. You need something to warm you up.”

  He stepped closer and arched a dark eyebrow. “I bet a kiss would do the trick.”

  Her breath caught, and she felt her cheeks heat.

  “But I guess there are too many spectators here for that, huh?” His smile was devilish. “I’ll take the hot chocolate for now.”

  With a jerky nod, she hurried off to join the concessions line, winding up behind two women deep in conversation.

  “If Maisie Colton doesn’t shut up about the Dr. Sophie show, I think I’m going to have to shut her up!” The first woman complained loudly to her friend. “I know they say the rich are eccentric, but sometimes I think Maisie takes eccentric to a new level!”

  “I know it. Did you see the way she knocked Emily Waters out of the way to be first in line to dunk Peter Walsh? She’s an embarrassment to the school.�
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  Lisa looked at her feet, pretending not to listen. But the women didn’t seem to care who heard them as they fussed at full volume.

  “Did you hear what she said when Mr. Green finally pulled her out of line so the kids could play?”

  “No. What?”

  “She said, and I quote, ‘You Walshes deserve that and more! I thought I was rid of Mark Walsh the first time, but at least he’s gone for good this time. He got what he deserved!’”

  A chill skittered down Lisa’s back.

  The other woman gasped. “She did?”

  “No lie. The Walsh family is mourning Mark’s murder, and she has the nerve to say he got what he deserved.” Now the woman did pitch her voice lower. “Although, from what I hear, Mark Walsh was a reprobate who slept with anything in a skirt.”

  Lisa tensed. Was this the kind of catty gossip Peter had grown up hearing? She glanced across the gymnasium floor in time to see Peter take his gym bag from Patrick and speak to an older woman with red hair as he headed into the locker room to change. The woman gave Patrick a big hug then, when Patrick pointed at Lisa, the woman smiled and waved.

  Lisa waved back, then turned to move up in the line and place her order. She carried a tray with four hot chocolates back to where Patrick and the older woman waited for Peter. “Cocoa for everyone!”

  “Oh, thank you, honey,” the woman said with a smile. “I’m Jolene Walsh. Patrick’s grandmother.”

  And Peter’s mother.

  Still shaken by the exchange between the gossipy women, Lisa forced a grin and balanced the hot chocolate tray as she offered her hand to Jolene Walsh and introduced herself.

  “Thanks, Ms. Navarre. Dad said to tell you he’d be right back.” Patrick helped himself to a cup and handed one to his grandmother. “Can we do the cupcake walk again? I’m getting hungry.”

  “Do it again?” Mrs. Walsh asked Patrick. “How many times have you done the cupcake walk?”

  He shrugged. “A couple.”

  Lisa laughed. “You mean a couple of dozen?”

  By her count, she, Peter and Patrick had made the rounds of all the games and booths at least eight times, and for Patrick’s favorites, like the cupcake walk, the number was much higher.

  Jolene gave her grandson a crooked smile. “Tell you what. We’ll do the cupcake walk, but if you win the cupcake, you save it for after dinner.”

  Patrick cocked his head as if considering the deal. “Okay!”

  “Want to come?” the redhead asked Lisa.

  “No, I’ll wait here for Peter,” she replied, indicating the hot drink in her hand was for him.

  Patrick dragged his grandmother off to the cupcake booth, and Lisa sighed contentedly. The afternoon had passed quickly and been filled with laughter, good-spirited competition between the father and son, and a growing sense of family. Which was ridiculous, because Peter and Patrick weren’t her family. Technically, she wasn’t even dating Peter. But…

  I want to see you again alone.

  Heaven help her, she wanted to see Peter again—alone—too. She wanted to explore the familial warmth their time together today had nurtured, wanted to share more steamy kisses like the one Peter had stolen in front of the office, wanted to give Patrick the motherly love and attention a boy his age deserved.

  But mostly her day with Peter and Patrick had woken her soul-deep desire for her own child, a yearning that could never be fulfilled. Spending more time with the Walsh family could only exacerbate the painful longing. So why was she actually considering Peter’s invitation for another date? A real date. A date that would acknowledge that they shared an electric attraction and had fun together.

  And today had been fun. More fun than she’d had in years.

  “That for me?”

  She startled when Peter’s voice broke into her reverie. The hot cocoa sloshed onto her hand, and she gasped.

  “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you.” He took the hot chocolate and flashed a smile that did more to warm her inside than the sweet drink. Peter had changed into dry jeans and a flannel button-down shirt that reminded her of Paul Bunyon, and had combed his wet hair back from his face. With his five o’clock shadow and dark hair peeking from the collar of his shirt, he looked woodsman-rugged and thoroughly sexy.

  She was in trouble. She was falling fast and hard for this man and his son. Even as she told herself she should turn and run, she heard herself saying, “Yes, I’d love to see you again next weekend.”

  Peter blinked as he took a gulp of his cocoa and played mental catch-up to her out-of-context comment. But soon a satisfied grin tugged his cheek and his eyes warmed. “Great. I’ll get my mom to watch Patrick, and we’ll have the whole day.”

  Lisa’s stomach flip-flopped with anticipation and giddy delight. A whole day alone with Peter Walsh.

  A whole day.

  Alone.

  With Peter.

  What had she done?

  Chapter 10

  B efore the Fall Festival officially wound down, Peter could tell Patrick had reached his limit of fun and frosting and would soon reach critical mass if he didn’t go home and decompress. Peter’s mother volunteered to take Patrick home so that Peter could stay and help tear down the booths and haul some of the larger materials back to Lisa’s house in his truck.

  “How did you get this to the school?” he asked as they carried a tall plywood backboard for the bean-bag toss out of the gymnasium. “I know this didn’t fit in your car.”

  Lisa puffed a wisp of her dark hair out of her face. “Nope. Harvey brought it over for me in his truck.”

  “Harvey?” Peter couldn’t help the prick of jealousy that poked him at the idea of another man going to Lisa’s house, winning one of her bright smiles for his helpfulness.

  “Principal Green,” Lisa clarified.

  Peter pictured the short, aging principal and felt somewhat better. Not that he had any right to feel possessive of Lisa’s attention.

  “Bye, Ms. Navarre!” a young voice shouted, and Peter glanced over his shoulder to find Jeremy and Maisie Colton headed out to their car. He tensed and turned away.

  Lisa waved back with a bright smile. “Bye, Jeremy.”

  He’d managed to avoid Maisie for most of the day, until she’d fought her way to the front of the line at the dunking booth. He’d been tempted to leave his post as dunkee before he’d really started his shift, but he’d promised Lisa he’d help. When he’d seen what a bad shot Maisie was, and that his good-natured grin riled her more than jeers, he’d had fun watching the Colton princess make a fool of herself.

  Lisa met Peter’s gaze and lowered her voice. “I overheard some ladies talking about Maisie earlier.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “Something related to my dad’s murder?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Peter closed his tailgate and stepped closer to Lisa. “What did you hear?”

  Lisa told him about a conversation between two ladies in the concession line. He’d already known Maisie’s reputation for being a loose cannon, but statements the women claimed Maisie had made regarding his father rankled. Maisie’s tirade, as repeated by the women, was hearsay and not admissible in court. But it confirmed Peter’s suspicion that Maisie held more than a passing grudge against his father. Question was, was Maisie’s hostility rooted in family loyalty and her brother’s murder conviction, which now appeared to have been a mistake? Or did Maisie have more personal reasons to hate his father? Reasons enough to kill Mark Walsh?

  He mulled those questions over as he followed Lisa back to her house and unloaded the festival miscellany into Lisa’s garage.

  “Can I offer you something hot to drink as a thank-you?” she asked as they finished moving the last box from his truck.

  Peter consulted his watch. Despite the early darkness of the fall evening, it was still early. “Sure.”

  More than something to drink, he wanted a few minutes with Lisa, without the eyes of the town watching or his son around a
s a chaperone. He helped Lisa with her coat and hung both his and her coats in the front hall while she started a kettle of water heating.

  Peter paused by the rocking chair in the living room long enough to give Samson a ruffle on the head. The cat greeted him with a loud meow, stretched sleepily and half-heartedly bit at his wrist. “Goofy cat,” he chuckled as he settled on the sofa, then decided Patrick wasn’t off the mark. The fluffy Maine coon had personality to spare. He was no dog, but…

  “Here you go.” Lisa carried in two mugs of spiced tea and handed one to him as she sat beside him. “Thank you for your help with the festival. I think Patrick had a good time.”

  “Well, spending time with Patrick wasn’t the only reason I went.” Setting his mug aside, he scooted closer to Lisa and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I enjoyed spending the day with you, too.”

  She smiled sadly then lowered her gaze to her drink. “Peter, I…”

  His chest tightened, knowing where her thoughts had drifted. He hated the idea of their relationship hitting a roadblock before it had even started. Turning his hand, he cupped her chin in his palm. “I know you’re worried about getting involved with me because of the way your marriage ended. But can’t we talk about it?”

  She lifted a wistful gaze, her fingers tightening around her mug until her knuckles were bloodless. “Talking doesn’t change the facts. I’ll never be able to have children, Peter. I can’t saddle you or any man with that.”

  He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, and her breath hitched. “What if I told you your infertility isn’t an issue for me?”

  Lisa covered his hand with hers, squeezing his fingers. “I’d say you were either lying to ease my mind, or you hadn’t really thought the issue through thoroughly. I’ve seen how you are with Patrick, heard you talk about your family and how much they mean to you. You can’t tell me you don’t want more children. I can see the truth in your eyes when you watch your son.”

  Peter started to deny her assertion but stopped. If he wanted a relationship with Lisa, it had to be based in total honesty. Starting now. He took her drink from her and put it aside, then wrapped his fingers around hers.