Kayla's Daddy

by Laura Bradford

  Moving to West Cedarville to lick his wounds had simply been the final nail in the coffin as far as the neighbors were concerned. The young boy they’d loved and supported was suddenly too good for them.

  It wasn’t true. Not by a long shot.

  He plopped down on a chaise longue and stared up at the quarter moon, its limited light casting shadows across the ground. If Mrs. Applewhite and Mr. Borden and the rest of the crew had only known how much it hurt him to be powerless against the city, to be unable to keep them from taking over Les Walker’s property so long ago…

  Sighing, he laced his fingers behind his head and imagined the fight he’d have given if he’d had the kind of power and reputation he had now.

  “That’s it!” He sat up, his feet hitting the patio with a thud. In an instant he was back inside and heading for the rear staircase off the kitchen.

  “It’s time to show them they were wrong about you.”

  For the first time all day, Regina’s words brought a smile to Tate’s lips and hope to his heart. He may have been a little fish in a big pond at one time, but no more. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the top landing and headed in the direction of his den. There was no doubt he wanted to show the Quinton Laners they’d been wrong about him. Because they were. Big-time.

  But even more than that, he wanted to show Phoebe who he was—inside and out. Prove to her he wasn’t the kind of guy who made a habit out of yelling at women and scaring innocent babies.

  Chapter Nine

  Phoebe could feel her muscles beginning to relax as she propped her head on her hand and stretched out across the rug. The Haskells’ home had been the easiest to cull thus far, thanks to the extra pair of capable arms belonging to their thirty-three-year-old son, John. Still, three days in a row of constant bending, lifting and carrying had taken its toll on her energy level, making floor play seem like heaven at the moment.

  “Dis?”

  “That’s a spatula.”

  Kayla’s tiny hand disappeared inside the navy blue mixing bowl long enough to extract another item, poking her fingers through the center holes before setting it on the top of her head.

  “Dis?”

  Phoebe laughed and shook her head. “That’s not a hat, silly. It’s a slotted spoon.”

  “Ooon.”

  “Good girl!” Phoebe’s praise was followed by the sudden rustle of Kayla’s overalls as she took off across the living room.

  Boots.

  Sure enough, the orange-and-white fur ball who had spent the majority of the day napping in a sunny spot, had made the mistake of walking past Kayla en route to his food bowl. In an instant the fascinating world of kitchen utensils took a backseat to the thrill of an afternoon chase, with Kayla gaining ground on the still-groggy cat.

  Grateful for the momentary reprieve, Phoebe flipped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. The day’s prep work for the tag sale had been shorter than she’d expected, allowing Kayla to nap in her own crib and Phoebe to grab a much-needed shower. The massage setting on the showerhead had worked wonders on her sore back and shoulders, giving her a boost until she could collapse into bed, only to get up and do it all over again tomorrow.

  Phoebe glanced at the clock on the mantel and groaned softly. If it weren’t for Kayla, she’d ditch dinner in favor of vegging on the couch for a few hours. But she couldn’t and she knew it. Skipping meals wasn’t an option when you had a baby, not a healthy one, anyway. Still, Phoebe actually found herself imagining a benefit of Doug’s wealthy lifestyle: having food prepared and waiting at the table each and every night.

  But as quickly as the image came, it disappeared, replaced by memories of cooking side-by-side with Gram, experimenting with this ingredient or that sauce. That was what she wanted for Kayla. Not cooks and servants catering to her every whim.

  She sat up and looked around, the corners of her mouth lifting at the sight of the denim-clad bottom disappearing around the corner, lap two of the Kayla-Boots 500 well under way.

  “Okay, break it up, you two. It’s time for—”

  A soft knock cut her sentence short, replacing it with a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She adored her neighbors, she really did. She just needed a little time to regroup before enduring another day of ailment stories and city-official bashing.

  Sighing, Phoebe turned the corner into the front entryway, looking back over her shoulder to gauge Kayla’s whereabouts. Lap three was almost complete, with a beleaguered Boots still claiming the lead. For now.

  “Hang in there, Boots, only another ten or so laps to go,” she said, her laughter coming to a halt at the sight of the man standing outside her door.

  Tate.

  She swallowed as he smiled at her and lifted his hand in a wave. Sure, there was a part of her that wanted to see him again, but his open hostility toward her the last two times they’d spoken was tough to ignore.

  Unlocking the dead bolt, Phoebe pulled the door open, her body firmly planted between him and her home. “Hi.”

  His index finger shot into the air before he disappeared around the corner, returning seconds later with a bouquet of roses in his hand. “I’m sorry I was such an idiot the other day. I had no right to blow up at you for what was nothing more than a thoughtful invitation.” He held out the flowers, his sheepish grin breaking down her willpower. “And I’m doubly sorry for reacting so harshly to your efforts yesterday morning.”

  “I—I don’t know what to say.” She took the roses from his outstretched hand, her own beginning to shake as she pulled them toward her nose and breathed in their scent. “You didn’t need to bring me flowers.”

  “I wanted to.” His gaze moved past her, focused on Kayla as she broke from the racecourse to head in their direction. “I have something for you, too, Kayla.”

  Startled, Phoebe turned in time to see Tate disappear around the corner for a few more seconds, reappearing this time with a tiny white teddy bear in his hand. He set it on the ground beside Phoebe’s feet and waited for Kayla to approach it on her own.

  “Phoebe, I am so sorry for the way I reacted. For being so rude to you and for scaring Kayla half to death. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She blinked against the unexpected tears that threatened to make them both uncomfortable and fixed her gaze instead on Kayla. The baby had stopped next to her to cuddle the stuffed bear.

  “Phoebe?” Tate murmured.

  She glanced up, her eyes stinging as she met his, the apprehension on his face as tangible as the roses in her hand and the bear in Kayla’s arms. “Tate…I didn’t mean to cause a problem by inviting you to go with us that day. And I wasn’t trying to cause you pain by saying that about your dad. I was just—” She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled slowly, willing her voice to steadiness before she made a complete fool of herself. “I was just trying to help.”

  He took hold of her hand and squeezed it gently. “I know. I realize that, I really do. It’s just that I’m not…I mean, my father and I aren’t close. We haven’t been since my mother died. Or really ever, for that matter. She was the glue that held us together.” He stroked the top of Phoebe’s hand with his thumb, his eyes locked with hers. “But regardless of my issues, you didn’t deserve those ridiculous outbursts. I wasn’t angry at you. I really wasn’t.”

  Her skin tingled at the sensation of his hand on hers, a feeling rivaled only by the memory of being in his arms…

  “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

  Before she could absorb his question, he disappeared around the corner once again, this time returning with a large picnic basket in one hand and a folded blanket in the other.

  She felt her heart rate accelerate as she stared at him as his words took root in her mind. “I, um, don’t understand. What is that?”

  He laughed. “It’s dinner. Yours, Kayla’s and mine. If you’ll give me a second chance at being a nice guy.”

  “Wow.” It was all she could think to say at the moment, a simple
word that summed up her feelings.

  “C’mon. I know the perfect spot.” He cast his eyes downward, a grin exploding across his face. “I’ll carry the basket and blanket if you’ll bring Kayla and her bear.”

  “But the flowers…” She tightened her grasp on the bouquet. “I need to put them in water.”

  “Bring them. They’ll make a great centerpiece for our blanket.”

  For a moment she thought she was dreaming. A gorgeous guy was standing on her front step, all but begging her to accompany him on a picnic. Her and Kayla. But if she was truly dreaming, she wouldn’t be wearing a pair of ratty gray shorts and a white ribbed cami, her hair still damp from the shower.

  “Please?”

  If nothing else, Tate Williams was a man who wasn’t afraid to apologize. She just wished he could do it in a way that wouldn’t threaten to sweep her off her feet.

  It’s just dinner. Give the poor guy a break.

  “Okay.” Juggling the bouquet, she reached down, lifted Kayla into her arms and stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind them. “Where are we going?”

  “Not far. And fortunately for you, you’re quite a bit smaller than I am so my body should act as a great shield for you and Kayla.”

  She stepped off her front porch and turned to look at Tate. “Shield? For what?”

  “Apples, oranges, gunshots…that sort of thing.” He fell into step beside her, his words giving way to a small laugh as she stopped walking and looked at him.

  “You lost me somewhere between the apples and the bullets.”

  “I was being funny,” he said, wedging the blanket under his elbow so he could brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch causing her body to tingle in places that probably shouldn’t be tingling with her daughter in her arms. “Besides, I don’t think Mrs. Applewhite believes in throwing fruit.”

  Ahh, now she understood.

  “And the bullets?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice as they resumed their walk once again.

  “Fruit’s one thing. Bullets, I fear, are an entirely different matter.”

  It had been a long time since she’d felt as young and carefree as she did at that moment, her fear of being hurt dissipating long enough to enable her to enjoy a nice evening with someone her own age. Phoebe stole a glance in Tate’s direction, her face reddening as their eyes met.

  “I’m willing to take my chances with the bullets.” She knew her voice was unnaturally quiet, even a little shaky, but she hoped he heard her words.

  The warmth of Tate’s touch on the small of her back made her breath hitch ever so slightly. “That, Phoebe Jennings, is exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

  HE TRIED TO FOCUS on the contents of the basket, but it was damn near impossible with a woman like Phoebe Jennings within arm’s reach. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in soft waves while a few stray tendrils curled around her ears, framing her heart-shaped face. She sat near him on the blanket, her long, smooth legs taunting him. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, making his own ache to taste hers once again.

  “So what do you have in there?” Phoebe straightened her back and peeked over the side of the basket, the lowering sun lighting up her greenish-brown eyes.

  He dropped the lid shut and shook his head mockingly. “All good things come to those who wait. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that, Miss Jennings?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. My grandmother did.” Phoebe glanced sideways in Kayla’s direction before looking back at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “However, Mr. Williams, a longer and more relaxed picnic comes to those who feed the baby before she gets cranky. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

  He looked over at the baby happily picking clover in the middle of the grassy field. It was hard to imagine such a happy kid getting cranky.

  “Nope. Haven’t learned that lesson yet. But I’m looking forward to the class.” Tate opened the basket once again, removing a small container. “I did a search online this afternoon and macaroni and cheese got the most rave reports from moms for kids Kayla’s age. Something about the noodles being easy to pick up.”

  He set the container down on the blanket, along with a brand-new baby bib. Reaching into the basket once more, he extracted a sippy cup with kittens on the outside and apple juice on the inside. “And this should fill the fruit quota, though if you want her to have more, I brought a jar of pears just in case.”

  Phoebe’s sharp inhalation made him glance upward, his mind racing to figure out what he’d forgotten.

  Main course, fruit, dessert…

  “Oh. I got her a treat, too. I just figured I shouldn’t show her that yet. Macaroni and cheese, although good, is no match for a chocolate chip cookie.”

  “No. It’s not that.” Phoebe’s voice softened to a near whisper as she looked out into the distance, the sun’s rays revealing the sudden glistening in her eyes. “I just can’t believe you went to all this effort to apologize.”

  It took everything he had not to pull her to him, to cradle her in his arms, to feel her body against his. But he’d promised himself he’d take it slow, give her time to trust.

  Instead, he reached out, traced her jawline with his thumb. “The apology got me to your door. This—” he removed his hand from her face to gesture to the picnic items set out on the blanket “—is about wanting to spend time with you. And Kayla, too.”

  He rubbed a tendril of Phoebe’s hair between his fingers before dropping his hand to his side. He wanted those beautiful eyes turned on him, the sparkle he’d detected earlier back where it belonged. And he was determined to make it happen.

  “Now, before you think I’ve forgotten you, let’s see what else is in here, shall we?”

  She nibbled her lower lip and his body tightened in response. Never in his life had he come across a woman who could convey such strength and vulnerability at the same time. It intrigued him in both a physical and an emotional way.

  “Okay. I give up. What do you have in there for us?” She leaned forward, the crest of her rounded breasts visible over the top of her white cami. “Something yummy, I hope.”

  Tate swallowed quickly, wrestling with his body’s urge to take her right there on the blanket. “Uh, what?”

  Her laughter echoed across the empty field, making him shift on the blanket in a desperate attempt to get comfortable. “I asked if you had anything yummy in there for us.”

  “Oh.” Clearing his throat, he dug back into the basket and removed four wrapped packages. “I didn’t know what you liked best, so I got a few different sandwich meats—turkey, ham, roast beef and chicken.” He set them on the blanket. “I have a couple different cheeses in this package and just about every topping you might want in here.”

  She smiled, the sparkle in her eyes returning in spades. “You are amazing, Tate Williams. You thought of everything.”

  “Wait. Not yet, there’s more.” He reached into the basket one last time, pulling two wine goblets and a covered plate from the bottom. “It wouldn’t be much of a picnic without some wine and chocolate-covered strawberries.”

  As he set down the last item, he looked up and smiled. “I’m glad you agreed to give me a shot.”

  “How could I not? No one has ever shown up on my doorstep with a picnic basket before.”

  “Good.” He watched as Phoebe stood up and walked over to where Kayla was clearing the earth of all things white and fluffy. Lifting her daughter in her arms, she returned to the blanket, the gentle sway of her hips hypnotizing.

  Setting the baby down, Phoebe sat beside her, snapping open the macaroni and cheese container with a practiced hand. “This looks really good. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Nah. Maggie did. I told her what I needed and she whipped up a batch while she was at the house.”

  Phoebe secured the bib around Kayla’s neck. “Who’s Maggie?”

  “My housekeeper. Generally, she doesn’t cook, as I prefer to just do my own thing in the evenings. But I as
ked if she could help out this one time so I wouldn’t end up getting to your house at ten o’clock.”

  At the mention of his housekeeper he felt a shift in Phoebe’s mood. Nothing he could put his finger on exactly; it was just a feeling. A sense. He debated calling her on it, but opted to let it go. There would be time for that kind of exploration in the future. If he didn’t blow it today.

  “Hey, any luck on an idea for this place?” He waved his hand to indicate the green space between the Haskells and the Weatherbys.

  “Not yet. I’m just hoping we make enough money at Saturday’s tag sale to buy a few trees. Maybe if we do things to enhance the environment the city will leave us alone.”

  Doubtful, he knew, but Tate chose to let that go unsaid for the moment, too. Besides, he had a plan that just might fly with the city. A plan he’d rather keep to himself until he worked everything out—on paper and with city officials.

  Instead, he asked her about her childhood and her family. As she talked, he couldn’t help but notice the way her voice grew more and more animated when she spoke of her grandmother, growing quiet again when she shared the ache she still felt at the woman’s loss.

  From there, conversation moved from topic to topic, their dinner disappearing along with the last remnants of the sun. When the sandwiches and side salads were finally gone he uncovered the plate of strawberries and offered one to Phoebe. She grinned and reached for a small one in the center.

  “Thank you so much for tonight, Tate. I think I needed a little companionship more than I realized. And the food was delicious.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He offered her more wine, adding a swallow or two to his own glass when she declined. Slowly, he swirled the liquid around the bottom of his goblet, pondering a fact he simply couldn’t ignore.

  He wasn’t ready for the evening to end. He was enjoying Phoebe’s company too much.

  “I think Kayla had fun, too.” Phoebe raised a finger to her lips, then pointed toward the edge of the blanket. “She’s out like a light.”