Daddy by Accident

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Jarrod always was a patsy for a pretty woman."

  Pretty? Is that what he thought of her? Stacy felt her hopes stirring in the ashes where she'd consigned them, only to haul herself up short. She hadn't heard a word from this man in three months. He was just being kind, that was all. Acting like a gentleman, as always.

  "Would you like to sit down?" she asked, gesturing toward the sofa where he'd once slept.

  His gaze made another fast journey around the room before settling on her face again. He was acting as if he were a stranger who'd just stepped into a strange house. And yet, there was something vibrant and strong about him now that hadn't been there the last time she'd seen him.

  "Sure I'm not keeping you from something?"

  "Actually you are. I was just about to clean the oven, so I'd appreciate it if you'd sit and give me an excuse to play hostess."

  Boyd drew the first deep breath he'd been able to manage since he'd walked up the front walk. At least she hadn't kicked him out on his butt.

  "Ladies first," he insisted. His grandmother would be proud of him for remembering his manners when damn near every nerve ending in his body was screaming at him to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

  Instead of sitting next to him as he'd hoped, she chose the wing chair opposite, settling into the elegant cushions with a sensuous grace that sent his hormones racing.

  "You're thin," he said, eyeing the sloppy shirt that had once draped over her belly with very little room to spare.

  "Thinner anyway," she said, laughing. "I still have five more baby pounds to lose."

  "I think you look fine just the way you are." In reality, he thought she looked like an angel. The same angel who'd haunted his dreams night after night for longer than he cared to remember.

  Stacy drew a shaky breath. Now what? she wondered desperately "Did you enjoy your … vacation?"

  "Not particularly, but it was necessary."

  "You needed to get away." It wasn't a question.

  "Yes. Just as I needed to come back."

  "Loose ends," she murmured, conscious of his attention to detail.

  "Something like that."

  Stacy forced a smile. "You'll be happy to hear this particular end is no longer loose," she said with another quick little laugh. "Tory and I are moving to our own place the day after tomorrow, so your timing is darn near perfect." Before he could reply, she hurried on. "And you'll also be happy to know that I'm gainfully employed, financially comfortable, and in the very best of health."

  "I can see that." Boyd realized his hands were sweating and wiped them on this thighs. "Am I allowed to ask how you accomplished all of this in such a short time?"

  A shadow drifted across her face and he tensed. "The employment came as a result of the applications I put in before the end of the school year—with a little help from Mrs. Marsh."

  "Mrs. Marsh?"

  "The principal of Lewis and Clark Elementary. Remember that day in the ER when I asked someone to give her a call?" Without waiting for his response, she added softly, "The money came from Len, indirectly. Survivor's benefits. I'd actually forgotten the policy even existed, and then when I called Len's parents to tell them about Tory, they told me the insurance company had been looking for me."

  She wasn't rich by any means, but she had enough now to repay Boyd and settle her hospital bills, with plenty left over to let her get by with teaching only part-time while Tory was tiny.

  He nodded. "I think that in some part of his mind he was still the man you married. The man who loved you. It might help you to remember that."

  "Yes," she murmured softly, glancing at the photo of Victoria on the small table by the window. "I've promised myself Tory will know only about the loving side of her daddy." Len was there, she thought. In the sparkle of the baby's eyes and in her jet curls. But so was Boyd, although his blood would never flow in Tory's veins.

  "I named her Victoria MacAuley Patterson." Afraid to look at him, she directed her shaky smile at the baby's photo instead. "I hope you don't mind."

  The sudden silence was thick enough to smother dreams. Squaring her shoulders, she shifted her gaze, made herself face him. Utterly still, he was staring at her, his forehead creased in that same familiar line.

  "I can always change it, you know. If you'd rather. It was just a whim, a … spur-of-the-moment thing. Postnatal hormones, I guess."

  He nodded slowly and she noticed he was rubbing his hands back and forth on his thighs again. To keep from strangling her? "And certainly there's no obligation on your part. None whatsoever. I don't want you to ever feel that there is. You've done so much for us already that I don't know how to express my gratitude. Words alone just don't seem enough, and—"

  She saw his big chest heave and his shoulders brace. "Stacy, I—"

  "There you go again," she cried, leaping to her feet. "Telling me not to thank you."

  "Is that what I'm doing?"

  "In your way, yes!" Close to tears, she tried to pull righteous indignation around her like a shield. Instead, she only succeeded in making herself feel more exposed. "It isn't just about money, Boyd, and my paying you back with interest. Can't you understand that?"

  "Stacy, I—"

  She threw up her hand. "Just listen. For once. Just listen to me. Okay?" She hugged her waist, took a fast turn past the stereo, then came back around to face him. "At one of the worst times in my life, you were there for me. A total stranger, and you gave me a hand up when no one else would. But, even more importantly, you gave me the time, and the space I needed, and the support to get my confidence back. How can I put a dollar value on that?"

  He parted his lips as if to speak. She cut him off with another wave of her hand.

  "The answer is, I can't. Never, not in a million years. All I can do is say thank you. But every time I try, you won't listen. And, let me tell you, I'm getting very tired of it."

  He just sat there, staring at her, his expression rather dazed. Stacy took that as a good sign. At least he wasn't cutting her off this time, pretending that what he'd done for her was next to nothing.

  A painful crushing sensation entered her chest. Seemingly from out of nowhere, another stream of words backed up in her throat. Without consciously making the decision, she blurted them out. "If you want to deny you have any feelings, that's fine. We all have to deal with things in our own way, and I understand that. But don't deprive me of the right to express mine, or tell me they're silly or not real when I do try to express them."

  "Stacy, I never meant to do that," he interrupted. "Your feelings matter very much to me. I don't think they're silly, or that they aren't real. If I said or did anything that—"

  "If you said or did anything?" she countered incredulously. "When I told you I loved you, you said I didn't. As if I'm a child who doesn't know her own mind. Well, let me tell you something. I'm not a child. I think I know what I'm feeling and what I'm not, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell me differently."

  He rose, but he didn't come to her. Didn't take her into his arms and say the words she'd always made him say in her daydreams. "I remember my grandmother telling me a gentleman never contradicted a lady—even if she was dead wrong."

  Stacy blinked. Then frowned. "I'm not wrong," she said in a strained, twangy voice. "There, you see? You're doing it again. Telling me—"

  "Actually, in this instance, you're telling me." He took one step, then stopped as though changing his mind about approaching her. "At the risk of setting you off again, let me say that I wasn't going to tell you anything. I was going to ask you."

  "Ask me what?"

  "Ask you if you'd consider changing Victoria's name—"

  "I've already said it was just a whim," she assured him. "A foolish fancy." For good measure she waved her hand again to show it meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.

  Boyd waited until he was sure she was finished reassuring him. When she said nothing more, he took another
cautious step toward her. He could smell her scent, a combination of baby powder, cleaning soap and woman.

  "Nothing about you is foolish, or silly," he said when she locked her gaze on his. "And I happen to like your whims."

  "You do?"

  He saw something leap into her eyes and felt the iron band around his chest ease off a notch. "In fact, on the way here I got to thinking it was a great day for a picnic."

  She looked confused. "But it's going to pour down rain any second now."

  "Is it? Funny, I can only see sunshine."

  Stacy realized she was having trouble breathing. When he came closer, she stopped breathing at all. He didn't touch her, yet his gaze seemed to pour over her, warming her as surely as a caress.

  "Someday, when things calm down, I want to tell you where I've been, what I've been doing," he said, his voice husky.

  "Someday I'd like to hear it," she said.

  "I, uh, was asking you a question, remember?"

  She'd forgotten, but nodded anyway. And then remembered. "About the baby's name."

  "Yes. Well, I'm honored, of course." He paused to swipe his hand through the glossy thickness of his hair again. "But I was wondering … hoping that you might consider changing her name to Victoria Patterson MacAuley."

  Stacy opened her mouth, then shut it. And opened it again when he grinned. "Now that's a first, my Stacy struck speechless."

  He lifted a hand and eased a lock of hair away from her cheek. "I've missed you, honey. Not only in my bed, but in my life."

  "I've missed you, too," she whispered. "Every time I nurse Tory, I think of you." It took her a second to realize what she'd said. And that he could take her words to mean more than she'd intended. "That is—"

  He silenced her by putting two fingers against her lips. "Shh. Let me get this out while I can, though God knows, if I don't kiss you soon, I'm going to explode."

  Stacy felt happiness burst inside her, but she managed to keep her expression calm. "We certainly can't have that."

  Boyd took a deep breath, noticed that wasn't enough, and took another. "I'm no prize, I realize that. I come with a lot of extra baggage I'm trying to work loose, and I have no idea what kind of a future I can make for us." He grabbed more air, then went on. "But I figure between the two of us we can make a go of things."

  Suddenly Stacy was scared. "Because you think we would make a good team?" she asked softly.

  "A great team," he said, and her heart sank.

  "And good parents?"

  "The best—at least one of us." She saw the pulse hammering in his tanned throat and wondered about it.

  "And lovers?" Her voice slid lower and lingered.

  A flame leapt in his eyes. "I'm counting on that."

  There was one question left, one she couldn't bring herself to ask. As though he'd heard her thoughts, he dropped his hand to her shoulder. "Is that it? Can I kiss you now?"

  "Not yet."

  "No?"

  "No. I have a question for you." If she had the nerve to get out the words.

  "Okay, but I warn you I'm not much good at explaining myself."

  Stacy swallowed the lump in her throat. Fear, she thought. Or maybe anticipation. "Did you just ask me to marry you?" She was hedging, but then, she'd never been known for her bravery.

  His eyebrows swooped together. "I thought that was pretty clear." He sighed. "I guess I forgot women need the words."

  "This woman, anyway," Stacy muttered.

  "Okay, here goes. Stacy Patterson, will you marry me?"

  Instead of answering, she merely looked up at him with those beautiful golden eyes that seemed to pull him in and arouse him at the same time. "And have my children? Five or six, I think Madame said."

  She smiled at that, and he started to relax—until he realized she hadn't answered. He felt an icy panic uncoiling in his belly and cursed himself for an idealistic idiot. So she'd said she loved him. Big deal.

  "Damn it, Stacy, you have to marry me."

  That got her attention. "I do? Why?"

  "Because you make me laugh. Because you make me want to live instead of merely exist. Because I'm empty without you." He drew in a deep breath and took the biggest chance of his life. "And because I love you."

  With a little cry she launched herself at him, and he caught her. Around and around he swung her, his lips on hers, and his heart in her small, clever hands.

  When the kiss ended, Stacy was crying and laughing, and his eyes were suspiciously bright. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, I just accepted your proposal."

  Boyd looked down into Stacy's shimmering eyes and felt the tension that always rode him easing away. He was whole again, free of the black nightmares. He would never be alone again, not with this woman standing beside him.

  He cleared his throat and smiled down at her, knowing with a rock-solid certainty that she would hold his happiness in her heart for the rest of his natural life. And maybe even longer. Some things ran so deep and were so much a part of the sunlight that even death couldn't extinguish them. He had a feeling the love he felt for her was one of those things.

  "If you're finally done harassing me, I think I'd like to see my daughter now."

  Stacy heard the love aching in his voice and blinked back tears. She'd let him go, and by some miracle, he'd come back to her. It was almost too wonderful to be real, and yet, in another part of her heart, she knew it couldn't have happened any other way. His past had stolen him from her for a brief time, but his future had brought him full circle, right back into her arms. Because this was where he belonged.

  "We've just been waiting for you to ask."

  * * * * *

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of MOMMY BY SURPRISE, Paula Detmer Riggs's exciting second book in the MATERNITY ROW series.

  Coming in July 1997, only from Silhouette Intimate Moments.

  Mommy By Surprise

  All eyes turned toward the sound of a heavy door banging shut as Case came striding out of the gloom at the rear of the church, still tugging on a suit jacket over the wide expanse of white shirt molding his impressive chest. He moved like a man with a mission, his walk part swagger, part power, the muscles bunching in his thighs with each step he took, drawing the sharply creased cloth of his trouser legs taut.

  Watching him with hungry eyes, Prudy remembered the last time she'd seen him naked. How tempted she'd been to run her fingers through the softly curling chest hair. How fast her heart had beaten when she'd realized the strength he'd been hiding beneath the conservative clothing of a civilized man.

  A part of her ached to feel that hard chest pressed against her breasts, while his arms tightened around her and his mouth came crashing down for a hard possessive kiss.

  "Uncle Case!" Molly's smile was rainbow bright. As bright as Prudy's own had once been at the sight of her handsome husband charging through the door, his arms already reaching for her.

  Prudy sucked in a breath, and waited for the moment she'd dreaded for weeks to be over and done with. To get through this baptism, at which she and Case were standing up as godparents, with some semblance of control was all she wanted. If she could retain at least some of her pride and dignity while she was at it, that would be nice, as well. Surviving this was the main thing on her agenda, though.

  "It'll be okay," she whispered to the baby in her arms, who didn't stir. In spite of his inner toughness and sometimes blunt manner, Case was a gentleman at heart. No matter what kind of resentment he might still harbor against his ex-wife, he wouldn't let that bleed over onto a sacred ceremony. His sense of propriety and decency was nearly as strong as his will.

  Still, she couldn't prevent the sudden fluttering in the pit of her stomach—like hundreds of feather dusters all waving at once. It was the same feeling Case had aroused in her the first time they'd met. She'd been just a few years older than Molly, a brand-new RN who'd moved to Portland to take a job at Portland General. Case had been twenty-seven and gorgeous in his cop's uniform,
with a body honed to a lean toughness by the physical work he'd done to put himself through college and a wickedly sensual gleam in his midnight blue eyes.

  He'd gotten himself cut up on a fence while chasing a fourteen-year-old kid who'd stolen a souped-up Camaro, then, like a jackass, rear-ended Case's patrol car while pretending he could drive.

  Determined to be big-city blasé instead of small-town awed, Prudy had ordered Patrolman Randolph around like a drill sergeant, then giggled when the big tough cop had displayed an endearing terror of needles. She'd fallen in love between the first and second sutures the trauma doctor had stitched into Case's injured shoulder.