Everything but a Husband

“Oh, right,” she said on a shaky breath, not liking how much she liked the way his chin nestled on top of her head. How good it felt to have a man’s arm around her again. How this whole man-woman thing was such a crock. “I suppose this kind of thing happens to you all the time.”

“Actually, you might be surprised. I do have a four-year-old, you know.”

At that, she drew away enough to look up into his eyes. And immediately regretted it. Not because she didn’t like what she saw, but because she did. Not just the way the skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled, or even the profound goodness she sensed behind the smile. No, it went far, far deeper than that, because she suddenly figured out another reason why this man reminded her of Vinnie. Actually, of every man she’d ever known.

Del Farentino, she realized with the force of a thunderclap, was a Protector. Too. The kind of man whose mission, as he saw it, was to take care of all the females in his life, to ensure their health, safety and well-being. On the surface, a desirable enough trait, until the down side of having a man look out for your every need smacks you between the eyes. Until you wake up one day and realize you’ve never made a single important decision on your own.

Heck, that you’ve barely made any little decisions on your own.

And that, because of what you’d allowed to happen, you weren’t considered capable of handling what should have been yours by right.

Vinnie had been a Protector. As had her grandfather. Granted, they had different ways of carrying out their mission, but the message was the same: a woman needed a man to take care of her, to give her what she needed, to guide her through life, to protect her from…herself. Maybe Vinnie had been a kinder, gentler example of the species, using sweet talk and presents to get his way, but get his way, he did. In everything. And how the heck was a completely sheltered eighteen-year-old who’d never even dated another man to know how detrimental such an attitude could be? That her husband’s outdated ideas about men’s and women’s roles, his determination to shield her from the worries and cares of the everyday world—in other words, life—had also created the woman who now couldn’t take a simple little trip without becoming violently ill?

She scrambled to her feet then, throwing off both Del’s concern and his arm. True, she wobbled for a second, but ultimately forced everything to settle down.

Her body hadn’t gone haywire because of the plane, or the exhaust smells or anything else physical. Not really. She was sick because she was petrified. Of being alone. Of being on her own. Of being unable to handle decisions other people—other women—handled without a second thought. With the money her grandmother had left her, she really could do pretty much whatever she wanted…and the prospect of being the only person responsible for her life absolutely terrified her.

The prospect, however, of being sucked into another relationship, of falling under another man’s protection, terrified her far more.

Still, even though the men in her life could be, in large part, credited for the state in which she now found herself, she wasn’t dumb enough or naive enough to consign the entire blame to them. For thirty-five years, Galen Volcek Granata had let men boss her around, one way or another. Strip her of her autonomy, her ability to function as a complete human being. For ill or good, she had made her own choices, all along.

Now she had the opportunity to fix things.

She stomped over to the truck, yanked open her own door before Del could, climbed in on her own steam.

“I guess that means you’re ready to go?” he said at her window.

“More than I’ve ever been in my life,” she said, chin raised, and the nausea simply vanished.

Chapter 3

Del ordered pizza—extra cheese, black olives, pepperoni—then turned to the stack of dirty dishes patiently waiting for him on the counter beside the sink. God bless Pizza Hut. What with having to pick Galen up at the airport and all, he’d had no choice but to drag Wendy along on his last-minute check-ins. But all was finished, all was fixed, all was well, and now he had five whole days with nothing to do but rest, watch TV, and play with his daughter.

Notice, he did not include thinking about Galen Granata on that list.

He rinsed off the last Corelle bowl from breakfast, slowly set it in the drainer. Of course, trying not to think about the redhead was like trying to ignore a mosquito bite. The woman was, without a doubt, the strangest creature he’d ever encountered. Whatever was going on in that gal’s head, it was definitely scary. One second, she’s looking at him like a lost puppy; the next minute, like he’d just threatened to sue her. Or she, him.

Del dried his hands, rummaged in one of the cupboards for a couple of paper plates. Once back in the truck, Galen had sat with her hands tightly folded in her lap, staring straight ahead, that luscious mouth of hers pulled in a straight line. He made a few lame attempts at conversation, but lighting wet wood would’ve been easier. After three or four tries, he’d given up.

What bugged him, though, was why her uncommunicativeness should bother him so much. So what? He’d only been doing Cora a favor, after all. Wasn’t as if her houseguest was going to be around, someone he had to entertain or even put up with. And if Miss Caribbean Eyes had been actually rude, he probably wouldn’t even be thinking about her now. She’d just been…unwilling to talk. As if getting to know him, or letting him get to know her, somehow put her in danger. As if she was trying to prove something to herself.

He wondered about her husband.

He wondered why he was wondering about things that were none of his business.

The phone rang, interrupting pointless musings.

“Yo.”

His father, a successful developer, chuckled. “Real professional, Del. Good way to impress all those potential clients, you know?”

Del shrugged, sliding down onto a kitchen chair. “Hey—one, this is my personal number, and two, who the hell would be calling me about a job tonight?”

“Guess you have a point there.”

“Thank you.”

Hugh Farentino laughed again, making Del smile. Dad and he might have had their moments—still did—but he genuinely admired the man. Liked him, too. And he was glad his father, a widower for so many years, had found someone to make him happy. On the surface, Maureen Louden seemed no different than a hundred other well-heeled, Midwest born and bred, middle-aged lady Realtors—blonde and small and pretty and impeccably dressed, no matter what the occasion. But in the year-plus since his father’s remarriage, Maureen had proven that, yeah, she was strong willed, to be sure, but also determined to wring every drop of passion out of her life—and equally determined that everyone in her circle did the same.

It was also almost embarrassingly clear how much she loved Del’s father.

Del’s heart did this funny stuttering thing, making him frown. Was that a twinge of envy? For Dad and Maureen? Absurd.

“So. Cora told Maureen you hadn’t decided whether or not to come to Elizabeth’s,” his father said.

If he wanted privacy, he’d have to move elsewhere. Like to a hitherto unnamed planet. “I don’t know, Dad. Sounds like an awful lot of people…”

“Exactly. All those kids for Wendy to play with.”

Apprehension pulled tight in his chest, as it did a hundred times a day. Wendy hadn’t met most of these children, they wouldn’t know—

“Del,” Hugh said softly, interrupting his paranoia. “I know what you’re thinking. But you’ve got to let Wendy start stretching her wings.”

“She’s not even five yet, Dad—”

That got a laugh. Which Del returned, somewhat. “Okay, yeah, I know she’s a little advanced for her years—”

Hugh snorted.

“—but still. And she’s also very sensitive…”

“Which doesn’t have a damn thing to do with anything, and you know it. That’s just the way she is. You were, God knows. And it’s something she’s going to have to learn to deal with, sooner or later. It’ll be fine, Del. And Wendy will have a blast.”

Wendy wandered into the kitchen, squeaking a chair across the floor as she yanked it back, sank into it, her face caught in her palms. Bored, would be Del’s guess. Just the other day, in fact, she was begging to see Elizabeth’s and Guy’s kids, including their toddler daughter Chloe.

He was being silly. Wasn’t he?

“Okay,” Del said on a resigned sigh. “I guess we’ll be there.”

“Good. Give our girl a hug for us.”

Del no sooner hung up than the doorbell rang. Wendy jumped up, holding out her hands for the money, which he retrieved from his wallet and handed to her. He opened the door and took the pizza, letting Wendy pay—keeping an eye on the delivery kid to make sure they got the right change back—his chest swelling with pride when she said a very clear “Thank you” to the kid as he left.

Galen looked up from unpacking her few things from her bag, blinking in astonishment at Cora, enthroned in an armchair in front of the heavily draped guest-room window. Somehow, in all the thousands and thousands of words they’d already exchanged since her arrival, Cora had overlooked these. Just as Galen had not mentioned Del Farentino, other than to thank Cora for sending him. She was having enough trouble figuring out her bizarre reaction to the man without throwing her surrogate mother a bone to gnaw on.

“What do you mean, we’re going to somebody’s house for dinner on Thanksgiving?” The dog jumped up on Cora’s guest-room bed; Galen pushed her off before the beast’s sharp nails snagged the comforter’s ivory satin cover. Nonplussed, Baby pranced over to Cora, who scooped her up onto her broad lap. “What was all this about not wanting to spend the holiday alone?”

“And you believed me?”