With Courage And Commitment

Through her adolescent years, Stephanie had logged hours upon hours puttering in the kitchen, just far enough back from the window so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her. Assuming he ever looked in her direction. Which he probably hadn’t.

Nonetheless, she’d turned snooping on the boy down the street into an art form.

“Is something wrong out there?”

She jumped at the sound of her father behind her. “No, nothing.” Her voice squeaked.

“Good, then I’m hoping it’s about dinnertime.”

“Coming right up.” Chastising herself for her wayward thoughts, she used a hotpad to pick up the frying pan filled with Sloppy Joe mixture and carried it into the dining room where the family had always eaten their dinners when Stephanie’s father was home. When he was working, her mother had served her two daughters their meals less formally in the kitchen.

“C shift is on duty tonight,” her father commented idly from his place at the head of the table.

“Oh?” She went back to the kitchen to get milk for herself and water for her dad.

“I can get you a station schedule, if you’d like.”

Acting unconcerned, she placed the glasses on the table. “Did I ask?”

“No. I just thought it would easier for you if you knew when to bother looking out the window to see if Danny’s home.”

She glared at her father, which didn’t do an iota of good. The only redeeming merit of this conversation was the faint hope Danny would be too tired after twenty-four hours on duty to show up tomorrow at the preschool to help them paint over the fire and smoke damage.

By morning she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

At ten minutes after eight there was a knock on the door.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

Dressed in ratty jeans and an old T-shirt, he looked sexy as all get out. In contrast, her ballooning blouse and baggy shorts simply made her look fat.

“Go where?”

“To the preschool. It’s painting day.”

“You mean you’re not going to tie me to a chair and leave me here at home in order to protect me from those nasty fumes you’re so worried about?”

He cocked one eyebrow, an incredibly seductive mannerism he’d perfected during his adolescent years. “Darn, I hadn’t thought of that. You got any rope?”

“Oh, hush!” Barely able to suppress a smile, she swatted his arm with the back of her hand. “I could drive myself, you know.”

“I figured it didn’t make any sense for both of us to drive since I’ve gotta come back here tonight anyway. Better to save on gas.”

As if an eighth of a gallon would make much difference. “What? Saturday night and no big date? You’re slipping, Sullivan.”

“Some of us are willing to make huge sacrifices for the greater good.” He glanced past her as if expecting her father to appear. “Come on, Twiggy. Time’s a’wasting.”

She bristled. She really didn’t need to hear that nickname again, especially when this particular twig had swollen to proportions previously unknown to humankind.

And she wasn’t done growing yet.

They walked down the driveway together, and he halted at the passenger side of his SUV, blocking her way. “You did talk to your doctor like you promised, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

He cocked a brow. “And she said?”

“For the sake of my blood pressure, I should stay away from exasperating men like you.”

His rich baritone laughter wrapped around her like an old, familiar blanket on a chilly night and did something extraordinary to her insides.

And it irritated her like crazy that he could affect her so strongly after all these years.

“You don’t have to come at all, you know, since the doctor said I’d be fine.”

Ignoring her comment, he played the gentleman, helping her up into his SUV—which annoyed her even more.

ALICE HAD RECRUITED HER husband, Jeffrey Tucker, to help with the painting job. A grocery store manager by trade, he was long and lanky with a receding hairline that he’d covered with a white painter’s cap. Carrying a gallon can of paint in each hand, he greeted Stephanie and Danny when they arrived.

“Alice has the coffee brewing. Should be ready in a minute.”

“Sounds good to me,” Danny said.

“Is there more stuff in your van?” Stephanie asked, noting the familiar nine-passenger vehicle parked at the curb that the school used for field trips.

“Right. Ladders, drop cloths, rollers, the works.”

Danny angled toward the van. “We’ll get ’em.”

Stephanie followed him, making a concerted effort not to notice his tight buns. Either bicycle riding was an excellent firming exercise or men got all the genetic breaks when it came to avoiding cottage cheese derrieres. Probably some of both.

He handed her a bundle of old drop cloths. “I don’t want you climbing any ladders today.”

“Oh?”

“And you need to take lots of breaks, too. I don’t want you to get overtired.”

“Oh, you don’t, huh?” A spark of anger fed her rising temper.

“Nope.” He reached for an extension ladder to slide it out of the van. “We’ll have to be careful that the place is well ventilated so you—”

She clamped her hand on the ladder. “Daniel Sullivan, I have spent the past two years in a relationship with the bossiest man on the face of the earth. He told me where we would go, what I should wear and where I should shop. Half the time he ordered dinner for me as if I were a child who didn’t know my own mind. And the worst thing is, I let him do it.” She leveled Danny the sternest look she could manage. “No man is going to boss me around like that again. I’m a grown woman and I can decide for myself what I’m going to climb and what I’m not.”

His eyes held hers, the most sincere, most stubborn shade of blue imaginable. “Fine by me. Then I’ll assume you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t be climbing ladders in your condition.”

“I can climb—”

“For the sake of the baby.”