DADDY BY CHOICE

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  It hurt to realize he could have come back sooner and been welcomed. "No more regrets, Maddy. Promise me."

  In answer she brought her lips to his. Like a torrent held back too long, need came rushing up from deep inside him. He felt her unfolding, little by little, letting down barriers, while his own were crashing. This was the woman who completed him, the light in his dark, the laughter in a world that had been gray and stark for such a very long time.

  "Maddy," he breathed against those soft lips. "My Maddy girl." He put everything into those three words. His hopes, his remorse, a desperate longing to put laughter into those beautiful eyes again.

  "Sit up, honey, and let's get you out of this shirt."

  She went hot inside and out. Her body was so much older now, no longer slender and athletic the way he'd liked her. And her hips were huge. Wiley had hated her in slacks.

  "You first," she said, her fingers shaking a little as she tugged nervously on the sheet. And then she remembered—he was already naked.

  "Honey, you've already seen it all, what there's left of this old boy, anyway." Looking a little nervous, he rubbed his hand over his belly. "Couldn't do more than a dozen sit-ups if my life depended on it."

  Madelyn ran her hand over her tummy, her lips curving. "At the moment I can't even do one."

  "I love your body just the way it is, sweetheart." He undid one button, then nudged the cloth aside to kiss her shoulder. "Every adorable sexy thirty-nine-year-old inch of it." He freed another button and kissed the spot just above her nursing bra. "I love to feel your skin against my hands and I love the way your body shivers when I touch you." Another button slipped free, and he dropped a kiss on her tummy before glancing up, his gaze intense on hers. "And I love the way you're looking at me right now. Like you wish I'd hurry."

  Madelyn moaned, as his hands smoothed over her belly. "Lean forward, honey," he ordered gruffly. Between kisses he rid her of her bra, then cupped her breasts in hands that brought life into the world. When she moaned, his gaze lifted to hers. "Tender?"

  "A little," she whispered on a rush of pleasure.

  "I'll be careful," he murmured before bending to run his tongue around each distended nipple. She dissolved then, her mind fogging until there was only his hands, his mouth. The husky words that seemed to come from deep inside.

  He suckled, then stroked until she was moaning helplessly. He moved lower, stroking her belly with slow reverent movements that told her without words how much he cared. His breathing grew harsh. Sweat glistened on his skin and hers where their bodies touched.

  Adrift, she felt his hands on her thighs, drawing her panties from her. And then hands were gently parting her legs. The bed dipped as he changed position. He touched her gently, then slipped a finger inside her, drawing a moan from her as she writhed, and then his mouth was there, kissing her intimately, deeply. Sensation after sensation rolled over her, each one more delicious than the one before.

  She felt the tremors start, then bunch. Her hands turned frantic, clutching and twisting the sheet beneath her. Just when she knew she would go mad with wanting, she exploded, ripple after ripple of the sweetest heat moving through her body. It was then he replaced his mouth with his hand, taking her up and over again until she was all but sobbing with the sheer joy of it.

  "Open your eyes, honey," he ordered, his voice harsh with strain. Her lids fluttered, then opened. He was on his knees positioning himself between her spread legs. His body was fully aroused—and only a short fast thrust from penetrating hers.

  "Oh, my," she whispered. "Did I do that?"

  His laugh was surprisingly boyish as he slipped his hands under her buttocks to gently lift her. "Nobody else, honey." Anticipation was a fever in her blood, and she writhed impatiently.

  His gaze on hers, he leaned forward, probing gently. "Feel how much I want you," he whispered fiercely. He was so large that for a moment she was frightened. Determined to give him pleasure for pleasure, however, she braced herself for the intrusion. But instead of thrusting inside her, he merely rubbed himself against the sensitive nub—hard friction against soft moist heat—until she felt herself climbing again.

  This time she cried out as she splintered, then sobbed his name. Breathing hard, he lowered her gently and bent to kiss her. Her eyes closed and she felt herself floating.

  "Sleep, sweetheart," he whispered before brushing a kiss across her parted lips. She made an incoherent sound, then smiled as she felt him draw the sheet over her. She thought he whispered something more, something her subconscious struggled to hold. And then she slept.

  * * *

  Water bubbled and swirled around his naked body, and soap-scented steam soaked little by little into his pores, slowly loosening the tension trapped in just about every muscle of his body.

  When he'd left the bedroom, he'd been so aroused it had been all he could do to get himself into the tub without groaning. It still amazed him that he'd been able to stop himself from burying his ache deep inside her. But he'd wanted her too much to risk surrendering control.

  Until this moment he thought he knew all there was to know about living with mistakes, the kind that make a man's gut burn at odd moments and turn his nights into a minefield of guilty regrets and painful longings.

  He'd been wrong. In the hour since he'd left her curled up like a sated kitten, he'd come to realize just how much this mistake was going to cost him if she left him. For starters, a large chunk of what little peace of mind he'd managed to carve out for himself.

  One kiss and he'd been hers again. Mind, body and soul. He wanted it all now, a home she would fill with her own personal brand of sunshine, instead of a house on the hill where he kept his clothes and slept when he wasn't working. A little boy they would raise together. A real family of his own, instead of borrowed moments with someone else's sons and daughters.

  A life, instead of an existence.

  It was part of his nature to ride full out in any contest, using every ounce of determination in his psyche to get what he wanted. This time, though, the choice had to be hers. Still, he figured it was only fair to show her all the reasons she should choose him.

  Problem was, wooing a lady gently wasn't one of the skills he'd acquired over the years. During the years he'd been slogging through one school after another, what free time he'd had was usually spent sleeping.

  Occasionally, when loneliness had driven him to seek out a few hours of feminine companionship, he'd simply walked into a student hangout and sat on a bar stool. Sometimes he found a lady who had more to offer than bright chatter and a sexy body, sometimes he didn't. Either way, he'd always been scrupulous about his intentions. No promises, no expectations. It was the same with the few relationships he'd had during the past few years. Whenever the lady in his life had gotten that nesting look, he'd extricated himself as gently as possible. With Maddy, however, he wanted strings and commitment and a lifetime of being tied to her.

  Damn funny how life worked, he thought as he eased forward to stretch muscles one twitch away from knotting tight again. When she'd wanted him, he'd run. Now, when he wanted her more than he wanted to take that next breath, she wanted freedom.

  It would cost him, but he'd let her call the shots. For now.

  * * *

  Madelyn awoke to the delicious smell of coffee and a sweet lethargy that made her want to purr. Rolling onto her back, she yawned, then yelped as the baby gave her a vicious one-two punch.

  "Gave you a kick, did he?"

  She glanced up to find Luke standing in the doorway. Her heart tumbled. "Six points at least."

  His gaze roamed her face, his eyes guarded. Clean shaven now and his hair brushed into rough order, he was fully dressed in jeans and a blue-and-white plaid shirt, tucked neatly into the low slung waistband.

  "Would coffee help?" he asked, holding up the mug in his hand. She felt a little giddy, knowing that this honorable man wanted her.

  "Would whimpering get it into my hand any sooner?"
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  "No, but a good morning kiss would help."

  "Then rustle those studly buns, cowboy."

  His grin was an endearing mix of cocky and shy. "Yes, ma'am."

  It took two tries but she managed to push and wriggle herself into a sitting position by the time he reached her. His free hand cupped the back of her head as she lifted her face up to his, her heart already racing.

  "Good morning again, gorgeous lady," he murmured before his mouth covered his. His lips were warm and hungry. She tasted need and impatience and a steely strength. Sensation spiraled in a slow unfolding tendril all the way to her womb. She dug her fingers into the thick unyielding muscle of his forearm. When he drew back, she wanted to beg for more.

  "Tastes good," she said, instead.

  "I'll say." This time his hand closed into a fist in her hair. This time his mouth was avid and demanding. She felt herself opening, her hunger matching his. He drew back finally, his eyes dark between even darker lashes. His eyes glittered as he handed her the mug, then wrapped her other hand around it securely.

  "I'd planned to take you to lunch, but I just got a call. Sally Pritchard's contractions are five minutes apart." He glanced at his watch. "How about dinner, instead?"

  Knowing her expression mirrored the disappointment she felt, she shook her head. "Case is planning to surprise Prudy with dinner at the new seafood place in Lake Oswego, and I promised to baby-sit Chloe and Lily." She blew away steam, then took a desperate sip. Feeling slightly more human, she watched him fill his pockets before strapping on his watch. It was then she had a sudden thought. "I'm free Saturday night, if you are."

  He sent her one of those bone-melting grins before coming over to give her another long mind-scrambling kiss. "You got yourself a date, sweetheart." He got to his feet again and headed for the door.

  "Drive carefully," he ordered gruffly. Though he moved stiffly, she was relieved to see that he wasn't limping.

  At the door, he paused and turned to look at her. "One more thing, darlin', I surely do love the way you look sittin' there naked in the middle of my bed."

  She uttered a little squeak when she realized the sheet had slipped down to her waist. Her blush started at her toes and ran like a fever all the way to her hairline. He was laughing when he left.

  * * *

  Precious was waiting by the back door when Madelyn let herself in a few minutes past nine. The reproachful look in the exotic green eyes had her giggling out loud.

  "Mama's sorry, darling. She didn't mean to abandon you."

  In reply Precious trotted to the spot at the end of the counter where the two dishes bearing her name in raised letters stood side by side. After staring disdainfully at the one that was supposed to be full of food by now, she looked up to meow piteously.

  "No, you are not starving and you know it," Madelyn informed her firmly. Precious blinked, then twitched her tail and tried a growl.

  Madelyn grinned, enjoying the game they'd played for weeks now. "You know what, Precious? You're just like a certain cowboy I know. Scared to death someone will find out what a softie you really are."

  After putting her purse on the counter, she slipped out of the slicker that had come nearly to her toes and folded it carefully over one of the chairs. Then she fetched a can of the designer cat food Harriet had specified in the list of instructions she'd left.

  A rumbling purr filled the kitchen as Precious dug in, attacking the feline version of chicken liver pâté as though she'd been stuck in a tree for a week.

  Though Madelyn had made herself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich before leaving Luke's place, he'd been out of juice. After pouring herself a glass, she opened the curtains and stood watching the rain as she sipped. Above the lush crown of maple leaves the sky was a solid gunmetal gray without even a hint of blue.

  Monday was her day to help out at the preschool where Morgana, Lily and Shelby were enrolled, and the children tended to act up when they were stuck inside. On Tuesdays and Thursdays she volunteered at the hospital as a pink lady. Wednesdays she baby-sat for the twins while Raine took a mental-health day. Reminding herself to visit the video store this afternoon while she was out shopping for groceries, she went to check her messages.

  The first message was from Raine wanting to know about Luke's condition. The second was from Case asking if she could come an hour earlier than they agreed with a P.S. asking her to let them know about Luke. The third and fourth calls were hang-ups, something that had happened several times in the past few days. The last message had her heart racing.

  "Hi, little Buddha, just wonderin' if you got home okay." Surprisingly husky, Luke's drawl curled down inside her and warmed her heart. "It's eight-forty-seven and I'm still at the hospital, waitin' for the newest little Pritchard to make his appearance. Appreciate a call when you get home, okay? Extension here is 462." There was a pause before he added in a surprisingly shy tone, "I sure do miss kissin' you, honey."

  Her good mood restored, she flipped through the book for the number of the hospital switchboard, then dialed. Jarred a little by the operator's Southern accent, Madelyn realized she'd gotten used to the hard Yankee consonants and clipped way of speaking.

  "Maternity, Mrs. Klein."

  "Dr. Jarrod, please."

  "I'm sorry. Doctor's unavailable." There was a brief pause. "Is this Mrs. Foster?"

  "Why, yes, ma'am, it is."

  The voice warmed. "Doctor asked me to remind you to call Dr. Winslow's office for an appointment first thing tomorrow morning. Said you'd understand why that was so important."

  * * *

  It was still raining at four on Saturday as Madelyn sat at the kitchen table reading over the settlement papers that had arrived late Friday afternoon by express mail. According to her attorney, Jorge Cruz, dealing with Judge Berdette had been akin to walking through a roomful of rattlers blindfolded. Clearly worried, he'd advised her to sign the papers immediately, then overnight them back to him so that he could get them filed as soon as possible.

  She'd just reached for her pen when the phone rang. Luke had called twice this week, but he'd been rushed and their conversations had been short. Heart speeding, she reached for the portable and punched the button.

  It was her mother. "Seems to me a woman who's trying to have her a healthy baby wouldn't be out gallivanting at all hours," Rebecca said without preamble.

  Closing her eyes, Madelyn sent up a little prayer for patience before saying pleasantly, "I'm sorry I missed your call but I was baby-sitting for a friend. If you'd left a message, I would have called back as soon as I got home."

  "You know I hate talking to those machines, girl." Her mama's sigh was long-suffering. Madelyn realized she no longer felt the familiar pinch of conscience that usually accompanied one of her mother's complaints, and she smiled to herself. Could it be she was finally developing a backbone? "How's daddy's arthritis?" she asked politely.

  "Worse than ever. Doc Morrow's getting senile, if you ask me. Telling your daddy he needs to move around more, instead of taking it easy the way anyone with sense knows you have to do when your joints are swollen up."

  "Doc does have a point, Mama."

  "There you go again, defendin' that old quack."

  "You didn't think he was a quack when he agreed with you about my giving up my baby," she said a little too sharply.

  Her mother's indrawn breath was like a slap. It was on the tip of Madelyn's tongue to apologize, but she caught herself before the words spilled out. Why should she apologize for defending a friend? "In case you're interested, Mama, I'm feeling fine, and so is the baby. It's a boy, by the way."

  The silence that followed seemed hours long, but suddenly Madelyn didn't care whether her parents accepted her child or not.

  "Does Wiley Roy know?" her mama said finally, an unnatural edge to her voice.

  "No. I haven't spoken to him since the night after I arrived in Oregon,"

  There was another silence, shorter this time and followed by a h
eavy sigh. "I thought he mighta called with the news, but I guess it's up to me to tell you."

  "Tell me what, Mama?"

  "Wiley Roy's gone and asked Arletta Tremaine to marry him."

  This time Madelyn was struck dumb. The youngest daughter of one of Wiley's golfing buddies, Arletta was scarcely twenty-five, if that. According to Wiley himself, she was the biggest airhead that ever stepped onto the first tee at the country club. The fact that she had implants the size of grapefruits and a tendency to giggle adoringly at his corny jokes no doubt prompted Wiley's change of heart.

  "Seems to me I heard Arletta talking once about how she wanted six children."

  "Guess it don't matter none, since Wiley went and got himself a vasectomy a few weeks back."

  "I hope he told Arletta."

  "Well, of course he did, Maddy Sue. Wiley's a gentleman."

  "If you say so, Mama," she said.

  "Oh, I almost forgot," her mama said just as Madelyn opened her mouth to make an excuse to hang up. "I got me a call yesterday from some girl by the name of Tricia Wilson. She said she was a friend of yours from college and stopped by on her way to Dallas to talk to you about some alumni thing or other. Miz Barlow saw her on your porch and told her about you being gone to Portland for two more months. Seems this Tricia was real anxious to get in touch with you, so Miz Barlow gave her my number here at the house."

  Madelyn searched her mind and came up blank. "There was a Patricia Alden who lived down the hall from me my senior year. We called her Trish sometimes. Maybe Wilson is her married name." Madelyn tried in vain to remember the girl's face. "Did you get her number?"

  "No, she said she was traveling, so I gave her yours."

  Madelyn remembered the hang-ups on her machine and wondered. "No sense worrying about it, I guess." She glanced down at the papers bearing Wiley's signature and wondered if Arletta would be able to make him happy.

  "If you talk to Wiley, give him my best wishes," she said, meaning it.

  After calling her a double-dyed fool for letting such a good man get away, her mama hung up.

  * * *