The Man Who Would Be Daddy Read online

  By the time he reached his garage, Malcolm had made his decision. He was going to cancel, both on dinner and the repair job. He’d give her the name of another reputable mechanic.

  Let her be someone else’s headache, not his.

  His plan was spoiled by the fact that he didn’t have Christa’s telephone number. When he called directory assistance, he was informed that her number was unlisted. His choices were to either not show up or drive by and tell her in person that he had changed his mind.

  He didn’t care for either.

  Carefully, he lowered the engine he had rebuilt into the cavernous chassis. He had more than enough work to keep him busy. He sure as hell didn’t have time to play nursemaid to a woman with huge electric blue eyes and a way of stirring him up.

  More than that, he had no time to get involved in anyone else’s problems. Malcolm had a feeling that to be around Christa Winslow for any amount of time was just asking for trouble, and he’d had more than his share of that.

  Malcolm wiped his hands on a rag and began lightening bolts carefully. If he had wanted to socialize, he thought, working his way around the perimeter of the engine, he could always pick up the telephone and call any one of a number of people he’d turned away in the past three years. People who had once been his friends.

  People he kept at a distance now.

  His refusal mapped out, he decided to call it a day. Locking up the work area, Malcolm nodded a good-night to Sam, the man who worked the late-night shift, and got into his car.

  He’d stop by, tell her he’d changed his mind and that would be that. All things considered, he’d probably be home in another fifteen minutes. In time to heat up another solitary meal in the microwave and go through his mail before he turned on the news.

  Chapter Four

  The tersely worded refusal Malcolm intended to give Christa was there, on the tip of his tongue and ready for launch as he drove up along the pine-tree-lined cul-desac. When he guided his car to the end of the block, the time was T-minus-1 and counting.

  And then the mission was scrubbed.

  The warm July evening had brought her out of her modest white stucco-and-wood condo. He had the impression that Christa was oblivious to everything around her except the little girl she was playing with. Malcolm slowed the car down to barely a crawl as he watched them together.

  Christa was wearing the shortest pair of white denim shorts he’d seen in a very long time. That and a whiteand-lime-striped tank top that was glued to her torso thanks to the layer of perspiration that glistened like stardust all along her body.

  She wore her clothes not like a woman who had intentionally set out to allure anyone but like a woman who’d carelessly tossed on the first things she’d grabbed. She looked comfortable in them, which made her that much more alluring. Because none of the effect was calculated.

  Although different in coloring, stature and temperament, she still reminded him of Gloria.

  The evening wasn’t particularly hot, but Christa had worked up a sweat chasing after Robin. The little girl seemed to be made out of pure energy.

  Robin would sleep like a rock tonight, Christa thought. At least that would make one of them. After what she’d been through today, Christa felt too wound up to sleep.

  “I’m going to get you,” Christa warned with a laugh. She grabbed for Robin and missed intentionally.

  With a squeal of delight, Robin went tumbling down the slight grassy incline that made up the front lawn, rolling like a ball. Her laughter, light and airy, filled the still air.

  It was the laughter that got to Malcolm, echoing in his mind and filling his soul. It affected him just as much as the sight of the woman did.

  For a brief moment, he forgot—forced himself to forget—the pain the memories stirred and just dug down deep for the joy. The joy of playing with his little girl. The joy of loving his wife. The joy he’d felt just treasuring the simple things.

  Because he’d lived so long with death riding over his shoulder during his racing career, Malcolm had learned to always live his life to the fullest off the track. It became almost a mandate, especially when he began to win the races he entered.

  Initially that meant partying every night, with no holds barred. And then he’d found and fallen in love with Gloria, and living life to the fullest took on a whole new meaning and direction.

  For such a very limited amount of time.

  With iron resolve, he shook himself free of the past. Pressing down on the accelerator again, he swung the car around until it faced the cross street.

  Christa scooped Robin up in her arms as the little girl tumbled to the grass’s edge. She turned, still laughing, when she heard the car approach.

  Seven-fifteen. She’d begun to think that perhaps he wasn’t coming. There was no real reason for Malcolm Evans to keep his word. After all, she was really nothing to him.

  But something inside Christa had resisted giving up hope. That was the one thing that had always kept her going, even through her darker times. Hope. The belief that things were going to turn around, that they were going to be better and soon.

  Looking at the up side of everything was the only way she knew how to live.

  Positioning Robin so that the little girl was comfortably straddling her right hip, Christa moved her damp bangs away from her forehead with the back of her hand. She winced as she came in contact with the bump. It was still very tender. She moved her hair back in place and grinned at Malcolm.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi!” Robin chirped, brightly echoing her mother’s greeting like a twenty-pound blond parakeet.

  “Hi,” Malcolm murmured, more to the child than the woman.

  Because of who he was, what he was and what he’d once been, the choice to leave had been completely taken away with that single greeting.

  Telling himself he was going to really regret this, Malcolm parked his car just short of Christa’s driveway. As he got out of the LeMans, he noticed that the Jaguar wasn’t there anymore.

  “Father gone?”

  She nodded, a large grin sprouting on a mouth that seemed too generous for her face and yet somehow suited her.

  “He has a date tonight.” Mentally, Christa crossed her fingers for her father. It was a blind date that Tyler had arranged for him. June Lee was the widowed mother of one of the other officers. It was her father’s first date in years.

  Malcolm saw no reason why she should share this piece of information with him or why the thought of her father going through the awkward scenario of a date should give her so much pleasure.

  “Your mother know?” He wondered if her parents were divorced and surprised himself with the speculation. It had been a long time since he had wondered anything personal about anyone.

  Out of habit, Christa glanced up toward the sky. If Martha McGuire couldn’t be with them, Christa liked the idea of her mother looking down and watching over all of them.

  “Actually, I think she had a hand in arranging it. Dad says she’s been looking after him ever since she passed away.”

  He hadn’t meant to touch on anything that personal. “Sorry.”

  Christa saw the sharp stab of pain that flashed over his face and kicked herself for inadvertently treading on his wounds. She knew he was a widower. Tyler, true to his promise, had gotten back to her an hour after she’d arrived home. The information he gave her was sketchy, but it had told Christa at least some of what she wanted to know. She also knew now why Malcolm had seemed so familiar to her.

  “Don’t be,” she told him easily. “You didn’t know.” With the agility of a boneless child, Robin suddenly lunged forward, making a grab for Malcolm, taking them both by surprise. Christa pulled back. “No, Robin, don’t.”

  But it was too late. Robin had managed to snag the edge of Malcolm’s shirt. A button was ripped loose and went flying.

  Great, she thought.

  Christa watched to see where the button landed. “I’ll sew that back on,” she pr
omised quickly, moving to pick it up.

  He shrugged the incident off. “Don’t bother. I’ll take care of it.”

  Christa didn’t bother to hide her amusement as she looked down at his large, wide hands. She couldn’t picture him holding a needle.

  “You sew?”

  “I can push a needle back and forth.” There didn’t seem to be much talent called for in that. His brows narrowed as he looked at her. She’d made an assumption with her offer. “What makes you think I’m not married?”

  If she told him how she knew, she’d have to admit that she’d had Tyler do a little digging about him. Christa had a strong feeling that Malcolm wouldn’t have liked that. He seemed to be much too private a person to welcome intruders, no matter how innocent or well-meaning.

  “Um, because if you were, you would have told me that your wife doesn’t like you having dinner with strange women when I invited you earlier.”

  Nice save, she congratulated herself silently. Christa watched his face to see if he bought her explanation. His expression was unreadable.

  After a beat, Malcolm nodded, letting her reasoning pass. “You pick up on things quickly.”

  Relieved, she smiled at him as Robin wound stubby, grass-stained fingers into her hair. “I try.”

  He wondered if the little girl was ever still. She seemed like unharnessed energy temporarily captured in a small container.

  Malcolm glanced back at the van. He noticed that Christa hadn’t bothered closing the hood after he had left. “Then tell me, why wouldn’t a savvy woman like you take your car in for maintenance?”

  Being a mechanic, he probably wouldn’t understand, but she told him anyway. “With everything else happening in my life, it wasn’t very high on my priority list.”

  That much was obvious. “Given the state of the van, I’d say it wasn’t on it at all.”

  “Then you’d be right.” Trying to get Jim to grow up and take on some responsibility had taken precedence over everything else.

  “Oil changes?” The question was perfunctory. Malcolm felt he already had the answer to that one.

  She shook her head, not quite following him. Gritting her teeth, she barely kept from wincing as Robin tugged harder. Christa pulled her daughter’s busy fingers out of her hair.

  “Excuse me?”

  Malcolm nodded at the vehicle on her driveway. “When did you last have the oil changed?”

  She paused, thinking. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember.

  Just as he suspected. Malcolm shook his head. “Never mind.”

  Feeling as if she had flunked some initial pop quiz, Christa set Robin down on the ground. Still holding on to her daughter’s hand, she bent over to pick up the button before it was lost or Robin decided that it was some kind of new candy and popped it into her mouth.

  Malcolm tried not to watch as the cuffs of Christa’s shorts hitched up so high on her legs that it would have made a man’s mouth water.

  If a man was hungry.

  His gut tightened. Even if he wasn’t hungry, he thought. Christa tucked the button into the pocket of her shorts. He could have sworn that there wasn’t room there to tuck in a spare breath.

  “Man,” Robin announced, pointing at Malcolm.

  Yes, he certainly is, Christa thought. With a capital M.

  “Man,” Robin repeated, this time more insistently as she raised her arms to him and waited expectantly for him to respond.

  “I think she wants you to pick her up,” Christa prompted. Watching his expression, she wondered how he would react.

  Christa saw the hesitation in his eyes. He seemed torn between gruffly dismissing the little girl and giving in to what Christa guessed was a real desire to hold the child.

  He wanted to hold her but he didn’t. Why? And what was the source of the pain she saw?

  She wanted to come to his aid and then realized that she really didn’t know how. To help him, she had to know what he was feeling and why. She doubted very much if he would let her know.

  Robin stamped a tiny, sneakered foot on the concrete, raising her hands higher. “Man.”

  “Demanding little female, isn’t she?” he commanded.

  Christa began to apologize, then stopped. He wasn’t looking for an apology. The hard edges of his features had softened as he looked down at her daughter.

  Malcolm laughed quietly at the serious look on the rosebud mouth and round cheeks. Before he could reason himself out of it, he bent down to the girl’s level and picked her up. She smelled vaguely of chocolate and grass. And heaven.

  “This what you want?”

  The blond head bobbed up and down.

  Christa held her tongue, and her breath, as she watched them together. They belonged, she thought. Two halves of a puzzle. A man without a child and a child without a father. It was almost as if they were made for each other.

  Was he someone’s father? she wondered.

  The next moment, Robin patted his face in approval with small, pudgy hands. Pleased, guileless, childish laughter filled the air. “Man.”

  Christa looked at Malcolm’s cheek where Robin had patted him. And left her mark.

  Terrific, now she’s gotten him dirty.

  “I think she’s branded you.” Gently but firmly, Christa extracted a squirming Robin, taking her back into her arms.

  Malcolm quirked a brow at her comment. In response, Christa ran her finger lightly along his cheek where the small splotch of chocolate ice cream marked his skin.

  Her breath locked in her throat at the dark, smoldering look that came into his eyes. The air around her turned overwhelmingly sultry. She dropped her hand to her side as if it had touched a red-hot poker.

  “Um, she had chocolate ice cream a few minutes ago,” Christa heard herself explaining, though she didn’t remember forming the words. “I thought I got it all, but I must have missed some.”

  He could still feel the imprint of both the child and the woman on his skin. It felt indelible.

  The hint of a smile that Robin had coaxed from him left abruptly as he turned his back on them. “I’d better get started.”

  Christa remained rooted to the ground. She hesitated for a moment, wanting to say something. Common sense warned her not to.

  But for a second back there, she had felt something, something dark and exciting. Something almost electric. Had he felt it, as well? Or was that just her imagination going into overdrive?

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Then we’d better get out of your way.”

  He didn’t bother looking at her. Malcolm went to his car and took out the toolbox he had brought with him from the garage. As he did, he realized that he had set himself up. He wouldn’t have thrown the hoses and the tools into his car if he had really meant to turn her down.

  He’d meant to do this all along.

  He might be willing to help her, but that didn’t mean he had to put up with having her hang around. He’d always worked better alone.

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  He would, she thought sadly. He seemed the type who preferred walking through life alone. She could understand that to an extent. She’d felt the same when she had come to her decision about Jim.

  But with all her heart, she believed that it wasn’t good for people to be alone with whatever hurts they harbored. People weren’t meant to behave like animals, to retreat beneath a table or into a cave to lick their wounds until they healed.

  Christa glanced over her shoulder at Malcolm before going into the house. She wished that Tyler could have gotten her just a little more information.

  The July sky had turned dusky, the western horizon painted in the fading purple hues of evening. The street lamp just outside her house had turned on half an hour ago and was now illuminating the area far better than the crescent moon did.

  Christa had fed and bathed Robin and put her to bed, then read to her. They had gotten as far as the three little pigs venturing out into the world to seek their fortunes b
efore Robin’s wide blue eyes had drifted shut.

  It had been a very long day for both of them, Christa thought, tiptoeing out.

  When she came into the living room and crossed to her window, Christa half expected not to see Malcolm. He’d be the type to leave without saying a word.

  But he was still there, working by the light of the street lamp and the fixture he’d brought with him, which was now clipped to the inside of her hood.

  He’d been at it for over two hours.

  The man was dedicated; there was no doubt about that. Guilt nibbled at her. There had to be some way she could show him her appreciation that he wouldn’t just shove back at her.

  Christa debated going out. She knew he’d rather she remained in the house until he was finished. Or, barring that, until he left, stealing off into the night like the Lone Mechanic.

  She grinned at the imagery. She didn’t want him to just leave. And she didn’t want him to work into the wee hours of the night, either.

  Making up her mind, she walked outside. Dusk wrapped its arms around her as she approached Malcolm. It helped soothe the inexplicable jumpiness she was experiencing.

  He heard her.

  Immersed in his work, he could still hear the soft tread of her approach as her bare feet padded along the cooling concrete walk. Involuntarily, Malcolm glanced over his shoulder.

  She was still wearing that flimsy excuse for an outfit. He would have thought that she would have changed by now.

  He turned back to his work and continued reconnecting the battery. His elbow jostled the toothbrush he’d used to clean the cables, and it fell to the driveway.

  “Something wrong?” he asked mildly when she didn’t say anything. It seemed out of character for her to be quiet.

  She picked up the toothbrush, setting it on the bumper. “Yes, you’re working too long.”

  He’d lost track of time, only vaguely aware that the sun had completely slipped away. “I’m not finished.” He wouldn’t be, of course. The van had a great many things that needed attention, but he’d set a goal for tonight, and it hadn’t been met yet.