Bachelor Father

by Jean C. Gordon

  Inching backwards across the empty reception area to the glass door, she pushed it open wide and turned quickly to slip through before the door swung closed again.

  “Oomph!”

  Oh, no. She'd run into someone. The impact made her step back and start to lose her tenuous grip on the monitor.

  “I'm so sorry,” Molly said, too busy trying to hold onto the equipment to see who she was talking to. Then, she felt it slip. Her heart dropped along with the monitor. She closed her eyes and waited for the crash.

  When the crash didn't come, she mouthed a silent thanks for packing materials and opened her eyes. Instead of the dented box she expected and broken monitor she feared, she saw a pair of brushed chukka boots topped by sharply creased khaki Dockers.

  “Looking for this?” Brett lifted the monitor as if displaying it for her approval.

  Showoff, Molly thought as she watched how easily he moved the cumbersome equipment. It was because he was bigger. If she had longer arms, she could have gotten a better grip on the bulky box and wouldn't have dropped it.

  Brett cleared his throat. “Would you like me to carry this somewhere?”

  “Yes.” Molly absently fingered her cross she, wondering why her heart still seemed to be racing even though her panic over dropping the monitor had subsided.

  “Where?”

  Molly dropped the cross and pointed to the stairs. “My office.”

  “Yes, Ma'am,” Brett said, hoisting the monitor to his shoulder.

  Molly winced at his tone. Where were those Southern manners her mother had drilled into her? She hadn't even thanked Brett for his help.

  “Wait.”

  Brett stopped at the foot of the stairs.

  “I didn't thank you,” she said. “I thought my new monitor was a goner for sure.” And maybe she, too, considering she was still working her probationary period and Thayer House didn't have extra funds to replace equipment that shouldn't need replacing.

  “No problem,” he assured her. “I'm glad I was here.”

  Molly smiled at his back watching how easily he maneuvered the stairs. Me, too, she added silently.

  Brett headed to her office and Molly followed.

  “Do you want it here?” Brett nodded toward her computer stand.

  “Yes, please.”

  He placed it on the table. “Need any help connecting it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “How about the old monitor?” Brett reached down to pick it up. “Do you want me to get rid of it somewhere?”

  Molly shook her head. “Maintenance will take care of it.”

  Straightening, Brett glanced around the office as if looking for some other task he could help her with. He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  As much as she enjoyed watching big, tough Brett Cahill squirm, Molly decided to put him out of his agony. “So, do you have an answer to my proposal?”

  “What?”

  “My proposal. Have you decided?”

  “Yeah. That's why I'm here.” He ran his hand nervously over his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, emphasizing the sharp planes of his now faintly red-tinged face.

  “And,” she prompted.

  “I think we should . . . go out to lunch and talk,” he finished in a rush.

  Molly looked at her watch. “Oh, Brett, I wish you'd called. I have a home study visit scheduled in about an hour. I'd planned to run out, get something from one of the vendors in the park and eat at my desk.”

  “Okay.”

  “You want to have lunch here?” She looked at the jumble of case folders and papers on her desk.

  “No, we could grab a hot dog or something and take a walk around the park.”

  “Sure, we could do that.” An odd wave of relief swept over Molly. Even though her proposal had been strictly business, receiving Brett's answer over lunch at her desk somehow didn't feel right. “Let me get my bag.” She started to pull open a desk drawer.

  Brett reached down and grabbed her hand, stopping her. “My treat,” he said, continuing to hold her hand.

  “I'd rather—”

  “Come on.” He pulled her toward the door. “You don't want to be late for your home study appointment.”

  Molly laughed, remembering how she’d shown up a half-hour early for her home study visit with Brett. “At least let me get my jacket.” She stopped at the coat tree, picked up her blazer, and put it on.

  Brett opened the front door and Molly stepped out. A crisp breeze hit her, not chilly, but cool enough to make her glad for her blazer. She stood on the porch and shaded her eyes to look across the street to the park. The day was picture perfect, worthy of one of the “Fall in New York” commercials that the state department of tourism seemed to be running incessantly on TV. The park teemed with people generally enjoying the unusually warm day.

  Brett let the oak door slam behind him. They walked down the steps together. At the curb, he grabbed her hand once more, making Molly wonder if all the time he was spending with Jake had put Brett in the habit of automatically guiding everyone across streets. When he didn't look before he started across the street, she stood fast, giving Brett a little tug back to the curb. He squeezed her hand in return, sending a tingle up her arm.

  Molly couldn't resist. She repeated the admonishment he’d given her and Jake when he’d walked her to her car after the Family Work Day. “We look both ways before we cross.”

  “Do we, now?” Brett dropped her hand and raised his to shade his eyes, making an exaggerated display of checking the street for traffic. “All clear.”

  She laughed and started to step off the curb, the delicious smells from the various vendors’ carts drawing her across the street. Little gymnasts practiced acrobatics in her stomach, spurred on by hunger and the apprehension of not knowing Brett’s answer to her proposal.

  Before she could finish the step, Brett took her hand again. “We always hold hands when we cross streets,” he said.

  Anxious to get rid of the flutter inside, Molly tugged at his hand. “Come on, then. I’m starved.”

  Brett stopped at the first food cart and asked, “How's a chili dog sound?”

  “Great.” She usually went for turkey on whole wheat, but with her stomach flip-flopping in anticipation of Brett's decision, today did seem like more of a chili dog day. Maybe the chili peppers would counteract the jitters.

  “Two chili dogs,” he told the vendor. “Do you want something to drink?” he called over his shoulder to Molly.

  Breathing in the spicy aroma of the chili cooking, Molly decided, “Iced tea would be good.”

  “An iced tea and a coffee.” Brett finished the order.

  When the order was ready, Molly gingerly accepted the chilidog from Brett with one hand and her drink with the other.

  “Why don't we sit on the bench over there to eat?” he suggested.

  Molly glanced over to the shaded bench he’d pointed at with his cup of coffee and shivered. “No, let’s sit on the base of the monument, in the sun.”

  “Fine with me.”

  Walking carefully to avoid having chili sauce spill on her, Molly made her way through the crowd. She sat on the base of the monument and, after placing her iced tea beside her on the concrete, looked up for Brett. A small army of pre-school children separated him from her. Grinning at Molly over the little parade, he shrugged his shoulders.

  The tots marching along hand-in-hand made Brett appear even taller than his six foot two. Molly smiled back, catching the time on the church steeple behind him. Twelve thirty. She didn’t have long for lunch. Wishing they would move faster so Brett could get himself over here and tell her his decision, she took a bite of her chilidog and watched the children.

  The sound of their feet tramping through the fallen leaves complemented the rustling wind. A gust showered a colorful rain of leaves on the children. One little girl, her hair done in intricate cornrows fastened with red ribbons, picked up a bright yellow leaf and showed it to one of
the adults with the group. Captivated by the delight on the child’s face, Molly didn’t notice that her cup of tea had blown off the monument base until she felt the cold wetness run down her leg and spread across her foot.

  Great. Brett had all the napkins. She looked over the children’s heads, but he was no longer there. Trying to judge whether she could safely put her chilidog down so she could take care of the tea, she felt a leaf blow across her foot. Then, the “leaf” moved up her leg. She glanced down to be greeted by Brett kneeling on the sidewalk, his brown eyes smiling up at her as he efficiently wiped the tea from her stockinged leg.

  “You look like you have some experience at handling spills,” Molly teased.

  “A bit,” he answered dryly, continuing to rub her leg.

  His warm hands contrasted with the cool wind. She snuggled into her jacket while he ran his hand over the spot again with another napkin. Molly was tempted to ask him to warm her other leg, too.

  “Maybe you’d better grab your sandwich,” he said. Her chilidog rocked precariously on her lap in the gusting wind. “Unless you want a demonstration of my skills at mopping up chili sauce, that is.”

  Despite a fleeting thought that it wouldn’t be an altogether bad idea to have Brett continue his ministrations, Molly picked up her lunch. She assumed Brett would join her sitting on the monument base, but he didn’t. Instead, he balled up the wet napkins, stuffed them under his foot so they wouldn’t blow away and began digging for something in the front pocket of his khakis.

  Interesting. Just as Molly was about to ask him why he didn’t stand up and get whatever it was he was after, Brett pulled a small velvet-covered box from his pocket. Opening it with a flourish, he looked up at Molly. She laughed, expecting to see an ostentatious gag ring from the jewelry case of a discount variety store or, even, from a gumball machine—a frivolous piece to match the clownish glint in Brett’s eyes and the temporary nature of their relationship.

  The exquisite emerald cut diamond nestled in the black velvet of the box made her breath catch. Before Molly could find her voice, Brett had taken the chilidog from her hands and was slipping the diamond on her left ring finger.

  Taking advantage of Molly’s stunned silence, Brett asked dramatically, “Molly Hennessey, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? For the time being, at least.” He grinned, unable to keep completely serious.

  “Brett,” she blurted. “You shouldn’t have. The ring, it’s . . .”

  “My mother’s.”

  Brett watched her intently as if gauging her reaction, the glimmer of mischief gone from his eyes, replaced by a different sheen.

  The intensity of his expression tugged at her heart. For a moment, she pretended his proposal was real. No! Shaking the thought from her mind, she started to pull the ring from her finger. “I can’t wear your mother’s ring.”

  He stopped her, holding her hand in his, stroking gently with his thumb. “Why not? Mom would have liked you. You care for the kids at Thayer House the same as she cared for her students. She would have approved of what you’re doing for me—and Jake,” he added.

  Molly luxuriated in the stroking of his thumb and his warm words. His mother must have been a teacher. A twinge of panic assailed her. Aside from what she’d read in his case file and learned at their meetings, Molly knew so little about Brett. He did like kids, dogs, and his mother, and wasn’t emasculated by letting his feelings for those dear to him show. That placed him far above a lot of men she’d met.

  “Besides,” Brett said, “the pre-nuptial agreement Tina drew up specifically says you have to give the ring back to me if the marriage is ended for any reason.”

  Brett’s words slapped her back to reality. She grabbed her hand from Brett, leaving the ring on her finger. “I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for my home study.” She looked pointedly at the tower clock. “Give me a call later. We’ve got to set a date. The sooner the better.” Molly tossed the remainder of her lunch in the trash barrel as she headed back to Thayer House.

  “Hey,” Brett called to her when she’d reached the street. “I take it that’s a yes.”

  She turned back. “What?”

  “Yes, you will marry me?” he shouted across the park.

  Molly would have sworn the whole park went silent, even the wind. With everyone’s eyes seemingly on her, a hot blush crept slowly up her entire body. Brett probably thought he was being funny. It would serve him right if she kept walking. She lifted her foot to step down the curb.

  “Will you marry me?” Brett called again.

  Molly swung around. She noticed numerous people from Thayer House, including her boss, the director of adoptions, in the growing crowd. This little scene sure wouldn't do much toward bolstering her reputation as a professional member of the Thayer staff. A dark thought gripped her. What if Thayer House didn't name her as Jake's foster parent? The marriage charade would all be for nothing.

  Shaking off her self-doubt, she stepped back to the sidewalk and, cupping her hand around her mouth, shouted a resounding, “Yes,” to Brett and the 100 other people waiting for her answer. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  Over the applause of the crowd, she heard a “Great!” and something that sounded like “church.” She stopped short. Nah, he couldn’t be thinking of a church wedding. She’d figured on a quick ceremony at City Hall, maybe on her lunch break or after work one afternoon. A church wedding seemed so, so, real. She shivered at the thought that in a small place like New Chatham, maybe you could get a church on short notice.

  Pausing at the Thayer House door, she looked up the street for Brett, only to catch him turning the corner to Hacket Boulevard. She didn’t have time to go after him now, but she’d set him straight tomorrow, remind him that their deal was strictly business.

  Brett whistled as he strode toward his Wrangler. He’d sure gotten to Molly with his public proposal. Did her good. She needed to lighten up, have some fun with the situation. He couldn’t get over her expression when he’d added that comment about Pastor Larry saying the church was free any Saturday this month. It was priceless.

  Molly took a deep breath. Might as well get it over with. She dialed the number, pacing the length of the phone cord as she counted the rings. One, two, three. She and Brett had agreed on next Saturday for the wedding. And, as she’d soon learned from Brett, it was possible to get a church on such short notice. Four, five, six.

  She fingered her Celtic cross. Seven, eight, nine. The thought of being married in a church still made her uncomfortable. While she wasn’t a particularly religious person, saying vows she and Brett didn’t mean to keep in church had a ring of deceit about it. But Molly hadn’t had much of a choice. When she’d called City Hall, she’d found a five-week waiting list for weddings. Korean Child Welfare wanted Jake placed in foster care long before that.

  “Donahue residence.” At the sound of the housekeeper’s welcoming voice, a warm calm flowed through Molly.

  “Helen, it’s Molly.”

  “Molly, sugar. How are you? We haven’t heard from you in months, not since your little brouhaha with Scott about the Judge not releasing the money you needed to buy your condo.”

  Molly swallowed her guilt. She hadn’t called or written home since she’d met with her stepbrother about the trust fund last summer. “That’s a moot point, now.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing, just thinking out loud. Is mother home?”

  “No,” Helen Potter said, the disappointment for Molly quite evident in her voice. “They left this morning for Washington. You know how the Judge likes to be in the thick of the electioneering.”

  Yes, Molly knew well, as she knew how much her mother liked to be right along beside him playing the perfect hostess to his perfect host. She wondered if her parents would be home for Thanksgiving or if her half brother and sister would be spending the holiday vacation at boarding school or pawned off on friends as Molly had often spent her holidays.

  “I guess I sho
uld have called yesterday,” Molly said. “I wanted to tell Mother that I’m getting married a week from Saturday. If they’re on the campaign trail, I doubt they’ll want to change their plans and come up here for the ceremony.”

  “Sugar. You’re getting married? I’m so happy for you. I’m certain your mother and the Judge will want to come. Now, when my Alicia got married this summer, they sent her and Brad the loveliest silver setting.”

  Molly shook her head. Helen, the eternal optimist. Her mother hadn’t come to either her high school or college graduation. What made Helen so sure they’d travel 500 miles to her wedding, especially on only a week’s notice?

  “You give me all the details, Molly, and I’ll tell your mother when she calls this evening. You know how she likes to check in when she’s away to collect her messages and make sure everything is running smoothly at home.”

  Yeah, Molly certainly knew how devoted her mother was to her lovely home and busy social schedule. She gave Helen the time and place of the ceremony.

  Helen repeated the information to make sure she had it right, then said, “You have to tell me a little about your fiancé, the arrangements, and your dress. I just know you’re going to be beautiful bride.”

  Helen seemed so genuinely happy for her, that Molly didn’t have the heart to tell her the real circumstances. She’d find out soon enough anyway.

  “Well, his name is Brett Cahill. He has his own surveying business and he has. . .”

  “What does he look like?” Helen interrupted. “Is he a hunk?”

  Molly laughed at the prim, motherly Mrs. Potter wanting to know if Brett was a hunk. “Yes, you could say that.”

  “Tall, dark, and handsome, I’ll bet.”