Needed: One Dad

by Jeanne Allan

  “You heard the way he went on and on about how wonderful Lois is and how the divorce was all his fault and how he misses his boys. Just because he practically drooled every time he looked at you in that skintight dress with Grandmother’s pearls hanging between your breasts doesn’t mean he wants to marry you.”

  Addy gripped the metal frame behind the glider cushions, her hand wrapped tightly around the metal slat, her fingernails digging into her palm. “Nobody said I wanted to marry him.”

  “Oh, I believe that.”

  An indecipherable note in Sam Dawson’s voice put Addy on alert. She remained silent.

  “The ‘a’ key jumps on my grandmother’s typewriter,” Sam said casually. “The letter I received was written on her typewriter.”

  Addy understood immediately. The discovery had absolutely convinced Sam Dawson that his mother and grandmother, with Addy’s connivance, had written the letter decoying him out to Colorado as a potential husband for Addy. Furious, but apparently reluctant to take his anger out on his mother or grandmother, he’d targeted Addy.

  Sam Dawson hadn’t kissed her because he found her irresistible, or sexy or even mildly appealing. He’d kissed her to satisfy some twisted notion of revenge, although Addy couldn’t even begin to guess how one connected to the other. Unless he planned to seduce Addy before convincing his grandmother to throw her out into the street. Did he think Hannah would call Addy immoral and drive her away because of a few foolish kisses?

  Down the sheet a dog barked sharply. A passing breeze carried the pungent odor of a marauding skunk. The strident screech of the glider as Sam shifted his weight wakened Addy from her trance-like state. She crossed the narrow porch floor to the low window telling herself no matter how despicably Sam Dawson behaved, he had no power to disrupt her life. The hoot of an owl mocked her simple-mindedness. Addy stepped through the window, slammed it shut and secured the lock. Sam Dawson had climbed up to the second-story porch. He could darned well climb down.

  “More pancakes,” Emilie chirped.

  “No fair. You and your aunt cheat.” Sam jabbed his fork into a stack of pancakes. “How can I eat more pancakes than you if she’s making your pancakes smaller than she’s making mine?”

  “You have Sam pancakes. I have Emilie pancakes,” Emilie explained seriously.

  Sam watched Emilie as she liberally poured syrup on her pancakes. “What time’s our play group?”

  “Our play group?” Addy asked coldly.

  “I told you I’d read to the kids this morning.”

  Addy eyed him narrowly. Not one bit did she trust Sam Dawson’s friendly, pleasant behavior. Hannah’s presence wasn’t forcing him to be civil, because his grandmother wasn’t at the breakfast table, preferring to eat cold cereal earlier.

  Flipping a pancake, Addy wished she’d had time to shower before breakfast, but she’d been running late. The fact she’d suffered a sleepless night had nothing to do with Sam Dawson. She flipped another pancake. And again caught a whiff of the masculine scent clinging to her skin.

  If only he’d go back to Boston. Emilie liked him too much. Like a new toy, Addy assured herself. Once he left, out of sight, out of mind. Addy looked at her niece. “If you’re finished, run upstairs and wash up and brush your teeth. I’ll be up as soon as I finish breakfast and the dishes, OK?”

  “OK.” Emilie scrambled out of her chair and ran to Sam’s side. “One, two, three, four, five, six, eight,” she chanted. “I ate eight. Did I beat you?”

  “Seven, eight,” Addy said.

  Emilie shook her head. “No, ate eight.”

  “Give me your hands,” Sam said. “Let’s name these fingers who need their faces washed.” He held a little finger. “We’ll call this guy One, this guy Two. He’s Three...”

  Emilie caught on quickly. “Four, Five, Six, Eight.”

  Sam frowned down at the last-named finger. “This finger is crying. He’s very sad.”

  Emilie’s eyes grew big. “Fingers don’t cry.”

  Sam held her finger up to his ear and pretended to listen. “He’s crying because his name is Seven. He says the next finger is named Eight. Let’s name them all again.” When Emilie had done so successfully, Sam said, “You have to promise you won’t forget Seven again. I can’t stand to hear Seven’s crying.”

  Emilie solemnly promised.

  “OK, run up and wash eight fingers and two thumbs. No, don’t even think about kissing me with that syrupy mug. You’ve got more syrup outside your mouth than I put inside .mine.”

  Emilie giggled and ran from the room.

  Addy served up the last of the pancakes and sat to eat. She refused to like this man.

  “I want to apologize for last night.” Sam rested his elbows on the table, cradling his coffee mug in his hands.

  “Kissing a woman out of revenge going too far even for you?”

  “I meant intruding on your date. Kissing you had nothing to do with revenge.” He acted surprised she would think so. “I’m a healthy, normal male. You’re a healthy, normal female. The moon was bright. Naturally we wanted to kiss each other.”

  Addy set the syrup down with a thump. “I didn’t want to kiss you. I wanted to know what you were up to.”

  “A probing investigation,” he said dryly.

  Addy couldn’t help blushing, which further infuriated her. Kissing her stupid was bad enough; taunting her the next morning about her enthusiastic cooperation was despicable. Doggedly she forced unappetizing pancakes down her throat.

  Sam broke the prolonged silence. “You and Emilie have been good for Grandmother,” he said unexpectedly. “She has a new bounce to her steep. As reluctant as I am to admit it, I hired the wrong kinds of women to be Grandmother’s companions. They made her feel older. You and Emilie make her feel younger. I appreciate that, and to show my appreciation, and prove I have no hard feelings about the letter, I’m going to help you.”

  “Help me what?” Before Sam could answer, Addy realized what he meant and glared at him. “Forget it. Emilie and I aren’t charity cases. We manage just fine. We get room and board here plus I teach crafts classes several times a week at the community center, and I make a little extra on the jewelry I sell. We don’t need or want any money from you or anyone else.” Even to Addy, her words sounded harsh and ungrateful. Belatedly she added, “Thanks anyway.”

  Sam put down his coffee cup and quietly applauded. “Great speech. Now you’ve gotten it out of your system, let’s discuss my offer. I’m not offering you money. I’m offering you practical help. Grandmother said the ladies agree you need to get married, so you’re looking for a husband for you and a father for Emilie.”

  Addy slapped her fork on the table. “Emilie doesn’t need a father.” Before he could dispute that, she added a defiant lie. “And I’m not looking for a husband.”

  “Sure you are.” He tapped his chest. “And I’m your man.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  EVERY jaw muscle Addy owned slackened completely. She tried three times before finally managing to speak. “You can’t be serious. Marry you?” The look of shock on Sam’s face brought Addy to her senses. “Your sophomoric humor must make you a hit at office parties.” She grabbed the plate in front of him, ignoring he was still eating, scraped the pancakes and bacon into the sink and flipped a switch. The loud grinding noise of the garbage disposal covered up the garbled sounds Sam made. She was sick and tired of his harassment. If she’d felt light-headed after his announcement, it was only because his stupid announcement had stunned her. No woman in her right mind would want to marry a conceited, egotistical, contemptible, mean-spirited, twisted, revengeful creep.

  A hand reached around her and switched off the disposal and the water. A stark silence filled the kitchen. “I probably could have approached the subject a little better,” Sam said.

  “I doubt it.” Addy managed to refrain from slamming the plates into the dishwasher. “I’m sure you got exactly the reaction you wanted.” Squeezing the kit
chen sponge with a vicious twist, she hurled it in the direction of the sink.

  “I can explain. I—”

  “Forget it.” Addy stormed from the kitchen.

  Hannah came out of the front parlor. “What’s going on? I heard you shouting over my news program.”

  “Nothing.” Addy dashed up the stairs. Sam stayed to spin lies for his grandmother. Addy had no intention of telling Hannah she’d actually believed, for a second—a very tiny second, Addy reminded herself—Samuel Dawson had proposed marriage. As if she wanted to marry anyone with such a cruel sense of humor. Addy certainly did not want to marry Sam Dawson.

  Maybe, for a fleeting instant, she’d pictured life married to Sam. Safe. Emilie with two adults responsible for her. No more financial hardship. No worries about a judge taking Emilie away from Addy. No sacrificing herself on the altar of matrimony to provide security for Emilie. Not that marrying Sam wouldn’t be a sacrifice. Certainly his kisses had nothing to do with her momentary lapse of sanity. If he never crossed her path again, Addy’d be ecstatic.

  She was not ecstatic when she saw him leaning on the newel post at the bottom of the staircase when she and Emilie descended the stairs. Sam watched them, a wary look on his face.

  “Now what?” Addy snapped. “An irresistible urge to engage in more cute tricks from your repertoire?”

  “Play group.”

  “If you think I’m going to let you contaminate a group of innocent little children, think again.”

  “Addy.” Emilie tugged on her aunt’s hand. “Addy maddy?”

  “Yes.” Addy stomped toward the front door.

  Emilie tugged on Addy’s hand again. “I don’t like you mad.”

  Hearing the wobble in Emilie’s voice, Addy halted and looked down. “Sweetheart, I’m not mad at you. I have a headache.” That part of her reassurance to Emilie was true. Addy knew her head would explode into a million pieces any second now.

  “In that case,” Sam said, holding open the front door, “you’ll definitely need my aid and assistance this morning.”

  About to deny she’d ever need anything from Sam Dawson, Addy swallowed her words at the glowing expression on Emilie’s face.

  Sam knew better than to gloat. He helped Emilie with her seat belt in the backseat of Addy’s ancient automobile and sat sideways in the front seat listening to the little girl’s chatter. Leaving Addy to drive and to consider the chances of turning left in front of an oncoming car without hurting anyone except the passenger beside her in the front seat.

  A witless ground squirrel dashed across the road daring Addy to squash him into the dirt. She swerved to avoid the small animal, but if the squirrel had been Sam Dawson... Two black and white magpies flew by, loudly squawking, their long tails streaming behind. Beside the road, fuchsia-crowned thistles grew next to taller cow parsnip. Cow parsnip with its umbrella-shaped clusters of white flowers belonged to the parsley family, as did the extremely poisonous water hemlock. Addy entertained thoughts of fixing Sam Dawson a hemlock salad for dinner.

  The Joseph and Anna O‘Brien Community Center, a solid, old two-story yellow brick building located in the middle of the small town sprawled along Fountain Creek, had housed O’Brien’s Drugstore in earlier days. Hannah’s parents, Joseph and Anna O‘Brien had started the drugstore in 1924, later hiring Peter Harris-as a pharmacist. Hannah claimed she’d taken one look at Peter and fallen instantly in love. They’d married and taken over the drugstore when Joseph died, but it’d stayed O’Brien’s Drugstore. Hannah’s and Peter’s only daughter, Sam’s mother, chose to be an actress, so when Peter died, Hannah donated the building to the town along with start-up funds for the community center. Small family drugstores had gone the way of the dodo bird in this age of discount stores and chains, Hannah said. Addy often wondered what it was like to have one’s family history interwoven with a town’s history.

  Released from her seat belt, Emilie dashed toward the building. Sam stood on the sidewalk looking up, his hands stuck in his pockets. “I worked here. Swept floors, stocked shelves, made deliveries on my bicycle, waited on customers. Harry and Mike worked here, too. We saw the miracles of medicine. And the failures,” he added almost to himself.

  Addy detoured around him. She already knew from Hannah those failures had sent Sam and his brothers to college determined to find ways to fight disease. Sam’s two brothers had turned to medicine, while Sam immersed himself in the biochemistry field where he dealt with arcane matters beyond Addy’s expertise. Even if Sam Dawson were the world’s greatest philanthropist, he wasn’t likable.

  A rufous hummingbird whistled past, his throat reflecting iridescent orange in the sunlight.

  “Sam!” Emilie stood impatiently at the door. “Hurry up!”

  If Emilie had had buttons on her pink playsuit, she would have burst them as she proudly showed off Sam to the other children in the play group. Hollywood would never know what it’d missed, Addy thought cynically, watching him act out the various characters in the story he read aloud. The circle of children hung on his every word. Hopefully they remembered to breathe.

  “What a hunk,” whispered a mother standing beside Addy. “Who is he, where did he come from, and why, oh, why, am I a happily married woman with two kids?”

  Addy briefly explained Sam’s relationship to Hannah Harris.

  “He’s so good with the kids. I see Emilie has adopted him. He’s not wearing a wedding ring.” The woman glanced down at Addy’s ringless fourth fingers. “Are you and he...?”

  “Certainly not!” Addy said explosively.

  “What a shame.” The woman moved off.

  It wasn’t a shame. It was a blessing. Even if Emilie might not agree. Emilie would be crazy about anyone whose eyes crinkled every blasted time he smiled at her. He wore another blue shirt. Pure vanity. He must know blue shirts made his eyes look bluer. He probably bought them by the truckload. Sitting on the floor made it easier for a certain blond little girl to hang around his neck. Sam Dawson needed female attention so desperately, he’d flatter a four-year-old to get it.

  One of the mothers took over the play group, leading the children in a song and some playful exercises. Sam staggered over. “Water,” he choked, his hands grabbing his throat.

  Addy filled a paper cup with water at the sink and thrust it at him. His shirt, unbuttoned at the top, exposed lightly tanned skin, and as he tipped back his head and drank, the working of his throat muscles fascinated Addy.

  “Thanks.” Sam tossed the crumpled cup into a nearby trash container. “Now, about this morning.” He pitched his voice low, for her ears only.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Get my girlish hopes up? You didn’t.” A bottleful of aspirin wouldn’t dent her headache. Addy smiled as Emilie looked in their direction. Emilie waved at Sam and giggled.

  “I meant,” Sam said in a low, measured voice, “I’m the man to help you find a husband.”

  “What!” Several mothers swung around to look at them. Addy smiled weakly before turning her back on Sam. “I’m not looking for a husband, and if I was, I wouldn’t need your help,” she rasped over her shoulder, moving away.

  Sam trailed behind her. “I thought we agreed you need a husband and Emilie needs a father.”

  “We agree on nothing. Leave me alone and mind your own business.” Grinding her molars as two mothers grinned meaningfully at her, Addy fled into an adjacent storeroom.

  Sam carefully shut the door to the empty room as he followed her in. “Try viewing your situation calmly and objectively.”

  “The only thing I want to view is your back leaving.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you listen.” Grabbing her shoulders, he maneuvered her against a set of floor-to-ceiling shelves. “I know you want to get married. I can help you.”

  The letter the lawyer had forwarded flashed across Addy’s mind. As much as she disliked Sam, listening to him couldn’t h
urt, and Emilie’s future took precedence over Addy’s pride and personal prejudices. Locking her hands behind her to hide their shaking, Addy said, “OK, talk, but make it quick.”

  “Have you heard of synergy? It comes from a Greek word and stands for what happens when two distinct forces work together. You and I working together can create synergy.”

  “I don’t need you or your synergy.”

  “Call it a strategic alliance. Forget the mawkish sentimentality associated with romance and look at all facets of your situation. Simply put, I’m in the business of anticipating and solving problems. I know about developing business deals, generating information and how to use it, and I’m experienced in filling key positions. Factor that in with me being a man—” he looked guilelessly at her “—and what do you have?”

  “A total idiot, who’s made the mistake of thinking I’m as big an imbecile as he is. This has nothing to do with finding me a husband. You’re planning a petty campaign of harassment in retaliation for that letter you received. I’ve got news for you, Dr. Samuel Dawson, Ph.D., you can’t reduce me to your infantile level, so quit obsessing over revenge and run back to Boston to show poor, ineffective scientists how to save us from bugs and germs taking over the world.”

  “You’re safe. No bug or germ would be foolhardy enough to take you on,” he said dryly. “I had to make all kinds of arrangements to break free, and the office knows how to reach me, so I’m staying. with Grandmother for three weeks.”

  “Stay three years for all I care, but stay away from me and Emilie.”

  “You can’t forget about that kiss, can you?”

  “What kiss?”

  He ignored a question they both knew was rhetorical. “Grandmother and her friends rounded up some candidates for your husband, but they failed to put any mechanism into place to sort through the candidates and decide which best suits your need.”