Daddy in the Making

chapter Seven

“When is Mr. Conn coming?” Kristy asked as she held Rita’s hand on the way into St. Valentine High School.

“He might already be here.” Rita had to tread lightly as far as her daughter was concerned. At four years old, Kristy had never been around men much on a personal level, except for her uncle Nick. One of Rita’s biggest fears was that Kristy might be so hungry for a father figure that she would attach too easily to any man Rita brought home.

As they walked through the high school’s brick lobby, the musty smell of days gone by got to Rita. This was where she had laid her head on Kevin’s shoulder while they sat on the benches before school. This was where she’d thought she’d fallen in love.

Kristy pulled Rita out of her painfully nostalgic fog by tugging on her hand, then yanking her into the gym, which was empty, since they were early for the Chamber of Commerce lunch.

“Come on, Mommy!”

“I’m right behind you.” And her stomach was gnarled in knots, anticipating Conn waiting for them.

At first, when they entered the gym, Rita only saw row upon row of linen-covered tables set with heavy paper plates, plastic silverware and ruffled turkey centerpieces that the high school Future Homemakers of America club had already put out.

Kristy stood in the center of it all in her red velvet dress and tights, her hands on her hips as she peered around for Conn, disappointment written all over her face.

Rita’s chest clenched. If Kristy had been old enough, this was what she might’ve looked like on the night her father had left, if she had come into a room and tried to find him.

“He’s just not here yet,” Rita said, going to Kristy and giving her a big kiss on the forehead.

But then she heard a voice echoing off the gym’s walls.

“Who’s not here?”

Conn. And as Rita and Kristy spun around to see him, Rita wanted to run over, throw her arms around him and thank him for keeping his word.

Sure, this was only a casual meeting but... Well, it was more than that, too. More than Rita was used to from men.

Kristy chose that moment to turn into a shy girl, and she pressed against Rita’s leg, holding on to her wool skirt with one hand.

As Rita fought the blush she knew was consuming her face, she played off her excitement. “A man who isn’t afraid of a little work. Glad you showed up.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” His boots thudded on the gym floor as he sauntered the rest of the way to them. “Morning, Kristy.”

She gave him a slight wave before doubling her efforts to cling to Rita.

“Who are you?” Rita said to her normally outgoing daughter, laughing.

Conn grinned at Kristy. “Are you going to help us serve the food?”

“I’m helping Mommy.”

Rita ruffled her curls just as a couple of women walked into the gym with their children.

They waved to Rita, and Kristy gave a little hop at the sight of the other children.

“Can I go play?” she whispered loudly.

The other kids had already sprinted over to a set of wooden bleachers that had been pulled out from the wall, creating a lounging area. Any minute, some volunteer students from the Future Homemakers were scheduled to begin babysitting duty.

“Sure you can,” Rita said to Kristy. “But don’t climb past the second step, okay?”

“Okay!” Kristy was already off and running.

Rita greeted the other girls’ mothers. They said hi back, then gave Conn a subtle once-over as they made their way toward the door near the stage, where the volunteers would be congregating. Apparently, they thought it best to give Rita time alone with this new man who was still a stranger to everyone else.

But Conn didn’t seem to mind. He was smiling and watching Kristy fuss over a rag doll that one of the other girls had brought.

“She’s a carbon copy of you,” Conn said.

“Hopefully the new and improved version.”

Rita was just joking, but Conn looked at her with a brow cocked.

“I wasn’t thinking there was room for improvement,” he said, and just those couple of words sent a tumble of shivers through her.

The charmer, she thought. The same man who had wrapped her around his finger that first night.

But he was here, with her, in spite of all the odds.

More people had come through the doors, saying hi to Rita and Conn, then going toward the stage door. The Future Homemaker teen volunteers arrived, checking in with Rita before taking Kristy and the other kids to the playroom where the high school’s child-development class held a nursery school during the week.

Kristy rushed to Rita for a hug before she left. “Bye, Mom.”

“I’ll see you when they bring you back to serve the food,” she said.

But Kristy wasn’t finished, and Rita got the feeling that her daughter was showing off for Conn. “See you later, alligator.”

“After a while, crocodile.”

The exchange always tickled Kristy’s funny bone, and she giggled just before she leaped over to Conn, waving at him up close and personal before taking off with the others.

Rita could tell that he was utterly charmed by her daughter as they went to the staging area, and it made her proud that she had raised such a girl.

And happier than she had been in a long time.

As she risked one more glance at him, she wondered if he was thinking of their own child and how she would grow up.

If he only knew their baby was a she...

Rita sighed. Someday soon, if everything went well, she would tell Conn everything.

Someday.

Backstage, the main organizers of the function, Jennifer Neeson and Lianna Hurst, were handing out flyers with directions for each volunteer job.

“I brought another victim,” Rita said to Jennifer, whose long, lustrous dark hair was in a sleek ponytail. She was wearing a tight yellow cashmere sweater dress, hardly an outfit meant for food service.

Jennifer looked Conn up and down, and Rita’s claws almost came out. The woman was probably the most aggressive bachelorette in St. Valentine.

Then Ms. Maneater smiled at Conn, as if proving Rita’s fears. “New additions are always welcome.”

Even the way she gave him a flyer was suggestive.

Conn merely nodded to her and started reading his sheet. He didn’t even give Jennifer a second look, and honestly, Rita was watching very closely to see if he would.

Was the playboy in there somewhere?

Jennifer pouted ever so slightly before just about shoving Rita’s own flyer toward her.

Years of having to deal with Jennifer Neeson and her fake high school laugh—as well as the way she used to flirt with Kevin during English class—brought the devil out in Rita. So she laid her hand on Conn’s arm and guided him to the wings.

But Conn wasn’t a fool. When they were alone, he raised his gaze from his sheet of paper, a grin swiping his mouth.

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “She’s your second best friend after Violet.”

“Hah-hah. Jennifer Neeson doesn’t even have the sense to leave the cashmere at home during a hash-slinging event.” Rita rolled her eyes. “What am I saying? She probably has carpets made of cashmere. She’s the mayor’s daughter and hasn’t lived a day when she wasn’t privileged. If she gets a spot on her sweater, she’ll just toss it in the trash.”

Conn smiled, but his gaze drifted to his arm where she was touching him. Slowly, Rita removed her hand. She hadn’t realized she’d still been staking out her territory like that.

But it’d felt natural, as if touching him shouldn’t be a big deal.

Much to her delight, he gave her a look that told her she could touch him anytime she wanted to.

“At any rate,” Rita said, trying to recover from the blast of heat that had just fired through her, “Jennifer Neeson is Violet’s archenemy. The rich girl versus the miner’s daughter. It’s been that way since school.”

“Sounds like a lot of things pretty much stay the same in St. Valentine.”

“Until they don’t stay the same.”

But she didn’t add that it felt as if she were changing. Minute by minute, day by day, Conn seemed to be turning things around with her, and it was becoming easier to give in to change. And him.

Just then, Margery Wilmore, Rita’s hotel employee who was handling the serving corps, beckoned the servers to another part of the backstage room. Grateful for the interruption, Rita went to her, standing next to Conn, ignoring how her skin came alive while she listened to Margery elaborate on their serving tasks.

He didn’t have to be here, Rita thought all the while.

And yet...here he was, even when her ex-fiancé had turned to another woman and another life. For so many years, Rita had felt discarded, and it was hard to accept that maybe she was worthwhile to someone.

Especially this someone, who might end up changing his mind about her all too soon.

“By now,” Margery said, concluding her speech, “the hosts should’ve begun seating everyone. So suit up!”

She pointed to a pile of aprons that had been donated by the Chamber of Commerce.

As everyone shuffled toward the serving gear, Conn winked down at Rita. “I’ve got ’em.”

When he left her, Margery took his place next to Rita. The older woman had already put on her apron, which had a turkey shaped out of the words “St. Valentine” on it. Her plump chest made the bird’s feathers spread out.

“Busy times, Rita?” she asked.

This was Margery’s preamble to a friendly examination of Conn. Rita could predict it to a T.

“Holidays are always hectic,” she said. “Luckily, we’ll get a bit of a break at the hotel.” This time of year was historically slow, and the bookings told Rita that this season would be no different, Tony Amati story or not.

“Hectic is the word, all right,” Margery said. “I covered for you at the hotel after the reception yesterday because of your schedule.” It would’ve sounded like chiding from anyone else, but Margery had a way of sweetly disguising it so you weren’t quite certain. “I should’ve really stayed behind and played manager again today while you’re here.”

Total guilt trip. “We’ve got a lot of capable staff who know the ins and outs of the hotel, Margery. Besides, I’ll be going in later.”

“Honey, you’ve got to mind your condition.” Taking a different tack, she gave a pointed look to Rita’s belly. “You never told me you were pregnant.”

The little dickens in Rita wanted so badly to tell Margery that she had merely put on some weight. Wouldn’t that make her squirm?

But she was proud of this baby, just as she was about Kristy.

And proud of Conn?

No, she wouldn’t be announcing that he was the father. It was way too soon.

Rita chose the path of least resistance, smiling at Margery and making the woman wonder about the details of the baby. But she did pat her on the arm to soften her refusal to elaborate. Truthfully, she didn’t dislike Margery—she just didn’t need the constant watchful eyes and clucking tongue.

She left Margery behind and went to Conn, who had two aprons in hand as he chatted with Aaron Rhodes, the scraggly-haired carpenter and Chamber of Commerce president.

“Rita,” Aaron said, his green eyes amused as he greeted her. “Conn was just agreeing with me that men shouldn’t wear turkey aprons.”

Conn chuckled, gesturing to his ultra-manly gray Western shirt. “I don’t mind getting dirty.”

“Seconded,” Aaron said.

“Come on.” Rita stood on her tiptoes, snatching Conn’s hat from his head and leaving his hair a dark, thick mess. “Be a sport.”

She grabbed one of the aprons he was holding and hooked it over his head.

Aaron, who was just as much of a bachelor as Conn, laughed and walked away, shaking his head.

Conn glanced down at his apron-ized self. “I’m just going to keep repeating that this isn’t so bad.”

“It actually works on you, Conn,” Rita said.

Well, that had just popped out. But it was true. Conn made apron-wearing kind of sexy, especially with his hair as disheveled as it was.

She remembered that night with him—her fingers combing through his hair, mussing it while he kissed her...

This had to stop. “I meant,” she said, “that male chefs wear aprons. It’s not like this one is made of lace and frills, anyway.”

His smile quirked to the side. “You’re telling me that it’s a masculine apron.”

“Very masculine.”

And there she went again.

A fraught beat passed between them—one filled with a night of steamy kisses and caresses.

Was he thinking about the same thing?

Rita gave him back his hat, ending the moment. How did he manage to get the air around her so thick with suggestion?

Thankfully, it was time to serve, and after they washed up and Kristy joined Rita backstage, they went to the food carts that had been transferred from the state-of-the-art culinary classroom that had been donated by Vi’s new millionaire husband, Davis Jackson.

Rita lost Conn as they started their work in earnest, grabbing prime rib–laden plates and entering the gym, where everyone from old miners to town businessmen sat at the tables, chatting festively.

Everybody, from every walk of St. Valentine life, all in one room. Who would have ever guessed it could happen?

But, in a corner of the gym, banded together, there was a table of natural-gas-field guys. Most of them were ex-kaolin miners who’d taken jobs a good distance away from their families in St. Valentine after the mine closure.

Home for the holidays, Rita thought. And as she watched them, she saw that a few were giving everyone else in the room sullen glances, as if they didn’t like how the older ex-miners had evidently let bygones be bygones and forgotten about how the mine closure had left them high and dry.

Kristy poked Rita’s leg. “Mommy, can I go play again?”

They had made two food runs, and people had been fussing over Kristy in her velvet dress and curls, an activity that had obviously gotten old for her already.

There were a few Future Homemakers babysitters near the bleachers, ready to escort kids who got tired of serving to the classroom.

“Go ahead,” Rita said.

Kristy sprinted away, and Rita went back for more plates.

And wouldn’t you know? As luck would have it, she was assigned to go to the natural-gas employee table.

When she brought their food, a few guys recognized her, which she’d entirely expected since she’d gone to high school with most of them. More important, Kevin had worked by their sides in the fields before moving out of state with his newer lady love—one whom Rita wasn’t even sure he’d ever married.

“Rita,” said one of the men. Gene Farraday, who’d dressed for the occasion in a grubby baseball cap and hunting jacket. “How’s Kevin doing?”

She froze, because everyone here knew damned well what had gone down with her ex-fiancé.

Someone snickered, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

“I haven’t heard from Kevin in a while,” she replied.

Her calm answer only seemed to encourage Gene. “At first, I thought he might’ve made a home visit. Or does he even know that you’ve got a bun in the oven?”

Embarrassment burned her. Across the table, a frowning Wiley Scott was standing with a couple of plates in hand. He’d walked the social line between the miners and the richies for years as the town’s former newspaper owner.

He set down his plates with a clatter in front of one of the workers.

“Watch yourself, Gene,” he said, and it was the first time Rita had ever seen the normally carefree man angry.

Gene chuffed.

Wiley raised a finger. “We’ve all been getting along pretty well here while you’ve been off at work. Don’t ruin that.”

“Well, kumbaya.” Gene made a prayer gesture, and it got a good laugh from his tablemates.

That’s when she felt another presence at her side, and she didn’t have to look to see who it was.

“How’s it going here?” Conn asked in a low voice.

Gene gave him the stink-eye, but Conn didn’t flinch as he returned it.

Rita didn’t like where this was going, and she led Conn away just as Aaron Rhodes appeared, muttering to Gene in a firm and even tone. Gene rose from his seat with a cat-ate-the-canary grin to his friends and went with Aaron out of the gym.

Conn brought Rita back to the staging area, where they were alone. “Who was that?”

“Just a hell-raiser who used to work with my ex, Kevin. This is the first time someone has given me such blatant scorn since my belly started to show.” Now that she was away from the crowd, she started to quiver with pent-up frustration. “I’m just happy that Kristy didn’t see any of it.”

Without another word, Conn wrapped her in his arms. “It’s done, Rita. Nobody’s going to give you that kind of bull anymore. I promise.”

Yet another vow from Conn.

But as she sank into him, pressing her face against his chest, she believed it with her whole heart for as long as she could.

* * *

After Conn had made sure Rita was okay, he had taken her and Kristy to their Chevy, where Rita had tucked the little girl into her car seat and then lingered outside, where the sun was providing another warm day.

“It’s nap time for her,” Rita said. “And I should be getting back to the hotel, anyway.”

“Sure.” He wanted the day to be longer, to stretch into the night. It didn’t have to end with the ugliness he’d seen inside the gym when he could make things so much better for her.

It looked as if Rita was going to add something else, and Conn had the feeling it had something to do with “the incident” he’d cut into in the gym. But she just shrugged instead, putting her fingers on the car door handle.

Then she evidently changed her mind. “We’ve got a couple of rooms available in the hotel.”

Okay. She hadn’t said anything about that creep in the gymnasium, but Conn wondered if this was her way of reaching out and thanking him for backing her up.

“I guess,” he said, “that I could use a change of scenery from the Co-Zee Inn. It doesn’t have the kind of character I usually demand.”

“My place has got character to spare. Just ask the ghosts.” She smiled. “And you won’t be charged a penny.”

“Thanks, Rita, but no.”

“Yes. You’re my guest.”

She was dancing around the real subject. He wasn’t here on vacation, he was here for Rita and the baby, and when she put it that way, it seemed rude to deny her hospitality.

“I’ll pack my stuff up and be there tomorrow,” he said.

“Excellent. But I was thinking that maybe you’d want a good home-cooked meal tonight?”

Was this another “yes” from Rita? He would be a donkey to turn her down.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “But I’ll tell you what. You let me do the grunt work. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“It’s no problem. I can—”

“Rita, when are you going to stop being Wonder Woman? You’re pregnant, remember?”

Her gaze went so soft that something seemed to sigh in him.

“Are you coddling me, Conn?”

“I believe they call it pampering. And you need it.”

After all, how many people did Rita have who were in the position to spoil her a little? Her parents were gone. He knew her brother and sister bred horses, which was no small job. Plus, Violet was on a honeymoon, and Kristy was four.

He was only too glad to step up.

Looking very contented, Rita grinned and opened her car door as he walked to his truck.

The high school was only a few minutes away from Old Town, in the opposite direction of the Co-Zee Inn, and he parked in back of the hotel in a spot next to Rita’s.

Even from his truck window, he could see that Kristy had fallen asleep in her car seat.

Before Rita could fetch her, Conn got out of his truck and said, “I’ve got this. I don’t like the idea of you having to carry her. How much does she weigh?”

“A lady never reveals that sort of information. But you’re right—she’s getting big.”

After opening the door, he paused. Kristy’s cheeks had two patches of pink on them, and her lashes were dark and long. In her velvet dress, she was a doll.

Would her brother or sister be just like her?

Conn’s chest constricted as he undid the child’s restraints, then lifted her out of her car seat. Without opening her eyes, she slumped against him, total dead weight, her head on his shoulder.

Rita was ahead of him, opening the back door to the hotel and ushering him up the carpeted stairs to the top floor. She opened the door and led him into a suite decorated in Victorian prints, the furniture velvet-upholstered, the wood gleaming and hand-worked.

She gestured toward the hallway, off of which a room waited, its thick curtains drawn, blocking the afternoon light.

After going inside first, she bent to turn on a night-light shaped like a round moon. It gave the room a hushed glow that whispered over a low bed covered by a flowered bedspread. Rita pulled back the covers as Conn kept holding Kristy, feeling needed for the first time since he could recall.

He finally laid the girl down, and she immediately turned onto her side, her hands tucked beneath her chin as Rita took off her Mary Jane shoes.

Conn had never put a kid to sleep. Or, more to the point, there wasn’t a memory of it banked in his brain.

But that was okay, because there would be a bunch of opportunities with his own child in the future.

As he let the idea take root, he and Rita stood there, Kristy’s even breathing marking the time, stretching it out until Rita finally took him by the shirtsleeve and brought him out of the room.

She quietly shut the door behind them, and they walked down the hall. When they reached her kitchen—a modernized room that was no bigger or more ornate than it needed to be—he finally spoke.

“That was nice,” he said.

“Nice?” She had been just about to open the fridge. Then, after a second passed, she smiled, finally pulling the door toward her. “Sometimes I forget that it’s little moments like the one you just saw that make everything else pale in comparison.”

“Everything else?”

“You can guess what I’m talking about.” She took out a package of tortillas, lettuce, tomatoes, green onions and cheese. “It’ll be easy to forget about the angelic scene you just witnessed the next time Kristy refuses to clean her room or pouts like a pro when she can’t have ice cream. But then the next time I put Kristy to bed, she’ll seem so helpless and in need of me to watch over her that...”

Her back was to him as she stood at the counter, and she didn’t make a move.

“That it makes all the hard times worthwhile,” he said, hoping she wasn’t teary-eyed.

“Yeah.” Her voice was a wisp.

They didn’t say anything as she seemed to regroup, going into the cupboard for a can of refried beans and a bottle of canola oil.

“I hope you like tostadas,” she said, her voice definitely stronger now.

“Never turn them down. Can I help?”

“Are you handy in the kitchen?”

“Some would say so.”

He doffed his hat, hanging it near the door on a rack, then went to the sink, where he washed up.

“Off your feet,” he said, leading her to a chair by the counter.

She didn’t complain a bit as he shredded lettuce, chopped vegetables, cooked the tortillas and, soon enough, had dinner ready.

“Are you a table person?” Rita asked. “Or are you a fan of sitting in front of the TV while you eat?”

“TV all the way.”

“Thank God.” She headed toward the couch with her plate and a glass of water. “I try to teach Kristy manners, so we eat at the table. But in secret, I love sitting here and scarfing down my food. Besides, it’s time for some football.”

“A woman after my own heart.”

The air seized up, as if he’d crossed a line. But it was true, wasn’t it? Rita was his kind of woman, or else the old Conn would’ve never wanted a second night with her.

But had that been because the sex had blown him away or because of something more? Something that he was just beginning to discover?

She used the remote to turn on the TV to an NFL game. “Too bad it’s not Longhorns game day. I never went to college, but I’ve kind of adopted them.”

They sat, and he made sure he wasn’t too close to her, but certainly not too far.

He put down his plate, plus the soda can he’d snatched from the fridge. “I went to Texas A&M, so it looks like we might have a divided household.”

This time, she didn’t seem to freak out about the reference to their future, and to Conn, that was good progress.

But even with that, he knew he still had a long way to go with Rita.