MILLION DOLLAR BABY

by Patricia Ryan

  "Hey, are you okay?" he asked. "You look like hell."

  "No, I don't," she claimed indignantly, despite the racking shudders that gripped her.

  "No, you do. What's the matter? You sick?"

  "I might be coming down with a cold," she allowed. "Dean, why are you replacing my roof?"

  "I like to keep busy. You don't look good. Are you sure it's just a cold?"

  "How much did this stuff cost?" she demanded, gesturing toward the stack of shingles.

  "It's a present from me to you."

  "How much did it cost, Dean?"

  "Didn't your mother ever tell you it's not polite to ask the cost of a present?"

  A hoarse little bark of frustration escaped Laura. "Stop this! You shouldn't be doing this!"

  "Tell you what," he said, raising a placating hand. "I'll stop for now so you can get some sleep, but as soon as you feel better—"

  "As soon as I feel better," she croaked, "I'm going to get a restraining order issued that says you can't come within a hundred yards of me or my roof ever again! Or my porch!" Amid another tubercular coughing fit, she turned and stomped into the house.

  "Laura!" Dean called after her. "Laura, you really don't look good. Are you sure it's just a—"

  She slammed the back door behind her, kicked her boots across the kitchen and stalked upstairs, muttering invectives about Dean Kettering all the while. Checking out her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she had to concede that Dean had a point: she did look like hell, with her pallid complexion and fright-wig hair. Splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth so exhausted her that all she could think of as she left the bathroom and padded barefoot to her room was getting back into bed and becoming unconscious as quickly as possible.

  "Hey, Lorelei."

  She squealed when she encountered Dean in the hallway. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

  "I'm worried about you. You don't look good."

  "So you've said. Listen, I told you – I'm fine. It's just a little cold."

  Removing his baseball cap, he closed his hands around her shoulders and touched his lips lightly to her forehead. They felt so cool and soft that she grew dizzy, thinking, Don't stop. Let's stay here, just like this, until I'm better…

  "You've got a fever, a bad one, I think. Have you got a thermometer?" He took her by the hand and led her into her bedroom, leaving his cap on the little table by the door.

  "Yeah, there's one in a glass on the bathroom sink, but I really don't think I'm that sick. I can't be. I've got stuff to do."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, reminding Laura of Kay. "Here, let's get you into bed and see what kind of a temperature you're running. Then we can talk about all that stuff you've got to do."

  Dean untied the sash to her robe, slid it off her and tossed it across the foot of the bed. She instantly started shaking again, whether from her fever or from the intimacy of his partially disrobing her, however innocently, she couldn't say. Pulling back the quilt and top sheet, he urged her to lie down, and raised the covers up to her chin.

  "I'll be right back," he said, leaving the room. He had some folded papers sticking up out of his back jeans pocket, Laura noticed. She heard him in the bathroom; he returned moments later with her digital thermometer. "Open up," he coaxed, sitting on the edge of the bed and slipping the instrument into her mouth.

  He stroked her hair, his gaze taking in the paintings of Janey on the walls, Grandma's beautiful old rolltop desk in the corner, the faded old flowered wallpaper and lace curtains, and finally the high, century-old four-poster bed. She wondered if he was thinking about the last time he'd been in this room, this bed.

  His eyes met hers, and she knew that was exactly what he'd been thinking of.

  Beep.

  He slid the thermometer out of her mouth, frowning at the readout. "One hundred and two point seven. This isn't just some little cold, Laura."

  She groaned when it came to her. "Marie – the clerk at the art supply store in Hale's Point – she told me she wasn't feeling so good, and that everybody in her family was sick in bed with the flu. That was two days ago."

  "Thursday?"

  She nodded.

  "I was in Hale's Point Thursday, too," he said.

  "What for?"

  He hesitated, smiling in a way that almost looked nervous. "I'll tell you later."

  "Dean…"

  "That's it, then," he said, tucking the covers around her as if she were a child. "You've got the flu."

  "You're changing the subject."

  "My newest bad habit, remember? Maybe I should take you to the doctor."

  She shook her head. "It's a virus – there's nothing she can do for me."

  "I guess not," he conceded. "You need something to bring that fever down, though, and lots of fluids, and bed rest. No running around attending to all that stuff you claim you've got to—"

  "Impossible." She shook her head, which only made it throb. "I've got to pick up Janey from Danielle's, then finish making her costume for this play she's in at church tomorrow. And after that—"

  "Whoa, first things first. You've got to pick her up from where?"

  "Her friend Danielle's – she spent the night and I've got to get her at eleven."

  "I'll get her."

  "No. No. Absolutely not."

  Dean closed his eyes briefly. "Laura…"

  "Please, Dean. I was handling things just fine before you came along, with your million-dollar check and your roofing shingles and your sudden resolve to fix up my life. For your information," she said, her voice rustier with every word, "I don't need your help and I don't want your help. My life has been going along just swell without you."

  Bracing his arms on either side of her, Dean leaned in closer, his transparent blue eyes searching hers. "Has it, Lorelei?"

  She closed her eyes, which suddenly stung with heat. "Yes."

  Her breath hitched in her throat when she felt his cool, work-roughened fingertips brushing her forehead, her cheek, her neck.

  "’Cause my life…" he began. "I mean, it's all right, but sometimes I think maybe it's missing something. When I'm lying awake at night, I start thinking about it … I start thinking about you. And I wonder what would have happened if things had been different and—"

  "Laura!" A voice from downstairs – Kay's voice – was accompanied by the slamming of the back door. "You here? I'm going into town. You need anything?"

  Opening her eyes, Laura filled her lungs with air to call out a response, but Dean touched his fingers to her lips and said, "You shouldn't be straining your throat." Over his shoulder, he yelled, "She's up here, Kay. Would you mind bringing up a glass of water and some aspirin?"

  There was a pause. "She hurt?"

  "Sick." Turning back to Laura, he started trailing a hand through her hair, which made her eyes drift shut. "That's right," he murmured. "Just relax. You need to stay in this bed and be waited on hand and foot until you're better." His fingers grazing her scalp transported her into a realm of pure, soothing sensation; she felt as if she were floating. "So, uh … this Danielle, where does she live?"

  Laura opened her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "No, Dean – I told you. I can't have you doing all this stuff for me."

  "Are you saying you're going to go get Janey yourself? With a fever of almost 103 and—"

  "It's only 102.7."

  "—and no car?"

  "Oh." Right. "Kay will do it," Laura said.

  "What will I do?" Kay asked as she strode into the bedroom bearing a tray from Laura's kitchen, which held a pitcher of ice water, a glass, a bottle of aspirin, an orange and a thick slab of the banana nut bread Laura had made yesterday, slathered with butter. "Oh, Laura," she lamented when she came around to the other side of the bed and got a good look at her friend. "Honey, you look like hell."

  "So I've been told." Laura grimaced as she painfully pushed herself into a sitting position, aided by Dean, who piled pillows behind her for her to lean against.


  "She has the flu," Dean stated.

  "I thought you looked a little peaked yesterday." Setting the tray on the night table, Kay pried open the cap on the aspirin bottle. "Down the hatch!" She shook two tablets into Laura's palm and filled the glass with ice water. "So, what are you volunteering me for?" she asked as Laura dutifully swallowed the pills.

  "Someone needs to pick Janey up at Danielle's house at eleven," Laura said, handing the glass back.

  "That's the house where we dropped her off yesterday, right?" Kay asked. "Sure – I'll do it."

  "I told her I would," Dean said, "but she freaks out whenever I try to offer any help."

  "She doesn't know what's good for her." Kay shot Laura a meaningful look. "Lucky for her – and Janey – that she's got sensible friends."

  "Kay…" Laura moaned.

  "Danielle lives in this big red house on the corner of Spencer and Main," Kay told Dean. "You can't miss it."

  Laura sank back into the pillows, muttering, "I hate you both."

  Smiling, Dean brushed stray locks of hair off her face. "Now, what's this about a play at church tomorrow?"

  "I forget," Laura said petulantly.

  "Janey's church school class is putting on a play about Moses for the congregation during the service tomorrow." Picking the orange up off the tray, Kay set about peeling it. "Janey plays the pharaoh's daughter – the one who finds the baby Moses in the basket."

  "Her costume's not done yet," Laura said.

  "It's just the headpiece that still needs work, right?" asked Kay, who had helped Laura design the elaborate Egyptian ensemble. "I can finish it up in ten minutes."

  "Are you sure?" Laura asked.

  Kay grinned. "Have hot glue gun, will travel."

  Laura breathed a sigh of relief. "You're a lifesaver, Kay. Uh … just one other thing. I don't think I'm gonna be up to taking Janey to church tomorrow. I don't suppose you'd be willing to do it?"

  "Oh." Kay frowned at the orange as she stripped off the last of its skin, undoubtedly dismayed at the prospect of having to sit through an entire church service. "Uh … isn't there someone in the congregation who can just, like, pick her up and drop her off?"

  "Well, yeah, but Janey's been so excited about this play, and so eager for me to see it I just thought if I couldn't be there for her, maybe you…" Laura swallowed down her disappointment; beggars couldn't be choosers, and Kay was usually so cheerful about helping out with Janey. "Forget it. It doesn't matter."

  "Sure it does," Dean said. "You're right – one of us should be there for her."

  One of us? Laura thought, both disturbed and touched that he was including himself among the significant adults in Janey's life. He'd known her for barely a week – although it was clear that the child adored him, an affection that appeared to be mutual. Thinking about the instant rapport between Dean and Janey made Laura's head start thudding again. "No, that's all right, Dean. I'll ask Janey's church school teacher to take her."

  He shook his head. "No way. I'm going to take her."

  Laura rolled her eyes. "When's the last time you saw the inside of a church?"

  Dean's expression softened, grew reflective. "Your wedding." He captured her gaze and held it. "It was this little Norman Rockwell-looking church here in Port Liv, on the town square." Softly he said, "You wore daisies in your hair, and this incredible gown that you'd made yourself. It was so simple, and I remember it had two or three layers of this really, really soft, thin material that looked even better when it got a little wrinkled…"

  "Handkerchief linen," Laura murmured raspily.

  He nodded, as if in a trance. "And you wore white ballet slippers, and a gold locket your grandmother gave you, and you carried daisies and black-eyed Susans mixed in with a whole big cloud of those little tiny frothy white flowers."

  "Baby's breath."

  He smiled into her eyes. "You were so beautiful. You blew me away."

  Laura's heart trembled in her chest like a bird.

  Kay broke the spell by clearing her throat. "Cool, so it's all set. Dean will take Janey tomorrow. It's First Presbyterian, Dean, the same church Laura got married in. The service is at ten."

  "But … but Janey's got to get there half an hour early for makeup," Laura said. "Really, Dean, you don't have to do this."

  "I want to." Dean gave her hand a squeeze. "I'll come by for her about a quarter after nine." Rising, he crossed to the door. "I'm going to go outside and clean up my mess before I head out to pick up Janey. Oh … hey, listen. Uh, this guy from Manson's Heating and Cooling might show up while gone. If he does, just ask him to wait till I get—"

  "Whoa, time out!" Laura sat forward, her head not so much throbbing as whirling and spinning. "Why would someone from Manson's Heating and Cooling be coming here?"

  "It's nothing," Dean said, palms raised in a gesture of appeasement. "Just an estimate."

  "For…"

  With a sigh, Dean lifted his baseball cap from the table where he'd left it and snugged it back on. "A furnace and ductwork."

  "What?"

  "All right!" Kay exclaimed. "It's about time!"

  "No!" Laura wailed. "Dean, you are not going to buy me a furnace! Do you hear me? I won't have it!"

  "Since you're already in a frenzy of outrage…" He withdrew the folded papers from his back pocket. "You'd asked me what I was doing in Hale's Point the other day."

  "Whatever it is," Laura said, "I don't want it. I don't want any of it."

  "I'll take it!" Setting the peeled orange on the tray, Kay snatched the papers out of Dean's hand.

  "Don't you see what he's doing?" Laura demanded of her friend.

  "Sure," Kay said, unfolding the papers. "Since you won't take his million dollars, he's spending it on things you need." She scanned the document, cackling with glee. "Or just want a whole lot."

  "What is it?" Laura asked.

  "I'm outta here," Dean said quickly, backing out of the door. As he turned to sprint down the stairs, he called out, "Don't let her get too worked up, Kay. She should be resting!"

  Laura turned to Kay. "Well?"

  Grinning, Kay held the papers toward Laura. "It's the title to Raleigh Hale's boat, the one you've been wanting, the Precision 18."

  "Oh, for crying out loud." Ignoring the papers, Laura slumped back into the pillows. "I can't accept it. I won't accept it."

  Glancing at the title again, Kay said, "It's in your name. It's already yours."

  "I can't believe you're aiding and abetting him!" Laura sputtered.

  "And I can't believe you're trying to burn off this man who, in addition to being majorly hunky and an all around pretty cool guy, just happens to be the father of your child." Breaking a section off the peeled orange, Kay offered it to Laura, who waved it away.

  "I wish you hadn't figured that out," Laura said. "I hope to God Janey never does."

  "She shouldn't have to." Popping the orange section into her own mouth, Kay said around it, "You should just tell her."

  "Yeah, right."

  "Yeah. Right. She deserves to know who her father is. Just like Dean deserves to know he has a daughter. He feels a bond with her, Laura – it's obvious. Don't you feel guilty, not telling him?"

  "God, of course I do! It's eating away at me. But we've been all through this. Dean just isn't father material, and he never will be."

  "Jeez Louise, he's taking her to church tomorrow. How much more paternal can you get?"

  "I'm not saying he can't play the role for kicks, but sooner or later the novelty will wear off and he's going to vanish into thin air. That'll be hard enough on Janey when it happens. Think how much worse it'll be if she knows he's her actual, real, biological father. Plus, can you imagine trying to explain it to her? She assumes Will was her father. If I told her the truth now, she'd never understand why I kept it from her."

  "Of course she would. No one appreciates better than a child how complicated life can get sometimes. They know about sticky situations and hard decisions.
Just say, 'Janey, I've got something to tell you – something pretty huge.' If you explain it right, she'll understand." Kay handed her another wedge of orange.

  This time Laura took it. "You're sounding an awful lot like a shrink again, Ms. I - don't - believe - in - psychology - anymore."

  Kay shrugged as she broke off a slice for herself. "Old habits die hard."

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  "So, how come you decided to make a T-rex?" Dean asked Janey as he helped her reduce today's issue of Newsday into a mountain of six-inch-long strips. "Why not something a little—" he shrugged "—friendlier?"

  "Fwendlier?" Janey cast him a skeptical look from the other side of the three-foot-high chicken wire infrastructure that she would transform today – with a little adult help – into a papier-mâché tyrannosaurus rex for a preschool project that involved making representations of their favorite animals. Spring having finally sprung on Long Wand – today it was downright balmy, more like June than April – they had opted to work outside on the tarp-draped front porch, which Dean had almost completely rebuilt after finishing the roof.

  It was three weeks ago that he had begun work on the roof, only to put that job on hold for several days while Laura got over her killer case of the flu – with some help from Dean, who had, as promised, waited on her hand and foot, in addition to taking care of Janey. To his surprise, he had actually enjoyed the Moses play, and the church service itself had been so unbjectionable that when Janey had asked him to attend Easter services with them last Sunday, he had readily agreed.

  Meanwhile, Laura still fought him tooth and nail over every little favor he did, every purchase he made for her. The furnace and the boat were bad enough, but she'd really gone off the deep end when he'd parked that new maroon Chevy Blazer in her driveway and handed her the key. As far as he knew, she hadn't so much as stuck that key in the ignition, not once.

  Nevertheless, she was clearly getting used to his being here – maybe even warming up to him a little. She used to freeze over when he entered a room. Now, more often than not, she actually smiled at him. And when Janey had asked if he could help with her T-rex, Laura had hesitated only briefly before acquiescing.