Needed: One Dad

by Jeanne Allan

  Emilie threw her arms around Addy’s neck and pulled her closer. “Addy maddy?” she asked.

  They’d long played this game. “Well...” Addy drew out the word.

  “No,” Emilie shouted. “Addy not maddy ’cuz I love you.” She aimed a loud, smacking kiss at Addy’s cheek.

  Addy gave her a little squeeze. “I love you, too, you little pumpkin head. Now go to sleep.”

  “Kiss first,” Emilie ordered bossily.

  “I already kissed you,” Addy said.

  “Not you.” Emilie removed her arms from Addy’s neck and held them up. “Sam man kiss.”

  Addy turned her back and concentrated on swallowing the painfully huge lump in her throat. Emilie was merely postponing her bedtime. She didn’t need a man in her life. She certainly didn’t need a hard, immovable, two-faced, egotistical stranger.

  Sam followed her from the room. “Cute kid.”

  “I think so. Good night.” Her back to him, she prayed he’d leave without further discussion. If the world she’d carefully constructed to protect Emilie seemed pitifully frail at this precise moment, blame it on her tiredness. And Sam Dawson. Addy’s life had been excellent training for taking setbacks in stride, but suddenly, not for a million dollars could she summon up one iota of optimism and hope for her and Emilie’s future. She should pack up and move. There were other apartments. Other jobs. No. She liked living with Hannah. She liked teaching at the community center. Taking a deep breath, she firmed up her spine. Life was not going to exhaust and drain and beat her down. Not life, and not Samuel Dawson.

  “You ought to sell some of this junk in here and buy the poor kid a pair of decent pajamas,” he said.

  “She has plenty of pajamas.” Addy spun around. “OK, so I bought them at a thrift store, but they looked brand new. She insists on sleeping in that T-shirt because her mother used to wear it. She doesn’t even remember Lorie. Emilie knows nothing of her mother but some pictures, that T-shirt and Lorie’s old stuffed bear.” One stupid tear came from nowhere to burn her cheek. “You think that’s the same as having a mother?”

  “Her father—”

  “She has no father. Her mother signed papers. In exchange for a huge chunk of money, my sister promised to never divulge her lover’s name or ask him for more money.” The minute the words left her mouth, Addy wished she could recall them. She normally avoided discussing her situation, but this man had her so discombobulated, she’d come dangerously close to succumbing to self-pity in front of him. More reason to intensely dislike him.

  “Not too huge a chunk of money,” he said, “not if you have to shop in thrift shops and live in rooms in an elderly woman’s house. Or else you had a good time while it lasted.”

  The fact Lorie had blown the money out in California before committing suicide was none of his business. Addy thrust out her chin. “I had a really good time. Steak and champagne. Penthouse apartments. You might be seeing me down on my luck, but I expect to have plenty of money rolling in soon.”

  “Planning to win the Colorado lottery?”

  “Same as.” She sniffed and crossed her arms across her chest. “Have you forgotten my scam to fleece Hannah and her senile friends?”

  He contemplated her. “Data can be tricky. There has to be enough, and one must be careful interpreting it. The woman I thought you were wouldn’t have taken on the responsibility of raising someone else’s child.” He took a step toward her.

  “Don’t be naive. Emilie is my biggest asset. One minute with her and suckers’ brains turn to mush.”

  “You can’t be a successful confidence woman,” he said. “Divulging your methods and putting me on guard.”

  “To the contrary, I’m brilliant. I’ve been so engagingly candid with you, you’re now convinced I’m perfectly harmless.”

  He stood in front of her and curved his hand around her cheek. “I doubt you’re perfectly harmless.”

  Anger and another emotion, one less easily categorized, simmered in her veins. “If I’m dangerous, you’d better run back to your safe little Boston cubbyhole before I fleece you.”

  “I’m not worried.” He brushed back her hair and scrutinized her face. “Who are you, Adeline Johnson? The wild clothes and the purple walls say one thing. The old clothespin and this junk say something different. Then there’s the woman who shops in thrift stores and keeps patching an ancient T-shirt out of love. Which are you?”

  She pushed his hand away from her face. “I thought the brilliant Dr. Dawson had all the answers.”

  “There are too many questions for anyone to have all the answers. One of the reasons I’ve always been intrigued by puzzles. You, Adeline, definitely puzzle me.”

  “You’re as easy to hoodwink as your grandmother is.”

  “Grandmother isn’t the least bit easy to hoodwink.”

  “Maybe when she was younger and still had brains,” Addy said sarcastically, “but everyone knows when a person turns sixty she becomes senile and loses all judgment.”

  “You think I’m insufferably arrogant, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved to another subject. “Grandmother told me about the play group you organized at the center. Mainly so Emilie could attend, she thought. I think I see a pattern here. You’ve built your life around Emilie.” He stopped a moment, then said deliberately, “Emilie calls my grandmother, Grandma Hannah.”

  “You’d prefer Mrs. Harris?”

  “You moved in here to give Emilie a grandmother.”

  “Don’t be silly. The landlord of my last apartment raised the rent to an outrageous sum which I couldn’t afford. Hannah knew if she didn’t move a companion of her choice in here, you’d shove another witless wonder on her. Hannah isn’t our family. She’s my employer. I live here, do the shopping and cook dinner, and we manage to keep out of each other’s way.”

  “Grandmother said she and Emilie frequently nap together. Don’t bother to deny it. I’ve seen the children’s books in Grandmother’s bedroom, Emilie’s chair in the front parlor and the crayons in the silver tray in the dining room.”

  “So?” Addy challenged.

  “Living here must be inconvenient for you, not to mention a drag on your social life.”

  “My social life is just fine, thank you very much.”

  He held her upper arms when she would have turned away. “When did you last have a date?”

  “What’s it to you, Dr. Drive-his-mother-andgrandmother-crazy because he never gives the beautiful women his mother regularly trots past him a second look.”

  He stared down at her, an arrested look in his blue eyes. “I’ll be damned.” A humorless grin slashed across his face, and his fingers tightened around her arms. “You and my mother and my grandmother. The three of you came up with that letter.”

  Addy heaved a heavy sigh. “Next you’ll accuse the entire population of Ute Pass of being in some kind of conspiracy. The purpose of which totally defeats me.”

  “Does it? Try marriage. Me to you. I’ve heard that complaint you just parroted about my single state from Mom’s and Grandmother’s lips more times than I care to think about. They’ve been scheming to marry me off since I turned thirty.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine.”

  “With that letter you became my problem. Obviously the matchmaking met with your approval. Raising a kid on your own, struggling to pay the bills... Marriage to someone like me must have seemed the answer to your prayers.”

  “Of all the idiotic, conceited...” Addy jerked out of his grasp. “You’ve spent too much time in the laboratory. Something mutated and ate your brain.”

  “Convince me I’m wrong.”

  “Even if I cared to try, which I don’t, trying to convince a pig-headed ignoramus of anything is a total waste of time. You’ve made up your mind and no facts are going to sway you.”

  “You want to talk facts? Fine. Fact number one. Whoever wrote the letter knew it would bring me on the run.”

&nb
sp; “How about the fact I think you’re a blistering pain in the neck?” She may as well have saved her breath.

  “Fact number two. Emilie needs a father.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Fact number three,” Sam continued relentlessly. “Emilie is your life. Which means you’d do anything for her, including marrying to provide her with a father.”

  “She doesn’t need a father.”

  “Grandmother made a point of telling me she and her friends offered to find you a husband, but she said you have a prospective mate in mind. That’s a lie, isn’t it?” He went on without waiting for her answer. “Was it Grandmother’s idea, my mother’s or yours that you play hard to get?”

  Addy flapped her mouth open and shut like a trout. When the ladies had approached the subject of her needing a husband, Addy had hinted at a boyfriend. Stammering, she tried to explain. “Not Hannah’s idea. I mean, they did mention they knew some available men. They suggested fixing me up. I thought if they thought—I saw how they dispatched Ethel, and the idea of their persistent matchmaking turning in my direction... You don’t know... Those women, once they decide a woman needs to be married, are tireless and creative. I saw myself herded down the aisle and...” Her explanation ground to a halt at the pronounced skepticism on his face. “If you’d seen them intent on marrying off Ethel,” she said mulishly, “you wouldn’t be giving me that look.”

  He shook his head. “A word to the wise, Ms. Johnson. Regardless of what she says, my mother is not privy to my social life. I have all the dates I want, and when I marry, the bride will be one I select, not one chosen by my female relatives. And she sure as hell won’t be a freckle-faced, wildly-dressed Gypsy with a ready-made family. No offense,” he added offensively.

  “I may have freckles,” Addy retorted, “but at least I’m human, which is more than can be said for you. Even your own grandmother claims you have dry ice in your veins.”

  “Not dry nice.”

  “What?” She practically screeched the word.

  “Dry ice is a solid. Carbon dioxide. It vaporizes without liquefying.”

  “You think I care?” She definitely screeched.

  “One should always care about accuracy.”

  The rational response delivered in a reasonable tone of voice snapped what little restraint Addy had left. She shoved him out into the hall and slammed her door. Prepared to throw her body against the solid wood if he tried to return, she welcomed the sound of his footsteps moving away.

  The sinking feeling deep in the pit of her stomach stayed with her. Sam’s recitation of facts revealed the awful truth to Addy. “Hannah, Hannah. Whatever could you have been thinking?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I DON’T know, Addy,” Hannah said Thursday morning. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Hannah Harris! You must be getting senile in your old age,” Belle said indignantly.

  “The very idea,” Phoebe added in outrage, “writing a warning letter to your own grandson to lure him out here.”

  “I thought,” Hannah said, remorse absolutely dripping from her tongue, “Sam and Addy would make the perfect couple.”

  Addy had brought Emilie for her story hour at the community center and seen the four women chatting while they decorated more Christmas eggs. Seeing no one else in the crafts room, Addy had taken advantage of the opportunity to confront Hannah without Sam or Emilie being present. Standing at one end of the long table, Addy looked severely at the four elderly women. “There’s no point in any of you acting innocent. I know you were all in cahoots. I haven’t forgotten the lengths you four went to when you railroaded poor Pete and Ethel into marriage.”

  “They’re very happy, dear,” Cora said complacently. “I think Pete’s put on weight since they married. I always said Ethel’s a wonderful cook. Not that you aren’t a good cook, dear.” She glanced up from under her impossibly blond hair, then quickly returned her attention to the egg she rolled in glitter. “Hannah says Sam is a good eater.”

  “I’m not the least bit interested in Sam’s eating habits.”

  “More’s the shame, dear. He’s so good-looking. And money wouldn’t be a problem for you anymore.”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to marry for love,” Addy said tartly.

  “My daddy always said it’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one,” Belle said.

  “We’re sorry, Addy,” Phoebe added. “We made a mistake with the letter. We’ve all known Sam since he was a baby, and maybe it’s a little difficult for us to view him objectively. We should have realized you are unsuited for each other.”

  Emilie could have told them Dr. Samuel Dawson, Ph.D., and Adeline Johnson would go together like fingerpaints and white party dresses, Addy thought morosely. Guilt flooded her at the sight of Hannah sitting silently, staring at the table. Addy hadn’t intended to hurt the elderly woman’s feelings. “It’s not that your grandson’s not nice, Hannah. I’m sure he’s perfectly charming,” she lied, “but he and I simply aren’t compatible.”

  “You’re right. We’ll drop the whole thing,” Hannah said.

  “Yes,” Belle agreed, “let’s just forget about it, and Hannah can enjoy Sam’s visit. I saw him at the post office this morning. He gets handsomer every time I see him. And so polite. Addy, I love your red and fuchsia cat and dog necklace with that purple blouse. You have a wonderful sense of color. What color trim do you think I should put with this violet angel?”

  Addy glared around the table. “That’s it? You write a stupid letter, cause me no end of trouble, and all you have to say is it seemed like a good idea, let’s forget about it, and what goes with violet? May I remind you Dr. Dawson thinks I had something to do with writing that letter?”

  “Sticks and stones, dear.”

  Before Addy could leap across the table and strangle Cora with her own wig, Belle said quickly, “It’s not as if it matters to you what Sam thinks. Does it, Addy?”

  “Of course not.” So why was she making an issue of it?

  “You haven’t committed any crime, and there’s nothing he can do to you,” Phoebe added.

  “He ordered me to move.”

  “It’s Hannah’s house,” Phoebe said. “Ignore him.”

  “It’s not pleasant being accused of luring him out here so I can trap him into marriage. And it’s pretty difficult to avoid someone who’s living in the same house.”

  “You need a man, dear.”

  “Cora, I swear, if you tell me one more time—”

  “Now, Addy, Cora’s right,” Belle interrupted. “If Sam saw you dating other men, he’d know his suspicions were entirely wrong, and the whole matter would swiftly die away.”

  Their entire diabolical scheme burst full-blown in Addy’s head. In grand and glorious primary colors. She collapsed on the metal chair behind her. “You’re unbelievable,” she breathed. “If Machiavelli were alive today, he’d worship at your feet. For the past several months the four of you have wanted to match me up with one man or another, but I put you off, so you wrote Hannah’s grandson, forcing him to drop everything and rush out here. He’s a red herring, isn’t he? While he annoyed and distracted me, you planned to marry me off to someone else before I realized what was happening. I find it hard to believe Dr. Dawson’s in on your scheme, which means he’s going to kill you, and I’ll hand him his weapon of choice. I can’t believe this. I saw how you manipulated Ethel and Pete, and I still almost fell into your trap. How could I be so stupid?”

  “You’re not stupid, dear. Perhaps, like most young people, you don’t give your elders enough credit,” Cora said.

  Addy looked around the table. “Since I know all about your diabolical plan, that’s the end of it, right?”

  The four ladies nodded in unison.

  Not for one second did Addy believe them. An eggshell rolled from the table and smashed into smithereens, showering her red sandals with white debris.

  The lawyer
used by Lorie had forwarded the letter with a yellow sticky note asking Addy to contact him if she wanted him to respond to the letter. Addy crushed letter, envelope and note into a ball which she hurled across the room. The letter writer had corresponded through his attorney and signed himself an interested party, but Addy knew the letter came from her sister’s lover. Addy glared at the crumpled ball of paper under the window. As if she wanted anything to do with a man who’d seduced an innocent young woman and abandoned a child.

  Child. That’s what he called Emilie in the letter. The child. Either he couldn’t remember Emilie’s name, or he’d never bothered to ask Lorie what she’d named her baby.

  Certainly Addy had nothing to worry about. The letter merely sought information on Emilie. Addy had no intention of giving him any. He’d never been told Lorie’s sister had custody of Lorie’s child. He’d never cared before. Why should he care now? Let him assume a couple had adopted Emilie. Couple. Parents. The two words hammered painfully inside Addy’s head. Moving slowly across the room, she stared at the crunched paper at her feet, her mind traveling back five years.

  She’d arrived home from her first-year job as an elementary school art teacher in Colorado Springs to find a tearful, pregnant Lorie on her doorstep. Four months later, in August, Addy had been in the delivery room when Lorie gave birth. In her cynical moments Addy wondered if Lorie had already made her plans when she named the baby Emilie Adeline.

  Two weeks into Addy’s second year of teaching, she came home to find the baby with a neighbor and Lorie gone back to California. Finally facing the truth that Lorie wasn’t returning, and no longer able to ignore Emilie’s piteous wails when left at a day-care center, Addy had resigned her job to care for Emilie. Living frugally, with access to the money Lorie’s married lover had given Lorie to buy her silence, Addy figured she could remain home until Emilie started school.