The Once and Future Father

by Marie Ferrarella

  Everything was just the way she’d left it.

  Enormously confused, she turned around to look over her shoulder at Dylan. “I thought you said someone broke in.”

  Shutting the door behind him, he walked around Lucy and put down the suitcase just inside the room. He’d leave its final destination up to her. The infant seat he placed on the coffee table.

  “They did.”

  He’d said the place had been ransacked. Didn’t that mean that things had been tossed around, left in utter disarray? Burglars didn’t neaten up after themselves. What was going on here?

  “But it doesn’t look like it,” she insisted. It wasn’t like Dylan to try to scare her. Why had he said what he’d said?

  He shrugged, feeling awkward. Why couldn’t she be more like a man and just let things ride? Accept things in stride. Why did she force him to admit things? “I kind of fixed things up.”

  Elena started to fuss. Lucy began rocking her slightly as she continued to stare at him. “You?” She couldn’t picture him picking up anything.

  “After the forensics team left.” He was beginning to regret having done anything. He shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I figured you had enough on your mind without coming home to a place that looked as if it had been struck by a tornado.”

  A sweetness filtered in, wedging aside the iron bars of her resolve the way nothing else could have. He’d gone out of his way, done something that was entirely alien to his frame of reference. For her.

  She just stood there, staring at him. Waiting for it to make sense. “So you cleaned up.”

  “Something like that.”

  Lucy sighed, shaking her head. It was beginning to ache. “You know, you never really cease to amaze me. I just can’t figure you out.”

  His eyes met hers. He refused to read what was within them. That way lay only trouble. “Maybe you shouldn’t try.”

  The laugh was short, but not completely devoid of humor. “What, and give up a lifelong challenge?” Lucy faced him squarely, making a promise only half in jest. “Someday, Dylan, I do intend to have your number.”

  The way he figured it, she already did, she just didn’t know it. And he meant to keep it that way. For both their sakes. It was the only way.

  He’d forgotten how hard it was to really block her from his mind, how to keep little things from seeping in. Like the way one side of her mouth rose just a little higher than the other when she smiled at him. Half-cocky, half-shy—and all Lucy.

  He remembered that now, remembered how there were so many ways she could get to him. As many ways as there were moments in a day. The recollection didn’t make him happy. It made life too difficult for him.

  And life was about to get even more difficult after he told her what he had to say, but there was no putting it off.

  “I’m going to be staying here tonight.” And probably several more nights to come, he added silently, but he figured that was a little too much to lay on her now. And maybe too much to hear himself say as well. He needed to adjust, to get accustomed to the idea of being around her and not having it affect him.

  Good luck, fella, he thought sarcastically.

  Lucy was positive she couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

  She looked, he thought, as if he’d just told her she had to spend the night with three of the FBI’s top-ten most-wanted criminals. It bothered him even though he knew he should have been relieved. As long as she harbored ill feelings, there was no chance of anything renewing between them.

  “The department’s shorthanded and we can’t spare too many people. The guy out front guarding the house right now is an off-duty detective who owes me a favor. We’ve got a lot of personnel tied up with other things, so I figured that I’d put my time in when I go off duty.”

  It was almost as if the baby could feel her agitation filtering through to her. Elena’s fussing was taking on insistent proportions. Lucy began stroking the downy black hair on the infant’s head. But her eyes were on Dylan.

  “This isn’t necessary.”

  “Yes,” he told her firmly, “it is.” This wasn’t negotiable. “Someone broke in here looking for something. I’ve got a hunch they didn’t find it. If they didn’t, they might be back.”

  It was a chilling thought. But even more chilling was the idea of spending the night under the same roof with Dylan. She’d always thought of herself as a strong woman, but strength could only be stretched so far, tested so much, before it snapped and failed. Lucy raised her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

  His eyes lowered to look at Elena. His implication was clear. “And the baby?”

  He was right and she should be grateful for his concern instead of fighting him. They’d had a past, but that’s just what it was, the past. In the past. She had to get over any residual feelings and move on.

  It wasn’t going to be easy.

  Lucy bit back a sigh. So who said life was supposed to be easy?

  “All right.” Her voice was stiff, almost formal. “Thank you.”

  She sounded like a stranger, he thought. It was probably better that way. No, there was no “probably” about it, Dylan amended silently. It was far better if they both pretended they were strangers.

  “I’ll be back when my shift is up.” He was already heading toward the door before he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “Want me to pick up anything on the way back?”

  Lucy pressed her lips together. The question had all the feel of a domestic situation, as if they were playing house together. But they weren’t and they wouldn’t. The sooner she convinced herself of that, the better for all concerned, including her baby. Dylan had made it perfectly clear when he’d left her all those long months ago that he was not in it for the long haul, that he could never be in any relationship for the long haul, and that was the end of it.

  There was no sense in her hoping for anything else. She wasn’t a fool.

  “No.” She forced out the word as brightly as she could. “Unless they robbed the refrigerator, I think I have everything I need.”

  He nodded. “Get some rest. If you need anything, the detective’s name outside is Reed.”

  Her mouth quirked. “What’s his name inside?”

  “What?”

  She waved it away. “Never mind. Poor joke. Is Reed his first or last name?”

  Only she would ask that. She’d always seemed bent on knowing everyone in the world on a first-name basis, while he had always wanted to hold everyone at arm’s length. With her his arms hadn’t been nearly long enough.

  “Last.” Dylan paused, knowing what she was waiting for. “His first name’s Cameron.” Pulling open the door, he turned to give her one last instruction. “Don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know.”

  An amused smile moved along her lips. She supposed, in his own way, he did care. Or maybe that was just the cop in him. “Yes, sir. And Dylan?”

  Braced, he had no idea what was coming next. “Yes?” He watched as her pleasant smile turned almost beatific.

  “Thank you.”

  Each time she thanked him, he felt more like a heel. And more convinced than ever that he had done the right thing. For her. “Yeah.”

  Lucy remained rooted to the spot, looking at the door he closed after himself as he left. Same old Dylan. The baby began to suck on her blouse, creating a spreading damp spot in its wake. Drawing it out of her mouth, Lucy looked down at the tiny, protesting face.

  “So, what do you think of him so far?” The response came as Elena began to cry in earnest now. Lucy cuddled the baby to her. “Yes, he can have that effect on you.” She retreated to her bedroom.

  It was time to feed her baby. Hers and Dylan’s.

  When Dylan returned from his shift, a shift that had been as unproductive as the others had been, several hours had gone by. The make of the car parked across the street from Lucy’s house had changed. The sight of it pulled him up short.

  It took Dylan a minute to place it. Kane
Madigan’s minivan.

  The way the man’s family was increasing, Dylan could readily see the need for one. What was more difficult to reconcile was that it was Kane who’d needed it. Kane, who had been such a loner. It was beginning to feel as if everyone with the Bedford Detective squad was a family man. Dylan was probably the last holdout.

  That was the way he felt sometimes, like a holdout. Knowingly barricading himself away from happiness and a rich, full life. At least far richer than the one he had now.

  But that rich, full life was only available to him in his dreams. Reality was different. Reality had husbands beating their wives and locking their children in dark closets, threatening to strip the skin from their bodies and beat them raw if they so much as whimpered. That was the sort of reality, the sort of heritage he had to deal with. It wasn’t one he intended to pass on.

  Dylan could have sworn he saw a grin on Kane’s face when their eyes met. The other man gave him a two-fingered salute and started up his vehicle. The grin was no doubt directed his way because of the flowers he was carrying. Carnations. Pink ones.

  Self-consciousness washed over him and he squelched the desire to hide the bouquet behind his back. Too late for that, anyway.

  He threw a careless half shrug in Kane’s direction. The detective wasn’t looking his way any longer. He was apparently anxious to get home.

  Dylan couldn’t help wondering how that felt.

  He knocked rather than opened the door the way he had the last two times. He didn’t want to startle Lucy. But when she didn’t come to answer the door within a couple of minutes, impatience and concern had Dylan resorting to his previous method of entry.

  Tucking the bouquet under his arm, he almost had the door unlocked with his skeleton key when it was suddenly opened from inside.

  “Sorry, I was just putting the baby—”

  Lucy stopped abruptly as she saw the half-squashed flowers under his arm.

  Annoyed, Dylan strode in. “Why didn’t you ask who it was?” Didn’t she know any better than to just unlock the door that way?

  He was snapping at her again. It made her think of a tethered animal, snapping at passersby to keep them away. “Because I knew that if you were somebody dangerous, Kane would have stopped you by now.”

  He hadn’t mentioned to her who would be relieving Reed. “You know Madigan?”

  She nodded, wondering how long he was going to keep the flowers tucked under his arm. “He introduced himself when I went out to bring him coffee.”

  She’d brought the man coffee. Dylan scowled at her. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  She did her best to ignore the fact that he was behaving like a wounded bear. “Hard to rest when I know I’m under surveillance.”

  She’d done something to her hair, he thought. Tied it on her head in a jaunty fashion that had curls cascading haphazardly around her face. Making his fingers itch to pull the pins out just to see it fall again. He tried to keep his mind on what he was saying.

  “You’re not under surveillance, you’re just being looked after.”

  “Whatever you say.” Her eyes strayed from his face to the flowers getting progressively flatter under his arm. “Are those for me?”

  Dylan’s eyebrows narrowed. Now, what was she talking about? “What?”

  “The flowers you’re pressing against your side.” She nodded at them. “You know,” Lucy deadpanned, “you’d probably have more luck doing that if you dried them out first.”

  Remembering, Dylan felt like a fool. “Oh, yeah. These are for you.” Clutching at the stems, wishing he hadn’t bothered to bring the flowers in the first place, he shook them a little, as if they were crumpled-up clothes whose wrinkles needed to be shaken out. A few petals rained down on the rug like plump pink drops.

  She took them, feeling the strange sting of tears starting. “You remembered.”

  He felt as if he were under a microscope. To his recollection, she was the only human being who’d ever been able to make him feel that way. Usually, he just moved through life without thought to his actions or the repercussions they had. He certainly never felt awkward about it.

  “Pink’s not a hard color to remember. I thought maybe, under the circumstances, you might need a little welcome-home present.”

  Taking the flowers, she brought them into the kitchen. There was a vase in one of the lower cabinets. When pressed into service, it usually housed flowers that she bought herself.

  “Your cleaning up the place did that.” He’d done his best, but a closer survey had shown her that he hadn’t been able to restore everything to its proper place the way she first thought. “By the way, it’s usually easier if the kitchen towels are in the kitchen instead of the linen closet.”

  He couldn’t really tell the difference between towels that belonged in the kitchen and those that belonged in the bathroom. “I don’t have any towels in the kitchen.”

  That’s right, she recalled. Dylan used paper towels. Keeping everything as disposable as possible in his life.

  Filling the vase, she turned to look at him. “Yes, I remember.”

  For a second, she buried her face in the bouquet and inhaled deeply. Her gratitude was in her eyes when she raised them to his. But along with the gratitude was confusion.

  “Dylan, I just don’t know what to make of you.”

  “Then don’t try.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “How’s the baby?”

  She carried the vase to the dining room and placed it on the table. The whole room brightened. Or was that her smile? He wasn’t sure.

  “Sleeping like one, from the sound of it.” She’d just put Elena down and was hoping for a couple of hours of respite. “Are you hungry?”

  Yes, he was hungry, hungry for things he couldn’t have, hungry for things that weren’t meant for him. His mistake was in allowing himself to sample them once and temporarily lose his grip on reality. Dylan deliberately kept his distance from her.

  “I ate something at the stakeout.”

  She cocked her head, amused. His answer had a familiar ring to it. “What?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  As she recalled, Dylan rarely remembered what he ate. That made his build that much more remarkable. “I thought as much. C’mon, I’ve got a pot roast ready. You can invite Kane in for some, too.”

  He found himself following her like a stray puppy, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground. The less that was exchanged between them, except for information pertaining to Ritchie, the better.

  “Kane’s gone home.”

  “Good, that’s where he belongs.” She opened the lower oven door and began to ease the roast from the rung. “He has a nice family.”

  Dylan elbowed her aside, taking the pot holders from her. She wasn’t supposed to lift anything heavy. Even he knew that. What made her so damn stubborn? “How would you…?”

  She indicated the counter, then moved the carving board beside the roast. Knowing better than to argue with him, she surrendered the large serving fork and waited until he lifted the roast from the pot and placed it on the board. “He showed me pictures.”

  Never the gregarious type, Kane had gotten noticeably friendlier since his marriage. Still, the man had had a reputation as being almost a loner.

  “You’re kidding.”

  But even as he commented, Dylan understood why Kane would have shown her photographs of his family. Outside of normal pride that would have prompted the display, there was the fact that Lucy was the type of woman people broke rules for. The type of woman people wanted to be close to. It was a little like sidling up to sunshine in human form. She had that way about her.

  Without knowing she’d done it, she’d caused Dylan to bend a few rules himself. Rules he had once believed were cast in iron. Rules meant to preserve him as well as her. It had taken almost superhuman effort for him to adhere to them again once that initial discovery had been made.

  But he knew what would happen if he thumbed his no
se at them. Or pretended they no longer applied.

  With an expert hand, she began to carve slices from the roast. “No, I’m not kidding. He wanted to show me his family. His wife is a knockout and those girls of his are adorable. He’s hoping for a son, though, this time.”

  Dylan felt his jaw slacken. “This time? You mean she’s…?”

  He could only shake his head. Lucy’s talents were wasted at her present job. The department would do well to have her carry on interrogations for them.

  The unspoken word was understood. Placing two more slices on top of the two she’d already put on his plate, Lucy nodded.

  “Just. They couldn’t be happier.” Unlike the way you would have been if I’d told you, she thought. She surrounded the slices with potatoes and carrots. Lucy moved his dish toward him. “C’mon,” she coaxed, “the pot roast is getting cold.”

  Dylan looked down at the plate before him. It had been a long time since he’d faced a regular meal. “You did all this?”

  “Putting a round piece of meat into a pot with a few vegetables isn’t exactly equal to a seven-course dinner for twelve,” she pointed out. Taking her own plate, she led the way into the dining room. She sat down at one end, leaving the other for him. The flowers were between them. “Besides, Sheila said I have to keep my strength up for the baby’s sake.”

  He sat down at the other end. “Sheila?”

  “My doctor.”

  “Right. And she is—right,” he repeated. Taking refuge in eating, he managed several bites before stopping.

  Lucy raised her eyes to his. He wasn’t eating. “Something wrong?”

  Everything was wrong, he thought, and it had been ever since he’d heard Alexander say Ritchie’s name. If Alexander and Hathaway had taken their discussion elsewhere, or if he’d been out just then, none of this would be going on.

  But it was, and there were responsibilities to face, no matter how unpleasant. “The funeral’s tomorrow.”

  Her appetite, not strong to begin with, disappeared entirely. She sat staring at her food. “I know.”

  She shouldn’t have to go through this so soon after having a baby, he thought. “I don’t think that you—”