Doorstep Daddy

“I thought you trusted me.”

She looked up from her kid’s head. “I need you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone. Sabrina is all I’ve got and—” Her phone started up again. Ellie rolled her eyes, then flipped it open. “On my way, I swear.” The phone went back in her pocket, and was exchanged for a business card. “My cell phone number is on there, as is my office phone. Call me every half hour and give me an update.”

“Update on what? If she burped?”

“Yes.”

“You’re kidding me. Kids do nothing all day. They eat, they poop, they sleep. There. That’s your update.”

Her jaw dropped in horror. He expected her to tell him off, but instead she turned away. A second later her shoulders were heaving and then, she was doing it again—

Crying.

Well, not exactly crying, more, holding her kid and looking like she might let loose with the waterworks at any second. Damn. He hadn’t been around this much estrogen since he lived at home.

He stood behind Ellie, his hands at his sides, useless and awkward. His chest constricted, lungs caught. A part of him said to reach out and hug her.

The other part said not to get involved. He listened to that part, deciding it was the side with more sense.

She nuzzled at the kid’s head, as if she was breathing in her hair. Dalton focused his gaze on the name branded across his refrigerator and avoided the private moment as best he could. Except it was right there in his kitchen. Inescapable.

“I hate leaving you. I hate it,” she said, more to herself than the baby, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Then quit,” Dalton suggested. Ever Mr. Helpful.

“I can’t. I have to pay the bills.”

“Then quit complaining.”

She wheeled around. “You are the most unsympathetic man—”

“I’m not unsympathetic. I’m matter-of-fact. The way I see it, you have two choices. Quit, or buck up.” Half of him said he should reach out, swipe away the tears on her face, and a small part of him ached to do just that. But he didn’t know her and she’d probably deck him if he touched her. “Moaning about it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I just had a baby. I’m…hormonal. You could be a little understanding.”

“I’m being logical.”

“You probably think I’m a basket case. All I’ve done is cry today. It’s just…” She drew in a breath, let it out again. “I’ve got a lot going on personally and I’ve had a really bad day at work, and then, with this whole Mrs. Winterberry thing and seeing you with her, it brought up every emotion I try to keep bottled up.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything.

“Every time I’m at work, I miss Sabrina like crazy. I’m like any new mom, I guess. You practically have to pry her out of my arms.” Her face softened, nearly melting with love and the kind of heartbreak that told him a part of her gut wrenched in half when she left her kid behind every morning.

Dalton might not be the nicest guy in Boston, but even he could see this was hard on her. Where was her husband? And why wasn’t he stepping up to share the burden? Either way, it wasn’t Dalton’s place to get involved, at least not beyond this temporary babysitting thing.

“I do have a crowbar in the garage, and I’m not afraid to use it,” he teased, tossing Ellie a grin, waiting until she echoed the smile, and when she did, it was as if a ray of sunshine had burst right there in his living room.

It hit him in the gut. Hard. Before he could think about how that felt, he stepped forward, figuring he better take the lead or she’d be working her way through another box of tissues on him. He took the kid out of her arms, holding the baby gingerly, like she was a sack of C-4 explosives, keeping her from too much direct contact.

“Now get to work,” he said to Ellie, his tone gentler than he’d ever heard it, surprising even him. “And hurry back.” He gestured toward the door. “Because I don’t do overtime.”

Ellie’s mind should have been on the guest sitting across from her. A three-time soccer champ, lauded the world over, not for his skills, but for his ability to woo women and rugged good looks that had propelled him—and his soccer ball— into the realm of teenage girl fantasies, splashing his mug across every under-eighteen-year-old’s wall around the country.

But Ellie couldn’t concentrate on the young athlete. Instead, she kept thinking about a certain irascible dark-haired, blue-eyed writer. She couldn’t imagine him cooing to and spoiling Sabrina the way Mrs. Winterberry did, but she didn’t think he’d neglect her or anything. He’d be efficient. As he called it, matter-of-fact. And for some reason, Sabrina seemed to take to him.

Find him fascinating.

It was something about his eyes.

The deep blue of them, perhaps. The way they tossed and turned, like an uneasy ocean. Sabrina certainly didn’t notice all those details.

But Ellie did.

Noticed them in a visceral way that she hadn’t noticed about a man in a long, long time.

Not since Cameron. Ellie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She’d vowed to move on with her life, to put the past where it should be—in the past. To not feel guilty because Cameron had told her to move on, to live her life.

To find someone else. A husband for herself. A father for Sabrina. Because he wouldn’t be here to do the job himself.

“You’re sure the lighting will be on my good side?” Barry Perkins asked. He took a comb out of his pocket, perfected already perfect blond hair, then flashed her a gleaming smile. “Because my fans will expect that, of course.”

“Of course.” Vanity, thy name is Barry Perkins. Ellie glanced down at her notepad, to jot a note about “good side,” then felt her face heat. Instead of finding notes about the soccer player, her pad was covered with doodles of the letter “D.”

She had Dalton on the mind. Not a good thing. Especially because the man annoyed her to the -nth degree. How anyone could be so grumpy, she had no idea. It certainly explained why she’d never seen him before. He defined the word “hermit.”

She glanced at the picture of Sabrina on her desk. Was he holding Sabrina right now? Was her daughter laughing? Or crying? Or sleeping peacefully? Ellie’s gaze darted to the phone, and she had to curl her fist tight around her pen to resist the urge to call Dalton and check up on the baby.

“You’ll have filtered water in my dressing room, right? Along with dark chocolates, with raspberry centers? Make sure there aren’t any strawberry or, God help me—” he pressed a hand to his forehead “—any coconut ones. Raspberry only.”

Ellie forced a patient smile to her face. “Certainly.”

Scheduling bottled waters and personalized chocolates for male divas wasn’t the life she had envisioned when she’d found out she was pregnant, and getting used to it had been a hundred times harder than Ellie had expected. She hadn’t, in fact, expected to be working at all for the first year or two after Sabrina had been born. Cameron was supposed to be the breadwinner. She was supposed to be able to stay home with Bri, put her career on a temporary hold, and then get back into the swing of things.

Then Cameron had died, and Ellie had been thrust into the role of breadwinner, dual parent, homeowner, everything, all at once. The plan had gone horribly awry, and when she was here at her office at Channel 77, she simply couldn’t think about Sabrina, because when she thought about all she was missing, it drove her insane.

And down the road, the thought of not seeing those first teeth, first steps, first words—

Forget it. Ellie was either going to have to hook up full-time video surveillance or find some kind of work-at-home job. The separation would surely kill her otherwise.

“I’ll have my manager fax a list of my other requirements.” The soccer player rose, then straightened his shirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “I look forward to being the featured guest on your show.”

If Ellie told him he was a five-minute segment following a former President, the soccer star would undoubtedly bolt—along with his supply of raspberry chocolates. He’d probably throw a major temper tantrum, which would take time Ellie didn’t have. She wanted to get out of here on time—so she could get back to Sabrina. And if she was lucky, Lincoln would keep his afternoon golf date with the head of the TV station, and Ellie might even be able to sneak out early.

So instead she worked up another smile, shook the soccer player’s hand, and walked him to the door. As soon as he left, and the female buzz in the office had died to manageable decibels, Ellie picked up her office phone and dialed Dalton’s house.

So much for keeping her focus on her job. Maybe that video surveillance thing wasn’t such a far-fetched idea after all.

“Hello?” He answered on the third ring. Barked, really.