The Man Who Would Be Daddy Page 11

  “She’s nice,” Jock declared, bounding over as soon as Christa was out of earshot.

  He was in no mood to listen to Jock extol Christa’s virtues. The kid could come through with a list even if he didn’t know her.

  “Go call the tire company and see what’s keeping that order. It should have arrived here last night,” Malcolm instructed. “And call your cousin. Ask him if he can come down for an interview this afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jock grinned broadly as he went to do what he was told.

  With any luck, Malcolm thought impatiently, he could pry her out of his mind long enough to get some work done.

  He didn’t feel very lucky.

  Jonas McGuire let the filmy curtain fall back into place as he muttered something to himself. Hands wrapped around the mug of coffee his daughter had poured for him, he meandered back to the kitchen. It was Saturday, and Christa was working on lunch.

  He eyed his only daughter with the feelings of a man who was vaguely aware that he hadn’t done as good a job as he would have liked in raising her. He’d always been so busy just being a cop. It had been Martha’s job to raise the kids. And then Martha had died and left it all up to him. It sure as hell hadn’t been easy, even though Christa had been a good kid.

  Jonas jerked a thumb toward the front. “He’s been out there working on that thing for over two weeks now—”

  Christa dusted off her hands as she reached into the refrigerator for a carton of milk. She measured out a quarter cup and poured it into the pot on the stove. “It’s only been one week,” she corrected mildly.

  Jonas took a sip of the inky black coffee before answering. He scowled at the correction. He hated nitpicking. “Same thing.”

  Christa grinned at the way he rolled over the inaccuracy. Some things, it seemed, never changed. “And youwere out there for what, twenty years, giving tickets, huh?”

  “Twenty-two, and don’t get uppity with me, missy.” He tried to maintain the frown, but watching his granddaughter out of the corner of his eye threatened to destroy his facade. Sunshine and spirit in rompers. He absolutely doted on her.

  Christa held her hands up in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Jonas sat down, stretching his legs out before him. He eyed the front window, though he couldn’t see out from where he sat. That Evans fella wouldn’t make a bad sonin-law from what he’d read about him. “The Gentleman Racer,” the article had called him. Not a bad thing, being a gentleman in this day and age.

  Cocking his head just as his daughter and his granddaughter did, he watched Christa as she moved about the small kitchen.

  “So what’s he working on, besides the van?” It was about time Christa thought about moving on with her life, he decided. She’d wasted enough time on that noaccount she’d married. Time to find a real man who wasn’t afraid of working with his hands.

  Christa poured out the contents of a box of spaghetti onto a plate and waited for the water-and-milk mixture to boil. “He has his own garage.”

  That wasn’t what he was asking, and she knew it. “I read the article on him. I know what he did for a living and what he does now.” Most of his information had come from Tyler, not Christa. For a chatty thing, there were times when his daughter could be annoyingly closemouthed. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.” Getting up, he crossed to the stove. “Does he have any designs on you?”

  She laughed softly at the question. Cutting open the small pouch with herbs and spices, she shook it into the pot. “I don’t think he wants to get involved again.”

  Jonas was silent for a moment. He hadn’t been the greatest father, but he had done his best. He’d be the first to admit that he was better at raising boys than girls. But he’d picked up some things along the way. One of which was being able to read her.

  “But you do.”

  Christa shrugged. “Yes, eventually.”

  She was being deliberately vague. Jonas pinned her down. “With him.”

  “Maybe.” She measured out a teaspoon of salt, then replaced the lid. “But it’s not about what I want, it’s about what he wants.”

  Jonas snorted. He didn’t think for one minute that she believed that. If she did, she was a rarer woman than he thought she was. And a more naive one.

  “Oh, no, it’s always about what you women want. Men don’t know what they want,” he told her adamantly. “You gotta show them.”

  Christa laid down the spoon and laughed. Her relationship with her father had gotten better now that she was on an adult footing with him. They’d spent her teen years arguing almost nonstop. She’d grown to like him now, as well as love him.

  Draping an arm around his shoulders, she leaned her head against his. “Are you letting me in on an age-old male secret?”

  He shrugged off her arm and her patronizing manner. He was being serious. “Same one your mother let me in on. Up until then, I thought I knew my own mind. She showed me otherwise.” His mouth curved fondly when he thought of his late wife. The years they’d spent together grew better every time he reviewed them in his mind. “It’s up to you to show him.”

  As if she could. Christa lifted the lid and poured in the spaghetti. “You’re being disloyal to your species, Dad.”

  He had no patience with dancing around subjects. “Hell, I’m being loyal to my own flesh and blood. You want him, go get him.”

  He made it sound so easy. And it wasn’t. “He’s not a fish, Dad.”

  Jonas had made up his mind about the mechanic who kept turning up in his daughter’s driveway. A man didn’t go out of his way like that unless he wanted something, consciously or otherwise. If it was unconscious, then someone had to be there to show him.

  “Looks to me like he is. A fish out of water. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, at Robin. That man needs a family. You’ve got one. Seems to me the solution’s a simple one.”

  With a laugh, Christa brushed his check with a kiss. “That’s what I like about you, Dad. You’re so uncomplicated.”

  He smiled and his face softened into a network of lines that had been earned through years spent out in the open.

  “I’m also right.” It was time some good things happened to her. She was too damn stubborn to let him do anything for her, but he could always try. “Want me to nudge him for you?”

  Christa rolled her eyes. That was all she needed, a retired policeman leaning on Malcolm, asking him what his intentions were and broadly hinting that he become serious with his daughter. Malcolm would turn tail so fast they wouldn’t be able to see him for the dust.

  “I’m a big girl now, Dad,” she assured him, patting his hand. “I can handle my own life.” She saw the look in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking. “At least as well as anyone can handle theirs.”

  He gave her what he thought passed for an innocent look. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “That would be a first,” she murmured. Her father stuck his tongue out at her. Christa mimicked the gesture, and they both laughed.

  Satisfied that the spaghetti and sauce were well on their way to becoming lunch, Christa opened the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of iced coffee. She poured some into a tall, frosted glass. It was time Malcolm took a short break. He’d been out there since before her father had arrived.

  “I’m going to see if he wants something.”

  Jonas rose to look in on his granddaughter. She was entirely too quiet. In his experience, that usually meant trouble. “Tell him he can’t have it unless he marries you first.”

  “Dad!”

  He looked at her innocently. “Just looking out for your interests.” He pocketed a couple of the chocolatechip cookies Christa had laid out on a platter on the table. It always helped to have a bribe when you dealt with children, he mused as he walked out. Even with cute ones who resembled you.

  Christa slipped on a pair of sandals before going outside. The sun had rendered the driveway too hot for bare .feet. She felt guilty, having Malcolm wor
k outside on a day like today.

  As she approached, she saw the expression on his face. Had he found something else wrong with the car?

  “That frown looks serious.” She offered him the iced coffee.

  Malcolm gratefully accepted the glass and ran it along his forehead. The cold was soothing. “I thought I’d be finished today.”

  Every time he repaired something, he found something else that needed to be replaced. So far, they’d gone through a water pump, hoses, fuel-injector seals and a radiator. Out of habit, he’d checked the brakes and found that they were going to have to be replaced, as well. She would have been better off getting a new van..

  She exhaled the breath she was holding. She was afraid that he was going to tell her something was seriously wrong. “I still have almost two weeks before I start my new job. I can hold out.” She bit her lower lip, then looked at him hopefully as he took a drink. “Provided I can get someone to take me shopping later.”

  Meaning him. He shook his head in disbelief. “You know, for a friendly woman, you don’t seem to have any friends handy.”

  She grinned, looking at him. “I’m working on it.”

  He supposed it wouldn’t kill him to take her shopping, and he had nothing planned for the rest of the day. Billy had turned out to be an excellent mechanic, and Malcolm had left Jock in charge at the garage for the day. Jock was coming along well. He took to the extra responsibility like a duck to water.

  “What kind of shopping?” he asked guardedly.

  “Nothing major. A couple of toy stores. Just birthday presents for Robin.” She tried to remember if she’d extended an invitation to him yet. “You’re invited to her party, by the way.”

  He didn’t want to come, didn’t want to sit there on the outskirts of a family, pretending to have a good time. “I’m busy.”

  She hadn’t invited him. She would have remembered a refusal. “You don’t know what day it is.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He took out his dolly and squatted down. “I’m busy.”

  She became serious. “It does matter. She wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

  Malcolm looked up at her from where he was sitting. When was she going to get it through her head that he didn’t want her gratitude? “The guy might have abandoned the van once he realized she was in it.”

  If they were spinning theories, she had one of her own for him. One that sent chills down her spine. “And he could have just let her out by the side of the road, too. Or worse.” She refused to allow herself to dwell on it. “He didn’t exactly strike me as the type to be concerned about the welfare of a child.”

  Because he wouldn’t get up, she got down to his level. “You saved her life, Malcolm. When are you going to accept that?”

  How could he accept it? Accept the fact that he was able to save a stranger and not his own daughter? And how could he accept the fact that he was having feelings about another child, another woman, when his own family was dead, not by his hand but almost? By his lack of ability.

  “Just luck,” he muttered.

  “And skill,” she insisted.

  It was an argument that wasn’t meant to be won today. Christa tried for a lesser victory. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I really would like you to take me shopping, Malcolm.”

  “We’ll see.” Before she could say anything else, he lay down on the dolly and snaked his way under her van. “Now, if you want this thing finished before the next century—”

  “I know, I know, get out of your light.”

  With a dramatic sigh, she turned to walk back into the house. Behind her, she could have sworn she heard Malcolm laughing softly to himself.

  It was a start.

  Chapter Nine

  Malcolm had never been one for malls. Even in the best of times, shopping was something that was way down on his list of things he liked to do. Right before having a root canal and after having his teeth cleaned.

  There was absolutely no reason, then, why he should have agreed to this. It wasn’t as if she had held a gun to his head or even used her feminine wiles—something he imagined she had in abundant supply, though he hadn’t seen a blatant demonstration yet.

  All she had done was simply ask, and he had heard himself saying yes. Maybe he’d been inhaling too many gasoline fumes lately.

  Or maybe, kissing Christa, holding Robin in his arms, had rattled him down to his foundation and caused all the old rules to be overthrown.

  Whatever the reason, he had been following her around now for more than three hours. Three hours in one crowded mall after another, and she was showing absolutely no indication of slowing down.

  They walked out of Tots ‘n’ Togs, a store that only sold toddler apparel and whose prices were geared for people who had money they didn’t know what to do with. He’d just watched Christa spend five minutes looking lovingly at a red velvet dress before bracing her shoulders and leaving the store.

  “The dress was overpriced,” he told her as they crossed the store’s threshold. The first bars of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” accompanied them out.

  “Way overpriced,” she agreed.

  He heard the longing. “And Robin could only wear it for a couple of months at best.”

  “At best,” she echoed.

  Christa looked over her shoulder into the store. The dress they were talking about was hanging out on display, the centerpiece of a miniature scene depicting Christmas morning. That alone had turned Malcolm off. It was July, for Pete’s sake; why rush things?

  “But you still want it.” It wasn’t a guess—he saw it in her eyes.

  It didn’t make any sense, and yet, in a strange way, he could understand her feelings. That would have worried him if he had thought about it.

  She offered him a rueful smile. She knew wanting the dress was silly and extravagant. Still, she wished she had the money to indulge herself. She could just picture Robin in it. “‘Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’“

  “I don’t think Browning was talking about overpriced clothes.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You know Browning?”

  “Not personally.” His formal education had stopped at high school because of lack of funds, but his private thirst for knowledge had continued. He’d appeased it by putting together an extensive library over the years.

  The dry comment had her laughing. “Sorry, I just didn’t picture you as the poetry type.”

  A woman pushing a side-by-side stroller bumped into him. His grasp tightened on the packages he was holding. “Just because I don’t spout it doesn’t mean I don’t know it.”

  She looked at him, an amused expression on her face. He had a point. “You really are a surprise to me, Malcolm.”

  “Yeah, to me, too.” He shook his head as he looked around. The level of noise had been steadily growing with each mall they had gone to. It seemed that the later the hour, the more shoppers came out of the woodwork. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing here.”

  Someone else jostled him, sending to the floor one of the packages he was holding.

  Christa pivoted, picking the bag up before Malcolm could reach it. “Tired?” she asked sympathetically. He did look a little out of his element.

  He was way past tired, but he supposed there was no point in mentioning that. Especially when she wasn’t. “Amazed.”

  He’d grunted at every outfit she’d shown him in the store and said that taking the catalog Tots ‘n’ Togs offered home with her was a waste of her time and paper in general. She saw nothing that would have captured his amazement.

  “At what?” Moving quickly, she took the lead and forged a path through the crowd. He followed in her wake as she wove her way to the underground-parking structure where they had left his car.

  “You.”

  Surprised, she paused at the mall exit. “Me? Why?”

  He pushed on the door and held it open with his back. Before Christa could enter, a w
oman with twin boys came barreling through. Why would anyone do this to them selves willingly? he wondered. “Don’t you ever slow down?”

  She laughed lightly. He hadn’t seen anything yet. “Only when I run out of energy.”

  The door slammed behind them as they began the hunt for his car. “Which would be—?”

  Mentally, she counted off the rows as they walked. The car was five aisles over and seven cars from the end. “Not anytime soon. This feels wonderful.” She slid the handles of one shopping bag farther up her wrist to keep them from digging in. “I’m having a hard time not buying everything.”

  He thought of the accumulated loot that was already in his trunk, bought at various shops in the three malls.

  “I noticed.” Seeing the car, he quickened his stride until he reached it. Juggling the load, he unlocked the door. “You planning to work your way up the coast?”

  She looked behind the seats. It was getting pretty full. But she was buying gifts not only from herself, but from her father and brothers, as well. Not a shopper among them, they simply handed her the money and told her to get Robin “something nice.”

  Christa felt it her honor bound duty to do just that.

  Placing her two shopping bags beside the one with the large white teddy bear sticking out of it, she looked at Malcolm. “Just one more store, I promise.”

  No was the easiest word in the world to utter, as well as one of the shortest, yet he couldn’t manage to say it to her.

  “All right. One more.” With a sigh, Malcolm got into the car and waited until she seated herself beside him. “You really are having fun, aren’t you?”

  Enthusiasm highlighted her face. “Yes, I am. I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do than spend my money on Robin.” She thought of the first store they had gone to. They’d walked into a huge summer-clearance sale. “She’s going to look adorable in those dresses I got for her.”

  “When she grows into them,” he said as he backed out of his spot.

  One of the dresses she’d bought was for a four-yearold, but it was more than half-off and just too cute to pass up. “Planning for the future is all part of it.”