Читать книгу: «The World's Best Dad»
She’d wanted him to kiss her
Her heart picked up a beat as she remembered the feeling of Ben’s arms around her, his mouth poised a hairbreadth away from hers. It had been irresistible, the pull of his lips.
Thank goodness her daughter hadn’t seen them kissing. She already saw Ben as a possible father—what would she have thought if she’d seen Julie in his arms?
She had to resist Ben. She had to think of her child. The girl needed a father and stability. If a relationship between Julie and Ben didn’t work out, Marisa would be devastated.
And yet…Julie looked back at Ben’s house. She could see him through the window. No matter what sense her mind tried to speak, there was no fooling her body. It was no longer deniable: She wanted Ben.
Dear Reader,
February is a month made for romance, and here at Harlequin American Romance we invite you to be our Valentine!
Every month, we bring you four reasons to celebrate romance, and beloved author Muriel Jensen has reasons of her own—Four Reasons for Fatherhood, to be precise. Join former workaholic Aaron Bradley as he learns about parenthood—and love—from four feisty youngsters and one determined lady in the finale to our exciting miniseries THE DADDY CLUB.
Some men just have a way with women, and our next two heroes are no exception. In Pamela Bauer’s Corporate Cowboy, when Austin Bennett hits his head and loses his memory, Kacy Judd better watch out—because her formerly arrogant boss is suddenly the most irresistible man in town! And in Married by Midnight by Mollie Molay, Maxwell Taylor has more charm than even he suspects—he goes to a wedding one day, and wakes up married the next!
And if you’re wondering HOW TO MARRY…The World’s Best Dad, look no farther than Valerie Taylor’s heartwarming tale. Julie Miles may not follow her own advice, but she’s got gorgeous Ben Harbison’s attention anyway!
We hope you enjoy every romantic minute of our four wonderful stories.
Warm wishes,
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
How to Marry…
The World’s Best Dad
Valerie Taylor
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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To my father,
Gordon,
who truly was the world’s best.
Thanks, Dad.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Valerie Taylor lives in Cincinnati with her husband (the world’s second-best daddy) and two young children. In her spare time she reads parenting how-to books and feels inadequate.
Write to her at P.O. Box 42-8825, Cincinnati, OH 45242.
Books by Valerie Taylor
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
676—THE MOMMY SCHOOL
816—THE WORLD’S BEST DAD
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
“Decision’s up to you. Motherhood or your job.”
Julie Miles pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it in disgust. Was her boss listening to himself? If the choice was her child or her job, of course, she’d choose Marisa. Ed had kids of his own—why couldn’t he understand that?
Then again, he had a spouse to deal with the kids so he could work.
Maybe that’s what she needed, a spouse.
She took a deep, calming breath and put the phone back to her ear. “Ed, of course, my job is important to me.” For one thing, if she didn’t have a job, how would she and Marisa live? “But you know things are a little crazy for me right now. I’ve been a mom for exactly—” she checked her watch “—forty-three hours and ten minutes. And I’ve been a home owner for less than twenty-four hours. Cut me a break, will you?”
“I’ve already given you break after break these past couple weeks,” Ed grumbled. “Phillipa Grange keeps calling, and I know nothing about that stupid program of hers. And you know I’ve got the brass coming in next week. And here you are, getting on the mommy track. Ridiculous, a twenty-five-year-old with no husband adopting a preschooler.”
Ed wasn’t really a complete jerk, Julie told herself. He was just playing one on the phone.
“Not to mention you leaving me in the lurch with Cincinnati Eagle.”
Aha. The real agenda, finally. One of his biggest clients coming in for a presentation later in the week and Ed had no idea how to put the presentation together. He was going to look exceedingly stupid on Friday if something didn’t fall his way.
Well, this week, it was his problem. This week, she was a mom. For a moment, she allowed the pure delight of that to distract her from dealing with her boss. She was a mom. She smiled to herself.
“Julie? Are you still there?”
Back to the problem at hand. “Ed, go look in my files under Frequent Flyer Programs. You’ll find dozens similar to what Cinci Eagle wants. Make some changes so it looks like you were listening when they told us what they wanted, and give the project to Carla. Believe me, she can do everything I can do.”
He grumbled some more, but he let her off the phone. Just in time, too, because the movers were coming up the walk with her box spring. In the rain. As she watched, they walked through the muddy flower bed—well, weed bed, really—scraped the box spring across the porch railing, and just managed to avoid stepping on the plastic runner they’d spread out to protect her living room carpeting.
Not that she liked the stained mauve carpet, but a coating of mud was not the answer.
Mrs. Malloy, Julie’s enormously fat tiger-striped cat, lumbered into the living room carrying the carcass of yet another of the mice she was helpfully hunting in the basement. She deposited it on the living room window seat next to the others. She seemed to be arranging them by size. Julie suppressed a shudder and tried not to think about it.
The burliest of the three movers nodded at her, the wet box spring balanced in his muddy arms. “Where to, lady?”
“Master bedroom, please. Upstairs.” They turned and manhandled the box spring upstairs, knocking hard into a railing as they negotiated the turn in the stairs. Julie reached over to check it. Yep, loose. Of course, it had probably been loose before. Everything in the house was either loose or painted shut. Her new home was a handyman’s special.
Unfortunately, Julie barely knew which was the business end of a screwdriver. She made a note to herself to find a book on home repairs.
“Julie? Where’s my stuff?” Marisa—the reason for all of this, for everything Julie had done in the past month—hesitated slightly at the top of the stairs before starting down, as if she weren’t sure what she was doing was okay. The five-year-old had been bounced from foster home to her mother and back again for the past four and a half years. But now she finally had a forever family: Julie.
Marisa blushed. “I mean, Mom.” She looked down, and Julie felt the little girl’s embarrassment. “Sorry, I forgot,” she said on the barest whisper.
Julie squatted next to her. “Marisa, it’s okay if you forget. It’s hard to remember at first. I keep forgetting, too. Then I remember—I have a daughter!” She smiled in delight and Marisa smiled back. Julie pulled her into a big hug. The too-skinny little body stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Marisa wasn’t quite ready to hug back, but in the days since the adoption papers had been signed, she’d been getting more comfortable. Julie knew Marisa still didn’t quite believe it was for real, but the hope, heartbreaking in its fragility, was always in her eyes.
Marisa pulled away slightly, looking over Julie’s shoulder into the living room, and Julie let her go. Her eyes widened, and her lips drew back in distaste. “Mom! What’s that?”
Julie turned around. Mrs. Malloy’s mice, that’s what that was. “Oh, that’s just a mess I’m getting ready to clean up. Don’t look, honey.” She hurried into the kitchen to find some paper towels and an empty grocery sack.
When she returned, Marisa was leaning over the window seat. “Gross!”
Julie turned her away from the sight. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m going to take care of it.”
“Mary wouldn’t take care of it. Mary would make George take care of it.” Mary and George had been Marisa’s most recent foster parents. “Mary says daddies do that.”
“Well, in this house, I do that.” Brave words, but the familiar anxiety hit Julie in the pit of her stomach anyway. It seemed as if every time she turned around there was yet another message that kids needed both a mother and a father.
When Marisa didn’t appear to be convinced by Julie’s words, Julie patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. “Honey, if daddies can do it, so can mommies.” That was what Julie kept telling herself, anyway. It didn’t stop her stomach from rebelling as she picked up the dead mice and dropped them into the sack.
After Julie had disposed of the bodies, Marisa apparently remembered her original errand. “Mom, my stuff isn’t here!” She looked up into Julie’s eyes anxiously. Her “stuff”—the pitifully little amount that there was—was in two cardboard boxes in Julie’s car.
“That’s okay, I know where it is. It’s in my car, safe and dry.”
Marisa screwed her face into a doubtful frown.
Julie smiled, resigned to getting wet. “Okay, let’s go get it.” She stood and took Marisa’s hand, and they walked out onto the porch. “Ready?” Marisa nodded. “Okay, let’s go!” Still holding hands, they ran out into the downpour and across the front yard to the car.
Julie yanked open the hatchback of her elderly navy-blue Saab and dragged out a cardboard carton. “Here, you take this one, I’ll get the big one.” She grabbed the other carton and balanced it on her hip while she jerked the hatchback shut. The two of them hurried back through the rain to the porch, laughing as they got drenched.
They carried the boxes upstairs to Marisa’s room. Marisa dived into the first to check her most treasured possessions, her battered, much-read books. Julie smiled at her intensity. It was one of the things she’d loved first about Marisa. For a moment, before getting back to work, Julie simply watched and enjoyed her daughter.
Wringing water from her brown hair, Julie trotted back down the stairs and into the living room just as her friend Carla Hartshorn came through the front door, her own short blond curls dripping. The two of them probably looked worse than Mrs. Malloy’s mice.
Julie raised her eyebrows. “Ed let you leave? I just got off the phone with him, and he was panicking.”
Carla grinned. “I’m on my lunch hour.”
“At four in the afternoon?”
“I didn’t get lunch earlier, due to him freaking out. Good idea of yours, having him go through an old presentation and mark it up. That’ll keep him busy all night.”
“Yeah, but it’ll leave you with the cleanup tomorrow.”
Carla shrugged her dainty shoulders. “I know what you wanted for Cinci Eagle, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Now, what can I do to help?”
Julie gave her a grateful look. “Bless you, my child. You can call the plumber and find out why he still isn’t here even though we had a nine-o’clock appointment and every time I call they say we’re the next stop. And you can call Cincinnati Power & Light and find out why we still don’t have electricity even though they were supposed to turn it on this morning.” She handed Carla her cell phone and the list of calls she’d made. “And Cincinnati Telephone, too, while you’re at it, to find out why the phone hasn’t been turned on. All these cell calls are going to break me.”
Carla clicked the phone. “No, they won’t.”
Julie shot her a questioning glance.
Carla held up the phone. “Battery’s dead.”
Wonderful.
BEN HARBISON TURNED from his four-year-old son in the bathtub to grab the portable phone on the sink behind him. “Hello?”
“Ben?”
He sighed to himself. Maggie. A nice woman, a wonderful grandmother, but she’d been trying to run his life and Joe’s ever since Rose died two years ago. “Hi, Maggie. What’s up?”
“Ben, I’m concerned about Joey.”
No surprise. Maggie was always concerned about Joey. Ben glanced at his son. “Just a minute, Maggie.” He covered the mouthpiece for a moment. “No splashing, understand?”
Joe frowned. “Cats don’t splash. Cats don’t like water.”
A cat. Well, a cat was better than a rabbit, which Joe had been for three carrot-filled days last month. Ben had worried the kid would turn orange.
“Excellent!” Ben handed his son the washcloth. “You can give yourself a nice cat-bath with this cat-tongue.”
Ben stepped out into the hall so Joe wouldn’t hear the conversation. Lately, his conversations with Maggie were never good and were getting worse, instead of better. Joe didn’t need to hear an argument between the two most important people in his world. “Okay, I’m back. Now, what about Joe?”
“I don’t like that day-care center he goes to.”
Ben bit his tongue and paced down the hall to keep from replying sharply. “Maggie, it’s a preschool. And he’s very happy there, and it’s only ten minutes from the job site.”
She hesitated a moment. “I think he’d be better off here with me.”
Why were they wasting time on this argument again? Ben tried to control his irritation. Pacing back down the hall and into his bedroom, he gave her the same answer he’d given her last time she’d suggested she watch Joe during the day. “That’s impossible. You’re an hour away, and I can’t see how spending two hours each day in the car is good for Joe.”
Much less the four hours Ben would spend driving Joe back and forth. But he knew better than to bring up that. “Maggie, we’ve been through this before, several times—”
She broke in, hurrying to get the words said. “I mean, during the week. He could stay here with me.”
He almost laughed. “Stay with you? You mean overnight?”
Her voice took on new resolution. “I think we should talk about Joey living here with me during the week. He could go to preschool here, a couple mornings a week instead of all day every day.” Maggie started to talk faster. “You could come get him on Friday nights, and bring him back Sunday nights. Or even Monday mornings. That way you’d only have to take time out of your workday once each week.”
Ben was speechless.
“Don’t you think that’s a much better idea than driving back and forth?” Her voice turned wheedling. “And think how much more freedom you’d have during the week.”
He gritted his teeth. She’d always thought that was the real issue with Ben. His own convenience. For a moment, resentment flared. Did she really think he liked having Joe in preschool nine hours a day? Carefully he tamped down on his emotions before he lost his temper.
She continued. “And this way he wouldn’t have to spend such a long time in day care each day. And I don’t mind a bit—you know how Joey and I get along.”
“Joe.”
“Pardon?”
“Joe. He hates being called Joey.” Ben took a breath. “Maggie, you can’t possibly have thought this idea would fly with me. I appreciate your offer, but of course I want Joe here with me.”
He could almost hear her stiffening. “Perhaps what you want and what is best for Joey are two different things.”
There it was. That’s what it always came down to. Ben’s selfishness. He felt guilty and anxious enough about Joe’s preschool schedule. He didn’t need Maggie adding to it with advice and suggestions that tore him up inside.
“I’m his father. I know what’s best for him.” He took a breath to calm himself and made a conscious effort to lower the tone of his voice. “Maggie, you know I’ve always loved and respected you. I understand you think Joe needs something different than I’m giving him. I respect your opinion, but I think you’re wrong. I understand you’re saying these things out of love for Joe. But I can’t put this any other way—back off.”
She gasped, probably at the dead-serious tone of his voice as much as the words themselves, and he felt another stab of guilt for hurting her. Then she gave an offended huff. “I am the child’s grandparent. The only living representative of his mother’s family. I have a responsibility to make sure he is being cared for properly.”
“Then I can assure you, Joe is being very well cared for. Unless you think I’m incapable of doing a good job, you’re just going to have to accept that.” He took another deep breath and tried a warmer tone. “Look, I know you only want what’s best for Joe. That’s the same thing I want. Trust me. You must know I’m doing my level best here. Do you believe that?” He paused, waiting for her response.
“Of course, Ben.” Her voice sounded muffled, flat.
“And if you believe I’m doing my best, can’t you give me enough credit to believe my best is good enough?” He hated the hint of pleading he heard in his own voice, the implication that he didn’t believe it himself.
She sighed, sounding resigned for now. “I believe you believe it.”
He shook his head. There was no winning. “Maggie, listen, I have to go. Joe’s in the tub, and it’s way too quiet in there.” At her disapproving gasp, he closed his eyes in disgust at his own stupidity. Why had he told her Joe was unsupervised in the tub?
He knew he’d never manage to keep his tongue through one more lecture on parenting practices. “Look, Maggie, we’ll talk more later.” He hung up before she could protest.
He hadn’t heard the end of it, but at least it was the end for tonight. Maybe next time he talked to her he’d have more patience.
He headed back toward the bathroom, deliberately willing himself to calm down before he walked in on his son. Joe didn’t deserve the remnants of Ben’s irritation with Maggie.
He looked at his watch. Only four o’clock, but after a full day on the site and only a half hour with his son, he was beat. Maybe he could get Joe down to bed early tonight.
He’d get Joe bathed and fed and played with and read to and put to bed and put to bed again and put to bed sternly and put to bed with dire threats. Then Ben could start mentally recharging himself for the next day. When had he gotten so old?
He stepped into the bathroom.
No Joe.
JULIE STOOD STARING at the dead phone stupidly.
In the open doorway, one of the movers grunted as all three tried to maneuver her wet living room couch through the opening.
Mrs. Malloy walked past her and into the living room with yet another body for her collection.
Julie felt like throwing the dead cell phone on the floor and stomping on it. With an effort, she controlled herself. She was a mom now, she had to be mature. All the parenting books emphasized the importance of the role model she played for her daughter. Especially since she was the female parent. Especially since she was the only parent. She had to be practically perfect. The knowledge settled like a familiar weight on her shoulders.
She took a deep breath to calm herself. It didn’t really work but she did manage to keep from doing violence to the phone.
She peered out the dining room window at the house next door. Maybe the neighbor had a cordless. Or even a phone with a long cord. There was only a slim strip of driveway between the two houses—the two identical tiny bungalows had obviously been shoehorned in on what had originally been a single lot long after the rest of the neighborhood had already been built.
Fine, she’d go meet her new neighbor.
She called up the stairs. “Marisa? I’m going next door for a minute. Carla’s here.”
“Take me with you!” Marisa ran from her bedroom into the small hall at the top of the stairs. Her nervous glance shot to Carla and back to Julie. Carla gave Marisa an encouraging smile, but Marisa was having none of it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Carla. She just couldn’t seem to let Julie out of her sight.
Julie looked out the door as the movers tried again with the couch. “But it’s raining, honey.”
Marisa ran down the stairs. “That’s okay.”
Julie shrugged at Carla. “Okay, we’ll both get wet.”
Carla was watching Marisa. “Can I come, too?”
Marisa nodded, and Carla mouthed “progress” at Julie.
Julie laughed. “I think you’re both nuts. But, okay, we’ll all three get wet.”
The movers set the couch down half in, half out of the living room door. “Lady, I think this door is going to have to come off.”
Of course it was. Julie gave them a resigned nod.
Carla looked at her with a wide-eyed gaze. “For free? Boy, are you lucky! Is this place ever going to be nice and aired out! No better smell than a nice spring rain, I always say.”
Julie gave a helpless laugh. What would she do without Carla? Feeling quite lucky, indeed, Julie led Carla and Marisa out the back door.
It was dim under the overhang of the awning, the early March sun already setting behind the rain clouds.
“Should we just run over to their back door? It’s closer.” Carla nodded across the yard.
“Yeah, but I hate to introduce myself that way. Let’s go around to the front like civilized people. It’s not much farther, and we’re going to be wet anyway.”
She held out her hand to Marisa, but before the three of them could dash out into the drizzle, the back door of the neighboring house swung open, and a naked child streaked across the two small backyards to Julie’s sandbox.
Into which he promptly peed.
Chapter Two
“Oh, my,” Carla said.
Next door, the back door swung open again, and out ran a tallish man with short dark hair wearing jeans and pulling a faded T-shirt over his head.
“Oh, my,” Carla said.
The man stopped and scanned the yards. “Joe?” His gaze lit on the boy. “Joe! No!”
He sprinted across the yard and grabbed the child, lifting him off the ground and onto his hip. He shook his head. “Joe! What in the world are you doing?”
“I’m a cat! I need to use the litter box!” The boy struggled within the man’s bare arms. The man had no trouble maintaining his grasp, but the muscles in his shoulders shifted with the child’s movements, straining just enough to bring them into sharper focus. The misting rain added a sheen to his tan, and Julie found herself staring.
He looked up at that moment, to where Julie stood under the tattered awning. She blushed, though she doubted he could have noticed more than that she was watching him with the struggling child, who by now was shrieking in frustrated protest.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He pulled the shirt back over his head and dropped it over that of the child, walked the few steps from the sandbox and ducked under the awning. He set the boy down, but he kept a firm grasp on the child’s wrist. “My son. He’s a cat, you know. Last week he was a turtle. Apparently turtles can use toilets.” He looked from her to Carla to Marisa, who was staring at Joe with her mouth open, and gave Julie an amused grin. “Ben Harbison.”
“Julie Miles.” She held out her hand.
He took it, enveloping it in his own large one. His palm felt warm and slightly rough on hers, a little damp from the rain, and she was suddenly very aware of his nearness, as if his presence was somehow more profound than normal.
His eyes met her own, and she felt a jolt of recognition, two adults sharing the knowledge that each found the other attractive. She bit back a smile. “And this is my daughter, Marisa.” She and Marisa grinned at each other, enjoying the word.
He leaned down to offer his hand to Marisa, who transferred her rapt attention from Joe to Ben. She smiled in delight. “Are you a daddy?”
Julie suppressed a sigh of anxiety. Clearing her throat, she nodded at Carla. “And, ah, this is my friend, Carla Hartshorn.”
Carla grinned at him, all teeth, and Julie stiffened in anticipation of something embarrassing. Carla didn’t disappoint. “So, you and your wife been in this neighborhood very long?”
Julie fought the urge to close her eyes in mortification. Leave it to Carla to go straight for the marital status.
His smile twitched as he reached for Carla’s hand, his expression acute but good-natured. Julie could see in his face that he understood the question completely, and when he switched his glance to her, she almost laughed at the awareness she saw there. She smiled, sharing the joke with him.
“We’ve been here five years, and we’ll probably be here forever. We like the neighborhood. But it’s just me and Joe.” The child at his side tugged on his arm, and he gave Julie a wry smile. “Which reminds me. The one with no clothes is Joe, the terror of the neighborhood. I’ll replace the sand in your sandbox and clean it tomorrow.”
He pulled his son around to face him and leaned over to look into the child’s eyes. “Apologize to Ms. Miles, and promise her you won’t do that again.”
“But I’m a cat!” Indignant exasperation.
His father took him by the chin. “Then you better learn to be a cat with manners, because cats without them end up staying in the house a lot. Apologize.” He released both chin and wrist and straightened, expectant.
Joe eyed Julie, then looked at the ground. “Sorry.”
“And?” His father’s tone was insistent. He wasn’t letting his son off that easy.
“And I won’t do it anymore.” But as he said it, Joe cast a calculating gaze toward the sandbox, as if trying to come up with some loophole.
Julie didn’t quite know what to say. She didn’t remember Marisa ever misbehaving like this, or shrieking at anyone, not in the four years she’d known her. Plus Julie was a little uncomfortable with the fact she was talking to an almost naked person, even if he was just a little boy. “Well, that’s okay, Joe. I’m pleased to meet you, and thank you for not…um, using the sandbox that way anymore.”
She cleared her throat and looked again at Ben. “Actually, I was just coming over to ask if I could borrow a phone.” She held up her dead cell phone. “Murphy’s Law.”
He nodded. “Be my guest. In fact, it’s a portable. Joe and I’ll go get it for you. No use you getting wet, too.”
Marisa, who’d been staring at Joe again, said, “Cats don’t like rain.”
Joe stopped struggling for a moment. Julie almost laughed at the expression on his face as he considered that pronouncement.
Ben hoisted Joe back up onto his hip. “I better take advantage of the temporary lull in motion while he works that one out. Just give me a couple minutes to get something warm on him, and we’ll be right back over.”
Julie thanked him, but he waved her off. “That’s what neighbors are for. Go back inside, get out of the weather.”
Throwing the small boy over his bare shoulder, he headed toward their house. Joe bounced up and down, hooting with glee as they crossed the yard in the drizzle.
Marisa went to investigate the sandbox. Julie bit back a smile as the little girl peered over the edge, then turned to look at the neighbor’s house, her face full of curiosity.
Carla breathed out. “Man, you have all the luck, moving in next door to that.”
“What, a small boy who’ll pee in my sandbox? Yup, I’ve got the luck of the Irish, all right.”
Carla laughed. “The father, silly. He’s quite the specimen. I wonder if he wanders around without his shirt all the time? I wonder if that’s all natural, or if he works out? Want me to find out for you?” She peered over at the darkened windows of the house next door, as if trying for a peek inside. “And he’s going to be living there for a while. Did you notice I found that out for you?”
Julie gave her a wry look. “I noticed. And that he’s single, too. And, no, please don’t find out anything else.”
“Subtlety was never my strong suit.” Carla grinned. “So shoot me.”
“He is pretty cute, isn’t he?” Julie pretended to peer at the windows, too. “You know, if I trimmed that hedge a bit, I bet we could sit on the patio at night and, well, see what’s what.”
“Voyeurs R Us.” Carla kept her face straight. “I like it. We could probably sell tickets.”
They both jumped when a light appeared in one of the windows. When Ben followed his son into what was obviously the child’s bedroom, Julie gave a guilty laugh. “Guess I don’t need to trim the hedges after all.” She called Marisa, and they turned to go into the house.
The big mover was poking his head into the kitchen when Julie stepped in from the patio. “Oh, there you are, lady. Come here, I think you better look at this.”
Julie’s heart sank as she followed him upstairs, trailed by Marisa. What now?
Upstairs, in the bedroom that was supposed to be Julie’s, the mover opened the closet door. The floor was covered with water, which had splashed onto the walls.
Julie looked up at the ceiling of the closet at a large, dark stain. As they watched, a drop of water formed and fell to puddle on the floor, splashing the walls.
Marisa looked at the wet spot, then up at Julie. “If we had a daddy, I bet he could fix it.”
BEN KNELT ON THE FLOOR in front of Joe’s bed and hustled the now-shivering child into a sweatshirt and sweatpants. Joe’s feet were clammy as he slid socks over them. “Weren’t you cold out there?”
“N-no!” Joe shook his head, stubborn. “Cats aren’t cold outside. Cats are cold inside, though.”
Ben bit back a laugh and gathered the child into his arms, rubbing him to warm him. He held him close for a moment, enjoying the feel of the small body in his arms. How much longer would Joe let his father cuddle him close? Ben felt a pang of yearning, part of him wishing he could keep Joe four years old forever. Nuzzling his neck and making snarfing noises, Ben carried Joe to the living room, grabbing the portable phone on his way out the front door.
The two of them stepped under the front porch overhang at the new neighbors’. The front door was off the hinges, so Ben called in through the open doorway, “Telephone man.”
Julie came around the corner, her red and white sweater setting off the flush of her face—not to mention hugging her curves. The faded jeans didn’t say anything bad about her, either. She smiled at him, her lips parting in a fascinating way. The little girl, Marisa, followed right behind her, almost clinging to her side.
He held up the phone. “It should be all charged up, and at this distance you shouldn’t have any trouble. But if you do, I can bring over the charger.”
She shook her head. “Won’t do any good. No electricity.”
Marisa tugged on Julie’s arm. “It’s ’cause we don’t have a daddy. A daddy could turn the lights on.”
Ben watched Julie bite her lip and sympathized. Joe was almost as good as Maggie at making Ben aware of all that he was not. He smiled at Marisa. “I thought you people just liked having the lights out.”
Marisa laughed, and as he watched, Julie relaxed ever so slightly. “It was supposed to be turned on, but they still haven’t gotten to it. That was one of the things we needed the phone for.” She glanced over her shoulder as Carla walked into the room from the kitchen. “I was going to sic Carla on them.”
“Grrr,” said Carla.
He turned the handset over and started pushing buttons. “Here, let me try.”
“I’m sure Carla can handle it.”
Carla said, “Oh, let him try. Men love fixing problems. Makes them feel useful.” She grinned at Ben.
He finished dialing, then listened while it rang. “Alberta Owen, please.” He waited a moment while the call was transferred.
Her line clicked on. “Alberta.”
“Alberta. Baby. Sweetheart.” He smiled, waiting for it.
“Ben! Ben Harbison, you better not be sweet-talking me for help at four fifty-five at night. I’m late for the door.”
“Guilty.”
“Rascal. What is it?”
“My new neighbor. She was supposed to have her power turned on, but it hasn’t happened. She’s moving into a dark house with her little girl.”
“Address?”
“Fifteen sixty-five Glenbeck.”
“Oh, right next door, hmm? And is she pretty, this new neighbor?”
His eyes shot to Julie, who was watching him. “Uh, yes.”
“And will this make you the hero?”
He coughed. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt any.”
“Mmm-hmm. So Alberta gets to play Cupid, does she? Let me see…” He heard her fingers on her keyboard. “Mmm-hmm, should have gone on today. I can take care of it from here.” Another few keystrokes. “Okay, ready?”
“Ready.”
The living room’s overhead light came on.
Carla gasped.
Marisa clapped, and when Joe said, “My daddy can do anything,” she turned to Ben, her eyes shining.
Ben grinned and looked at Julie. She was staring at him in astonishment, her mouth slightly open. He said into the mouthpiece, “Thank you, Alberta.”
“Mmm-hmm. Invite me to the wedding, hear?” She clicked off.
He pressed the off button on the phone and held it out to Julie. She stared at it for a moment, then at him. For a moment, her deep blue eyes on his, he was sure he’d blown it. Too sure of himself, as usual. He toned down his grin for a moment.
Finally she smiled back at him. “Do you know anyone at Cincinnati Water? They keep saying they’ve turned the water on, but there’s no water.”
Ben swallowed. “Er…did you check the main valve to the house?”
Carla snorted.
Julie narrowed her eyes at her friend in exaggerated irritation. “The main valve? No one said anything about a main valve.”
Ben tried not to smile. “I’m sure very few people know about it. It’s practically a secret.”
She turned her mock displeasure on him. “Just go get a wrench or something, okay?”
“Right. C’mon, Joe.” He made his escape.
Ben found his tool belt and strapped it on, then walked around Julie’s house until he found the water shutoff valve. Yep, it was off. He adjusted the fitting, then walked back into her house, Joe at his heels. “Try it now,” he said.
Julie walked into the bathroom under the stairs, and he heard the water running. She came back out. “It’s brown, but at least it’s running.”
Joe, apparently realizing he was trailing around after a bunch of adults doing boring stuff, turned to Marisa. “Do you like swings?”
Marisa nodded and smiled shyly at him.
“Want to go swing?”
Marisa nodded, and the little boy grabbed her hand and tugged at her. She turned to Julie.
Julie glanced through the open doorway. “Well, it’s starting to get a little dark….” She looked at Marisa. “But at least it’s stopped raining. Go ahead, honey.”
The two children ran off, and Ben followed Julie into the kitchen. She watched as they ran through the backyard to Ben’s house. She turned to him, frowning slightly. “They’ll be okay, won’t they?”
Ben nodded. What could happen to them? “They’re just out in the backyard. It’s probably been a pretty boring day for her, with moving and all.”
She bit her lip. “I guess we can see them from here. Well, then, now that I have water—” Carla smirked, and Julie ignored her “—I guess I’ll start unpacking boxes.” She opened one of the cupboards and coughed as dust flew out.
He glanced over her shoulder into the cupboard, which was thick with dust. “Why don’t you let me wipe out those cupboards for you before you put stuff away?”
She smiled. “You’re hired.”
Carla grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. “Sounds too much like work to me. I’m off for those curtain rods. Back in a flash.” She waved goodbye on her way out, and Ben heard her tell the movers the door better be back on its hinges when she returned. So she’d be back. He’d better work fast.
Julie smiled at him. “Thanks for the offer of help. You really don’t have to stay.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t mind at all. A little adult company is always welcome.” And now that they were alone, he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He grabbed a bunch of paper towels from a roll and wet them at the sink. “And I can see you have your hands full. I guess all single parents do.”
She turned slightly away from him, leaning over to open a box. “It’s just all so new, I guess.”
He tried not to leer at her backside, with limited success. It was a very nice backside. What the hell, she couldn’t see him. He jerked his gaze from her jeans as she turned around. He had to think a minute before he could remember what she’d just said. “Ah, what, being a single parent?”
She nodded. “I just adopted Marisa two days ago.”
“Brave woman, walking into single parenting with your eyes open.”
She laughed. “I don’t know how open they were.” She turned half away, started rinsing a pile of plates one by one, stacking them on the counter, her arms graceful, in and out of the water. “I was her guardian ad litem for four years. She’s been in foster care, and when she had to be moved to a new foster home, I just couldn’t stand to see her have to start all over again.”
“So you decided to adopt her? Just like that?”
“More or less.” She made a wry face, and he guessed it had been a little more complicated than that. She dried the stack of plates and set them into the cupboard above the dishwasher.
“Do you get a lot of people telling you how much they admire you?”
She laughed. “Yes. And so far I’ve felt like I’m doing a totally unadmirable job.”
“Oh, that never ends. It’s always going to be harder when you’re going it alone. You don’t have anyone to bounce your thoughts off.” He shook his head. “Or if you do, sometimes they end up making you feel worse.” She turned to him, concern clear on her face, and he gave her a wry grin. “I’m guessing I’m not making you feel any better, here.”
She laughed at that. “Not at all. But next time you need to bounce some thoughts off someone, come bounce them off me. I’ll try not to make you feel worse.” She smiled, that fascinating curve of slightly parted lips. What was it about her smile? If he didn’t watch out, he could lose himself in it.
She crossed to the stack of unopened boxes again, struggling for a moment opening one. He pulled his penknife out of his pocket and squatted beside her, his knees brushing hers lightly. She moved out of his way, and he wished she hadn’t.
For the next half hour, while the movers put the door back on its hinges and cleaned up after themselves, he and Julie worked together, she unpacking boxes, rinsing dishes and pans, and putting them away; he wiping cupboards and trying not to obviously watch her stretching and bending and doing other fascinating things.
Just as Julie was finishing stacking pots in the cupboard under the stove, Carla returned, her arms sprouting curtain rods, and Marisa came in from the backyard with Joe. “Julie…Mom, I mean. I’m hungry.”
“Me, too, Dad.” Big surprise. The kid had a hollow leg.
Julie looked as if all she wanted to do was collapse on the couch, but she grinned at Marisa. “I hope you’re willing to have peanut butter for dinner, then, because I am not up to cooking.”
“How about we call for pizza?” Ben looked around for the phone. “My treat—in honor of Marisa’s first day in her new house.” He gave Marisa a smile, and she rewarded him with a bright one of her own. Nice kid, that one. “You do like pizza, right?”
Marisa nodded, her eyes wide. “I love pizza.”
“Yea, pizza!” Joe jumped up and down. “Spicy Tomato, Daddy!” He turned to Marisa. “That’s the best one. But LaMama’s is good, too. We get pizza all the time, so we know the best ones.”
“Well, not all the time,” Ben said.
“Yeah, we have macaroni and cheese sometimes, too.” Joe pursed his lips. “I like Power Rangers macaroni and cheese better than Rugrats, Daddy.” He turned back to Marisa. “But if we get Spicy Tomato, we have to eat all of it, because Spicy Tomato isn’t as good at breakfast. LaMama’s is, though, huh, Daddy?”
Ben grinned, a little weakly. Carla said, “That’s what you get for teaching kids to talk.”
AS THE FIVE OF THEM WERE eating the pizza, Ben picked up a flier that had been delivered with it. Noted Parenting Expert Maynard Frader To Speak.
That Frader idiot again. Maggie was forever clipping his column and bringing it with her when she visited. He tossed the flier on the table.
Julie picked it up. She pursed her lips. “This is what I need.”
“That windbag! What about him?”
Julie laughed. “Maybe you should at least hear what he has to say before you call him a windbag.”
“I’ve read his column. The man has no idea of the real challenges facing parents.”
“He’s supposed to be an expert.”
Some expert. “How can he be an expert when he has no kids of his own?”
“He has a Ph.D., that’s how.”
Carla was watching them, her avid gaze switching from one to the other as if she were watching a Ping-Pong match.
Ben bit his tongue. Better to say nothing than to get himself in trouble.
Julie eyed him suspiciously, as if she knew what he was thinking. “You think you know all the answers, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Of course not. I just know what’s best for my kid.”
“And you don’t think you could improve things?”
“Not by listening to a bunch of advice from someone who probably doesn’t know any more than I do.”
Julie frowned at the flier. “But how could it hurt?”
“It could confuse you, that’s how it could hurt.” He took a bite of pizza to give himself a minute to think. “He says one thing, someone else says something else. Who’s right? You just have to trust your instincts.”
“That’s your whole parenting plan? Trust your instincts?”
He shrugged. “It’s worked so far.”
She eyed him, looking unconvinced. She had great eyes, a great color of blue. Even when they were all narrowed up like that. He took another bite of pizza and grinned at her, and an answering smile crept over her lips. She knew he was enjoying the view and she didn’t seem to mind a bit.
Now, this was an interesting woman.
AFTER BEN AND JOE LEFT for the night, Julie said to Marisa, “Bedtime.”
“What about my bath?”
“Oh, right. Bath time, I mean.” Another first. Was there any special trick to bathing a five-year-old? She looked at Carla.
“You’re on your own, girlfriend. It’s the kind of thing you can only learn by doing.” Carla lay back on the couch. “Besides, I’m exhausted from my exertions.”
Julie found the pile of boxes marked “Books” and pulled the largest one open. Every Parent’s Guide To Doing The Right Thing was on top. Julie had been reading it up until the movers arrived at her old apartment.
She paged through the index while she led Marisa upstairs, leaving Carla on the couch with a glass of wine and the Cincinnati Enquirer.
Bathing, page 42.
Remember that a child’s skin is very delicate. What seems like a reasonable temperature to an adult can feel burning hot to a young child…. Remember never to leave a baby or young child alone in a bathtub. Young children can drown in even a few inches of water and in less time than it takes to answer the phone….
How young was too young, Julie wondered. Could a five-year-old really drown in a bathtub?
She ran the water. Marisa stepped in and Julie hovered over the tub, one hand steady on Marisa’s arm in case she slipped. Marisa sat down and looked up at her expectantly. “Do we got bubbles?”
“Bubbles.” How could she make bubbles? Shampoo, maybe? Julie opened the nearest box and pushed things around inside, looking for the green bottle. She poured some shampoo into the stream of water. It bubbled beautifully, and Marisa clapped. “Bubbles!” She splashed, then looked up at Julie anxiously.
“Don’t worry, honey, just try to keep it in the tub.”
She washed the little girl’s long dark hair, then watched her splash a bit. She’d have to get some bath toys.
“All ready?”
Marisa nodded, and Julie helped her out of the tub and into a towel. She dried her off, rubbing the too-thin little legs and arms gently, hugging her through the towel as she dried off her back. “Oh, Marisa, I’m so glad you came to live with me. I’m so glad I’m your mom now.”
Marisa stiffened. Then, almost convulsively, her arms went around Julie and hugged her back. Julie almost cried.
She helped Marisa into her pajamas and made up her bed for her. “Shall we read a story? Which one do you want to read?”
Marisa knelt by the small pile of well-worn books—Julie added a bookcase to her list of things to buy—and pulled out an especially tattered one. Sharing Danny’s Dad. The story of a little boy who one day shared his best friend’s dad while his own father was away at work. The Trocens, Marisa’s foster family before Mary and George, had given it to her last year for Christmas. She’d wanted it read to her almost daily.
As Julie was tucking Marisa in, she could tell the little girl had something on her mind. “What’s up, honey?”
“Mom, can I share Joe’s dad?”
Julie froze her face, trying to keep from showing any dismay. “Well, I’m sure you can be good friends with Ben.”
“But I can’t share him?”
Julie sighed silently. “I guess you can share him a little, sometimes.”
She kissed Marisa good-night and walked back downstairs. She sat down next to Carla on the couch, poured herself a glass of wine and propped her feet on the battered coffee table. “Marisa wants a dad.”
Carla shrugged. “Everyone wants a dad. I want a dad.”
“I know. But Marisa really needs a father. More than most kids do. It’s all she talks about. It’s as if getting a mother gave her hope that she could actually get both.” Tears stung Julie’s eyes and she wiped them away.
Carla watched her, sympathy in her eyes. “So get her a dad.”
Julie snorted. “As if it were that easy.”
Carla leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table, too. “What’s so difficult about it? You weren’t planning on staying single forever, were you?”
“Well, no. But things are different now. For one thing, he has to be a really great dad.”
Shrugging, Carla said, “Then find one of those.”
“How do you find ‘one of those’?”
Carla smirked at her. “Well, it would help if you were actually dating someone.”
“Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure.”
Julie thought for a moment. “Okay, so I date. How do I recognize a great dad?”
“I think it’s just something you have to take a chance on.” Carla thought for a moment. “Don’t you think most well-intentioned people probably end up being pretty good parents?”
Probably true, for most kids. But Marisa wasn’t most kids. “But is it enough to be a pretty good parent? Marisa needs a great parent.”
“She’s got you. That’s one great parent.”
Julie shook her head. “But I know nothing.” Every new day proved that to her in alarming ways. She felt as if she were treading on eggshells with Marisa, trying not to make some huge permanent mistake.
“You know what you want to be, as a parent. Just find a guy who wants the same.”
It sounded simple, but Julie knew better. “No, he needs to be better than me. He needs to be enough to make up for me. To make up for my shortcomings. Someone who knows what he’s doing. I need to find someone who can be a great dad.”
Carla laughed. “So falling in love doesn’t enter into it?”
Julie smiled at her friend, sheepish. “Of course, I have to love him, too. But if it’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one, then it ought to be just as easy to fall in love with a good father as a bad one.” She collapsed against the cushions, frustrated. “Which brings us right back to figuring out which ones are the good ones. And then dating them.”
Carla leaned forward. “And falling in love.”
Julie gave her a frown of mock exasperation. “Of course, and falling in love. Sometimes you tend to harp, were you aware of that?” It was a plan, though. It just might work. “If I only date men who would be good fathers, then that’s the only kind of guy I’ll be able to fall in love with.”
“What, you figure once you’re ready to fall in love, it’ll happen with whoever is close by?” Carla hooted. “Somehow I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Well, it’ll at least be more likely that way.”
“Okay, so you stay away from known pedophiles.”
Julie laughed. “It’s more than that. I want to find a man who will be good for Marisa, not just one who won’t be bad for her.”
Carla thought for a moment. “You know, I read an article once about where to find single men.” She had the grace to blush at Julie’s raised eyebrow. “Well, there was nothing else to read at the gynecologist’s except Cosmo and a pamphlet on breast self-exams. Anyway, it said you look for single men in the places single men are. Like, you sign up for group golf lessons because the class is likely to be filled with men. So why don’t you look for good fathers in the places they hang out?”
Julie shot her a look. “You know, that is a very good idea.”
“I know. I’m full of good ideas. I always tell you that and you never listen.” Carla leaned back, chewing on her lip. “Where does someone who would be a good father hang out?”
“I’ll tell you where.” Julie got up and walked into the kitchen. She picked up the flier she’d read earlier and brought it back to Carla. “Here’s where.”
Carla looked at it. “At parenting workshops? Wouldn’t those be full of guys who think they aren’t very good parents and need help?”
Julie brushed that aside. “Not the people attending. The guy giving the lecture.”
Carla squinted at the picture, then read the caption. “‘Maynard Frader, Ph.D., is a noted child psychologist and author of several books on parenting.”’ She shook her head. “I dunno. He looks kind of geeky to me.”
Julie snatched the paper back and looked at the picture. “That’s not geeky.” Or at least, not very geeky. “That’s warm and kindly. He has his chin propped on his hands, like he’s really listening to someone.”
Balancing her glass, Carla leaned over to look at the picture again. “Well, at least he doesn’t have a wedding ring on. But he’s no Fabio.”
“How can you even tell from that little picture? Besides, Fabio isn’t even a dad.” She sat back down and Carla plopped onto the couch next to her. “Don’t you see? That’s it. All I have to do is look for parenting experts. Or child-raising experts.” It was so simple, really. Almost elegant. “Where do you find the world’s best parents? You look for those who do it for a living.”
“Well,” Carla said doubtfully. “I suppose you could go hear him speak, maybe chat him up afterward if he doesn’t seem like a complete dork.”
“Or even if he does, a second chance couldn’t hurt.”
“So, fine, that’s one. What if you hate him? We better have some backups.” Carla reached into her purse and pulled out a notepad. She opened it to a fresh page and headlined it “The World’s Best Dad,” then added a second headline, “Candidates.”
Under that, she wrote, “Maynard Frader, Ph.D. Noted child psychologist. Author of parenting books. Kind of a dork.”
She looked up at Julie, pen poised over the page. “Now we’re cooking with gas. Where else can you look?”
“Hmm, let me think.” Marisa’s social worker had sent Julie a schedule of parenting classes in anticipation of her application to adopt Marisa. Julie dug it out and flipped to the back to look at the instructor biographies. “Okay, there are three men listed here. Of course, they might be married…”
“Or gay.”
“Right, but here are their names.” She handed the schedule to Carla, who added the names to the list, then said, “Oh. I know. The Department of Early Childhood Education at UC. They have to have some single men on faculty. And teachers. We can’t list them all, but I’ll note it down to be investigated if ol’ Frader here doesn’t pan out.”
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