Daddy By Decision

Jessie’s dollar drifted to the floor, brushed her leg and broke the spell he’d spun. Her face burning, she stooped to pick up the bill, took a toe-deep breath and stood up. Turning away from him with a quick movement, she pressed her fist into her skirt.

He didn’t remember her.

But he was on the hunt.

Feeding the dollar into the coffee machine with shaking fingers, she tapped the coffee selections without even seeing what she was choosing.

“Don’t you want to know how I know your name, Miz McDonald?” He hadn’t moved, but his question shivered the hairs on the back of her neck. “I’d think you’d be—interested. Me being a stranger and all?”

In the metal and plastic of the machine, she saw his rangy reflection. He was studying her, frowning, definitely on the hunt. “Don’t you want to know, Miz McDonald? Aren’t you a little curious?”

Goaded, she whirled, her skirt whipping around her. “I don’t have to ask. I know. You were right behind me. You heard Frankie.” Coffee slopped onto the floor.

“So I did.” He closed the distance between them with one step and dropped a stack of napkins over the coffee stain at her feet. Squatting to swipe up the liquid, he glanced up at her, the light spilling over his face and throwing into sharp relief lines of strain and exhaustion she hadn’t noticed earlier. “Well, Miz McDonald, you might want to remind your friend Frankie that it’s not a good idea, even in a small town like Tarpon City, to identify his customers, especially his—” he glanced at her naked left hand “—single female ones.” Soft and deceptively gentle, his voice drifted through the air, moved over her skin like a teasing feather stroke.

The Jonas she remembered was toying with her, seeking the weak spot. She knew it, and she still struck back, the old Jessie rising to the bait.

“Thanks for the helpful hint, cowboy. I’ll make sure I mention your advice to Frankie.”

Not fooling her one bit with his nonchalance, he pitched the wet brown wad of paper in the trash, took a final pull of his cola and asked, “By the way, does Miz McDonald have a first name?”

“And wouldn’t she be a fool for telling you?” Jessie smiled sweetly. “Even with this being such a small town. And you the picture of respectability? It’s a wonder I don’t just hand you my safe-deposit number and key. Gosh, can’t imagine why I don’t.” Quirking one eyebrow, she sipped deliberately from her plastic-coated cup, relaxed, all easy confidence, her voice as mellow as his as she continued. “And since you’ve been so helpful, may I return the favor, cowboy?”

“Of course, ma’am.” He dropped the cola can into the recycling bin. “I’m always grateful for good advice.” Butter-smooth, his polite tone matched the respectful tip of his head. But his eyes narrowed suddenly, as if she’d somehow made a mistake. Suddenly intent, he looked as if she’d handed him the end of the thread leading through the puzzle maze. “What was it you wanted to say?” He stepped back, waving her through as she approached the door.

Turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, she smiled. “Not much. Except that even cowboys go in for a shave and a change of clothes once in a while. Maybe you’re working too hard at creating an image?”

She heard the quick intake of his breath. “Ah. I see. Clothes. The image. Yes, Miz McDonald, I sure do appreciate your input.” Rich satisfaction rippled through his voice, over his face, as he smiled. “You’ve been right helpful, ma’am.”

Jessie fled. She couldn’t imagine what she’d revealed, but in giving in to her desire to score one tiny point off him, she’d obviously messed up somehow.

Fast-walking down the corridor to the parking lot, Jessie muttered under her breath. “Coffee. That was the problem. It wouldn’t have killed me to skip my mocha latte for once.” She should never have stopped in for coffee before leaving for home. But she always did. “Why would I expect to see Jonas Riley stretched out over the cola machine like some martyred saint?” Swearing at herself under her breath, she stomped down the hall.

For her, the road to hell was clearly paved with coffee beans.

Two nurses stared at her as she stormed by them, and then their eyes drifted past her, their steps slowed, and one of the nurses lifted a hand to fluff out shiny black hair.

Jessie fought the impulse to break into a flat-out run. She didn’t have to look. Like the sun at high noon in summer, heat and determination came from the man keeping easy pace a step behind her.

“You took off in such a hurry, Miz McDonald, that you left your purse on the table near the door.” Lean brown fingers dangled her wallet-on-a-string in front of her. “You’re a busy lady, I reckon, rushing around the way you do, forgetting your wallet today, your checkbook last night?”

“I manage to fill my days,” she muttered, reaching for the wallet.

“I’m sure you do.” With a flick of his hand, he looped the burgundy leather strap over her neck. “Glad to help, ma’am,” he added, his voice cordial, his manner solicitous, his cowboy act perfect down to the slightest tone and gesture.

But she’d observed Jonas Buckminster Riley in action, had seen the man who’d been a shark in court, urbane, cultivated, as he cut through bloody waters, and she didn’t trust this blueeyed, tough-featured cowboy metamorphosis any farther than she could pitch an elephant. “Yes, well, for the umpteenth time, thank you.” She jerked as he touched her shoulder.

“Anything else I can do for you?” He straightened the strap, his knuckle sliding against her bare arm.

Prickles of alarm and awareness ran down her arm. She caught her breath. It was nothing more than a touch, nothing to be upset about, but her skin went hot and she wanted to shut her eyes and let him run that callused knuckle down her neck, across her shoulder—

Too many nights alone had made her forget the power of a simple touch.

Worse, she’d forgotten her susceptibility to the touch of Jonas Riley.

Clamping her arm close to her side, Jessie kept her gaze on the corridor floor, on the square, dusty toes of his boots. He’d had long, narrow, beautiful feet.

“Better?” He adjusted the strap once more, his face coming into her view as he stooped to her eye level, his breath mingling with her own, warm, cola-and-coffee-scented.

She’d known coffee would be her downfall. She hadn’t expected it to tempt her in this manner, though. “Thank you. You’re an exceptionally—helpful—person, aren’t you?” Trying to outpace him, Jessie lengthened her stride, taking two and a half to every one of his and feeling crowded the whole time, surrounded by him, his energy, his sheer, overwhelming presence. “Or perhaps you’re a retro Boy Scout?”

“I like to be useful.”

“Good for you,” Jessie said through gritted teeth. “The world could use a lot more useful men.” She reached the automatic exit doors that swung open as she stepped toward them.

Huddled under the portico, the smokers cleared way for her. For Jonas. Hurrying toward her car, she fumbled for her keys, pulling them out. A wave of heat curled toward her from the concrete sidewalks, washed over her. The red sun lay fat and hot on the horizon and she wanted to be home, to escape the very solid spirit from her past. Just as she opened her van door, he stopped her.

“Wait.” His hand closed around her elbow, his thumb flat against the inner pulse, and her heartbeat slammed in a staccato rhythm to that light, insistent pressure. His thumb was rough as he moved it against her skin, against her underarm in a slow, unconscious stroking that had nothing’ at all to do with the questions gleaming at her from his eyes.

“Take your hand off me, cowboy. Now.”

Buck did.

She hadn’t needed to tell him. As he’d touched her, her face had turned pinched and tight, and he’d already taken a step away from her. He recognized the desperation blazing in her eyes. Holding his hands up, palms toward her, he didn’t move. “Sorry, Ms. McDonald. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. I don’t scare that easily.” Not looking in back of her, she opened her van door and stepped quickly inside, shutting the door between them with a quiet snick. She stabbed the key into the ignition as she said in a low, furious voice, “But I don’t like strange men grabbing me, cowboy, no matter how charming they are. And you don’t know me well enough to be anything else except a stranger.” Sunlight burnished her hair to pale gold.

Like an overlay, another image superimposed itself, this one in vivid color.

Her hair should have been sleek—a smooth, bright blond helmet cut close to her face, that full mouth dark red, seductive.

“But we’ve met before, haven’t we?” Trying to meld the two images, he rested his hand on the open window of the van. A strand of her hair brushed the back of his hand, curled around his palm with the feel of a forgotten touch, a remembered kiss. “I know you, don’t I?”

She looked as if he’d struck her. Her face went paper-white, and a rumbling growl came from the shadowy interior of the van. “Believe me, you don’t know me at all.” As she spoke, a wide head with enormous teeth and lolling tongue appeared next to hers at the window edge.

Buck kept his hand on the window. “Does he bite?”

“She. Yes, she does.” Color was flowing slowly back into the woman’s face as she regained her equilibrium.

“Bites, huh?” Buck scanned the dog’s face, noting the wagging tail. “She doesn’t strike me as a dog who’d bite.” Dog slobber dripped on his hand but he didn’t move, didn’t try to pat that wide, rough head.

“Well, she does. Enthusiastically. Every chance she gets.”

“Now why don’t I believe you?” he asked gently.

“Maybe you’re not a trusting soul,” she said, her gaze flashing to his and back to the key.

The woman’s astringent tone matched her earlier, back-offfella attitude, and he was relieved. Her skim milk white face had disturbed him. He’d never seen himself as a man who intimidated women, and he didn’t like the idea that he’d scared her. Pushing for answers was one thing, but reducing her inyour-face thorniness to white-faced fear wasn’t an image of himself he cared for. “Not trusting? Me? I’m wounded,” he said, placing his hand over his heart.