The Man Who Would Be Daddy

by Marie Ferrarella

  Malcolm’s experience with the shooting water fountain didn’t go quite as well.

  After managing to successfully separate Robin from the cocker spaniel before she squeezed the puppy in half, Malcolm took her outside. They wandered past the fountain just as it sent several streams of water shooting up in the air.

  The architect, Malcolm assumed, had meant the sight to be an interesting one. For a two-year-old given to a deep-rooted obsession with all-things liquid, it was nothing short of fascinating.

  Several very plaintive squeals and frantic tugging on his shirt told Malcolm that Robin was eager to play in the water. He saw no harm in letting her dip her hands into it.

  He’d forgotten that Murphy’s Law always lurked in the shadows, especially when it came to children.

  With his arm securely wrapped around her waist, Malcolm sat down on the rim of the fountain and allowed Robin to splash to her heart’s content. In his innocence, he thought he had all bases covered, but it had been a while since he had been pitted against a two-yearold, and he discovered that he was sorely unprepared.

  As Robin tried to wiggle forward to grab a trickle of water coming from the closest jet, the trickle turned into a gusher. Suddenly, water was shooting up at least ten feet overhead. The trajectory was aimed for the center of the fountain—unless interfered with.

  And Robin interfered with it.

  Malcolm pulled her away, but it was too late. She was soaked to the skin. Surprised, she sputtered.

  Malcolm expected wails and tears next. Instead, Robin blinked her eyes, her dark lashes sending the water flying, and giggled. With renewed zest, she clapped her hands, applauding the water.

  “Mo’,” she ordered Malcolm, kicking her feet and trying to get loose. “Mo’.”

  “No ‘mo’,’“ he informed her, but the smile that curved the corners of his mouth took the edge off his reprimand. He shook his head as he rose with her. “Your mother didn’t tell me you were part guppy.”

  “Puppy.” Her head spun around in the direction of the pet store. “Seepuppy.”

  “No, not ‘puppy.’ ‘Guppy.’“ It was useless to argue with her. In that, he mused, she was a lot like her mother. “Never mind.”

  Holding her against him, Malcolm picked up the diaper bag with a resigned sigh. He would soon be as wet as she was. He might as well head back to the car and change her there. He didn’t relish what that was going to do to the upholstery.

  “If you’re looking for somewhere to change her, the ground-floor men’s room in that department store has a changing table.”

  The suggestion came from behind him. Malcolm turned to see a harried-looking man standing there with a child attached to each hand. They were tugging him in opposite directions. He was holding fast, but it didn’t look as if he could hold on for long:

  With a commiserating smile, the man nodded toward the store Malcolm had passed earlier in his search for the pet shop.

  A changing table in the men’s room. Well, there was something he wouldn’t have expected. Times had certainly changed since Sally was born. Malcolm was too caught up in the immediate situation to realize that for once, the memory of his daughter didn’t dredge up a quick shot of pain with it.

  “Thanks.” Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Malcolm left the man in his wake and headed toward the men’s room of the department store.

  Once organized, he changed Robin from top to bottom in under five minutes. It was like riding a bike, he mused, putting a fresh pair of socks on the wiggling feet: Some things you just never forgot.

  His friends had all kidded him about becoming Sally’s nursemaid, but he had let the ribbing go without comment. Let them talk, he’d thought. He didn’t care. He had loved it, every part of being a parent. Even the: diaper changing. And especially the part of holding a dry, sweet-smelling baby in his arms.

  Like now.

  “There.” He scooped Robin up with one hand and picked up the bag with the other. “I think you’re presentable enough for your mother.” Pushing the swinging door open with his back, Malcolm glanced down at his own damp shirt. He ignored the curious look a salesman gave him as he walked out. “Hopefully, she won’t notice that you’ve got on a different outfit and I’m dripping.”

  She did, but not at first.

  The altitude of the cloud Christa was occupying would make it difficult for her to notice mundane things like a damp shirt, even if it was on a torso as muscular as his. Euphoria temporarily blocked her vision. Christa left the office building humming and fairly skipped down the stone steps.

  The interview had gone so well, they had offered her the job on the spot.

  She was pleased to see that Malcolm and Robin were waiting for her in the parking lot, standing beside his car. She didn’t want to waste a minute before sharing this with them.

  “Congratulate me,” she called out as she hurried over. God, she felt so good, she could hug the whole world. In lieu of that, Robin and Malcolm would do just fine.

  Robin squealed gleefully. Malcolm’s reaction was a little more reserved and yet all the more intense for that. She took a step back.

  She’d overwhelmed him. Again.

  “Why?” He’d thought that she always looked happy. He’d been wrong. She was downright radiant right now.

  “As of 10:49, I am an employed woman.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her eyes dancing. “They’re revamping their accounting department, and I start in three weeks.”

  And then she looked at them, really looked. Robin had been wearing a pink dress when she’d left. Now she had on green rompers. And Malcolm had a dark stain on his, otherwise light blue shirt.

  As she took Robin into her arms, she touched the front of Malcolm’s shirt. She hadn’t imagined it. It was wet., “What happened to you two?”

  His mouth curved ruefully. “It was such a nice day, we decided to take a swim,” he quipped, then shrugged. “She reached into the fountain and got caught in one of the sprays as it went off. But she’s okay.” He laughed to himself. “She didn’t cry. She wanted ‘mo’.’“

  The fountain. That would explain why his shirt was damp. Except for the ends of Robin’s hair, she was completely dry.

  “You changed her.”

  The awe in her voice made him uncomfortable. What did she expect him to do with Robin when she was wet, pop her in a microwave?

  “Obviously. Wasn’t that what the spare clothing in the bag was for?”

  “Well, yes.” She always had the clothes along in case she had to change Robin. She hadn’t even thought of anyone else utilizing them. In all their time together, Jim had never so much as put Robin’s shoes on her, much less changed her. “But I didn’t think that you’d—” Christa broke off, seeing that she was embarrassing him. “You must be the handiest man I know.”

  Or the most easily manipulated, Malcolm added silently. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time,” he muttered.

  Robin began to wiggle in her arms. “Seepuppies, seepuppies!” She pointed all around.

  It took Christa a moment to make out the words. “Puppies?” The blond head bobbed up and down. Christa looked to Malcolm for an explanation. “What’s she talking about?”

  He hoped she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of this, too. “I took her to the pet store. I think Robin and a cocker spaniel fell mutually in love.” Christa was looking at him in that way of hers, that way that said another round of gratitude was about to come spilling out of her mouth. Thinking quickly, he changed the topic. “So, you got the job?”

  His question brought back the wondrous elation she felt. It buoyed her, but not quite as much, she realized, as the feeling she’d experienced last night when he had kissed her. “Yes.”

  That was fast, he thought. “They must have been pretty impressed with you.”

  Her references and credentials were of a high caliber, but she knew that wasn’t necessarily always enough. “Just a matter of being in the right place at the right time.” H
er eyes examined his face. She thought of yesterday, of the way he had rescued Robin, and became humble all over again. She would never stop being grateful to him for that. “Like you.”

  He had been in the right place at the right time before, and had been unable to do anything. He shrugged away her comment. “That all depends on your point of view.”

  She didn’t know if he was being modest or evasive, but it was obvious that he didn’t want to discuss it. Christa felt too happy to mar today for either of them. “Would you like to come with us and celebrate?”

  Yes, he thought, he would, which was why he turned her down.

  “Sorry,” he answered crisply, unlocking the car doors, “but I do have a business to run.”

  She flushed. So far, she’d done nothing but impose on him. Christa opened the passenger side and pushed forward the front seat. Lifting Robin up, she placed the little girl into the car seat that was wedged into the minuscule space behind the front seats.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized as she sat down herself. Christa buckled up just as Malcolm turned the key in the ignition. “That was thoughtless of me. It’s just that I’m so excited.” Her contrition melted in the face of her happiness. “Everything’s opening up for me. Now I can buy a Big Wheel.”

  He guided the car out of the lot, waiting for a car to pass before driving onto the street. “Excuse me?”

  “A Big Wheel,” she repeated. “One of those kid tricycles.” She lowered her voice. “I wanted to get it for Robin’s birthday.”

  He laughed. Another woman would have been talking about getting herself clothes or some longed-for appliance, if not a piece of jewelry. Not a tricycle. “Think big, don’t you?”

  She didn’t take it as a criticism. “In a way. The best things in life are the little things.” She glanced over her shoulder at Robin. The little girl’s eyes were drifting shut. Obviously, her morning with Malcolm had tired her out. “They make the big picture better, don’t you think?”

  He thought of his own daughter. Of the way he’d been content just to watch her sleep. Life on the road had made things like that even more precious. “Yeah, I do.”

  He said nothing more, and for several minutes, the silence encompassed them. She didn’t feel uncomfortable in it, she realized. It wasn’t a pregnant silence or an awkward one; it was just a natural lull in the conversation.

  The thought made her smile.

  He was aware of her smiling at him, could feel her smiling. “What?”

  Christa thought it prudent not to explain what she was thinking. He might think she was crazy. “I can pay you now.”

  He knew how important it was to feel as if you could pay your own way. It had always meant a great deal to him, even in the early years. “Meaning you weren’t going to before?”

  She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but didn’t take any chances. She didn’t want him getting the wrong impression.

  “No, I meant that until now it was going to be broken up in probably a hundred installments.” She slanted a look at his face. It was impassive. No surprise there. “I think you knew that. Now I might even be able to pay you off before the end of the month.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. “You haven’t seen my bill yet.”

  She shifted, her eyes wide, serious. She didn’t think he was capable of putting her on. “That big?”

  He laughed. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re gullible?”

  His words stirred an unpleasant memory. Her voice grew quiet as she answered. “Yes, my ex-husband. Except that I turned out to be the one who had a firmer hold on reality than he did.”‘

  He turned his eyes back on the road as he eased his foot off the brake. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.”

  She shrugged. “That’s all right, you didn’t know. Besides, that’s all in the past now. ‘That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,’ right?”

  “Maybe,” he muttered.

  Before she could comment, Malcolm turned up the radio, doing away with the necessity of carrying on a conversation.

  When they reached Christa’s condo, Malcolm stopped the car and got out.

  “You don’t have to bother getting out and helping me,” she protested.

  “I can’t very well just eject you out of your seats while I’m driving,” he answered. “The mechanism’s jammed.”

  Christa laughed as she deposited her bag on the sidewalk. “I like that.”

  He stared at her. “Like what?”

  “The way your eyes soften when you’re kidding. It doesn’t make you look quite as dangerous.”

  “I thought women were supposed to like dangerous men,” he said as he pushed the passenger seat down and took Robin out, car seat and all. He set both on the ground.

  “That’s only in books. In real life, a woman likes a nice, dependable man—who kisses dangerous,” she added with a mischievous grin. The way he did.

  “Who kisses dangerous?” he echoed. That was a new one on him.

  She nodded and then, before she could think better of it and retreat, her arms went around his neck and she showed him. “Like this.”

  Like a brushfire igniting summer-baked grass, the kiss combusted and took off, sucking them both in greedily.

  She felt so good against him. Good and soft and wondrous. His hands snaked around her waist, pressing her to him, then roamed her back, as if memorizing every inch, every curve, every nuance.

  Hunger, deep and gut wrenching, seized him, asking to be fed. Demanding it.

  He struggled to keep it from consuming him, to keep from giving in to it, even a little.

  He succeeded.

  And failed..

  Because it took a piece of his soul with it as he fought. Took it from him and gave it to her. He could feel the force of the explosion in his veins,

  Finally, with his willpower about to crack in half, Malcolm placed his hands on her waist again and drewher away from him.

  The impish smile on her lips was blurred with the imprint of his mouth. It made him hungry again. And stoked the embers of his guilt.

  He was alive and feeling things. And his wife and daughter weren’t.

  Malcolm found his voice, and it rumbled up from the depths of him. “So that’s a dangerous kiss?”

  She felt shaky and reveled in it. This new sensation was one she could very easily become addicted to. “Yes,” she whispered. “Very.”

  He cleared his throat. “Then we’d better not do it again.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “There is a certain attraction to danger.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s why we better not do it again.”

  Christa could feel the sting of tears in her eyes and didn’t really know why they were there or why she was suddenly devastated on this day that had gone so well for her.

  Blinking them away, she turned to take Robin out of her seat. Behind her, she could hear Malcolm getting into his car.

  She turned around quickly before he could leave.

  “I’ll be back to work on the van tonight” was all Malcolm said before he pulled away.

  “I’m counting on it,” she murmured to herself, watching him drive away.

  It was past eight o’clock, and Malcolm still hadn’t Showed up.

  He wasn’t going to come, she thought, dejection wafting through her. It was all her own fault. She’d probably scared him off.

  She’d been so certain, as she’d left Las Vegas and Jim, that all she wanted out of life was Robin and a decent job so that she could take care of them both. Now she wasn’t so sure. Now her narrow wish list had grown to include one more thing.

  One more person.

  Restless, she began straightening the living room. Robin’s toys had managed to find their way everywhere. How could one little girl make so much mess?

  She needed a system, Christa mused, pushing the toys into a corner. A system that—

  She cocked her head, listening. Those weren’t crickets, she r
ealized. Not unless the crickets were using power tools.

  Pushing the plastic blocks to the corner with her toe, Christa went to the window. There, beneath the combined pool of moonlight, street lamp and the work light he had brought with him, was Malcolm.

  Stripped down to the waist in deference to the hot night, he was working on her van. A sparkle of joy exploded within her. He’d come after all.

  How long had he been out there?

  Christa opened the door and went outside. The unexpected humidity of the day had passed, leaving only the dry heat of night in its wake.

  Not so dry, she mused, seeing the sheen of sweat on his body. She felt guilty that he was working when he should be home unwinding. She felt guiltier that she was glad he wasn’t there but here.

  He knew she was coming before she ever approached. Even if he hadn’t heard the front door open and close, he would have known. His peripheral vision was excellent. His sense of smell was even better, and she was wearing that cologne again, the one that reminded him of the flowers they handed out in the winner’s circle.

  Christa hooked her fingers in the loops of her denim shorts. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

  He didn’t bother looking up. It was safer that way. “Roaring engines are for kids.”

  Maybe, but that still didn’t explain things. “Why didn’t you knock?”

  He reached for another wrench, a smaller one, as he lifted a shoulder. “Didn’t see the point. Told you I’d be back to work on the van.” He raised his head for only a moment. Just as he thought, she was underdressed again. “And I am.”

  “Can I get you anything?” She was addressing the top of his head. Was it her imagination, or was he purposely avoiding her eyes?

  He waved her back. “You can get out of my light.”

  “Sorry.” She shifted, taking a step back. But she didn’t leave as he had hoped.

  Instead, she just persisted. “Something to drink? Eat?” He wasn’t paying any attention. That much wasn’t her imagination. “Sing to you?”

  He looked up, brows drawn together in confusion. “What?”

  She grinned. At least she’d gotten him to look at her. “I was waiting for you to answer. I thought maybe you weren’t listening.”