Discovered: Daddy

by Marilyn Pappano

  She thinks she loves him. He loves her not.

  She thinks she loves him. He loves her not... but he does have this weird desire for her.

  Here she was, nine months pregnant, her belly swollen along with just about everything else, and he liked touching her. He’d gotten aroused while holding her yesterday and had certainly been passionate with his kisses this morning.

  Two more petals dropped, one catching on her slacks, bright and creamy white against the black fabric, before it drifted on down. She thinks she loves him. He lusts after her, but he loves her not. He’d talked a lot about getting married, about creating new memories, being a family and making a commitment, but the only time the word love came out of his mouth was in reference to making it. Not feeling it, not creating and nurturing it. Just sex. Obviously, he didn’t love her and didn’t ever intend to. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe she was so different from the women he preferred that he could never in a million years feel anything other than lust for her.

  Another two petals. She thinks — she knows she loves him and wants to marry him whether he loves her not. Not that she would. She still had her pride, which absolutely refused to be a burden or obligation to anyone ever again. Even if—unlike Great-aunt Lydia—Nick was willing to accept the obligation and make the best of it. Even if he was willing to work at turning burdens and obligations into a family for Amelia Rose.

  Heaving a great sigh, she pulled off the last petal, tossed the stern into the wastebasket, then dropped the petal. It floated down, airy and light, gradually landing at an angle across another petal.

  “Well? What’s the verdict?”

  Glancing up, she saw Nick leaning on the counter, watching her. He must have come in through the back door, or she surely would have heard the bell. Front or back, though, she couldn’t believe she’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t sensed the very moment he’d walked through the door. “What verdict?”

  “Does she love him or love him not?”

  Feeling a twinge of pain deep inside, she coolly replied, “You know, there are other options.”

  “All right. Does he love her or love her not?”

  “There are others. Like, will I have this baby soon or have her not?”

  His eyes widened just a bit and he took a step around the counter. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She sniffed the air and recognized only baby things and baby smells—and Nick, of course. That sexy, tantalizing scent of his would stay with her for the rest of her life. “Where’s lunch?”

  “In my truck.”

  “Why would we want to eat in your truck?”

  “We’re not. We’re going to the lake.”

  “I don’t want to go to the lake.”

  “Come on. It’s a beautiful day. It’ll be nice.” He came over, helped her to her feet, then bent to pick up the flower petals. For a moment he looked at them, gently touching them, then he pressed them into her hand. “You know the secret to getting the answer you want with these things? Use an odd number of petals.” Clasping her other hand in his, he pulled her around the counter and toward the door. There he shut off all but the display lights, turned the sign to Closed, took the Will Be Back clock off the door completely, and ushered her outside to wait while he locked the door. While he was busy with that, she unfolded her fingers and looked surreptitiously at the flower petals. There had been eight on the flower—she had plucked it bare—but now only seven nestled in her palm.

  It meant nothing. He had simply overlooked the eighth petal. It had drifted under the desk or had gotten caught in one of the casters on the chair legs. He probably had no idea how many pieces he’d picked up. He hadn’t deliberately counted, then spirited one away. Still, as a gentle breeze wafted around her, she closed her fingers around the petals, then slid them to safety inside her pocket.

  True to his word, lunch was waiting in the pickup, tucked inside the wicker basket in the center of the seat. Two bright red napkins that she recognized from every meal she’d ever had at Antonio’s were draped over the top, and a quilt was folded over the seat behind the basket. A winter picnic at the lake. It shouldn’t sound so appealing, but, heaven help her, it did.

  “Did any of your boyfriends take you to Hardison Lake?” he asked as they headed east out of town.

  Rather than point out that she’d never had boyfriends, not really—there had only been guys that she’d dated a time or two—she simply shook her head.

  “Good. Then I get to introduce you to the lake’s charms myself.”

  “Are these the same charms you introduced Theresa Harland to years ago?”

  His grin was quick and dear. “What do you know about Theresa Harland?”

  “I know that you and Dan Wilson dated the Harland twins.” She turned to look out the window at the flat winter landscape. “Theresa comes into the shop practically every time she comes home. She’s a pretty woman. The next time she stops by, I can give her your number.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m not interested.” Turning in at the first entrance to the park surrounding the lake, he followed a narrow winding road away from the closest beaches, the ones most people frequented in summer, and instead picked a quiet spot on a long, narrow finger of the lake.

  Faith opened the door and slid to the ground, then looked around. It was a pretty place, even in winter with the grass turned yellow, the trees bare of leaves and the water a cold, glassy gray. In spring or summer, it would be lovely. Remote enough for privacy, it was the perfect place, she supposed, for a carefully planned seduction or a spur-of-the-moment party for two.

  So why had he brought her here?

  Nick shook out the quilt, spread it on the grass near the water, then returned to the truck for the basket and her. She let him take her hand, let him lead her across the uneven ground and help her down onto the quilt. Leaning back on both arms behind her, she gazed out across the water. Back when she was in high school, everyone had come to Hardison Lake for one reason or another. Most of the girls in her class, it had seemed, had attended “submarine races”—always said with a wink and a giggle — with their chosen dates. More teenagers had seduced and been seduced on the shores of the lake than in all the back seats in north Texas combined.

  She had been the exception. She’d never had a date in school who might have taken her to the lake, and even the more innocent activities—the summer swims, the wiener roasts and chaperoned parties—had been decreed off-limits to her by Great-aunt Lydia. The old woman had wanted to keep her from temptation, but she needn’t have worried. No one had ever tempted her—no one but Nick, and he hadn’t been around eight years ago.

  But he was here now.

  He sat down behind her, moving her hands so he could slide in close, tugging her back to lean against his chest. “Every Friday night all the grandkids spend the night at Mom and Pop’s,” he said, his voice a murmur near her ear. “Next spring, before it gets too warm and the lake is overrun by kids, we’ll let Amelia Rose stay over there, and we’ll come out here. We’ll bring a sleeping bag and build a campfire, and we’ll make love under the stars.”

  She felt a curious little tingle deep in her belly. Arousal. She was in no condition to do anything about it, but she felt it, odd, vaguely familiar, and full of promise. “Is that what you used to do with Theresa Harland?” she asked, conjuring up an image of his old girlfriend to distract herself.

  For a moment he sat still, then he moved around in front of her. There was annoyance in his dark eyes, frustration in the thin set of his mouth. “Yes, I did. We used to come out here every Friday and Saturday night and sometimes in between. We would drink, get naked and do all kinds of wicked things. Sometimes we went skinny-dipping, but mostly we stayed under the covers and did things an innocent little girl like you can’t even imagine.” Then his voice turned hard. “That ended over sixteen years ago, Faith. I don’t give a damn about Theresa now. Why do you?”

  The honesty of her answer surprised him. It surprised her
even more. “Maybe I’m jealous. You were with her by choice. You did the things you did because you wanted to. You’re here with me because you have no choice. Because you’re trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

  He stared at her a long time, then slowly sat back on his heels. “You’re an idiot, Faith.”

  The flatness of his insult stung and made her scoot back a bit. “Because I want more?” she asked defensively. “Because I think that maybe, just maybe, I deserve a little more?”

  “Because you wouldn’t recognize ‘more’ if it was in your face,” he said scathingly. “You think I’m here because I have no choice? Darlin’, I’ve got plenty of choices. I can have my daughter without having to take you, too...but that’s not what I want.”

  “You want a family for Amelia Rose,” she said sarcastically.

  “No, damn it!” Clenching his jaw, he looked away, staring angrily at nothing, then at her again. “I want you for me.”

  Faith’s mouth went dry and butterflies sprang to life in her belly. That sounded frighteningly close to something she’d waited all her life to hear, something too important to take lightly. “You... want... me. For what?”

  He grimaced, his impatience almost palpable. “I want to marry you. I want to make love with you and live with you and raise our children with you. I want to come home from work to you and go to bed beside you. Hell, I even want to fight with you... and I want to make up with you. We belong together, and nothing can change that—not your insecurities, not your doubts, not your damnable stubbornness. For God’s sake, Faith, quit being so safe. Take a chance for once.”

  “I did that last February, and look where it got me,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, look where it got you,” he agreed sarcastically. “You’re about to give birth to a baby you already love more than life itself. As of tomorrow, you’re going to be a part of the biggest family in the whole damned county, and—”

  She interrupted him. “What do you mean about tomorrow?”

  For a moment, he had the grace to look sheepish, then it disappeared and defensiveness took its place. “We’re all invited to dinner at my folks’ house tomorrow. Pop is going to tell Mom about Amelia Rose, and she’s going to tell everyone else. Sweetheart, your secret’s been shot to hell.”

  Feeling a sudden chill, she hugged herself. “What if they’re not as pleased as you think they’ll be?”

  “They will be.”

  “But what if they’re not?”

  He moved closer, right in front of her, his dark gaze intense and grim. “Do you trust me at all, Faith?”

  Unable to force the word past the lump in her throat, she nodded.

  “Then trust me on this. They’re going to love Amelia Rose, and they’re going to love you.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Believe me.”

  “But how can you—”

  “Because I love you, damn it!”

  His tone was harsh, his temper barely controlled, but his words were the sweetest Faith had ever heard... if she dared believe them. If she dared trust him. She had just told him that she did, and she’d meant it... at that moment. No, she did mean it. She trusted him to be a good father to Amelia Rose. She trusted him to treat her with the respect his daughter’s mother deserved. She trusted him to be there for her, to be strong and take care of her. Before she’d even fully accepted that he was going to be part of their baby’s life, hadn’t she admitted that he was the one she wanted with her when her labor began? He was the one she’d wanted from the very beginning to share their daughter’s birth, the one she’d wanted to lean on and hold on to, the one she’d wanted to draw courage from.

  Was it right or fair—or even possible—to trust his actions but not his words? To believe that he would be there when she needed him, that he would take care of her, but not believe him when he said he loved her? After all, as far as she knew, he had never lied to her. He had never given her reason to doubt him. Other people had—her parents, her grandparents, Lydia—but he never had. All he’d ever given her was a baby, a few hours of magic, a week of pleasure, anxiety, anticipation, comfort, support, concern and sweet, warm kisses... and the promise of a lifetime more.

  Was she an idiot for wanting — for thinking she deserved—more than life had offered? she had asked earlier, and his reply had been quick, sharp and scornful. She was an idiot because she wouldn’t recognize “more” if it was in your face.

  Wasn’t in her face precisely where he’d been the last week? Forcing her to see him, to acknowledge him, to get to know him. Refusing to run back to Houston and hide from the problems that had entangled his life with hers. Facing the future with more courage and willingness than she’d found. More open to the needs of their daughter and to their own needs than she’d managed to be. Offering her all the things she’d lived without so long that she hadn’t even recognized them.

  He was waiting, watching her with the kind of uncertainty that she’d made her very own, watching for some hint of the response he wanted. She opened her mouth to give it to him, but before she could form the words, with a great rush of warm fluid, her body delayed her.

  There was no pain, just incredible shock, incredible fear. Instinctively she reached for him, and he took her hand in both of his. “Are you all right?” he demanded. “Faith? Faith!”

  She took a deep breath, then blew it out through her mouth. “I need to go home. I need to change clothes. And then I need to go to the hospital.”

  “Why—” His gaze dropped past her stomach and for just a moment she saw her own fear reflected in his eyes. It disappeared, though, as he grinned that charming, brash, sexy grin that she found so endearing. “You find the damnedest ways to avoid important conversations,” he remarked, getting to his feet and easily pulling her up. “Are you okay, or should I carry you?”

  Placing both hands on the small of her back, she stretched to ease the low ache there. When he’d been talking about making love under the stars, she’d felt a twinge that she’d written off as arousal. When he’d said he wanted her, not as the mother to his and Amelia Rose’s family but for himself, she’d felt upheavals that she’d called butterflies. Now she wondered if those had been the very first signs of labor and she’d been too naive—and too enraptured by Nick’s words—to recognize them.

  “Carrying me gets you into trouble,” she said, sliding her arm through his and starting a slow trip across the grass to the truck. “You carried me that night last February, though only a few feet. And if you hadn’t carried me into the storeroom at the shop last week, you might never have looked beyond the fainting pregnant woman to see —

  “The woman of my dreams,” he finished for her.

  “And you carried me upstairs last night and wound up spending probably the most boring night you’ve ever spent in bed with a woman.”

  He opened the door and started to lift her inside, but paused, holding her close, gazing down into her face. “In your bed is where I’ve wanted to be for the past nine months. It’s where I want to be for the next ninety years.”

  Raising her hands to his face, she leaned forward and pressed a gentle, awkward, not-sure-she-was-doing-it-right kiss to his mouth, then pulled back. “Good. I’ll try not to bore you there.”

  Nick stood at one end of the gurney, leaning over Faith, while at the other end, Dr. Austin and his staff were gathered. Considering that an event of such importance was taking place—Amelia Rose Russo was about to make her entry into the world—the delivery room was quiet and calm, and Faith was the calmest of them all.

  Nick had never seen a woman so serene, and it amazed him. For four solid hours the contractions had been swift, the pain intense—and he had the bruises to prove it—but she had never panicked, had never given in to them. She bad borne them with a strength that far surpassed his own. He’d been shaken up simply watching, knowing that she was hurting and there was nothing he could do to help.

  Twenty minutes ago the nurses had
moved her from labor to delivery and sent him to wash up and change into powder blue scrubs. While he was gone, the anesthesiologist had given her the spinal block she and Dr. Austin had agreed on. Now she was lying quietly — pale, exhausted, and so damned serene.

  “I do love you,” he murmured, holding her hand in his, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from her face with his other hand.

  She smiled in spite of everything going on around—and inside—her. “I believe you do.” Her breath caught as she tightened her fingers around his. “You know, you’re going to have to marry me.”

  He smiled, too, even though, with the dampness in his eyes and the lump in his throat, he felt more like crying. He’d heard much talk about tears of joy, but he’d never experienced them until now. “I believe I am. You have any plans for tomorrow?”

  Her laughter was cut short by Dr. Austin. “All right, Faith, you’re doing fine. Just another minute. I can see Amelia Rose’s head. All that dark hair.”

  “Just like her father,” one of the nurses remarked, and Nick turned to look, but Faith reclaimed his attention.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” she began, urgency underlaying the softness of her voice.

  He bent to kiss her. “I know you do,” he said, his mouth brushing hers with each syllable.

  “I do what?”

  “Love me. That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? That you love me.”

  She touched his face, her fingers so light and soft. “I do.”

  “No, you save that for tomorrow. Tonight you’re supposed to say, ‘I love you, Nick, and I can’t live without you.’”

  “I love you, Nick,” she dutifully repeated. “I can’t—oh!”

  Swiftly he turned toward the doctor in time to see him cradle their baby in his arms. With a laugh of pure, undiluted joy, Dr. Austin said, “Aw, Faith, she’s beautiful. Look at this face.” Then his gaze traveled lower, and amusement came into his voice. “Correction. He’s beautiful. Congratulations, Faith, Nick. You have a beautiful baby boy.”