Daddy To Be Determined. Muriel Jensen
was little more than an intimate whisper.
“Good morning,” he replied, putting a briskness into the greeting so that she couldn’t misinterpret it.
“The Butlers and the Kaminskis think you’d be a wonderful addition to the board,” she said. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to reconsider?”
The implication was in the subtle inflection. He kept his smile brisk, too. “Nope, sorry. Too much to do.”
Her expression became sympathetic. He mistrusted that almost as much as the direct come-on. “I know. Single fathers have such a tough road. Hopefully, the right woman will come along very soon.”
The right woman had gone, but he kept that to himself. “I’m pretty determined to go it alone. But thanks for your concern.”
She apparently hadn’t heard him. “She could be right under your nose,” she suggested.
Mercifully, his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, turning the key in the ignition, then picking up his phone and flipping it open. He backed out of the driveway as he answered, Marianne staring wistfully after him.
“Ben, it’s Mom.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“How’s Natalie this morning?”
“Fine. Having cereal. We’re coming by in a little bit to pick up her car.”
There was an aggravated sigh on the other end of the connection. “Ben Griffin, I swear. Life drops a beautiful woman right into your lap, and you send her packing.”
He shook his head at the road. “Life didn’t drop her, Mom, you did. And it’s not going to work, so cut it out, all right? You want anything from the bakery on my way to your place?”
“Don’t try to soft-soap me with promises of pastry,” she said with affronted dignity.
“Okay. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.”
“Ben!”
“Yeah?”
“An apple fritter. A big one.”
“You got it.”
All right, Ben thought. He was the one in control. He had to fight every moment to maintain it, but right now, he was in charge.
OR SO HE THOUGHT.
When he walked into the house, the table was cleared and Natalie’s dishes were in the sink. But there was no sign of her. Her suitcase was where she’d placed it when she sat down to breakfast.
Maybe she was freshening up, he thought.
He was halfway to the coffeepot with his commuter mug when he heard a faint voice from the direction of the living room.
“Ben?” it called. “Is that you?”
He was touched by an unsettling foreboding. Was that Natalie?
He followed the sound, then stopped in his tracks at the sight of her lying on the carpet, propped up on an elbow, her face pale, her mouth tight. The two-by-four he’d brought up from the basement that morning to remind himself to fix the front porch railing had been flipped over and lay partially under her.
No, he thought firmly. This is not happening to me.
He dropped to his knees beside her and saw that her left ankle was purple and already several times its normal size.
“I think it’s just a sprain,” she said heavily. “But I can’t get up. If you can help me and just take me to my car…” Then she added mournfully, “I’m sorry. I didn’t see the lumber.”
It was his fault, but he wanted to blame her. “What were you doing in here, anyway?” he demanded.
She nodded as though she’d expected that accusing question. “I was determined to walk to town so you wouldn’t have to drive me, so I came to look out the window to sort of orient myself. I’m sorry. I know I’ve just made everything worse. But if you can just get me to my car, I’ll be fine.”
“Right. Like I would do that.” He had no reason to bark at her, but it helped relieve the anger he felt that she couldn’t just walk out of his life this morning as he’d hoped. As he needed. And it was all his fault.
He slipped an arm between her propped elbow and her side, then one rather familiarly under her hips.
She wrapped her arms instinctively around his neck. “I can hop if you’ll give me a little support.”
He ignored her and brought himself to a standing position without losing her. He strode through the house and out to the van, though she had to open doors.
He put her in the middle seat in the back, so that he could prop up her foot. He handled it carefully, placing it on a pillow he kept for the girls. Then he looked up at her to ask if that was comfortable.
She looked pale and miserable.
His anger evaporated. “I’ll take you to the clinic to make sure you didn’t break anything.” He put a plaid blanket with a fleece lining over her. “Just lie quietly. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
She lay back with a groan. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I hate this.”
Yeah, me, too, he thought silently.
“I know you hate it, too,” she said for him. “I meant to be less trouble and ended up being more. I don’t seem to be able to make a right move lately.”
“I’ve had my share of those days,” he consoled her. “Just relax.”
She was quiet as he drove down the hill and headed up Beach Avenue toward the clinic.
“Was I…causing a scene last night at your mother’s?” she asked, her voice sounding stiff and choked.
He decided she could use a break. “No,” he replied. “She called me because you wouldn’t answer her knock, and she knew you hadn’t eaten. She was worried about you.”
“I was probably sleeping. I’ve had a difficult couple of weeks and I haven’t slept very well. Then I was taking pills and she gave me that toddy….”
“She had other guests coming in last night to whom she’d promised the room, so she had to…remove you.”
The silence was thick for a moment. He could hear her sorting through words for the right thing to say. Then she uttered a little sound of exasperation and blurted, “There’s just no subtle way to ask this.”
He couldn’t see her in the rearview mirror because she was lying down. He had the weirdest sensation that he was having a conversation with an invisible woman.
“Ask what?”
There was another heavy pause, then another abrupt question. “Did I say anything to you about…” She stopped as though it was just too hard, after all, then seemed to reconsider and began again. “Did I ask you if you’d been sent to impregnate me?”
He had to admire her willingness to confront an uncomfortable situation head-on.
“Yes, you did,” he answered. Then he decided he could give her another break. “Of course, I was confused, but after you passed out and my mother was packing up your things, we saw the newspaper. It explained some.”
Natalie groaned aloud, a muffled sound that suggested her hands were probably over her face. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m usually the epitome of decorum, but then I don’t usually drink. I guess that little bit of brandy made me more direct than it’s safe to be. I apologize if I offended you.”
He turned into the clinic parking lot. “I’m a builder who’s spent most of his time working in the company of other men. I’m not offendable.”
“But your girls are so sweet,” she said, a trace