It's a Boy!

by Victoria Pade

  “I’m all yours.”

  It was just an expression. But it had come out wrong.

  He grinned as if the idea intrigued him, and with a hint of flirtatious wickedness said, “Great.”

  “What time on Saturday?” Heddy asked, trying to put things back on the business track.

  “I can pick you up at ten. How’s that?”

  “If you tell me where, I can just meet you.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll be traveling from one space to another, then to the supply store. Why caravan when I can just pick you up? The car seat is in my backseat, so it isn’t as if my passenger side is occupied. No reason to have two cars.”

  Except that it was slightly disturbing for Heddy to think of riding like that with him and Carter, like a family of three out on a Saturday excursion together. The way she and Daniel and Tina had spent many a Saturday...

  But what was she going to say? He was right—it didn’t make sense for them to be driving separately.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  But apparently he saw her hesitation because he smiled an endearing smile and said, “Don’t you trust my driving? Because I can hire a car and driver if you’re worried.”

  The image of a chauffeured limousine taking them around town to look at kitchen space was too silly not to make Heddy smile in spite of herself.

  “Well, that is the way I usually travel, but I suppose I can adapt—if I must,” she joked.

  “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”

  “It’s okay, just this once I’ll leave my diamonds and furs at home, I’ll give up the limo and you can be my driver.”

  His supple mouth stretched into a grin that was too brilliant, too engaging, too delighted for her focus not to just naturally go there.

  And when it did, the next thought that sauntered through her mind was an image of what it might be like if he leaned in, bent over just a little and pressed those lips to hers....

  Heddy didn’t know where that had come from but she was grateful when Lang said, “At your service,” and the sound of his deep, deep voice helped drag her to her senses.

  I’m never going to kiss this man! she mentally shouted at herself. She didn’t want to kiss this man. She didn’t want to kiss any man who wasn’t Daniel, and certainly not a Camden.

  She’d just lost her mind for a minute.

  Luckily it seemed as though he couldn’t read it, because he turned away from her then and crossed to Carter.

  “If you want, you can just wrap the blanket around him and strap him into his car seat like that, rather than getting him into his coat,” Heddy offered. “He might be more likely to stay sleeping.”

  “Thanks. I’ll bring the blanket back on Saturday.”

  Heddy walked with them through her shop and held the door open for Lang as he carried the slumbering child out, then followed them to the SUV and opened the back door.

  Lang secured Carter in his car seat and Heddy couldn’t resist reaching in to pull the blanket over one of the child’s shoulders before they both stepped out of the way and Lang closed the car door.

  “See? Things go more smoothly with help, details all get taken care of,” Lang said, possibly referring to their earlier conversation about how he was now on his own in parenting Carter.

  “But you could have done without it. You would have been fine,” Heddy pointed out.

  “Thanks just the same,” he said, looking down at her much the way he had been in the kitchen when the idea of kissing him had sprung into her head, his blue eyes just too, too appealing.

  “Go in, it’s cold,” he ordered, poking his chiseled chin in the direction of her house as he opened his car door. “I’ll see you Saturday morning.”

  “At ten. I’ll be ready,” Heddy reiterated, doing as she’d been told and leaving him to go inside.

  But as she turned to close the door behind her, she saw that Lang was still standing where she’d left him, with his car door open. Watching her.

  And seeming lost for that moment in thoughts of his own.

  She didn’t for a minute believe that he was thinking what she’d been thinking. That he was thinking about kissing her.

  And yet, she was shocked at herself when it occurred to her that somewhere deep down she might have liked it—just a little—if he was.

  Chapter Four

  Saturday was a long day for Carter. Heddy and Lang dragged him around to meet with Lang’s Realtor to look at commercial kitchen space for sale.

  It would have been a long day for Heddy, too, except not only was she interested in the spaces and what she would be using them for, she liked watching Lang Camden in action.

  Actually she just liked watching Lang Camden, period.

  Dressed in jeans that hugged his hips, thighs and a remarkable rear end, a royal blue field sweater and a leather jacket that looked as soft as butter, he was certainly something to look at.

  But he was also a business presence to be reckoned with. He was knowledgeable, observant, informed and so just plain smart that nothing got past him. When it came to finding her the best space, talking about running a business out of it and getting a fair price, the man knew his stuff, and it was impressive.

  It was also impressive how down-to-earth he was in the process. There was nothing dictatorial about him, nothing tyrannical or elitist or entitled. He valued both Heddy’s opinions and those of the Realtor. He listened to Heddy’s concerns when she had them. He asked for her viewpoint at every stage and kept her needs and desires at the forefront.

  And he ultimately found her an ideal space that was halfway between Arcada and Denver—both convenient for her commute and a prime spot for deliveries to go in and out. Then he made it clear to the Realtor that the place would be paid for from a grant from the Camdens, but that Heddy would be the owner, free and clear.

  What Lang wasn’t so impressive at was managing Carter in the meantime. In fact, Lang was mostly oblivious to the little boy and while the adults looked at the spaces, he found various ways to entertain himself.

  He ran races, crashing into the wall to stop, then turning to race to the opposite wall.

  He spun around bare support poles until he fell down dizzy.

  He kicked a soda can he found in one space, clattering it endlessly until Heddy took it away from him so they didn’t have to shout over the din.

  And at another site he decided to entertain himself by trying to insert a stick into an electrical outlet. Luckily Heddy had spotted him before he actually did it, averting disaster.

  But it was Heddy who was on the lookout for that disaster and who stepped in to keep it from happening. It was Heddy who’d had to put a stop to Carter’s races and pole-spinning, while Lang seemed completely surprised by the need for such interventions. In business, nothing got by him, but as a start-up dad, he was in over his head.

  They found a space that Heddy and Lang agreed was perfect, so Lang suggested they make an offer. The Realtor then spent time on the phone, came back with a verbal acceptance from the owner and wanted papers signed. All of that had taken a while and since Lang had also made an appointment for them to meet with a sales representative at a supply store at the end of the day, there was no time for Carter to nap.

  By then Carter was obviously weary, and after Lang finally did register that the child shouldn’t be using a wooden spoon as a drum stick to bang against bowls and stopped it, a weary and pouty Carter climbed into a giant soup pot and curled up as if he was in need of a refuge.

  Heddy had been trying not to be drawn in by the little boy, to do nothing more than she needed to do to keep him safe and to keep the noise level at a minimum. But seeing the tiny child collapse in a soup pot made her feel bad for him. She couldn’t keep herself from lifting him out and setting him on her lap to res
t while she and Lang talked with the sales rep at his desk.

  And when the child laid his head against her and fell asleep, it left her fluctuating between a sense of warm satisfaction and a dull ache of longing for her own baby.

  * * *

  It was after six o’clock by the time Heddy and Lang left the supply store with a lengthy list of items to get her started and a substantial price estimate.

  As Lang drove back to Heddy’s place he talked about getting bids from other supply stores now that they had a list to work from, but Heddy was only partially paying attention.

  The day was coming to a close and she was reluctant to let that happen.

  If she merely had Lang drop her off—the way she should—she would be going into her dark, silent house to spend another Saturday night alone.

  After five years of that she should have been used to it, but somehow she still hated Saturday nights and Sundays the most.

  And for some reason tonight, she was even more loath to face it.

  But what she could do was ask Lang and Carter to come in....

  There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was in dangerous territory. That she could be crossing the line between business and personal. The line she knew she shouldn’t go anywhere near—let alone cross—with Lang Camden.

  But it was Saturday night.

  She was a bundle of excitement and nerves over this new business venture and she just didn’t want to go into her too quiet house and be alone from now until whenever.

  Besides, all any of them had had to eat today was a greasy, insubstantial fast-food lunch, and there was a part of Heddy—the maternal part—that wanted to feed Carter a good meal.

  “Do you have plans for dinner?” she heard herself ask as he pulled into her driveway and stopped in the small gravel parking lot beside the house.

  “Let’s see...” Lang mused facetiously. “I usually grab a pizza or burger from somewhere on the way home. Does that count as a plan?”

  “Mmm, sort of, I guess,” Heddy hedged. “I was just thinking that I have all the makings for a chicken potpie, if you’re interested. After all you’ve done today—”

  “You don’t have to feed us,” he said in a tone that also said he was open to the suggestion.

  “How about if I just do it for the heck of it?”

  “Really? I’d love that,” Lang said without any more hesitation. “I’ll even pitch in. As kids we all had to help fix dinner every night, so there are a few things I can do around a kitchen. Do you need me to run to the store for anything? How about wine?”

  Wine?

  That got her closer to crossing the line.

  And yet despite telling herself to decline the offer, she quipped, “Carter can’t have wine.”

  “You and I can, though, can’t we? White to go with chicken?”

  “I like white wine,” Heddy said as if she were only imparting information. Not crossing any lines.

  “Great. Shall we all just go or do you want to go inside and get dinner started while Carter and I get the wine?”

  Thinking it would buy her a little time to spruce up after her long day, Heddy said, “Why don’t you and Carter go and I’ll get started in the kitchen? There’s a liquor store in the strip mall straight down the street, about six blocks, you can’t miss it.” She pointed out the direction he needed to go before she opened the passenger door and climbed out. “I’ll see you guys in a few minutes.”

  “Guys,” Carter said from his car seat, making his presence known, reminding her that having him there kept things from getting too personal between her and Lang because Carter almost acted as a chaperone.

  “When you get back, if you pull around behind the house, that’s where I park. You can come in the kitchen door and that way it won’t look like I’m open for business again.”

  “Got it,” he confirmed just before Heddy closed the door, waved to Carter and went up to her house.

  Trying, as she did, to ignore the fact that her heart was beating fast and that she was suddenly looking forward to this Saturday night more than any she could remember in the past five years.

  * * *

  After rushing upstairs to her bedroom and making sure her jeans and the lightweight white turtleneck sweater she had on were still presentable, she brushed on a little fresh blush, applied another swipe of mascara and some lip gloss.

  She decided her hair needed a little more attention though.

  She’d put it in a French twist this morning to look professional, but apparently had rolled it more snugly than she should have because it had begun to feel as if it were giving her a face-lift.

  She told herself that undoing it was merely to give herself some relief. That it had nothing to do with looking more casual for her Saturday evening of entertaining.

  But she still took extra pains brushing it before pulling it into a very loose knot at her nape that left it puffy and a bit come-hither.

  Maybe she should put it back in another French twist, she thought when she noticed the effect. Certainly she didn’t want to send the wrong message.

  But it felt so much better not to have the tug of the French twist, she ended up leaving it. Anyway, she needed to cook, not spend more time on her appearance, so she went downstairs to the kitchen.

  Making pastry crust and gathering the ingredients for the potpie occupied the remainder of the time until Lang and Carter returned.

  Impressed that Lang washed his hands and Carter’s before helping in the kitchen, she set him to chopping vegetables while she made the gravy for the potpie.

  She was also surprised that Lang actually showed a knack for engaging Carter’s help in the kitchen, too.

  “I think you know your way around cooking more than you let on,” she said as she watched him have Carter move thinly sliced carrots from the cutting board into the bowl waiting for the vegetables.

  “I was six when we all went to live with my grandmother. She had household help—Margaret and Louie—but dinners were up to GiGi.”

  “The cook?”

  He laughed. “There was no cook. GiGi is what we call my grandmother. Anyway, fixing dinner was always up to GiGi and the ten of us kids. GiGi was very big on our having that time as a family together. I can’t say I actually know any recipes, but I take instruction in the kitchen well because I had training in that.”

  This raised a number of questions in Heddy’s mind. But rather than going off on several different paths to understand how he—and nine other kids—had come to live with the grandmother they called GiGi, she stuck with the subject at hand.

  “Is that how you know what to do to keep Carter busy now—from your own experience as a kid in the kitchen?” Because he seemed clueless about doing anything to occupy the child the rest of the time.

  “I guess so,” he mused as if that hadn’t occurred to him.

  Then, before Heddy could ask any more questions, he finished chopping the vegetables, gave them to Heddy for sautéing and suggested that he and Carter set the table while Heddy put the potpie in the oven and made the salad.

  As she mixed greens and added apples and mandarin oranges in the hope of enticing Carter to eat the salad—and dressed it with a balsamic vinegar, also with Carter in mind—she watched Lang patiently instruct the little boy in the proper way to set a table, including folding the paper napkins.

  Again she marveled at the man. He might be a rookie parent, but seeing how well he was doing with the child made Heddy believe that his family might have been right to force him into caregiving. That he really was capable of being a good dad to Carter when he actually put his mind to it.

  Heddy filled the water glasses to go with the wine she and Lang were having, and took the potpie out of the oven. As Heddy brought the food to the table, Lang used an enormous dictionary h
e found in Heddy’s bookcase as a booster seat for Carter so he could better reach the table. Heddy suggested tying a towel around the little boy’s middle and the back of the chair to steady him so he didn’t tumble to the floor. After that was done they all sat down to eat.

  Heddy had apparently been right about Carter needing a home-cooked meal because he ate heartily of the potpie—vegetables and all—and even of the salad, though he ate more of the fruit than the greens.

  But he really did have a sweet tooth because when she brought out a plate of brownies, he ate one, stole a second, and would have had a third had Lang not caught him before he could snatch it.

  After a quick, wiggly cleanup, Carter was released from the towel tie. At that point he requested cartoons, so Heddy again set him up on the couch with the blanket Lang had returned, a pillow and the television tuned to the cartoon channel. Within about ten minutes the toddler was sound asleep again, leaving Heddy and Lang to do the dishes—something Lang insisted he help with.

  “So tell me about the Hanrahans,” Lang said as they cleared the table. “And how come your last name is Hanrahan? I know the bread bakery all those years ago was Hanrahans Bakery, and that it belonged to your mom’s father, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Which would make your mom’s maiden name Hanrahan.”

  “Right, she’s Kitty—short for Katherine—Hanrahan.”

  “So does the fact that you have her maiden name mean that you didn’t have a dad in the picture?” Lang asked tentatively.

  Heddy laughed. “No, my dad was, and is, in the picture. He’s Jim Craig, happily married to my mom for the last thirty-five years.”

  “Kitty Hanrahan.”

  “Right. My grandfather was an only child so he was all there was to carry on the Hanrahan name. Then he had three daughters. He hated the thought that his name would die with him. My aunts took their husbands’ last names when they married, but for my grandfather’s sake my mom decided to keep Hanrahan even after marrying my dad. Since I have an older brother—who was already carrying on the Craig name, my mom talked my dad into letting me be a Hanrahan, too.”