To Be a Dad (Harlequin Superromance) (8 page)

“Have you been up to Dusty’s house lately?” Sylvie asked quietly.

“Yesterday. He wanted to know which bathroom fixtures looked best.”

Sylvie dropped her brush into a jar of water. “What did Teressa think?”

“I’m not sure. Dusty said she didn’t care one way or the other. He seemed confused,” she added.

Sylvie gave her a tight smile. “I think we have to do an intervention with Teressa. She should be making more decisions about the house. I thought she’d love doing that, you know?”

“Who’d love doing what?” Teressa asked, emerging from the kitchen with a loaded tray.

Anita edged back from the table. All she’d wanted to do was drop off some paint chips and spend a few minutes chatting about inconsequential things, like the weather. That was the problem with stepping outside her comfort zone—things came up she wasn’t prepared to deal with. But she wanted these two women to be her friends, and if that meant extending herself beyond her normal, polite boundaries, so be it.

She fixed a smile on her face. “We thought you’d love picking out colors for the house.”

Sylvie shoved the file of paint chips in front of Teressa. “What color do you want for the kitchen?”

Teressa ignored the file as she placed a full dessert plate in front of each of them. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Well, think about it now.” Sylvie flipped the file folder open.

Without looking at it, Teressa turned to Anita. “What do you think?”

“Umm....” She stabbed a small piece of cake with her fork and ate it. “The cake’s delicious.”

“I meant what color do you think we should paint the kitchen?”

“Good dodge, Anita.” Sylvie glared at Teressa. “It’s your kitchen, not hers. What color do you want?”

Anita put down her fork as Teressa got a mutinous look on her face. Maybe she should leave. She’d never been good at handling conflict. She pushed back from the table.

Sylvie narrowed her eyes at her. “Don’t even think about it. If you leave me alone with her, I might have to kill her, and it’ll be on your head.”

Anita opened her mouth to make a polite protest, but giggled instead. Giggling, according to her father, was an unforgivable social gaffe that rivaled farting or burping. Both women stared at her before they started giggling at the same time. Pleased, Anita grinned and had another bite of cake.

Teressa pulled the file in front of her and flipped through several pages before stopping at the golds and yellows. “What do you think of this color?” She pointed at a dark gold.

Anita tried not to grimace. She glanced at Sylvie for the go-ahead to offer her opinion. “Gold is a lovely idea for the living room. What about this one?” She pointed to a much lighter tone.

Teressa smirked. “I was thinking of the kitchen, but okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” Anita apologized.

“She’s yanking your chain.” Sylvie laughed.

She’d suspected as much, although understanding people’s sense of humor had never been her strong suit. When she wasn’t certain she was reading the situation clearly, she defaulted to her polite mode.

Cal hated it when she did that and often pushed her to speak her mind. It was the exact opposite of what she’d been taught, which was to listen carefully and give the person what you thought they wanted to hear. Speak your own mind? That took a boldness and certainty she’d yet to cultivate, but she was willing to try.

“Dusty said something about oak doors for the kitchen cabinets,” Sylvie continued. “Gold or yellow would be too close to the same color. You have to pick something that contrasts. Right, Anita?”

“Since when did you become the expert?” Teressa flipped through more sheets of color.

“Gee, I don’t know. Since I first picked up a paintbrush and started fooling around with paint?”

Anita glanced at Teressa, expecting her to be angry, but Sylvie’s words seemed to roll off her like water off a duck’s back. How did they do that? Anita would have been crushed if Sylvie talked to her that way.

“I don’t care. Let’s paint it all white. Can’t go wrong that way.” Teressa flipped the folder closed and shoved it away from her.

Anita pulled the folder back and opened it to the white/beige page. “You’re right. I think beige would work well in the kitchen. And there are so many different shades and tones to choose from.”

Teressa looked at Sylvie and laughed. “She actually sounds excited.”

“Of course I’m excited, and you should be, too,” Anita agreed. “It’s your home.”

“It’s Dusty’s home. We’re just... I don’t know. Visiting?”

Anita leaned forward and covered Teressa’s hand with hers. “I know exactly what you mean. I felt the same way when I first moved in with Cal. The Carson family is so much a part of Collina.” She turned to Sylvie. “Forgive me. I’m not being rude, but you and your brothers—you’re so certain of who you are and where you belong. It can be a little overwhelming.”

Sylvie picked up her brush again and wiped it clean with a rag. “Teressa’s known us forever. She’s practically part of the family.”

“But she’s not,” Anita pointed out. “Yet.”

Teressa sighed. “So what you’re saying is I have to make a space for myself. Invest part of myself in the house. Even if it’s not my home.”

“Exactly.” Anita beamed, pleased she understood. “Decorating can be fun.”

Teressa pulled the file of paint chips in front of her again. “I suppose it’s not fair to leave all the decisions to Dusty.” She closed her eyes. “Trying to visualize here. Red’s probably not a good color for the bathroom?”

“No,” Anita agreed gently.

“Bedroom?”

“No red.”

Teressa’s lips twitched as she pointed at one of the beige hues, her eyes still closed. “Am I getting close?”

Anita tried not to laugh and encourage Teressa’s silliness. Because there was something, a feeling, just out of sight, as she goofed around. If Anita didn’t know better, she’d think Teressa was afraid, which was ridiculous because she was one of the most fearless women she knew. Wasn’t she?

“You know, I think that color may actually work.”

Teressa’s eyes flew open. “Which one?”

“This one, and see how it has the faintest hint of yellow? That will reflect the gold of the living room.”

“Okay.” Teressa flipped over several sheets until she came to the blue/green page. “Bedrooms. Sure I can’t have red for Dusty’s?”

“Well, he did say something about painting it purple, and that’s close to red, I suppose.”

“Purple?” Teressa sputtered. “No way. You can’t paint a bedroom purple. It would look like a bordello. Isn’t that just like a man.”

Anita grinned. “I’m just yanking your chain.”

Sylvie stopped painting and turned around. Oh, dear. Sylvie and Teressa were staring at her as if she was the worst kind of idiot in the world. What had she been thinking to try to make a joke? She was hopeless at light repartee.

Sylvie started laughing first. Teressa joined in a second later with her lovely, deep laugh. A giggle bubbled out of Anita, and suddenly she was laughing so hard, the muscles in her face hurt.

She was wearing jeans, and she’d made a joke that her friends were laughing at. She could do this. She could change and grow into someone Cal could fall in love with again.

When she’d finally admitted to Cal that she’d had a miscarriage, their marriage had been damaged almost beyond repair. She hadn’t even told him she was pregnant to begin with. They hadn’t been trying for a child, because Cal had said he wanted to wait another two years. She’d been paralyzed with fear that Cal would leave her when he found out she was pregnant. Her father often withdrew his attention when she went against his wishes and isolated her emotionally. So she shut down and didn’t tell Cal about the pregnancy or the miscarriage. When Cal begged her to tell him what was going on, and she finally confessed, his reaction had been the opposite of what she’d expected. Instead of pushing her away, he’d hovered over her, as if he were her guardian angel and no harm could come to her as long as he was by her side.

Two years ago, she could have tolerated his overprotective behavior, but she’d changed. She wanted to have what Sylvie and Teressa had, a man who loved her not because she was weak and needed him, but because she was strong, and he needed her as much as she needed him. She wanted them to have a normal life, to have children, be involved with the community and have close friends and family. All the things that had been missing in her life before she met Cal.

* * *

D
USTY
PULLED
INTO
his driveway and parked behind Teressa’s minivan. It probably wasn’t a good thing that he was less than thrilled she was home. The past couple of days she and the kids had hung out at the café after hours doing whatever. He’d come home to an almost empty house, and man, he hated to admit it, but everything had been so much easier without any of them underfoot.

All he wanted to do right now was have a shower and crash for an hour or two. He’d been working sixteen-hour days the past week, and the house was starting to shape up. They had a long way to go yet, but it was no longer the bare shell of a house he’d brought Teressa and the kids to a week ago.

The house was the only thing that had improved, though. The best part of his day was first thing in the morning when he and Teressa had their coffee before he left to go fishing. Thank God she wasn’t a morning person. He liked that they had their coffee together and watched the sun come up and didn’t talk. That was okay, wasn’t it? Not talking? She seemed as happy as he was with the silence.

Because if they talked, they’d have to discuss not only the progress on the house, which he was sick of thinking about, but also their relationship. Their problems. He got a headache thinking about everything they needed to hash out.

Instead, he spent most of his time wondering what she had on under her fuzzy pink housecoat that covered her from her chin down to her toes. A couple of times it had gaped open, and he’d caught the flash of a shapely white thigh before she flicked it closed again. Whatever kind of nightie she wore, it was short and skimpy.

He rested his head on the steering wheel. Man, he’d love to walk into the house and have her throw her arms around his neck and plant a big, fat, juicy kiss on him. Or even a little kiss. They’d had fun flirting with each other before she moved in, but now it felt as if she was almost afraid to make eye contact. Never mind full-body contact.

He kept telling himself it was early days yet. Teressa and the kids needed more time to settle, and he did, too. He just had to be patient. Things were bound to work out some day. Right?

“Hey, Josh. How’d it go today?” he called from the open truck window when Josh exited the house.

His first mate closed the house door behind him and tromped down the porch steps. “I’d rather be on the water in weather like this.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s made a big difference having you work on the house, though.”

He missed having Josh on the boat, because he was in good shape and smart enough that Dusty didn’t have to tell him every little thing to do, like he did with Andy, his other helper. Josh could think for himself and had some experience with carpentry, which was why Dusty had asked him to work on the house. He couldn’t be in two places at once and needed someone reliable to fill in for him.

“I could run the boat, too, you know. And you could stay home and work on the house.”

“No!” Dusty cleared his throat, embarrassed that he’d almost shouted the word. “No,” he continued in a calmer voice. “Too many things can go wrong on the water. You know that. I feel better captaining my own boat.”

It had been hard enough last Sunday when he’d tried to get some work done on the house with Teressa and the kids underfoot. Sarah had followed him around like a lost puppy. He’d had to invent a reason to go down to the boat for an hour just to get a decent breath of air. And do some fast talking to get out of taking the kids with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like spending time with them, but give a guy a break.

Josh grinned. “I bet you do. Well, have fun, boss. I’m off to the legion for a few cold ones. I’ll think of you as that ice-cold beer is sliding down my throat.” He laughed as he made his way to his truck.

He loved living in Collina, couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. But sometimes everyone knowing his business got a little old. Dusty sighed, got out of the truck and strode up to the house, but stopped outside the door. Teressa was yelling at one of the kids. Brendon, probably. He could hear the boy’s piercing whine that usually preceded a full-out crying jag. He didn’t remember crying like that as a kid. Then again, he didn’t remember
any
kid crying that hard. Ever.

Wasn’t this rich? Here he was, standing on his own doorstep, afraid to go inside. Maybe he was approaching the whole situation wrong. There had to be some way he could make everything better. He needed to look at their situation the same way he did when his boat motor acted up. Take it apart, change a couple of filters and put it back together again.

A mouthwatering smell greeted him when he finally stepped inside the house. Teressa had been outdoing herself lately with the suppers she cooked for them. She glanced at him from the kitchen, a harried look on her face. “Sorry about the noise. I blew up at Brendon. Sorry.”

Dusty shoved his lunchbox on the counter. “I heard.” He had to be just about the most selfish person alive. As tired as he felt, she looked far more exhausted.

She needed her own bed, her own bedroom. What was it she’d asked for? Fifteen minutes to herself. She hadn’t had five minutes since she and the kids had moved in. See? Dissect the problem. Teressa was tired, and she needed some time and space to herself.

He walked around the half-finished island and moved close to her. “What’s for supper? Smells delicious.” He crowded her up against the counter and slid his hands around her waist. “You smell delicious.”

“Dusty.” She pushed against his shoulder when he nibbled on her earlobe.

“How long before supper?”

“Thirty minutes or so.” The tension leaked out of his body as she leaned into him. She felt so good, her curves melding into his angles.