Building the Perfect Daddy (2 page)

Chapter Two

T
he experiences gained from three years in front of the camera had taught Ryder Wallace to keep a smile on his face under almost any circumstances. Circumstances certainly more challenging than a frazzled mother with a baby on her hip and what looked like baby vomit on the shoulder of the pale yellow T-shirt she wore over faded denim jeans.

Except that she then closed the door in his smiling face.

And
locked it
.

He actually heard the click of the dead bolt sliding into place.

Not quite the reaction he'd anticipated.

“Cut!”

Owen Diercks jogged over to the rickety porch, where Ryder was still staring, slack jawed, at the closed door.

“What in the hell just happened?” the director demanded.

“I think we came at a bad time,” Ryder said.

“I'm tired of standing around waiting for these women to primp for the camera,” Owen grumbled. “Whoever decided to surprise the contest winners obviously didn't think that one through.”

“I believe the surprise aspect was your idea,” Ryder said, although the home owner's tone made him suspect that Lauryn Schulte's reasons for closing the door on his face were about more than an unwillingness to face the cameras without her lipstick on.

“Which is probably why no one ever listens to my ideas,” the director acknowledged as lightning flashed in the distance. He glanced at the sky, a worried look on his face, then at his watch. “I don't particularly want to stand around in the rain for God only knows how long while our home owner does her hair and makeup.”

“Do you want to wrap for today?” Ryder asked him.

“No, I want to stay on schedule,” Owen grumbled as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed again. “But it doesn't look like that's going to happen today.”

Ryder glanced back at Carl, who was using a garbage bag to keep his camera sheltered from the rain while he waited for further instructions.

“Pack it up,” Owen called out to him.

Carl nodded and immediately moved toward the van with his equipment. The assistant to the director and the AV tech followed the cameraman.

“We need to get back on schedule,” Owen said. “Which means that someone needs to remind Mrs. Schulte of the terms and conditions she agreed to when she submitted her application.” He looked at Ryder. “Do you want me to do it?”

“I will,” he offered. Because as great as Owen was in handling the numerous and various aspects of his job, he also had a tendency to piss people off. And after only a brief interaction with Lauryn Schulte, Ryder got the impression that she was already pissed off.

Owen nodded. “I expect to be back here first thing Monday morning with everyone ready to go.”

“They will be,” Ryder promised, with more conviction than he felt.

As the director made his way down the driveway to his own vehicle, Ryder considered his options. For him, walking away wasn't one of them.

He was accustomed to home owners opening their doors wide and inviting him and his
Ryder to the Rescue
crew to come inside—not just happy but grateful to see him. Because it was his job to fix other contractors' mistakes, to finish the projects that do-it-yourselfers gave up on doing. In sum, he gave people what they wanted and they were appreciative of his time and efforts. They hugged him and sent him thank-you cards. They were never dismissive or disinterested.

Clearly Lauryn Schulte didn't understand what was at stake here, so he knocked on her door again.

There was no response.

He knew she was home, and she knew that he knew she was home, and thinking about that began to piss
him
off.

He knocked once more, and once more she ignored him.

But the little girl pushed back the curtains at the front window and waved to him. Something about her looked vaguely familiar—or maybe she just looked like most little girls of a similar age, even if he didn't know what that age might be.

He lifted a hand and waved back.

She smiled and twin dimples creased her cheeks. She really was a cute kid. Through the glass, he heard her mother say something. Though he couldn't decipher the actual words, the message was clear enough when the child gave one last wave before the curtains fell back into place over the window.

He sat on the porch, mostly sheltered from the rain pounding down around him by the overhang, and waited.

As he did, he made a quick visual scan of the surrounding area. It was a decent neighborhood, showing some signs of age. Most of the houses were simple designs—primarily bungalows and two stories, between thirty and forty years old—but well kept, the lawns tidy, flower beds tended. There were no flowers in Mrs. Schulte's garden, only a few scraggly bushes and a plastic bucket and shovel likely intended for digging in beach sand rather than potting soil.

He heard a click behind him—the dead bolt releasing—then the sound of the door opening.

“Why are you sitting on my porch in the rain?” Lauryn asked wearily.

He stood up and turned. Though her sweetly curved mouth was unsmiling and her soft gray-green eyes were filled with suspicion, neither detracted from her beauty. But he'd known a lot of beautiful women, and he wasn't going to be distracted from his task by an unexpected tug of attraction.

“Because you didn't invite me to come inside,” he responded.

“And I'm not going to,” she said firmly.

“Let's start at the top again,” he suggested, with a hopeful smile. “My name is Ryder Wallace—I'm the host of WNCC's home improvement show
Ryder to the Rescue
.”

She was unimpressed. “That still doesn't explain what you're doing here.”

“I'm here to discuss the details of the work you want done, and it would be really great if you'd let me come in out of the rain to talk about it.”

Though she was still frowning, she finally stepped away from the door to allow him entry.

“Do you have any coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

He smiled again. “Talking over a cup of coffee in the kitchen is so much friendlier than standing in the foyer.”

“You're right,” she said, “but I'm not feeling particularly friendly.”

The little girl, who had been hiding behind her mother, peeked out at him now. “You can have tea wif me,” she offered.

Lauryn sighed. “Kylie, what did Mama tell you about strangers?”

But the little girl shook her head. “He gived me flowers.”

Ryder looked at the mom for an explanation, but she seemed equally confused by her daughter's statement.

“At the weddin',” Kylie clarified.

“My sister's wedding,” he guessed, because it was the only one he'd attended recently.

Lauryn's puzzlement gave way to speculation. “Are you telling me that Avery Wallace is your sister?”

He nodded, confirming his relationship to the obstetrician who had recently married Justin Garrett, another doctor at Charisma's Mercy Hospital.

“Okay,” she finally—reluctantly—relented. “I guess I can offer you a cup of coffee.”

“Were you at the wedding?” he asked, following mother and daughter through the hallway to the kitchen he recognized from the photos she'd submitted with her application.

She shook her head. “No. Zachary—” she glanced at the baby in the playpen, playing with colorful plastic rings “—was running a bit of a fever, so we stayed home. Kylie went with my parents. And when you caught the bride's bouquet—”

“Avery threw it at me,” he felt compelled to point out in his defense. “It was an automatic reflex.”

She shrugged, as if the details were unimportant, and set a filter into the basket of the coffeemaker on the counter—the only modern appliance visible in the whole room.

“And when you caught the bouquet,” she said again, measuring grounds into the filter, “you gave the flowers to Kylie.”

He looked at the little girl in the frilly nightgown and finally remembered. “You were wearing a dark blue dress?”

Kylie smiled and nodded.

“Then you must be related to Justin,” he said to Lauryn.

“He's my cousin,” she admitted. “Our fathers are brothers.”

“Small world,” he mused, wondering if the loose familial connection would help or hinder his case.

“Small town,” she corrected, handing him the mug of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Sugar, please.”

She offered him the sugar bowl and a spoon so he could fix it the way he liked it.

As he did, he asked, “Why do I get the impression that you changed your mind about being on the show?”

“What are you talking about?”

He frowned at the genuine bafflement in her tone. “You applied for a Room Rescue from
Ryder to the Rescue
.”

“My sister Tristyn is addicted to the show, but I don't think I've ever seen it,” she told him. “I don't have time to watch a lot of television, and when I do, it's usually
Nick Jr
.”

He acknowledged that with a nod. “So was it your sister who told you about the Room Rescue contest?”

She shook her head. “I honestly don't know anything about a contest.”

He pulled the application out of his pocket and passed it across the table as Kylie tugged on her mother's arm and whispered something close to her ear.

“Yes, you can go up to your room to play for a little while,” she said, and her daughter skipped off.

Lauryn unfolded the page and immediately began skimming the document, her brows furrowing. She finished reading and set the page down. “Well, it's all true,” she admitted. “Except that I didn't send this in.”

He pointed to the signature box. “That's not you?”

“It's my name—and a pretty good replica of my signature, which leads me to believe that one or both of my sisters filled out the application.”

He winced. “The application is a contract, so I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that, then my director won't want to get our legal department involved.”

“Can't you just tell him that I changed my mind?” she suggested hopefully.

“I don't understand,” he admitted. “Most people would be thrilled by the prospect of a brand-new kitchen.”

She looked around the dull and outdated room. “Rob had plans for this space—new cabinets, granite counter, ceramic floor.”

“We can certainly consult with your husband about the design,” he offered, attempting to appease her.

She shook her head. “He's not here.”

“When will he be back?”

“Well, he left nine months ago, so I don't expect him to return anytime soon.”

“I'm sorry,” he said automatically.

“Don't be,” she said. “I'm not.”

He took a moment to regroup and reconsider his strategy. “Then forget about his plans,” he urged. “What do
you
want?”

Lauryn stood up to lift the now-fussing baby from his playpen. “I don't even know where to begin to answer that question.”

Opening a cupboard, she took a cookie out of a box. The little guy reached for it eagerly and immediately began gnawing on it.

Kylie returned to the kitchen, walking past the table to the back door, where she shoved her feet into a pair of pink rain boots.

“I told you we could go to the park later,” Lauryn reminded her daughter. “You're supposed to be playing in your room now.”

The little girl nodded. “But it's wainin' in the castle.”

Her mother frowned. “What do you mean ‘it's raining in the castle'? The rain is outside, honey.”

This time Kylie shook her head. “The wain's on my bed.”

Lauryn pushed back her chair and, with the baby propped on her hip, raced down the narrow hallway and up the stairs.

Instinctively, Ryder followed.

She stood in the doorway of what was obviously her daughter's bedroom, staring at the water dripping from the ceiling onto the little girl's bed. And puddling beside her tall dresser. And in front of her closet.

Her bottom lip trembled as she fought to hold back the tears that now filled her eyes.

“Why's it wainin' inside, Mama?” Kylie asked.

“Because it wasn't a crappy enough day already,” her mother muttered in weary response.

The little girl gasped. “You said a bad word.”

“Yes, I did,” she admitted.

“Where's your attic access?” Ryder asked her.

“My bedroom,” she told him.

He followed her across the hall. She reached for the loop of white rope in the ceiling. Of course, even on tiptoe, her fingertips barely brushed the rope. He easily reached up to grasp the handle and pull down the stairs.

She looked up into the yawning darkness overhead. “I can't remember the last time I was up there,” she admitted. “I don't even know if there's a light.”

Even if there was, there was also water coming into the house and Ryder wasn't willing to take a chance on forty-year-old wiring. Instead, he pulled the flashlight from his tool belt, switched on the beam and began his ascent.

It was a fairly typical attic—with a wide-planked floor over the joists of the ceiling below so that he didn't have to worry about where he stepped. A tiny window at each end illuminated dust and cobwebs along with various boxes and some old furniture. He lifted the beam of light to the ceiling and noted the distinct wet patches that showed him where the rain was coming in.

He walked back to the access and called down to Lauryn. “Can you get me some old towels and buckets?”

“I only have one bucket,” she told him.

“Wastebaskets or big pasta pots would work.”

She nodded and disappeared to gather the required items while he continued his inspection of the attic ceiling.

“Why's it wainin' in the castle?”