The Man Who Would Be Daddy

by Marie Ferrarella

  She didn’t understand. Was he telling her not to go to the interview? But why?

  “I have to in order to get to the interview.” Christa had no means of transportation available to her, not with the van sitting like a gutted Buddha in her driveway. “And I already mentioned that my father won’t lend out his—”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll drive you,” he repeated, biting off each word as if it were made of hard licorice. He had no fondness for licorice.

  Maybe that kiss had rattled her brain. “You’ll drive me?”

  This time, he did turn around. When he did, there was a trace of annoyance creasing his brow. Christa had the impression that he was more annoyed with himself than with her.

  “I just said that, didn’t I?”

  The smile on her lips spread, taking over her entire face and growing wider with each word she uttered. “Yes, you did.”

  He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that, as if he was some sort of a savior. He was nobody’s savior. But he couldn’t very well leave her stranded. Never mind that she wasn’t his responsibility.

  “So what time is it? The interview,” he added when she didn’t answer him immediately.

  “Ten.”

  “Ten,” he repeated. “Far?”

  “Newport Center Drive, just on the outskirts of Fashion Island.” She named the popular outdoor mall.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow morning at nine-thirty.”

  With those words hanging in the air between them, he left. He didn’t wait for her to thank him or to even say good-night.

  Christa stood in the doorway, watching him leave, a bemused smile on her lips. She waved in case he turned around again. He didn’t.

  Someday, she thought, running her fingers over her mouth, he would.

  He had to be the most reluctant Good Samaritan ever created, she mused.

  Things were going to turn out just fine. Christa closed the door behind her and began to hum. She hummed for a very long time.

  At exactly 9:20 a.m., Malcolm arrived at her doorstep. He noted absently that the Jaguar wasn’t parked where it had been yesterday and wondered if her father lived close by and had decided to walk.

  He was getting entirely too wrapped up in her day-today life, he upbraided himself, ringing the doorbell.

  Christa answered immediately. Dressed in a teal blue suit that would have made a man notice her in a crowd of hundreds, she offered him a rueful smile.

  “I’m afraid you came for nothing,” she apologized. “You can go on to work. I’m sorry I imposed on you.”

  Her words were sending him away, but she held the door open wide, silently inviting him in. He chose neutral ground and remained on the doorstep.

  It was a little late for apologies in his book. “They canceled the interview?”

  “No, but I’m going to have to cancel it. My father can’t make it.”

  He nodded at her suit. “You’re still dressed for the interview.”

  “That’s because he just called me. He slept late,” she explained. The details had come out garbled, and she was still trying to sort them out. “As near as I can make out, my father’s date wanted to go out for sushi, and it apparently didn’t agree with him. He’s home sick, and I can’t get a sitter on ten minutes’ notice. The only good thing that’s come out of this is that his date feels so guilty, she’s coming by later to take care of him.” She smiled, though for the life of him, Malcolm couldn’t see why. “They really hit it off.”

  The interview was important to her. How could she be happy at a time like this? He didn’t understand. He also didn’t understand what he was still doing here. He’d done the polite thing, the more than polite thing. He’d made an offer and tried to live up to it. It wasn’t his fault that her father had canceled at the last minute. His conscience was more than appeased and completely in the clear.

  All he had to do was turn around and leave.

  There was absolutely no earthly reason for him to do what he did next. Damning himself for being an idiot, he dug into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Here.”

  Christa looked down at the set of keys he had handed her. There was a tiny silver race car attached to the chain. She wondered if his wife had given it to him. “Here, what?”

  Was she blind? “Here are my keys.”

  She closed her hand over them, still confused. “I know they’re keys,” she answered patiently, “but why are you handing them to me?” She would have thought that he would be even more possessive of his car than her father was of his.

  Malcolm thought his offer would have been obvious to her. “Because you can’t drive the car without them.” She was still staring at him, dumbfounded, so he added, “I’m telling you to drive yourself over to the interview. I’ll stay here with Robin.”

  She could understand his offering to fix her car. It was what he did. Staying with a small, overenergetic child was not part of his job description. “Let me get this straight—you’re offering to baby-sit my daughter?”

  She was making this worse. He shrugged selfconsciously. “It’s not that big a deal. I didn’t offer to adopt her, I just said I’d stay with her for a little while.” The frown on his face deepened, as if he was checking the situation for loopholes. “They’re not planning to ask you out to lunch or anything, are they?”

  She shook her head. “No, this is strictly just an office interview.” She glanced over her shoulder at Robin. The little girl was planted on the floor in front of the TV set, watching a huge yellow bird lead the neighborhood children on a scavenger hunt for the letter B. “I don’t know what to say.”

  The last thing he wanted was for her to launch into a speech about how grateful she was. “Don’t say anything. Please,” he added for good measure. Malcolm glanced at his watch impatiently. “You’re going to be late if you don’t leave soon.”

  He was right, absolutely right. “Yes, I am. Thanks.”

  Christa hesitated in the doorway. It was better all around if she didn’t say goodbye to Robin. She’d learned by experience that Robin didn’t do well with leave-taking, but if she found someone else in her mother’s stead, that seemed to be all right.

  Picking up her purse, Christa began to leave, then quickly retraced her steps. Her father was already familiar with the routine, but Malcolm wasn’t.

  Malcolm looked at her, his impatience mounting. “What?”

  Christa gestured at Robin, who was still oblivious to them. “She’s been fed and changed, and all you have to do is watch TV with her.”

  “I know how to take care of a two-year-old. Now get going.” With that, he almost pushed her out the front door.

  “Yes, of course.” Holding on to his arm, she brushed a quick kiss on his lips and then hurried down the driveway to his car.

  He had to be crazy to be doing this, Malcolm thought. But he’d already made arrangements with Jock, calling the teenager late last night and telling him that he was going to be taking the morning off. Seemed a shame to let her miss her interview since he’d made himself available this way.

  She’d probably crash the LeMans, he thought darkly as he watched her climb into his car. He was just about to close the door when he saw her climb out again.

  “Now what?” he called out to her.

  Maybe the job just wasn’t meant to happen for her, Christa thought as she walked back into the condo. “It’s a stick shift.”

  He didn’t see the problem. “I know it’s a stick shift. So?”

  “I don’t know how to drive one.” The thought of stepping on the clutch every time she had to change gears was completely overwhelming to her. “It’s too much like tap dancing.”

  A stick shift was the only way to really feel as if you were in control of the car, but he figured the point would be lost on Christa. Malcolm sighed. Now wasn’t the time to give her a quick lesson. Her father wasn’t the only one who
valued his car, and besides, the interview was in half an hour. He was ready to say “Forget it,” but the look in her eyes stopped him.

  Damn it all to hell, anyway.

  Malcolm didn’t bother thinking it through. “All right, I’ll drive you.”

  “But I can’t leave Robin and I can’t very well go in with her, either.”

  “Don’t you think I already know that?” he said .tersely. “We’ll take her with us, and I’ll watch her while you have your interview.” He looked around, remembering the huge diaper bag Gloria had always lugged around. “Does she have any stuff we have to take with us?”

  Hope reappeared. “Yes, she has ‘stuff.’“

  “Then get it together.”

  “It already is.” Experience had taught her to keep a fully packed diaper bag handy in case of emergencies. Picking up at a moment’s notice had been something she had learned how to do during her marriage.

  Taking the bag from the floor in the closet, Christa patted it on the side. “Everything we need is in here.”

  Malcolm glanced at it as he went to pick up Robin. He didn’t notice the pleased look on Christa’s face as he took the little girl into his arms.

  “I doubt it.” Without waiting for her, he led the way out. “It doesn’t look big enough for a shrink.”

  Christa hurriedly turned off the TV set and followed them out of the house. “Why would I need a shrink?” She locked the door behind her.

  “Not you, me.” He turned around to look at her. “Someone to examine my head.”

  She waved a hand at his words. “Your head’s just fine. And your heart’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be.” And if hearing her say it bothered him, too bad. It was true.

  Setting the diaper bag down beside her van, Christa struggled to pry the car seat out.

  Illogical woman, never going about anything the right way. “Here,” he said, handing her Robin. As she took her daughter, he moved them both out of the way. “You hold on to your daughter, I’ll get the car seat.”

  “Whatever you want.” Christa feigned meekness.

  “Yeah, right,” Malcolm muttered under his breath.

  Christa just stood back and smiled.

  They’d made excellent time. Traffic at nine-thirty was light and moving. Robin was making some sort of noise behind them.

  Probably thought she was singing along with the radio, he mused. He glanced at Christa, who had remained rather quiet, given her personality. He could only attribute it to one thing.

  “Nervous?”

  She had long since grown past having butterflies. “I’ve been running around too much this morning to think about being nervous.”

  Her words struck a familiar chord. “Yeah, I know how that is.” He made a right off MacArthur. The outdoor mall and its outlining office buildings lay just beyond the traffic light.

  She watched him shift, fascinated that he did it with such ease, without even appearing to think about it. If it were her, she would still be trying to get out of the cul-desac. “Is that what you did before a race? Kept busy so that you wouldn’t think about it?”

  He thought about it, all right, but only in terms of the finish line, never in terms of what might be waiting for him along the hairpin turns he took around the track.

  “There was always so much to check, to go over” His-mouth curved slightly as he remembered. “Somehow, the race itself just happened while I was mentally reviewing checklists.”

  She liked the way his face softened when he talked about his racing days. “How long were you in it?”

  He knew that down to the second, but there was no need to mention it. “Ten years—officially.”

  That was an odd way to put it. Did racers apprentice? “And unofficially?”

  He ran his hand over the steering wheel as he made a left. Office buildings flanked the street on either side, while the mall beckoned in front of him. “I’ve been driving since I was twelve.”

  That was impossible, yet he didn’t seem like the type to brag. “Twelve?”

  He heard the skepticism in her voice. “Tractors,” he clarified.

  “You’re a farm boy?” She tried to picture him on a farm and couldn’t.

  “I was.” It hadn’t been a happy time for him. He’d only been marking time until the day he could get away. Now he was just marking time.

  “Do you miss it?”

  He offered her another glance. “If I did, I’d be back there.”

  Yes, he would, she thought. Malcolm wasn’t the type to just let life take him along to places he didn’t want to go.

  “Speaking of being there, we are.” She gestured toward the building he had almost passed. It was just short of the mall.

  Malcolm made a sharp right, pulling into the parking lot. As they entered, she could feel the butterflies beginning to get ready for takeoff. Maybe she wasn’t home free after all.

  She concentrated on Robin and not on how important this was to her. Getting out, Christa quickly unfastened the buckles around the little girl. Giving her one last hug, Christa passed Robin to Malcolm.

  “I think you’ll find everything you need in there.” She nodded at the oversize bag and then flushed, realizing she’d already told him that. “I’ll try to be as quick as I can,” she promised.

  He nodded curtly. “Just get the job so that this is worth it.”

  His words didn’t match his deeds. She had perhaps five minutes to spare and paused, looking at him. There were no answers in his eyes, only reasons for her to have more questions.

  “Why are you doing this? Coming to my rescue all the time?”

  He didn’t like being questioned. Holding Robin, he slung the bag over his shoulder. “Penance.”

  She had a feeling he wasn’t being flippant. For now, she let it go. But there would be other times, she promised herself silently.

  Uncertainty nibbled at her. “Sure you’ll be all right while I’m here?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he told her. “I’ll take her to the mall. They’ve built it up some in the last few years. ‘Should be something there to entertain her while you’re gone.” He was already walking away. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

  She nodded, bracing her shoulders. The firm she was interviewing with was on the fourth floor. If she got the job, she’d probably be able to see all the way to Catalina, on a clear day. The thought heartened her. Almost as much as seeing the way Robin had taken to Malcolm.

  That made two of them, she mused.

  “Well, here goes nothing.”

  “Everything,” he corrected deliberately. “Here goes everything.”

  She nodded, hand on the door. “Right.”

  There weren’t too many people frequenting the outdoor mall on a weekday morning. Malcolm had most of the area to himself, which was just as well. He didn’t care for crowds and noise anymore. Not the way he had once.

  Outdoor vendors eyed him hopefully as he walked with Robin in his arms. He’d tried walking hand in hand with her, but it took five of her childish steps to match one of his and he’d begun to develop a crick in his neck. Holding her in his arms was easier, at least on his neck.

  His heart was another matter.

  He looked at the tiny, expressive face. She looked a lot like her mother, he realized. “So, what do you want to do while we wait?”

  There was no hesitancy in her answer. “See Bibur.”

  “Bibur?” What the hell was Bibur? Above them, the wind whipped the edges of a small shop’s yellow awning. The color connected with an image. He remem-bered the program she’d been watching just before they left. “Big Bird?” he asked.

  Her face was a wreath of smiles. “Bibur.”

  “Sorry, he’s probably in New York.”

  Malcolm looked around. They had really remodeled the mall since he had been here last. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. Everything seemed to be centered around a huge fountain that periodically shot up water. A myriad of stores, arrange
d along six different paths that all led to the fountain, made him think of a large maze.

  Wandering first in one direction, then another, he finally found what he was looking for. The pet shop. He reasoned it might be good for a quarter of an hour or so. “Want to see puppies, Robin?”

  “Seepuppies,” she exclaimed, running the two words into one. “Seepuppies!”

  “Okay, we’ll see puppies.” There was an eager Lhasa apso leaping up and down in the window as they entered. “I just hope the puppies don’t regret it.”

  He took her deep into the store, where the dogs were housed in cages behind sliding glass doors. Robin squealed with excitement as soon as she saw them. Lunging forward in his arms, she patted the glass just the way she had his face last night.

  Her excitement was infectious. “I think I’m jealous, Robin.”

  The dark-haired attendant in the corner stopped sweeping and retired her broom. “Would your little girl like to pet one of the dogs?”

  “Pet, pet, pet,” Robin echoed, bouncing up and down? in his arms.

  He was about to say she wasn’t his little girl, but that would be getting into an unnecessary conversation. “No, that’s too much trouble.”

  But the attendant was already unlocking the sliding doors. “No trouble at all. It’s a slow morning.”

  Before he knew it, Malcolm was holding not only Robin but a cocker spaniel puppy, as well. It was hard to say which one wiggled more.

  The attendant laughed and led him to what she told him was a petting booth in the back. He thought of some of the men he’d shared his career with who would have had another use for a booth with that name, and bit back a grin.

  The cocker spaniel looked to be the same age in dog years as Robin was in human. As the puppy licked her, her childish laughter tightened around Malcolm’s heart. He held the feeling to him, disregarding the accompanying pain. He knew that would lay sole claim to him later, but for now, he allowed himself to enjoy Robin.

  In his naivete, it seemed harmless enough.

  Chapter Seven