Daddy By Accident. Paula Riggs Detmer
would be great, thanks.”
“No sweat.” He pulled his hands from his pocket and glanced at his watch. “I’d best be heading out,” he said, shifting. “I promised I’d have this job done in time for the owners’ tenth anniversary, and time’s getting short.”
Was that disappointment he saw wisping across her gaze? Or relief to be rid of the blundering brute? He’d never been all that great at entertaining women. When he’d been a gawky kid working a couple of part-time jobs in order to save for college, he’d been too busy to learn the moves other guys had mastered by the time pimples gave way to whiskers.
In college, the women he’d met seemed all too willing to entertain him--once they found out he was headed for medical school and the big-bucks future. Now that he had an ordinary job with ordinary pay—well hell, he’d been boring even when he’d been a doctor. Even Karen had said as much more than once, but she’d put up with him for reasons he never fully understood.
After her death, he hadn’t cared much one way or another about his skill with the ladies. But now he wished he could crack jokes like his kid brother, Ben, or flirt without coming on too strong or too awkward like his friend, Luke Jarrod—anything to arouse another sparkling smile in those now-somber emerald eyes.
“Thanks again,” she murmured. “For the flowers.” Before she shifted her gaze to the puffy bouquet he thought he saw moisture pooling in her eyes.
“I’m sorry about your ex-husband.”
“So am I.”
“He was in the hospital, you said?”
“He was hurt doing what he loved—protecting others.” Stacy drew a suddenly shaky breath. “There were two of them robbing a convenience store near our house. They’d nearly beaten the clerk to death by the time Len had walked in to buy cigarettes. He’d drawn his gun, but the boys were so young—scarcely fourteen.”
Boyd bit off a curse that had her pale lips trembling into a rueful smile that she couldn’t sustain. “No one’s really sure exactly how it happened. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that one of the boys hit Len in the head with a baseball bat he must have found behind the counter.” She stopped to clear her throat. “By the time I got to the hospital, Len was in surgery. When he woke up, he was...changed.”
“Brain damage?”
She nodded. “All cops have a capacity for violence or they wouldn’t be cops. The good ones have a...an instinct for right and wrong that keeps that violence inside unless it’s needed to protect human life. After his injury, Len had these rages that just... took over. And when that happened, he enjoyed hurting people.”
“He hurt you?” His voice was too harsh, but there was nothing he could do about it, just as there was nothing he could do about the anger pouring through him at the thought of those huge wrestler’s hands bruising her smooth skin.
“Not at first. He was more like a lost child. But... later, after he’d recovered physically, he had episodes ”
She thought about the wild look of fear that had sometimes surfaced in his eyes when he’d thought he was being stalked by some nameless, faceless enemy. Some nights he’d sat up, waiting, his weapon cradled lovingly in his hands. Watching and waiting. She sighed, looked down at her hands.
“I had him committed twice. Once, after he stopped taking his medication and started drinking, and again, about six months later when he started showing up at the school where I was teaching.” She drew in a lungful of air and held it for a long moment before releasing it slowly. “Several times he even got violent when there were children present, waiting for their bus. When I threatened to call the police, he cried and promised to stop. He seemed like his own self for a while and I started to think he was recovering But when I found out I was pregnant, he got it into his head that the baby wasn’t his and—” She couldn’t go on. The memories were too vivid, too painful.
“I’m sorry, Stacy.”
“It wasn’t his fault. I know that.” She forced a smile. “Len always wanted a daughter.”
Boyd felt a hole open inside, a hole he’d thought he’d cemented tight. Suddenly the room seemed too small and the air too thin. Dumb move, coming back here, he thought, drawing in a long breath. “Guess I’ll leave you to your breakfast.,” he said in a decent enough tone.
“I thought you were my friend,” she muttered, glancing pointedly at her congealing breakfast.
He turned the idea of being her friend over in his mind and found he liked the idea more than he should. “Uh, I just came by to see how you’re doing. Both of you.”
“We’re both feeling much better this morning. Dr. Jarrod removed the monitor this morning, and Tory is back to her usual rowdy antics. I expect her to become a world-class gymnast someday.”
“Tory?”
“Mmm. Short for Victoria.”
One side of his mouth quirked. “Nice name. Classy.”
“You don’t think it’s a bit stuffy for this day and age?” She inhaled, then rushed on. “I mean, the books all stress how important a name can be in the development of a child’s personality.”
“No, it’s not stuffy at all.”
Stacy heard the sudden hoarseness in his voice, saw the shutters come crashing down in his eyes. As though he were retreating from the friendship she was offering—and her. So she found herself utterly dumbfounded when he suddenly reached out a hand to caress her bruised cheek. The gesture was so utterly tender, the moment so intensely intimate she forgot to breathe.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat “Believe me. so am I.”
“If there’s anything I can do, anything you need—”
“No, but thank you,” she assured him.
“Take care of yourself and Victoria,” he said brusquely before turning away. Two steps later he stopped and stood motionless, staring at the stark white linoleum under his boots as though searching for an answer to some deeply disturbing question.
Stacy was about to ask him if she could help when he turned and retraced his steps. Leaning forward, he braced one hand flat on the mattress while the other gently cupped her shoulder.
“For luck,” he murmured before he brought his mouth to hers. Sweetly, with no demand, he kissed her, his lips soft and searching, his breath scented with strong coffee and toothpaste.
A heartbeat later, he was gone, swallowed by the cavernous hospital corridor, leaving her stunned and bemused. It was only when she felt the tears dripping onto her breast that she realized she was crying.
Three
Stacy was still groggy from an afternoon nap when a strangely familiar, copper-haired nurse stuck her head in the door. A small woman, in a fuchsia-and-pink smock over pink slacks and yellow canvas sneakers, she reminded Stacy of a bright winter sunset.
“Hi, I’m Prudy Randolph. We met in the ER yesterday,” she said when she saw that Stacy was awake.
“We did indeed,” Stacy replied, waving her in. “I was hoping to get a chance to thank you for all your help.”
Nurse Randolph shrugged off her thanks with an infectious grin that had Stacy’s spirits lifting. “How’re you feeling?”
“Antsy. I hate hospitals.”
“On days like this, so do L”
Stacy laughed and found it felt good. “Feel free to bide out here with me. I promise I won’t tattle.”
“Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” Looking very much like a mischievous six-year-old playing