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Now that she knew it was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter at stake, it was all the more important to her. It was personal.
DARCIE DEBATED having a second piece of chocolate cake.
“Oh, go on,” Grandma Connor urged. “Your thighs won’t appreciate it, but life’s short.”
Rose Moretti raised her gaze to the ceiling as though seeking divine patience. Darcie decided that her mother had really perfected that look. “She insults her own granddaughter, right here in my kitchen. I ask you, is this the way to act?” Though Ma was German-born, thirty-five years of living with an Italian man had added to her repertoire of gestures and voice nuances.
“Of course it is. If family can’t tell the truth, it’s a sad day. Besides, she’s growing a baby in her womb and every little girl has to learn about chocolate.”
Darcie’s hand jerked and her next forkful of cake landed icing down on the china plate. She wanted to put a muzzle on Grandma Connor, but knew from thirty-one years of experience that it wouldn’t do any good. Grandma said what she wanted, when she wanted.
And that could well be a problem. Especially with Flynn coming over. She hadn’t yet told her family the identity of her baby’s father. And thankfully they hadn’t pushed her. Now, all she needed was for Grandma to mention the baby before she had a chance to talk to Flynn.
Trying not to think about any more disasters, Darcie forked a bite of the sinful dessert into her mouth, noticing that Heather had stopped eating and was watching to see if anyone had actually taken offense over the fat comments. The way Rose and Grandma were nose to nose, it sure looked like war.
“Hopefully this baby won’t inherit my tendencies to gain weight. And hopefully she’ll have more willpower.”
“You’re not fat,” Heather said cautiously.
“Of course she’s not!” Rose agreed, shooting another glare at her mother, which Grandma ignored with a sniff. “And Grandma does not think so, either. She just likes to hear herself talk. Trouble is, she lets anything that comes into her brain just rip right from her lips.”
“And you don’t?” Grandma asked, making a face.
Darcie couldn’t help it. She laughed. And so did Heather.
“I told you, didn’t I?”
Heather nodded. Both Rose and Grandma hid smiles. They were putting on a show. That it appeared to be at Darcie’s expense wasn’t a problem. Darcie understood them, knew she was loved.
“So, tell me about this ogre of a father you have.”
“Grandma!” Darcie said.
“Well, a girl runs away from home it must be that she is living with a beast.”
“He’s not really a beast,” Heather said, her fork suspended half way to her mouth.
“No? What is he, then?”
“An architect.”
“A businessman. Good sturdy stock. That’s important. And you have brothers and sisters?”
“A little sister. She’s one.”
Grandma nodded, her twinkling gaze darting to Darcie. “So he is a nice boy. A businessman, father, good husband material. My granddaughter should find such a man. A single one, that is.”
“Grandma, stop.” Darcie wondered if her guilt was flashing across her forehead. She’d already found Flynn O’Grady. And he was single.
Her face heated and she grew uncomfortably warm beneath her coat. Her mother was still frowning and shooting looks at Darcie over wearing her coat in the kitchen. But she’d rather sweat. She didn’t want to give Flynn a heart attack when he showed up. He’d had enough upsets for one night.
Already she could feel herself chickening out of telling him. At least for tonight.
“What, a grandmother can’t have a conversation?” Grandma Connor gave Darcie a long, probing look, then turned her attention back to Heather. “And how about your mama?”
Heather lowered her eyes, pushed her glass of milk back and forth on the maple table. “My mom died.”
Rose was across the room in an instant, her pillow-soft arms wrapped around Heather, her snapping gaze shooting licks of flame at Grandma Connor.
“Ah, darling, such a tragedy. You must forgive us for prying.”
Heather wanted to cry but was determined not to. Darcie’s mom smelled of chocolate pudding and love. The kitchen was warm from the oven and stove, yet the furnace kicked on. The house was modest, a narrow duplex with a small front yard, where the kitchen was the hub of the family and the neighbors were a holler away.
Totally different from the house she and her dad and Mary Beth lived in outside of Princeton. The O’Grady house was large—a hoity-toity upper-class house Robbie Sanders had told her once. It sat on an acre of wooded land surrounded by apple and oak trees and pitch pines.
Heather decided that she’d trade fancy for homey any day. She liked these comforting arms around her. And truthfully, she was kind of tickled by Grandma Connor. She didn’t want to spoil everything by acting all sad and upset.
“That’s okay,” she said to Rose. “I’m over it.”
“Of course you’re not. No one ever gets over losing a mother. But we’ll talk of more happy topics, shall we?”
“Men are happy topics,” Grandma muttered. “I especially like the ones with tattoos. Your daddy got any of those tattoos?”
Rose threw up her hands, Darcie choked on a swallow of cake and everyone jumped when there was a loud knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Darcie said, hopping up. Passing her mother, she whispered, “Put a cork in Grandma, would you?”
“You know she has a mind of her own,” Rose said, not even bothering to lower her voice. “I’ll see if your father can do anything with her. And when are you going to take off that moth-eaten coat?”
Darcie ignored her mother’s last question, pulled open the door and felt her knees go weak at the sight of Flynn O’Grady. He wore a long black overcoat, dress shoes that probably didn’t have a lot of traction against the icy stoop and a tie decorated with pictures of hot sauce bottles and chili peppers. Mary Beth was cradled in his arms, all bundled up in a furry pink snowsuit.
“Is she here?” he asked.
All conversation behind them stopped. She turned and looked at Heather, who went through several emotions at record speed. They flashed across her face like neon on an Atlantic City marquee—relief, elation, love, then suspicion, rebellion and accusation. This last was aimed at Darcie.
Darcie left Flynn to make his own way inside and went to Heather. The girl stood, backed up. “You told him?”
“Heather—”
“I trusted you. How come you called him?”
“I didn’t call him. I was at Hardware and Muffins when the hot line paged me. That’s where The Daddy Club meets.”
“So you what, told him everything?”
“No,” Darcie said softly. “Not everything. But you gave me your name, Heather, your full name, as well as your father’s. If you wanted anonymity you wouldn’t have done that.” The girl was silent, casting furtive glances over Darcie’s shoulder at Flynn. “Would you?” Darcie prompted.
Heather shrugged. “I guess.” It was her standard noncommittal answer, the underlying meaning lurking beneath the tone.
Darcie heard the interpretation as though it were a shout.
“Give him a chance, sweetie. He’s really upset.”
Heather tried to keep the belligerent look on her face, but she couldn’t. The minute her dad moved toward her, she lost it. A sob escaped and she slipped right into his arms, burrowing into his chest.
“You scared me half to death, sweetheart.”
“I was scared, too, Daddy.” She inhaled and hiccuped on a laugh. “You’ve got mushy crackers on your tie. That’s gross.”
Mary Beth squealed and boinked Heather on the head with drool-slick fingers. The kid should seem like a nuisance. But she wasn’t. Not really. Heather hugged her dad some more, then took the baby from his arms, determined to show her off. This was one of those instances where a baby came in handy. She was a buffer. Plus nobody could resist a little kid. Heather liked the attention the baby brought, even if she sometimes had to take a back seat to her. She could always pretend that it was for her, too.
Proudly she turned and walked over to Grandma Connor. “This is Mary Beth,” she introduced.
Grandma ran a wrinkled finger over Mary Beth’s cheek, then turned her eyes onto Heather, reaching out to pat her hair. “You’re a good girl. You do your family proud.” Heather didn’t really understand the praise, but she understood the look. It meant that she was special, and just as important as the baby was.
“We should be going, Heather,” Flynn said.
Heather’s stomach dipped. She wasn’t ready to go yet. He didn’t seem mad that she’d run away, but she was pretty sure he was gonna yell when they were alone. Well, he never really yelled, but it felt like it anyway. He’d probably just ground her again, though technically she was already grounded, so that wouldn’t be any big deal.
Thankfully Darcie’s mother saved the moment.
“Of course you should not be going! You haven’t had dessert! Did you eat a meal? I could warm up a nice plate of chicken for you.”
“No, really, I’ve eaten—”
“Then cake. You’ve not eaten chocolate cake, have you?”
“No—”
“Good. Sit. I’ll get you a plate and milk.”
Darcie was tickled by the look on Flynn’s face as her mother steamrollered him. “Might as well sit,” she said. “You’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t.”
“Watch your tongue,” Rose admonished.
Flynn glanced at Darcie just in time to see her lick her lips. His hand tightened on the back of the chair and his movements stilled for a split second.
To his everlasting horror, the two older ladies honed right in on his pause and the reason for it.
Flynn felt his ears burn, knew his face was beet red. Man, he hadn’t even been formally introduced to these women, yet they knew that he was thinking erotic thoughts about Darcie’s tongue. It was there in the twinkle of their eyes, in the way they practically tossed a cup of milk and his plate of cake in front of him and scooted Heather and Mary Beth out of the room on some pretense of showing them off to someone called Johnny.
Chapter Three
“I take it that was your mom and grandmother?” He sat down and tried to focus on the wedge of chocolate cake in front of him rather than on sexy thoughts of Darcie Moretti.
“Yes. Rose and Edna.”
“And Johnny’s your father?”
“Smart and good-looking, too,” she quipped. “Want me to call them all back for introductions?”
“Let’s give it a few. Let me quit blushing.”
“You were thinking about watching my tongue?”
He nearly choked on a sip of milk. “You are direct.”
“Is there any other way to be?”
“Well…yes.” He felt off balance, shy, for crying out loud. His memories of Darcie were vivid and fresh in his mind. He took a bite of dessert, glad of the distraction. “Cake’s good.”
“Ma makes the best.” She sat down across from him. “What’s going through your mind?”
“Too many things to name.” He put down his fork and took another sip of milk. There was something about this homey kitchen that made him feel welcome, made him reluctant to leave. But he didn’t belong here. He needed to learn to handle his family life—his children—on his own. Enrolling in The Daddy Club was a step in the right direction, a desperate measure after being backed against the wall and not knowing where else to turn. He couldn’t allow himself to idealize the Morettis or anyone else as fairy godmothers, ready to swoop in and smooth out the wrinkles of his home life. “I appreciate you finding Heather.”
“She was at Hawkins Park.”
Flynn pushed his empty plate away and gazed up at the ceiling. “I should have known that,” he said, his voice both soft and rough. “It’s where Marsha used to take her.”
“Your wife.”
“Yeah.” Her tone surprised him, had a strained ring to it. But when he looked at her, nothing appeared amiss. Just as well. He didn’t want to talk about Marsha now. Too many whammies had blindsided him today. His nerves were raw and a breath away from splintering.
“Heather’s changed a lot in the past few months, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to get through to her. I had no idea she would ever think of running away.”
“You probably did, if you think back.”
“Maybe. It’s tough, though, you know? I’m dealing with a thirteen-year-old who doesn’t speak my language and a one-year-old who doesn’t speak any language!”
Darcie burst out laughing, the sound exuberant and refreshing, touching something deep in his battered soul. He didn’t realize how much he needed spontaneous laughter in his life, how much he needed a friend.
“Guess I sounded a little dramatic, huh?”
“No. Typical father of a teenager.”
“Thank God I’m typical.” Feeling lighter, he tipped back the kitchen chair, balancing on the rear legs. “I thought I was a total alien!”
“You’re a handsome alien.”
There was that directness again. Slowly he lowered the chair legs back to the linoleum floor, his gaze holding hers. He noticed beads of perspiration on her face, then glanced at her wool coat. “Aren’t you too warm in that jacket?”
She made a figure eight in a mound of spilled sugar on the maple table and didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”
When he put his hand over hers, he felt her jolt of awareness. Darcie Moretti was attracted to him and doing her darnedest to act otherwise. He’d known it that night five months ago, and it was evident tonight. “What happened to you that night? Why did you leave?”
Because you called me Marsha. She shrugged. “I had to go. You were asleep so I left you that way.”
She wasn’t ready for this turn of conversation, didn’t have her words planned out. She liked to be in control, liked to know where every period and comma belonged, liked to fix things. All on her terms though. She didn’t care to be caught off guard like this.
