"Farina?"
"It's sort of a cross between a mushy noodle and cereal. Babies love it."
"Terrific," he said, smiling up at her. "I'm game if Daisy is."
Five minutes later he and Jeannie were seated at the table. He'd packed a portable baby seat and Daisy proudly sat between them, her chubby hands banging out her own rhythm on the plastic tray in front of her. Jeannie had dug up a red-white-and-blue bib that one of her nephews had used on his last visit and Hunter tied it around Daisy's neck.
"You eat," Jeannie said, pointing toward the array of deli food on the table. "I'd love to feed Daisy."
"Busman's holiday, wouldn't you say? I'd think you'd have your fill of kids at work."
"This is different," Jeannie said. "Daisy's special."
Hunter had made a living selling people things they didn't need. He knew all about flattery, both sincere and otherwise. Still, watching as Jeannie spooned up the farina and fed it to an eager Daisy, he couldn't help but believe she'd meant every word she said.
At least, he hoped she did, although he couldn't say why her opinion should matter. They weren't friends--hell, they barely knew each other.
Although he wouldn't mind remedying that situation. Her t-shirt clung to her breasts just closely enough so he could see they were as round and as firm as he'd imagined. She wasn't wearing a bra and his eyes were drawn repeatedly to the shadowy buds of her nipples pressing against the soft fabric. He wondered how they would feel against his palms as they grew taut and hard with desire, how they would taste as his lips closed around them.
She shifted position slightly as she reached for a cloth to wipe Daisy's mouth and her t-shirt rode up slightly in the back, revealing the curve of her tiny waist. He had no doubt he could span it with his hands and have room to spare.
Get a grip on yourself, Phillips. A Technicolor parade of erotic images were moving across his brain with lightning speed. The way her cheeks would flush with passion...the softness of her skin...the sweet taste of her mouth...the urgent sounds of surrender...the smell of springtime in her hair--
"Hunter?" Jeannie's voice came to him through a mist of sexual heat. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," he muttered, addressing himself to his supper. "Just fine."
He made short work of the pastrami and scarfed up half a tuna sandwich. There was something to be said for sublimation. "Better grab a sandwich while you can, Jeannie. The food's disappearing."
She laughed as she wiped the baby's messy face. "Tell me about it. Your daughter has quite an appetite."
"Takes after her mother," Hunter said, relieved to be on more neutral territory. "Callie had an appetite like a lumberjack."
She'd wondered when the subject would come up. "You're a widower?"
He shook his head. "Never married."
"Oh." She busied herself sprinkling pepper on her tuna sandwich and rearranging the pickle slices. Families didn't necessarily come in the old ideal of mother-father-child any longer. She wondered about the mother... who she was...where she was.
"No more questions?"
Her cheeks reddened. "It's none of my business."
"Callie was my sister." He took a deep breath, willing away the stab of pain. "She died giving birth to Daisy."
"Oh, God...Hunter." She was next to him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
"So am I," he said, his voice soft. He'd never forget that phone call in the night...or those terrible words. "She'd been living in Tokyo, working as a translator. I'd been planning to fly there after the baby was born, but--" He felt as if he had a burning rock in the middle of his throat. "When the phone rang that night, I knew. The doctor didn't have to say a damn thing." I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips. I'm so sorry.
"What about Daisy's father?"
He shrugged. "According to one of Callie's friends, it might have been an Englishman she'd worked with in Tokyo, but we'll never know for sure." His laugh was bitter. "That biological clock of hers was ticking so loud she couldn't think of anything else. She was determined to have a baby before she turned forty, come hell or high water. The father was immaterial to Callie."
She understood his pain in a way he could never imagine. "The maternal urge is a powerful thing, Hunter. Most women would sacrifice anything for their children."
He met her eyes. "Even their lives?"
"Given the chance."
Something was happening here. Hunter wasn't always the most perceptive of guys, but even he knew something was different. On the surface they were still talking about Callie but he knew that Jeannie's thoughts were somewhere else.
Daisy picked that moment to overturn her bowl of farina.
"That's my girl," he said, grabbing for a napkin to mop up the mess. "Always the center of attention."
Jeannie disappeared into the kitchen, then came back with a roll of paper towels and a wet sponge. "Thank God for Scotchguard. I don't think there's a mother alive who doesn't--" She stopped abruptly, then busied herself cleaning farina off Daisy's foot.
"Look," he said, sitting back on his heels, "you don't have to watch what you say around me. Life goes on. I know that." The truth was, it felt good to talk about Callie. Except for the logistics of caring for Daisy, he'd never talked about his situation, or the emotions involved, with any of his pals at work.
And nobody had ever asked.
"What about your parents?" Jeannie asked, fluffing the nap of the rug with her fingers. "Did they feel they were too old to care for an infant?"
Hunter felt his jaw harden. "They're not too old," he snapped.
"Sorry." Jeannie stood up. "It was none of my business anyway."
"I don't mind talking about it."
"Really?" Her eyebrows lifted. "You could have fooled me."
"It's a long story."
She tossed the used paper towels into the wastebasket near the kitchen door. "I'm not going anywhere."
It was as if he'd been waiting eight months for somebody to say that to him. "My parents have seen Daisy precisely once. They were on their way to the Bahamas and they stopped off to meet their granddaughter." The entire visit had lasted all of fifteen minutes. Daisy, with her blond hair and blue eyes and sunny disposition, was Callie all over again. It had been more than they could bear. "They didn't stop again on their way home."
"Their choice or yours?"
"Theirs. They were visiting Callie in Tokyo when she found out she was pregnant." Daisy dropped her set of plastic keys and Hunter retrieved them. "They took the next plane home." His parents nibbled at the edges of life. Callie had devoured it.
Jeannie felt as if she was making her way across a field of landmines. "Some people have strong feelings about the right way to raise a child."
Briefly, and with a minimum of emotion, he told Jeannie about his parents' almost eerie detachment when he called to tell them of their daughter's death. He'd asked them to accompany him to Tokyo, but they had declined.
"Daisy was twenty-eight hours old when I got to the hospital." The bittersweet memory tore at his heart. "I hated her on sight."
Jeannie's breath caught and involuntarily she reached out to touch the baby's golden head.
"I would've traded Daisy in a second if it meant getting my sister back." Grief-stricken and jet-lagged, he'd stumbled his way through mountains of red tape. "It took three days," he continued, "but I finally cleared it so I could take Callie back home. I was halfway to the airport when I remembered." Daisy. Callie's death had obliterated everything else from his mind. "Daisy was still in the hospital nursery." The temptation to run had been strong. "I didn't want a kid. I liked my life exactly the way it was. Things at CN&S were beginning to move and I knew I'd managed to find my way onto the fast track. But it was me or it was nobody."
Jeannie didn't know Hunter well, but she understood what was happening. The anger. The pain. The overwhelming need to recount every detail. She'd been there herself not that long ago.
She sat down on her chair and res
ted her elbows on the table. Daisy was busy playing with her colorful set of plastic keys. Hunter seemed lost in memories.
"Daisy peed on me for the first time somewhere between Japan and Hawaii. That's when I knew we were stuck with each other." His parents were locked in their own world of grief. He had no brothers or sisters. "I'd toyed with the idea of finding some nice young couple to adopt her. I even called a few lawyers I knew to see how I could locate a great family for Daisy, but when push came to shove, I couldn't do it." This was his sister's daughter. Callie lived on in that helpless infant and, in a way, so did he. Only a cold-hearted bastard would turn away from her, even if there were days when he was certain he was exactly that.
"I'm not father material," he stated bluntly. "I never figured I'd hook on with anybody for the long haul, much less raise a baby."
"You did the right thing," Jeannie said, her voice soft. "You acted from the heart."
The look he gave her was sharply skeptical. "We went through five housekeepers in the first six weeks," he went on. "They talked about schedules and charts--" He shook his head at the memory. "The last one said to just let her cry."
"I hope you fired her immediately," Jeannie said, outraged on Daisy's behalf.
"Her butt was out the door before she finished the sentence. I don't know much about kids, but I know cruelty when I hear it."
"Do you have a housekeeper now?"
He shook his head. "The last one went back to Ireland to be with her daughter. What I need is a rent-a-wife."
"How do you manage? I've worked for enough ad agencies to know they're not exactly sympathetic to family problems." How many times had she seen babies and little children treated with a disregard that made her blood run cold?
"I don't manage," said Hunter. "At least, not lately. Daisy's been sharing my office for the past two weeks."
"The powers-that-be must love that."
"It's getting pretty dicey," Hunter admitted. "Portable car seats and cribs don't exactly fit the agency's image. Now that they're applying pressure, I don't know how much longer I can drag this out." Not to mention the ambition that had been put on hold and ate at his gut every day as he saw his future slipping away from him.
"What do you mean, applying pressure?" This was smoother emotional terrain. She motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen where she began to prepare the coffee.
Hunter leaned against the doorjamb between kitchen and dining room, so he could keep his eye on Daisy and continue his conversation with Jeannie. "Grantham is sending me on a four-night cruise Thursday to oversee a shoot."
"Tough duty," said Jeannie as she measured coffee into the filter. "My heart goes out to you."
He shot her a look. "Try that with an eight-month-old baby there with you."
She pushed the button on the automatic coffee maker then perched on the counter top, feet dangling, to wait. "Isn't there someone who could watch Daisy while you're away?"
"No one I'd trust for that long."
"Friends? Family?"
"My family's in California and my friends think babies exist only in commercials. I'm between a rock and a hard place--exactly where Grantham wants me."
You could do it, whispered a small voice that Jeannie was doing her best to ignore. You could watch her for the weekend. She cleared her throat. "I wish I could help you, but...." She let her words trail off delicately. It had been so long since she had someone to care for. It was the last thing she needed.
"I wouldn't ask you." His words were blunt, decisive. For some reason they felt like a slap. "Daisy's my responsibility. I'm not going to foist her off on a stranger so I can go off on a cruise."
An uneasy silence settled between them. The rush of water through the coffee machine sounded like Niagara Falls. Jeannie shifted, aware that she'd sat in a puddle of water her dish towel had missed. She must have sounded like a prime candidate for a rubber room before, telling him that she couldn't possibly take care of Daisy. They barely knew each other. Why on earth would he even consider asking her to watch his little girl?
In the other room, Daisy gurgled happily as she played with her plastic keys.
"I've never seen such a good-natured baby before," said Jeannie in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Is she always this even-tempered?"
"Pretty much. I've been told teething will put an end to it."
Conversation skidded to a halt once again. The phone rang and Jeannie leaped to answer it, certain that Hunter was as grateful for the interruption as she was.
Hunter scooped Daisy up from her chair and walked with her into the living room to give Jeannie some privacy. It wasn't like him to talk like that with a stranger. Not even his closest pals at work knew the full story about Callie and his parents.
You didn't talk about your emotions where he came from. People like his parents kept their emotions bottled up inside where they belonged. There was something unpleasant about emotional displays, something almost un-American. He'd always envied people with unpronounceable last names who sang at the top of their lungs and danced on tabletops and drained every last drop from the bottle then asked for more.
Like his sister.
He walked over to the window that overlooked the tree-lined street. Daisy yawned and nestled her head against his shoulder. He knew the exact second when she dropped off to sleep by the way her breathing slowed and her little hands relaxed their grip on his shirt. Her tiny thumbs played out a rhythm against his chest and he remembered the way Callie's foot had tapped out a secret code as she watched television when they were kids.
He wondered if Daisy would be like his sister, one of the lucky ones who knew how to live life to the fullest.
Callie had been all fire and brilliance, blazing through his parents' life like a comet. She'd lived at a fever pitch, as if she'd known her time was limited and she had to experience everything she possibly could before it was too late. They'd tried everything they could to tame her fire, but that had been like trying to lasso the sun.
Jeannie's laughter floated out from the kitchen. It occurred to him that the scene was like something from a 1950s sitcom--if you didn't know better. Mom making coffee. Dad relaxing after dinner. Baby sound asleep.
Not that family life appealed to him particularly. Before Daisy, he'd been content to pretty much go where the wind blew. Work had been the focus of his life and he'd been happy to offer up everything on the altar of ambition.
He'd never yearned for home and hearth--maybe because as a kid he'd found the reality to be strangely empty.
The rich smell of fresh coffee drifted toward him. Jeannie had finished her telephone conversation and he heard the clink of cups and saucers as she bustled around the kitchen. When she told him where she lived, he'd been expecting one of those minimalist artsy places like his, with charcoal grey walls and thick white leather sofas, but Jeannie had surprised him. This was the kind of place where a man could get comfortable. He glanced around at the living room. Overstuffed sofas and chairs. Lots of flowery fabric. A big woodburning fireplace with real wood in it, not that pre-fab crap that sent off pink and green preppie flames.
In fact, everything about Jeannie Ross seemed as genuine as that wood-burning fireplace. The fact that she was also sexy as hell was a bonus.
During their meal he'd spent an inordinate amount of time cataloguing her physical attributes. The shape of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the silkiness of her hair. She lived easily within her own skin, as if the trappings of beauty touched her only lightly if at all. She was a toucher, a giver, the kind of woman who made you forget the world was a cold and lonely place.
Too bad she wasn't his type.
"Sorry I took so long." She glided into the living room, carrying a tray. "I was supposed to meet my friend Kate for dinner and I completely forgot."
He glanced at his watch. "It's not even eight o'clock yet. Why don't Daisy and I shove off and maybe you can--"
"Don't be silly." She placed the tray on th
e square coffee table and sat down on the couch. "I'm on vacation now, remember? Six whole weeks with absolutely nothing to do but relax. We're going to have breakfast tomorrow instead."
He made a nest of pillows for Daisy then sat down opposite Jeannie. Her movements were casually elegant as she poured coffee into two thick red cups.
"I can offer you cream, sugar, and whatever artificial ingredient your heart desires."
"Black."
"A purist." She handed him a cup, then added a spoonful of sugar to her own. "I have no will power when it comes to sugar."
"Pizza's my downfall," said Hunter. "Extra cheese, onions, and pepperoni. As soon as Daisy has teeth, I'm going to introduce her to her first slice."
She sipped her coffee. "You like being a father, don't you?"
"I love Daisy," he said, helping himself to a handful of chocolate chip cookies, "but I'm not her father."
"You are in the ways that matter."
"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that she's my niece, not my daughter." It was a fact worth remembering. Someday Daisy's real father might show up on the doorstep to claim his daughter and it would be up to Hunter to step aside--something that would be best for everyone concerned.
"To Daisy, you're daddy," Jeannie pointed out.
"Scary stuff," he said after a moment. "These days I'm lucky to be able to find socks that match." The responsibility of raising a child was overwhelming. "Who knows? One day her real father might show up on the doorstep and stake his claim."
"I don't think that's about to happen."
"Who knows," said Hunter. "I've given up guessing what the future has in store for me."
"You know, despite everything you're really a lucky man. Out of something terrible, came something pretty wonderful. It doesn't always happen that way."
There was a change in the tone of her voice, a certain wistfulness that caught his attention. He wondered if she'd ever known heartache. She looked to be somewhere around his age. The odds were she hadn't sailed through life without experiencing a storm or two, but the storms hadn't marked her in any way that he could discern.
Daisy awakened and Hunter changed her while Jeannie warmed up a bottle. She insisted that she be allowed to feed Daisy and Hunter watched as she expertly gave the baby her bottle.
Daddy's Girl (Bachelor Fathers) Page 3
