To Be a Dad (Harlequin Superromance) (9 page)

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Reluctantly, he stepped away from her. “You’re going to take a bath. Or go for a walk. Or hide in my room and stare at the wall. I’m going to hang out with the kids. We’ll set the table. Put the timer on that thing.” He nodded at the stove. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Really?” She blinked several times, and he saw a tear before she wiped it away.

“Go before I change my mind.”

“Thank you.”

He glanced at his watch. “Time’s a ticking.”

She smiled, suddenly looking years younger. “Thanks. Brendon, Sarah, I’m taking a bath. You need anything, ask Dusty. And help him set the table. Both of you,” she called over her shoulder as she sped down the hall toward the bathroom after she set the oven timer.

Dusty washed his hands at the kitchen sink in lieu of his usual shower. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

“Dusty?” Sarah pulled on the hem of his T-shirt.

He grabbed a towel and dried his hands as he looked down at the little girl. Man, she had a head of hair on her. Teressa should keep it cut short. The kid’s curls were all over the place. “Yeah?”

“Brendon’s still crying.”

Huh. Funny how he’d managed to block that out for a while. “Where is he?”

“Under his bed.”

“Why?” He headed toward the kid’s bedroom.

“’Cause he’s hiding from you.”

Dusty skidded to a stop. “Excuse me?”

“He thinks you’re scary.” She smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. When had she lost that? “I don’t.”

Dusty took a second look at the tiny girl before he entered the bedroom. Was she
flirting
with him? He was almost certain she’d blinked her eyelashes at him right after she smiled. He knelt and looked under the lower bunk bed. Brendon lay on his stomach, sniffling back tears. “Hey, buddy.” Dusty tried a smile. “Wanna come out from there?”

Brendon stuck his thumb in his mouth. “No.”

“You like it under there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Dusty stood and looked around the room. It was too small for two kids, but would have to do for now. He’d looked at the basement last night and wondered how much it would cost to build a bathroom, another bedroom and a family room down there if he did most of the work himself.

“I promised your mom we’d set the table,” he said to Sarah, who stood by the bedroom door, watching him. “Let’s go do it.”

Sarah followed him out of the room. “Are you going to leave Brendon under the bed?”

“He said he likes it there. Here.” He handed her four forks.

She stared up at him. “You’re weird.”

Dusty snorted. “And you’re not?”

“I’m not weird,” she said in a small voice that sounded suspiciously like a prelude to crying.

“Oh, hey.” Dusty squatted down. “I was teasing you. You’re not weird. You’re my princess.” He tweaked her nose and stood, relieved to see her face light up.

“Am I really?”

“Yup. Really.” He grabbed four plates, crowded the glasses on top of the plates and put them on the table. Sarah followed him to the table. “Wanna put everything where it belongs, Princess?”

“Okay,” she giggled. She continued to stare up at him.

“I meant now, Sarah. I’ll get the rest of the stuff.”

He picked out the rest of cutlery and napkins and helped Sarah arrange everything on the table. He half listened to her long, convoluted story about a dog and a piece of candy. This wasn’t so bad. Teressa was happy for the moment, Sarah certainly sounded happy and Brendon...? Maybe he just liked lying under his bed and wasn’t really afraid of him.

“So, we can get one, right?” Sarah beamed up at him.

He eased back a step. “You’re doing that thing with your eyelashes. Blinking them.”

“So can we?” She grinned at him, fluffed her hair over her shoulder. Sarah, the six-year-old femme fatale.

He opened the oven and inhaled deeply as he slid the casserole out. “Get what?”

Sarah curled her arm around his leg and leaned against him. “A puppy.”

He shoved the casserole on the counter before he dropped it. Wow, she was good. He’d have to pay closer attention if he planned to avoid trouble down the road. Like promising to get a puppy because he hadn’t been listening to what she was saying.

“No animals, Sarah. You and Brendon are enough.”

She hit his leg. “I hate you.”

“Guess that means you’re not a princess, then, ’cause princesses aren’t allowed to hate anyone. And don’t hit me. I don’t like it.” Teressa would probably kill him if she heard him talking to her daughter that way.

When Sarah’s bottom lip started trembling, he figured the safest bet was to pretend she wasn’t about to cry and carry on with getting supper on the table. He rolled the baked potatoes out of the oven and chucked one on each plate.

“I’m going to get your mother.” He escaped out of the kitchen before the dam broke. He called to Teressa through the locked bathroom door that supper was on the table, dashed into his bedroom and sank down on the edge of his bed. He didn’t know how Teressa did it. How did she take care of her kids every day, work full-time and remain sane? No wonder she got grumpy sometimes.

When he heard Teressa come out of the bathroom, he returned to the kitchen. Sarah was sitting at the table. She smiled at him and continued trying to saw her potato into smaller pieces. He guessed she was hungrier than she was upset. He put a spoonful of fish casserole on her plate, and scooped several onto his.

“Want me to cut your potato for you?” Dusty asked Sarah.

“Yes, please.”

After cutting up her potato, Dusty sat and shoveled in a mouthful of casserole. He groaned and ate another forkful before attacking his own potato.

“Does it taste good?” Teressa breezed into the kitchen, glowing. Dusty became momentarily distracted by the amount of cleavage she was showing, having left several buttons undone at the top of her blouse. Her lips curved into that secret smile of hers when she caught his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he said.

When Teressa and Sarah giggled, the tension from his day evaporated. “Food tastes good, not beautiful, silly,” Sarah said.

Dusty winked at her. “The food tastes good, too.”

Teressa sat and looked around the table. “Where’s Brendon?”

“Under his bed, hiding.” Dusty savored another mouthful of fish. “Are these scallops from the freezer?”

“Why is he hiding?”

Aw, hell. He knew things had been going too smoothly. He put down his fork. “He didn’t want to come out. You know, I used to pull that cr—stuff all the time when I was a kid. It’s nothing.”

Teressa narrowed her eyes at him. “What happened when you hid under your bed?”

“Cal would pull me out by the scruff of my neck, kick my...behind and drag me to the table.”

“And your father?”

Dusty rested his head in his hands. He’d never hid under his bed, but he’d climbed a lot of trees and hid in their branches. Pops would come out with a chair and sit under the tree and just talk. About his day. Sometimes about his childhood. Sometimes even about Dusty’s mother. After a half hour or so, he’d ask Dusty if he was ready to go inside, and he always was, because whatever had upset him didn’t seem to matter as much anymore, because Pops loved him and would always be there for him, no matter what.

Brendon, poor little sucker, might as well not have a father for all the face time he got with Stan.

He got to his feet. “I’ll talk to him again.”

He entered the kids’ bedroom, grabbed a couple of pillows from the bed and lay down, putting one pillow under his head. “Want a pillow?” He pushed it under the bed.

“Okay.”

The kid sounded so damned forlorn and tiny. “What did you do today?”

“Nothing.”

“You hung out with Carmen, right?”

“Yes.”

“You like her?”

“Yes.”

“I saw a pod of whales today.” Whale sightings in the Bay of Fundy weren’t all that uncommon, but it was something to talk about. He started telling Brendon what he knew about the whales, which turned out to be a lot more than he realized. At one point he realized the time between his sentences was getting longer and longer, and he was having a hard time remembering what he wanted to say.

It wasn’t so bad lying on the floor of the dark room. At least it was quiet, except for the occasional sniffle from Brendon. He closed his eyes and drifted away.

* * *

T
ERESSA
STOOD
IN
the doorway of the bedroom, her knuckles jammed in her mouth, as if she could cork the emotions that threatened to spill out. After the drone of Dusty’s voice had stopped, Teressa had given them another few minutes before checking up on them. Dusty was stretched out on the floor beside the bunk bed, sound asleep. Brendon sat beside Dusty, holding one of his huge, work-roughened hands. It was probably the first time in his life he’d held a working man’s hand.

Brendon smiled up at her. “He’s got lots of boo-boos.”

She blinked back a tear. Dusty had always been a hard worker, and now he was almost killing himself to make his house into a home for her. She had to try harder to make things easier for him. And gosh, wouldn’t she love to stretch out beside him and rest her head on his chest. But she didn’t need fireworks right now. She needed peace and quiet so she could think the way through all the changes coming at her. Fireworks were what got her in this mess to start with.

“Come,” she whispered and held out her hand to Brendon. “You need supper, and he needs to sleep.”

Brendon got up and put his hand in hers. “I’m going to be a whale when I grow up. Dusty says he’s got a pet whale, and it comes and plays with his boat sometimes.”

“You can’t be a whale because you’re my little boy.” She tickled him before helping him into his chair at the table. “But you can be a marine biologist and study whales.”

“Or a fisherman, just like Dusty.”

Just like Dusty
. She’d been so busy catching up to her life, had she really taken the time to consider the consequences of her decisions? Dusty was a good man in many ways, but he could also be irresponsible and even selfish sometimes. Did she want her son to grow up to be
just like Dusty?
Did she have a choice?

Until now, it had just been her and the kids. Her mother had had an influence on them, but now that she thought about it, Linda had never encouraged them to dream. While Dusty was full of dreams.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about giving up some of the control she had over the children’s lives, or about the amount of influence Dusty suddenly seemed to have on Sarah and Brendon. She did know there wasn’t much she could do about it at the moment, but she’d keep a closer eye on the situation. She needed to talk to Dusty and make him aware of how impressionable young children were.

CHAPTER SIX

A
N
HOUR
LATER
, Teressa put her hands on the small of her back and leaned backward, hoping to work out the kinks. It had been ages since she’d seen Sarah and Brendon so fired up. She’d had to read them three different books before they calmed down enough to go to sleep. Not trusting herself to touch Dusty, she’d let Sarah do the honors of waking him up so they could climb into bed. He’d looked so big and...well, yummy stretched out on the floor. With a grunt, he’d wandered off to the bathroom or bedroom while she tucked the children in.

She hoped he’d gone to bed, because Dusty Carson looked sexy without trying. And when he got that hot look in his eyes...heat rushed through her. Yeah, she should avoid him tonight.

“Any supper left? I’m starving,” he asked from behind her.

She spun around, her face red from the lascivious thoughts that had been churning through her head. “Lots. Let me heat it up for you.”

“S’okay. I can do it.” He took the casserole dish out of the refrigerator, ladled some onto a plate, shoved it in the microwave and slammed the door shut.

She stood uncertainly in the middle of the kitchen, wanting to stay, but knowing she shouldn’t. Was this what her relationship with Dusty had come to? Everything so prickly between them that she avoided him as much as possible? That had never been her intention.

“Thanks for giving me a break tonight. You can’t imagine how wonderful it was to soak in the bath without the kids knocking on the door every few minutes.”

His gaze dropped from her eyes to her chest, then back up again. “I’ve been working hard at not imagining exactly that.” He gave her a tight smile. “Glad you enjoyed it. I guess I blew it with Brendon again. Sorry. I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”

She relaxed against the island. “You did something right, because he says he wants to be just like you when he grows up.”

Dusty looked stunned. The microwave beeped behind him, but he ignored it. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t have a strong male role model, and until he finds one, he latches on to whoever’s around.”

“Ah. So don’t take it personally, is that it?” He turned and took the plate out of the microwave. His shoulders looked tight with tension.

Interesting. Was Dusty starting to become invested in her children? So far he’d treated them like a minor—and sometimes not so minor— inconvenience. “Brendon hasn’t been around a lot of men,” she said carefully. “When he acts like he’s afraid of you, it’s just him not understanding. You’re a big man, Dusty, and you have a big voice. He’s not used to that.”

“So what you’re saying is I get in his way.” Holding his full plate in one hand, he forked in a mouthful of food.

Dusty sounded like a child himself. Why couldn’t he act like an adult and show some compassion for Brendon? Except hadn’t he done exactly that when he’d laid down and talked to him? “I thought it was sweet of you to talk to him. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I did great, falling asleep on the job.”

She tilted her head and studied him. All the Carsons were so confident, it had never occurred to her that Dusty would feel unsure of himself around the children. But he didn’t have any experience with kids as far as she knew, so it made sense. Maybe she could work on being more considerate, too. “When I went into the room to see what was going on, Brendon was sitting beside you, holding your hand.”

He frowned at his plate. “I don’t get kids. I’m as afraid of them as they are of me.”

When she laughed, he threw her a sheepish look. “I could have sworn Sarah was flirting with me today.”

She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You big strong men do bring out our feminine wiles.”

“Really?” He shoved his half-finished supper on the counter behind him then ambled toward her. “I happen to be very interested in your feminine wiles.” He rested his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. Her heart tap-danced out a warning as she inhaled his scent. He smelled salty like the ocean and masculine, too. Was it wrong to want to taste his skin? She scrunched her hands into fists to stop herself from pulling him closer.

Her breathing quickened, and she cursed her sensitive skin, heat prickling across the surface. “We need ground rules,” she croaked.

“I hate rules.” He dipped his head and flicked his tongue over her bottom lip. “So do you,” he murmured against her mouth.

Heat slowly uncoiled in her belly. He was right, she hated rules. Unless she was the one making them, but she was tired of being the one who always applied the brakes. Well, not always or she wouldn’t be pregnant. For just a few minutes, she wanted to indulge. She slid her arms up around his shoulders and tunneled her fingers into his hair. He whispered his mouth over hers, moved over to her earlobe and gently tugged on it with his teeth before nuzzling in under her ear.

She leaned into him and sighed, nipped at his jaw, then stood on tiptoe to reach his mouth, but he turned his head away from her and kissed a slow path down her neck to her cleavage. All very nice, but Dusty kissed her as if she was made of glass, and he had all the time in the world. She wanted passion.

He pulled back and grinned at her. “Esmeralda.”

She pulled herself out of the sexual haze that engulfed her. “What?”

“If we have a girl, I think we should call her Esmeralda.”

She was ready to rip his clothes off and he was thinking names—stupid names—for the baby. Obviously, he wasn’t nearly as turned on as she was.

“Really? You’d want your daughter going through life with a name like that?”

His grin disappeared. “It was a joke.”

“The whole damned pregnancy is a lark to you, isn’t it? It’s not real. That kind of attitude is exactly what worries me.”

“What? That I make a joke once in a while?”

No, that he wasn’t attracted to her as much as she was attracted to him. It was the only strong part of their relationship, or so she’d thought, but even that was a game to him. Because he’d never taken any woman in his life seriously. And he probably never would.

She dragged a hand across her eyes. “I’m talking about the fact that the full implications of having a child haven’t really sunk in for you. Once they’re born, they don’t go away. Ever.” Another time she’d tell him the good part, that your children were the most fascinating people in the world, and you’d do anything to keep them by your side.

His face paled. “Thank you for that update. God forbid I should actually be excited about having a kid. Excuse me, I need to take a shower.”

Teressa covered her face with her hands as he left the room. Was it true? Was he excited about this baby? Because mostly he acted scared. They’d been so busy adjusting to all the curveballs coming at them, they needed to have a real heart-to-heart about how they felt.

A few minutes later, Dusty, smelling of soap and shampoo, came out of the bathroom and sauntered into the living room. “It’s too early for bed,” he said over his shoulder to her as he grabbed the remote. “And I need a break from working all the time. Do you mind?”

Other than hiding out in the bathroom or the kitchen, the only place for her to relax was in the living room with him. At least she’d cooled off some. Fingers crossed, he had, too. Maybe they could have that heart-to-heart now.

“Of course not.” She rounded the sofa and perched on the arm. She stared at the flickering images on the TV, trying to gauge if things had returned to normal between them or if they were still awkward. “I meant to mention how much I like the new cushion flooring in the kitchen.”

She watched his face for a change of expression as he lowered the volume. “Josh said it was easy to install. We should clean out that second bedroom tomorrow night. You need a better bed than this couch to sleep on. If you want, I can start tonight.”

“I’m okay, Dusty. Thanks,” she added.

He turned his attention back to the TV. So, back to normal, then. Good.

“I picked out colors for all the rooms today.”

He sighed and turned down the sound on the TV again.

She should let the poor man relax for an hour without bothering him. Heaven knows he deserved some peace and quiet.

“That’s good.” He fingered the remote. “Whoever goes to town next should pick up the paint. I’ve got a list on the telephone table by the door. Write the names of the colors on that.”

“I could probably help paint the rooms,” she offered. “I’ll ask Anita to watch the kids. She wore jeans today,” she added.

“Who?”

“Anita.”

“So?”

“So have you ever seen Anita wear anything casual before?”

“I dunno. Guess not.”

“And she made a joke.”

“We’re still talking about Anita, right?”

Teressa slid down onto the couch, grabbed one of the throw pillows and hugged it. “Are you being a smart-ass?”

“I just don’t understand why we’re talking about her.”

“Because I’m trying to tell you something.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Which is?”

“Anita is making an effort to fit in. We should support her. That’s why I’m going to ask her, not Sylvie, to look after the kids.”

“Go ahead, but Cal won’t let her. Whenever anyone mentions asking Anita to do anything he blows up.”

“Yeah, I noticed. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“And that’s it? You just...don’t talk?”

“Talking’s overrated.”

She laughed. “Spoken like a man. I’m going to ask her to babysit anyway. Ow!” She doubled over and rubbed her side.

Dusty scooted over to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a stitch, I think. I had a couple of twinges earlier today.”

His face turned fish-belly white. “Twinges? Like...there?” He stared at her stomach.

“No. In my side. It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

“That’s it. You’re sleeping in my bed until we can fix up a bedroom for you. I’ll sleep here.” He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t bother arguing with me. Give me your feet. I read pregnant women like foot massages.”

“You’re awfully bossy.” But she uncurled her legs and rested her feet in his lap.

“Seems like that’s the only way I can get anyone to listen to me these days.” He picked up her foot and pressed his thumb along her arch.

She groaned and closed her eyes. “God, that feels good. You always give the best foot massages.”

When he didn’t say anything, she cracked open one eye to catch him smirking. “What?”

A mischievous glint kindled in his blue eyes. “Just thinking of other hidden talents I wouldn’t mind showing you.”

Another groan escaped her, but it had little to do with the foot massage. She couldn’t remember exactly
why
she’d decided it was a good idea for them not to have sex, just that she had. With a groan, she pulled her feet out of his lap and sat up.

“Was that a good groan or a bad one?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” She sighed. They had to talk about the sex thing because it was like having a tiger on the loose in their living room. “Maybe I was wrong saying that we shouldn’t...you know.”

“Um...you’re going to have to clue me in, ’cause there’s been a lot of rules lately. It’s hard to keep them all straight.”

She hoped he didn’t hear the tears in her laugh. Sometimes he was so adorable. Why couldn’t they be young and free and starting out with a clean slate? Not that she didn’t want her children, but she seriously doubted Dusty did. “Forget it. I was wishing for the moon.”

Without her realizing it, he’d slid next to her again. He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close until her head rested on his chest. The sure, constant beating of his heart soothed her. “Sometimes I think wishing is half the work of getting what you want.”

If that was true, she wished she could stay snuggled up against him for hours. She needed the physical contact and the strength he gave her just by putting his arms around her.

He kissed the top of her head. “Sometimes I think you’re right. About the no-sex thing. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you, ’cause believe me, I do. But things are pretty complicated between us, and it’s better if we wait until...I don’t know when. Until we’re ready to take that step, I guess.”

So he’d known all along what she’d been thinking. She leaned back so she could watch his face. “You’re a lot smarter than you let on.”

“Me? Nah. Cal’s the brains of the family.”

“And Sylvie’s the talented one. Where does that leave you?”

His smile turned brittle. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”

She slid her hand over his, where it rested on his thigh. “You’re the heart. You’re plenty smart, but you’re also kind and generous. Everyone in this village knows if they need help who to ask.”

It was true. When Andy’s Jeep had broken down in the middle of the night and in the middle of nowhere, he’d called Dusty to tow him home. And when Josh’s father didn’t have enough wood to last him the winter to heat his house, Dusty helped Josh cut a few extra cords for the elderly man. Everyone knew who to hit up for a small loan. She’d never heard of him refusing to give ten or twenty dollars even when he knew he’d never see that money again.

And now he’d opened his house to her in the same generous way. She loved him for being so kindhearted, but there was nothing she hated more than being dependent on anyone. Especially someone as important to her as her old friend. She’d been so caught up in making things work—in picking out paint colors for God’s sake—that she’d lost sight of the truth. She was nothing more than a charity case to Dusty. The thought made her heart hurt. How could they ever be equal?

The hard truth was, it was impossible for her to expect to be independent right now, so she’d do what she could to make things easier for him in exchange for his generosity. She’d work harder—at everything.

“Dusty?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about my pregnancy? There have been so many practical things to take care of, we haven’t talked about it.”

He turned off the TV. “You want the truth?”

Another twinge shot through her, but she held herself still. “Yes.”