Doorstep Daddy

by Shirley Jump

  He missed Ellie, damn it. He knew she was there, just across the street, and he could have her in his arms again, if only—

  If only he could give her the one thing she wanted. And deserved.

  A family. A husband.

  Impossible. He was a master at writing impossible situations, the kind his readers thought the hero could never solve, and then at the eleventh hour, some miracle solution would come along, or the hero would find the bad guy just before he got away for the last time. But that was fiction, and this was real life. In Dalton’s non-fiction world, there was no miracle coming along to provide the answers he needed, one that would allow him to have Ellie in his life, without him having to make the commitment she needed—and deserved.

  But he needed to find a way to have her here. A way that worked for both of them. Not just because she’d been so helpful with the book, but because Ellie had brought a calming presence to his days that Dalton hadn’t had in years.

  A calm, and a chaos, like two sides of the same coin, all at once. Between the picnics and the dinners, and the diaper changes and the crying baby, he’d found something new and unexpected, that left a cavernous hole in his house the minute she walked out the door.

  “You gonna live?” Peter sat in Dalton’s favorite armchair, sipping a beer this time, and watching his younger brother with an amused expression on his face.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, you look just fine. About as fine as a tiger kept in a cat cage.” Peter gestured out the window. “And I bet that woman from across the street is the whole reason you’re working that carpet into dust.”

  “I’m worried about my career. The book isn’t going well.”

  “The books haven’t been going well for the past couple of years, and I’ve never seen you this worked up about any of them before.”

  “Yeah, well, this time my career is on the line.”

  Concern etched lines across Peter’s face. “Really? How so?”

  Dalton stopped pacing and lowered himself onto the hearth. He propped his arms across his knees. “My editor said this is the do or die book. Either this one comes in and really knocks his socks off, or I better find a real job.”

  “You’ll do fine, Dalton. You always do.”

  “I don’t, Pete. Not since the first book.” The blockbuster that had made Dalton Scott a household name. And set an impossible standard he’d never been able to reach again.

  “What’s he say you’re doing wrong? Maybe I can help.”

  Dalton let out a short laugh. “I don’t think so. Reuben said it’s the women in my books. I’m just not getting the…well, the emotion in there.”

  Peter took a long gulp of beer and arched a brow.

  “What? I know you have something to say to that.”

  His brother raised and dropped one shoulder. “You know exactly why you’re not getting the emotion in there.”

  “If I knew, Pete, I’d have fixed the problem a long time ago.”

  Peter put his beer bottle on the end table, laying it carefully on a coaster—apparently a learned behavior because Dalton had never seen him do such a thing when they’d lived at home—and then sat back, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve learned a thing or two, in the seven years I’ve been married, Dalton. And the biggest is that you can’t shut yourself off to a woman. You do that, and you’ll never go anywhere in a relationship.”

  “I’m not looking to go anywhere in a relationship. I just want to finish my book and deliver what my editor wants.”

  “And he wants emotion, right?”

  Dalton nodded.

  Peter leaned forward, his older, wiser and more experienced gaze connecting with Dalton’s. “Then tell me the last time you connected with a woman. Really connected. In here.” He patted his heart. “That’s where the emotion is, little brother. Until you do that, you won’t be finding any emotion to put on your page, or in your life.”

  Dalton scowled and got to his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not a writer.”

  “Maybe not. But I am a man. One who’s been married a long time. And if you ask me, it all works the same.” Peter got to his feet, then clasped Dalton on the shoulder. “You’ve let one mistake control you for too long. You need to forgive yourself. Then you can move on. And have the life you deserve.”

  “I have forgiven myself.”

  “Have you?” Peter asked. Then he glanced out the window, at Ellie, who was crossing the street, Sabrina on her shoulder. “I hope you have, because I see opportunity about to knock. And I’d hate for you to miss it, little brother.”

  Ellie had no idea what she was doing here. She’d been perfectly content at home, with Sabrina. Almost set, in fact, to get both of them ready for bed.

  After the babysitter debacle, though, she’d realized she was stuck and in no better of a position with her daycare situation than she had been when Mrs. Winterberry had called her Monday morning. She had no childcare options for tomorrow, a handful of precious sick days left, that she needed to save for when Sabrina had an ear infection or a cold, and no other choices left.

  Except for Dalton. Back to square one.

  Before she pressed the doorbell, she made some decisions. She’d lay down some ground rules—the same ones she had tried to lay down before, until she had gotten distracted by his blue eyes. Well, there’d be no more of that. From now on, they’d steer clear of each other. There’d be strict drop-offs and pick-ups. No being alone with him. And no kissing whatsoever. This would be a clear-cut employment relationship.

  She’d make sure of that by paying him, which was why she had brought her checkbook.

  Ellie rang the bell, and the door opened. “I will not kiss you and I won’t—”

  “Glad to hear that. My wife wouldn’t like it.” A man who looked a lot like Dalton, only in an older version, gave her a grin, then stuck out his hand. “Dalton’s older brother, Peter. You must be Ellie, from across the street.”

  Her face heated, and she was sure, turned five different shades of crimson. “I’m so sorry. I had this big speech planned and it just sort of exploded when the door opened.”

  “That’s okay. It seems to be the day to tell Dalton what to do.” He chuckled, then gestured for her to enter. “Go easy on him. I already read him the riot act.” With a wave, Peter headed down the stairs and got into his minivan.

  Ellie crossed the threshold and into Dalton’s house. Surprise lit his features when he saw her, sending a little rocket of joy through her.

  “Hi. I didn’t expect to see you again today.”

  “I, uh, ran into a snag on the babysitter thing. I thought I could hire one of those college girls I was interviewing tonight, but it turns out most of them were sent over from the FBI’s ten most wanted list.”

  Dalton laughed. “Not the best candidates?”

  “I wouldn’t let them watch my goldfish, never mind my daughter.” She shifted Sabrina to the opposite shoulder. When she did, the baby’s attention swiveled toward Dalton, her big blue eyes as rapt on him as they usually were on her bottle.

  “So you’re here to take the lesser of two evils?” He grinned.

  As much as she didn’t want to be tempted, didn’t want to fall under his spell again, an echoing smile curved across her face. “Something like that.” She cleared her throat, reminded herself what she’d come here to say. If she didn’t get it out now, she never would. And then where would they be? Right back in each other’s arms. That might feel very, very good, but it would be a very, very bad idea. “Before we get wrapped up in this arrangement again, I’d like to lay down a few rules.”

  He nodded, somber, as if he’d anticipated this. “For a serious conversation, we need serious food. Come on, let’s have some coffee. And cake.”

  “Cake? You baked?”

  “Not me. Peter’s wife. I think she thinks I’m at risk of starving to death because I live alone. She’s always sending something over here. Tonight, it was blac
k forest cheesecake.”

  Chocolate and cheesecake. Ellie’s stomach rumbled. It was as if someone had opened up her head and read not just her mind, but her hormones.

  “I was craving that exact thing,” Ellie said as she followed him into the kitchen. “You’ll have to bring me to the family reunion so I can thank her properly for reading my mind.”

  They were innocent words, meant only as a joke, Dalton was sure, but taken in another way, they implied a future. Days, weeks, months past this babysitting gig.

  A future he used to think about having, back before he’d made that mistake with Julia. Dalton pushed away the thoughts and paused by the coffeepot, his hand resting on the silver machine. “Uh, coffee?”

  “Sure. Decaf, though, or I’ll be awake when I should be sleeping.” She patted the baby’s bottom with one hand, and masked a yawn with the other. “With her, I need every hour I can get. Especially after the last few days. Geez, there are times when it seems like I can’t sleep enough.”

  “Decaf it is.” Dalton got busy filling the pot, while Ellie made herself at home in his kitchen, withdrawing plates from the cabinet and forks from the drawer. Every few seconds, he glanced over at Ellie, noticing how natural it had become, in a matter of days, to have her here. She had simply become a part of his home.

  Dalton’s home, of all places. He was the hermit, the man who kept to himself, who holed up in his office and limited his interaction with others to the people he created on the page. Now he had a woman in his kitchen with a baby on her hip, and he was growing used to having them around.

  He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because getting used to having her here also meant getting used to being part of this trio of a family—and that was definitely not something on Dalton’s life agenda.

  He knew better than to attempt that again.

  Ellie put the dishes on the table, then pulled a long skinny knife from the center drawer. “What’s that?” Dalton asked.

  “A cake knife.”

  “A what?”

  She laughed. “A cake knife. Didn’t you know you had one?”

  “I don’t know half the stuff I have in this kitchen. My mother and sisters gave me all this stuff, like one of those take-pity-on-the-bachelor gift parties. Except for the bologna, of course.”

  “What you need is a woman,” she said, then her face colored. “Forget I said that.” She shook her head, and covered for another yawn.

  “Here, let me take her,” he said, reaching for the kid. Not because he had some overwhelming urge to hold the kid or anything, but because he wanted to change the subject. “You look like your arm’s about to break.”

  “Thanks,” Ellie said, handing over the baby. “Don’t let her fall asleep on you, though, or I’ll pay the price later.”

  “Not being mean,” Dalton said, “but you look like you already are falling asleep. You’re exhausted. Go sit down on the couch. Let me take care of you for a change.” He took the cake knife, sliced the cake and put the sliver onto the plate, then repeated for a second slice.

  “I’m not tired.” She yawned, then let out a half laugh. “Okay, maybe I am. But it comes with the territory. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep.”

  “Then go sit,” he said, handing her the slice of cake. “I’ll finish brewing the coffee and bring you a cup when it’s done.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Go.” He waved her toward the living room. “Before I throw you out.”

  She laughed as she left the room, but her laughter didn’t have its usual punch. He hadn’t been kidding—she really did look exhausted. Undoubtedly, working a job, juggling the demands of the baby, and then going home and taking care of her own house drained Ellie. He couldn’t imagine balancing all she did by himself. Heck, he couldn’t imagine juggling it all with himself and a clone.

  “Just you and me now, kid. You okay with that?” He bounced the baby lightly against his hip, then crossed to the cabinet and got out two coffee mugs. He’d gotten used to holding the kid over the last few days, which alone told him he was in too deep. Told him he was getting too close.

  Sabrina grasped at his shirt, clutching the cotton of his T-shirt in her fist, as if she were holding on for dear life.

  “No coffee for you. Sorry.”

  Beneath his grasp, the kid felt soft and fuzzy, in her peach and white pajamas. She snuggled in against him, as if she’d found her sweet spot here, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

  It felt…nice. Almost like she belonged there. She’d started to grow on him, this nearly twenty pound bundle of poo and puke. For a kid, she didn’t make a lot of noise, and she had a tendency to pay attention to everything. Right now, she was staring at him, her eyes wide and inquisitive. Dalton stared back, thinking he’d never seen eyes such a light color of blue before. Her gaze had a hint of her mother’s green, which made him wonder if the blue would yield to the maternal shade. Either way, her eyes would still be pretty.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked.

  She kept staring. Like she was waiting for him to do something.

  He was tempted to put her down. Back in the car seat or the playpen, or even down on the carpet to crawl to her heart’s content. But something kept him holding tight to the baby. Maybe it was the way she was gripping his shirt, or the way she kept looking at him, as if she wanted to—

  Play.

  He racked his brain, trying to think of a game, one that a kid her age could play with him. Then he remembered one his mother had played a thousand times with the little kids. Dalton picked up a dish towel from the countertop, put the cloth in front of his eyes, then dropped it down again. “Boo.”

  And just like that…the kid laughed, the sound pouring from her like bubbles breaking over rocks. Her whole body shook, belly rolling like jelly.

  Awe struck Dalton, hit him as hard as a bolt of lightning. He stared at the kid for a long second, just drawing in the sound. “You liked that, huh?” Who knew he, of all people, could make a kid laugh like that? He’d always stayed away from engaging with kids. He’d done the bare minimum, then gotten the heck out of Dodge. And now, here was this kid, laughing like heck. Dalton chuckled, then raised the towel again, holding it a fraction longer this time. “Uh…uh…boo!”

  An explosion of giggles poured out of Sabrina and she bounced up and down on his arm, as if begging him to do it again.

  Holy cow. The kid stared at him, anticipation widening her eyes, dropping her jaw. He could almost imagine that she…

  Liked him.

  The realization socked him deep. For a second, Dalton didn’t know what to do, or say. He held her, looking into those big baby blues, and feeling that he had crossed a major threshold, one he hadn’t been sure he wanted to cross, had been afraid to traverse.

  Then found it wasn’t so bad after all.

  Sabrina bounced some more. “Unh-unh.” She wanted him to keep going. She wanted him…to keep playing.

  She really did like him. Dalton swallowed, and held onto the feeling for a moment, turning it this way and that, then found a smile curving across his face, and a light burst of joy rising in his chest.

  “Well, kid, if I’d known it was this easy to keep you happy, I’d have grabbed a towel the first day.” He slid it up a third time, this time in front of the kid’s eyes, laughing as he did, anticipation pooling inside him as much as her. “Oh-oh. Where’d you go? You hiding on me? Ah…Boo!”

  She loved that one even more. Sabrina bounced so hard, Dalton had to grab onto her with his other arm before she sprang so far, she fell on the floor. “Easy there, cowgirl.”

  She stared at him, her mouth open, waiting. He could see the expectation in every line of her face, hoping he’d do that magical thing all over again.

  And so he obliged. Again and again, so many times, he lost track of the time, forgetting the cake and the coffee, and everything, for a long, long time. All he heard was the steady stream of giggles po
uring from Sabrina like a waterfall of miracles. He found himself laughing, letting go, getting completely wrapped up in the moment and loving every second of it. Beginning to love…

  Her.

  And that was so not him. But it was a new side of himself that he found he enjoyed. Liked, even. If you’d asked Dalton five minutes earlier if he thought he could ever get a baby to laugh like that, he’d have said no, never. But here he was, doing the one thing he tried never to—holding a baby tight—and she was delighting in him and a silly dish towel like he was the funniest comedian to come along since Bob Hope.

  Something grew in his heart and took flight with every “boo” and giggle. Something light, something Dalton couldn’t quantify. Something a lot like Ellie’s clouds. Dalton didn’t know quite what to do with that emotion so he set it aside. Deal with it later, he told himself.

  A part of him, though, wanted to capture this feeling and hold it tight. To hold onto it for the days ahead when Ellie and Sabrina would be back in their house across the street and he would be here again in his. Alone.

  When the towel’s charm finally wore off, Dalton dropped it back onto the counter, and patted Sabrina’s back. “If you liked that, wait till you see how funny I can be with a clothespin on my nose.”

  “Ba-ba-ba,” Sabrina said, her voice winding down with each syllable. She watched him a little longer, then did something she had never done before.

  She laid her head on his chest.

  Dalton froze.

  Sabrina stayed where she was, her soft cheek against his heart, her warm body pressed to his. One fist opened and closed on his T-shirt, while the other hand held tight to his waist. She let out a little high-pitched sigh of contentment. Her head lay against his heart, rising and falling with his breaths.

  For a long time, Dalton stood right where he was, holding the baby, not sure whether to move or breathe. The coffeepot finished its cycle with a final gurgle, the glub-glub popping Dalton out of his stupor. “Hey, kid,” he said, thinking that would get the baby to move.

  But she only snuggled closer.

  He turned to talk to her again, to tell her he was no one she wanted to get comfy on, but when he did, he caught a whiff of her shampoo. A sweet, fresh scent, with a touch of something he thought was called chamomile.