A Dad At Last (10 page)

She needed this.

Despite her newfound bravado and the backbone she had managed to grow so late in her young life, Lacy needed the feel of Connor's strong arms around her, the press of his hard body against her. The taste
of his lips as they sapped every ounce of energy out of her.

Her mind spun, drunk with the moment, with the man. Savoring both because she knew how rare this moment was.

How was it that each time he kissed her, he only wanted more? That rather than becoming immune, he found himself more addicted to her and all the things she seemed to be? He felt like someone with no willpower, giving in to a decadent pleasure he'd sworn off. A pleasure that would do harm not only to him, but to her.

He tried to focus on that, on what he owed the mother of his son.

With almost superhuman effort, Connor drew back, taking the arms that had wrapped themselves around his neck and disentangling them. He allowed himself a moment to look into her eyes as he held her hands in his.

“All right, Lacy, you've won. Have the dinner.”

Her heart was slamming against her rib cage so hard, she wasn't sure if she would ever draw breath rhythmically again. How could she be so affected when he was just the opposite—cool and removed?

Because only one of them was in love here, she reminded herself. And it wasn't him.

She'd known that before the kiss and would know that long after this moment was history. Squaring her
shoulders, she made the best of it. The reluctant host had just surrendered.

“With you?” she prodded, cocking her head as she eyed him.

Why did he want to kiss her again? He'd just satisfied that impulse, so why was it hounding him again as if he were a man fresh off a fast, dying for that first morsel of food?

Because he hadn't satisfied the impulse, he'd only tantalized it, he told himself. He knew his only salvation was to concentrate on the dinner and not the woman.

“Yes, with me. What time is this all happening?” Not that timing mattered, he thought. He had nothing to escape to this evening.

Time was something she hadn't specified yet. “Your mother said she could be here any time after six. Since we usually have dinner at seven, I thought—” Lacy held her breath, waiting for him to make an excuse.

“Seven'll be fine.”

His easy acceptance was unexpected, and she smiled at him, hoping to erase that stoic expression from his face. He looked as if he had just agreed to the time of his execution and was determined to meet it without showing any emotion whatsoever.

“It'll be all right, Connor,” she assured him softly.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He shrugged. Afraid he might
take her into his arms again, he shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I came to tell you I'm going to be down at the stables for a while. They're bringing in the new mares I bought at auction last week.”

She thought that after he woke up from his nap, she might take Chase to the corral with her. “Need any company?”

“No.” He began to walk out of the room, then stopped and retraced his steps to the ladder. He folded the two sides together and then picked it up. Holding it in exactly the center, he managed to balance the ends as he began to carry it out.

She watched his progress, following from behind. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don't get the urge to become airborne again.” That was all he said as he left.

She knew she should have been annoyed, but all she could do was smile.

“T
HIS IS WONDERFUL,
Lacy. I knew you were a good cook from my meals at the diner, but you've surpassed yourself tonight.” It wasn't her habit to eat much, but the roast pork loin had been so good, Megan found she couldn't resist a second serving.

Wiping off the applesauce that Chase insisted on wearing instead of eating, Lacy savored the compliment. Praise was something she never took for granted. “Well, you're welcome to come here anytime you like for the meal of your choice—breakfast, lunch or dinner.”

Though she wasn't looking in his direction, Lacy could feel Connor's eyes on her, heated by the invitation she had extended to his mother without bothering to consult him. She had a feeling that one way or another, whether he railed or gave her the silent treatment, she was going to pay for trespassing into his territory. But there hadn't been any way to throw the ball into his court without an awkward pause.

She glanced at him and saw that he didn't exactly look pleased.

Too bad. You've got a family, get used to it. And be damn grateful that you're one of the lucky ones.

“Maybe I will, at that.” Megan's eyes shifted to her son. She hesitated slightly. “Provided I wouldn't be intruding.”

She knew, he thought. Megan Maitland knew how hard this was for him. How difficult it was turning out to be to put his house, so to speak, in order and get accustomed to a completely new set of tenants.

“No,” he finally said, albeit slowly, “you wouldn't be intruding.”

It would take more than lip service to convince her. Megan didn't want to be treated like a guest, she wanted to find a way to become part of all this.

“So.” She set down her napkin, looking at Lacy, who was wiping Chase's sticky fingers. “What can I do to help? Dishes? Entertain this fine young man?” She made no effort to hide her eagerness to pitch in.

“I can entertain myself,” Connor replied quietly.

Exchanging glances with Lacy, Megan failed to keep the corners of her mouth from rising in amusement. “I was talking about Chase.”

Connor muttered something unintelligible and looked away. Megan's smile deepened.

“The dishwasher can do the dishes,” Lacy assured her, rising. She gathered the three dinner plates, piling one on the other and placing the flatware on top. “I'll just slip them into the machine.”

Megan started to reach for the glasses. “Well, let me help you clear them—”

But Lacy was already pushing her hands away. “No, that's all right, really. You're a guest.” Picking up the plates, she headed for the kitchen. “Why don't you and Connor get further acquainted while I just pop these into the dishwater?”

There she went, orchestrating things again, Connor thought. Doing things she had no business doing. “We already are acquainted,” he informed her.

“That's why I used the word further,” Lacy responded cheerfully over her shoulder. She looked pointedly at Connor. “Talk about Chase—that should get you started. Or even better, your horses.” Of course, Lacy realized. He loved horses. That was a subject he enjoyed talking about. “The herd is coming along quite nicely,” she confided to Megan, then disappeared into the kitchen, dishes in hand.

Megan found herself wishing she had a coffee cup to toy with. But dessert was yet to come. She shifted her eyes to her son. He looked like a soft-footed creature trying to find a comfortable way to stand on a beach covered with burning sand.

“She really is something else, isn't she?” Megan said fondly.

“Yeah.” The answer was both dark and grudgingly surrendered.

Megan shook her head. She could almost read his
thoughts. “I have a feeling you don't mean that phrase in quite the same way I do.”

She had that right, he thought. He eyed the whiskey decanter on the hutch and wondered if it would be considered bad form to have some before dessert. He knew he could do with a shot to help him endure the evening. “You don't live with her.”

“No, I'm not lucky enough for that.” He looked incredulous at her choice of words. “But she reminds me a great deal of Abby at that age.” Leaning forward, Megan folded her hands on the table. “I say we follow her suggestion. Tell me about the herd.”

He noticed she didn't take up Lacy's first suggestion, to talk about Chase. He wondered if that was by design or by chance, since he knew the little boy was of far more interest to her than horses. “It's growing.”

The strong, silent type, that was what her firstborn had turned out to be. Megan harvested each word. “Are you planning on raising breeding stock or—”

“Racehorses.”

The answer surprised her. She thought of racing in terms of taking chances. He looked like the type who liked a sure thing. “I see. Have you been interested in racing long?”

The shrug was indifferent, and his look went right through her, as if she was part of the embroidered upholstery on the back of the chair. “A while.”

She'd always been intuitive. Megan could sense
what he was going through. And she ached for him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, thinking how broad and strong it was.

“Connor, I know this is probably harder for you than it is for me.” She saw a question enter his eyes and elaborated. “For me, there's only joy. And I want you to know that I'm willing to wait however long it takes for you to become comfortable with this situation.”

Unable to sit any longer, he rose to his feet, towering over her. “How can there be only joy? People deceived you. Your own father took away something that rightfully belonged to you, deprived you of your own flesh and blood—”

She'd already made her peace with that. “He thought he was doing it for the right reasons.”

He didn't understand. “But he still did it. And you were still lied to.”

Because he was on his feet, she rose, too. “Yes, but it won't do my heart any good to dwell on that. There's nothing to be gained from this kind of anger, Connor. And I have you in my life now.” She wished she could hug him. Could hold him for a moment, bonding with him. But she knew he wasn't a toucher. Clarise wouldn't have raised him to be. “I might not have any memories of your first steps or any of the wonderful moments that mark a child's passage from one stage to another, but you're here now, and I'm grateful for that. Grateful for the
chance to attempt to bridge the gap between us.” She didn't want to cloud whatever time they had together with recriminations about the past.

He stood looking at her for a long moment, amazed at the sincerity of her words. “You really mean that, don't you?”

She nodded slowly. “With all my heart.”

He felt his mouth curving. “It really is a hell of a heart, you know that?”

She could feel them forming. Tears. She didn't want to cry now. Men never understood tears, especially when those men were your own children. “All I know is that it never felt quite as full as it does now.”

It was her tone more than the look on her face that got to him. He felt something from years back rising in his chest. “You make it hard to hold back.”

“I was hoping for that.”

Giving in, he took her into his arms and hugged her. Hugged the woman who had given him life.

Megan pressed her lips together, holding back tears she knew would only make him uncomfortable again.

“Connor—” her voice was hoarse “—do you think you could find it in your own heart to someday call me Mother?” She felt him drawing back. She didn't want this moment to end. She'd waited so long to hug her son, to hold him in her arms just once. When she'd asked her father, after the delivery, if
she could hold the child he'd told her was stillborn, to say goodbye, he'd said he didn't think it was a good idea, and she had meekly gone along, even though her heart had screamed,
“No.”
Now she knew why.

“I don't mean now,” she told Connor quickly, not wanting to lose him again. “I know that would be asking too much, but maybe someday, if—”

Connor saw the tears in her eyes. He was doing battle with some moisture of his own, surprised that he could be so moved after all these years. Except for the day of Clarise's funeral, he hadn't felt the need to shed tears since he'd been a boy.

He felt something threaten to choke off the air in his throat. “Mother,” he said quietly, looking at her.

“Oh, I do like the sound of that.” Unable to hold back, Megan put her arms around her firstborn again, and this time sobbed her happiness against his broad chest.

Connor didn't mind. He closed his arms around his mother.

Standing in the doorway where she was confident neither one saw her, Lacy smiled.

Mission accomplished,
she congratulated herself.

Very quietly, she slipped into the kitchen. They were going to want dessert eventually.

 

“P
RETTY PROUD
of yourself, aren't you?”

Lacy turned from the door they had just closed on
Megan. Connor's mother had remained for another two hours, going on a tour of the house and then helping Lacy put Chase to bed. Lacy had been secretly thrilled to share the activity with Megan. It made her feel as if she were part of the family, as well, instead of on the outside, wistfully looking in.

Delighted with bringing Connor and his mother closer together, she looked at him with feigned innocence. “Why, Connor, whatever do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean.” But he couldn't bring himself to be annoyed, though he knew that might be the safer way to go. He had the uneasy feeling she had become one of those people who, if you gave them an inch, suddenly built a condo on it, complete with an iron-clad lease.

He was glad she'd done this, she thought in satisfaction, searching his face. “Do I?”

He snorted. “That smug look on your face says it all.”

Her smile widened. She couldn't have felt better right now even if someone had handed her a check for a million dollars. “Then there's no need to ask, is there?”

He had to stop thinking how adorable she looked. “This doesn't give you the right to meddle in other things, you know.”

She doubted that he was talking about them. “There aren't any other things to meddle in.”

“Right.” He'd almost said too much, he thought.
That came from having her linger on his mind. “But just in case you get something in your head—”

Was
he talking about them? “Yes?”

When she looked at him like that, he found his mouth growing dry. “Don't,” he concluded. “Just don't.”

High on success, she let herself float a little longer, pretending that she'd guessed right. That what was circling his mind was the way things stood between the two of them. Maybe, just maybe, bringing him together with his mother had, however temporarily, aroused other emotions. Emotions involving her.

Her eyes played along his face, memorizing every plane, loving every inch. “That's rather a broad command, don't you think?”

Damn, but she was getting to him. She was doing nothing except standing here talking to him, yet she was getting to him as surely as if she'd just been injected into his arm directly, like life-giving serum. He struggled to sound distant. “It was meant to be.”

She didn't expect any thanks, but she wanted something, a small positive acknowledgment, just this once. “Tell me you don't feel better for this.”

His eyes locked with hers. “I don't feel better for this.”

Any six-year-old could have seen he didn't mean it. It was written all over his face. “Liar.” Lacy laughed at him. “When you finally leaped over that
chasm you created yourself, you lit up like a jack-o'-lantern at Halloween.”

“A jack-o'-lantern?” Connor echoed incredulously. “You're comparing me to a damn gutted pumpkin? The least you could do, after what you've done, is say I lit up like a star-filled sky or a Christmas tree, not some overgrown squash with a gland condition.”

She went into the kitchen and began straightening up. Taking the dishes out of the dishwasher and putting them away. “Didn't do much trick-or-treating, I take it.”

Other than dressing up as a Native American one year for a Halloween pageant when he was eight, he'd never donned a costume. “No.”

She'd only been kidding. The negative answer gave them something else in common. “Neither did I.”

“Neighbors too far apart?” That had been the excuse Clarise had given him. It had been too much trouble to take him around.

She shook her head. “No costume and—” She shrugged away the rest. “Never mind.” With a shove, she pushed the pot she'd used to make the roast into the bottom cupboard.

This wasn't like her. So far, she'd seemed to make a point to share everything, to tell him far more than he wanted to know. “No, come on, what?”

She turned away, taking the flatware out of the
machine. Wiping each piece one after the other, she returned them to the drawer. Her back remained to him. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Curious, Connor leaned a hip on the counter, eyeing her. “Oh, you can gut me like a fish, inspecting all my insides inch by inch, but when it comes to your secrets, then it's never mind? Uh-uh, the game's not played that way. Spill it.”

He wasn't going to go away until she gave him an answer, she realized.

“Nothing to spill. Most of my childhood wasn't exactly the kind they write fairy tales or sitcoms about. By the time I went to live with my aunt, she thought I was too old for ‘such foolishness.'” Because she'd dearly loved the woman, Lacy had reconciled herself to the fact that Halloween, with its laughter, candy and costumes, was for others to enjoy, not her.

Foolishness. It didn't sound like something she'd say, he thought. Connor guessed that was her aunt's word, not hers. “How old were you?”