Detective Daddy

“Sooner or later, I have to—”

“Later.” His tone offered no room for argument. Plucking Marie from her lap, he carried the baby to her bed.

Fay was too tired to bristle. Sighing, she eased herself down and closed her eyes.

As Dan looked over the dwindling food supply, he told himself it was a damn good thing they would be leaving the cabin in the morning. He had enough spaghetti for supper, but nothing to make a tomato-based sauce with. He located some fairly ancient cheese and decided with flour, skim milk and the last dab of butter, maybe he could conjure up an edible white sauce. There would be nothing but beans for a side dish. When he’d stocked up, he hadn’t counted on either the storm or the pregnant woman lost in it.

In another way, though, he hated to leave the cabin. In ordinary circumstances he tended to be close-mouthed. The circumstances of Fay’s arrival and their enforced intimacy had certainly loosened his tongue. He’d never before explained to anyone why he and Jean had split. Rather than being sorry he’d told her as much as he had, he felt they’d exchanged confidences. He’d shared some of his past with her in the same way she had with him. He was going to miss her. And the little peanut as well. He’d had no conception of how quickly a baby could carve a niche in the hardest heart.

He tried not to worry that Bruce might find something seriously wrong with Fay, but her pallor made him doubt that her lingering fatigue was normal.

Supper, while not an outstanding success, was edible. There was nothing wrong with Fay’s appetite anyway. While he cleaned up the kitchen, he glanced now and then at her as she nursed the baby, enjoying the warm feeling it gave him.

After returning Marie to her bed, Fay sat at the table. “Look what I found in one of the cabinets,” she said, tapping a finger on what he saw was a Scrabble board. “Prepare for an ignominious defeat.”

He laughed. “Only in your dreams, gal.”

He hadn’t played Scrabble since he’d been a kid, and even then it hadn’t been his favorite pastime. But, hell, there wasn’t all that much to the game.

When he drew the X, worth eight points, right off, he smiled. Since he had an S and an E he spelled out sex on the board.

His smiled faded as she added a Y to the word and spelled yazoo down the other way. “Is that a word?”

“Certainly. It’s a person who lives by the Yazoo River in Mississippi.”

“Then it’d be capitalized.”

“Actually, no, it isn’t,” she said smugly.

He eyed her assessingly. Was Fay a cheat? Shaking his head, he muttered, “Have to admit I never saw a sexy yazoo. But then I’ve never been to Mississippi.”

The next word he spelt out was breast. As he looked up from the word, his gaze traveled over Fay’s T-shirt and, noticing the sensual curve of her breasts underneath, he felt a sudden stir of desire. He wondered why watching her nurse Marie didn’t turn him on, yet the sight of her covered breasts had done just that.

You’re losing it, Sorenson, he told himself. Cabin fever.

In the end, Fay beat him by a narrow margin.

“Close, but no cigar, as my dad used to say,” she remarked as she tallied up the game.

“Mine, too,” Dan told her. “He said it came from carnivals where you got a cigar if they couldn’t guess your weight within a pound either way.”

“Do you think we’re doomed to become our parents?”

“I sure hope not.”

“My mother was okay,” she said, “but my dad…” She broke off.

“The other way around in my family.” He hadn’t known he was going to blurt that out until he heard himself say it. He saw her interest and groaned inwardly. What was there about Fay that made him reveal more of himself than he ever had to anyone else?

“Can I ask, or are you sorry you said anything and don’t want to talk about it?” she said.

“Not much to tell,” he said gruffly. “She ran off with another man when I was in college and Dad divorced her. He’d never talk about it, but he was devastated.”

“Are both your parents still living?”

“Dad is. Bought a place in Florida. Said he had enough of cold winters. I—we don’t know where my mother is.”

“How sad.”

Dan shrugged. His sympathy had always been with his father. He couldn’t imagine living all those years with a woman and then, without warning, having her leave him flat for some other guy. Marriage was vastly overrated.

“Is that why Bruce and Megan have never married?” Fay asked.

“Part of it. Will—that’s my older brother—had a failed marriage and so did I. That contributed to our belief that Sorensons are better off single.”

“I see. But it’d be interesting to talk to your mother.”

He stared at her, frowning. Why in hell would she want to talk to his mother?

“There’s always more than one side,” she informed him. “Didn’t you ever search for her?”

“No!” The word burst from him.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to press on a sore point. Or interfere in what’s your business and not mine.” She rose from her chair.

When he noticed her clutch at the chair back to keep her balance, he jumped to his feet and put an arm around her to help her back to the couch. His anger was no reason to forget how fragile she still was. Wouldn’t happen again. Above all, he meant to keep Fay safe.

He just had no intention of marrying her or any other woman. Even if she’d have him. Which he doubted. Fay had made it pretty clear if she ever chose a husband, he’d be the high-powered, ambitious type. Which didn’t even remotely describe Dan Sorenson. Not that he cared.

When he’d eased her onto the couch, she looked up at him and said, “When we get the camera, I’ll make sure you get a picture of Marie to keep.”

He’d forgotten all about the camera. “I’d like that.”

“But not necessarily one of me. Really, I usually look a lot better than this.”

He figured he’d give her another try at understanding how he saw her. “You look fine. Too pale, but otherwise—”

“You’re a sweetheart to say so.”

Which he deciphered to mean she didn’t believe a word of it, so he decided she wouldn’t believe anything else he might have to say about her appearance. If he admitted that he found her beautiful, she would attribute it to kindness on his part. Gallantry, even.

“There’s more than one who’d tell you I don’t have a kind bone in my body,” he told her. “Or a sweet heart.”

He could see his words had confused her.

“You’re wrong about what I want,” he added. “I’d like a photo of you as well as one of Peanut.”

“Peanut? Is that how you think of her?” She smiled. “I guess she is sort of tiny, at that. Maybe your brother or sister will take one of the three of us. A memento of the April storm.”