Drive-By Daddy: Drive-By Daddy / Calamity Jo. Patricia Knoll

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      6

      DARCY SAT CROSS-LEGGED on her twin bed with her mother next to her, who cuddled a sleeping Montana in her arms. They silently, companionably watched Tom trying to wrestle into submission an ornately carved, stubbornly constructed baby crib.

      From her viewpoint, though, Darcy figured—even if she didn’t know him—she’d be happy to buy a ticket, climb the bleachers along with a throng of women, find her seat, eat her popcorn, and just watch him…oh, say…reconstruct a building, for example. Or put together a puzzle. Or paint a brick wall. Or rewrite, by hand, the entire phone book. Mud wrestle. It didn’t matter…as long as he was naked, of course.

      It was true. The man was perfectly constructed, a work of art himself. Clothes couldn’t hide that, any more than she could hide, from herself, that she wanted him. Wanted him bad. Well, who wouldn’t? It’s not fair. Just look at him. The man’s physique screamed Take Me Now!

      Darcy sighed. Great. She’d just objectified Tom. Made him a sex object, a great body with no thoughts or personality. Well, shame on her—especially since she knew all her own arguments. She didn’t want a man in her life…yada, yada, yada. Well, not wanting a committed relationship doesn’t mean I’m dead. Nor did it mean that her libido had been stitched up along with everything else. She could still appreciate his fluid movements, his muscled legs, that broad back—another sigh escaped her. She’d better stop right now with all this wanting him, before the rest of her body caught up with her thoughts and gave her hell.

      “What’s all that sighing about, Darcy? Your bottom hurting?”

      Darcy froze, wide-eyed. Her nails dug into her knees. His back to her, Tom made a choking sound. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if it took an act of conscious will, Darcy turned her head until she faced her mother. “No. My…bottom’s not hurting, thank you.” It was, but she wasn’t admitting it.

      “Well, that’s good. Because it will when the numbness wears off—”

      “Can we talk about something else, Mother?” Darcy counted it a victory that she got her words out without shrieking.

      Margie patted Montana’s back and stared at Darcy. “Now, don’t get upset, honey. It’ll get your hormones bubbling and then you’ll be crying.”

      “Now, Mother—let’s talk about something else now.”

      “All right.” Her mother looked Tom’s way. “Just look at all that trouble he’s having, Darcy Jean. I told you it was a nasty piece of furniture. Myself, I got a blood blister on my thumb, trying to deal with it.” She held it up for inspection.

      Warmed, despite herself, by her mother’s past attempts with the crib, as well as by every bit of support, emotional and financial, she’d unstintingly given in the past several, trying months, Darcy hugged her mother and then eyed her own infant daughter. She rubbed a finger lovingly over the child’s soft forehead. “I appreciate your war injuries, Mom. And I’m sure Tom appreciates your encouragement now.”

      “I do,” he said. “And I’m doing fine over here.” Pieces of crib and tiny bits of necessary hardware littered the carpet around him. “Be done in a jiffy.”

      No, he wouldn’t. That much was obvious to Darcy. Because, using one hand to hold up two ladderlike side-slats that threatened to collapse onto one another at any second, he picked up a screwdriver from the tool box Margie had presented and…lost his grip on his handiwork. The slats slowly, gracefully banged together and then backwards against the wall.

      Darcy jumped at the sound and felt her mother do the same. She glanced at her baby. Surprisingly, Montana slept on. Darcy exchanged a what-do-you-know look with her mother. Then she heard Tom mutter something under his breath—something, no doubt, that was probably best left unheard. Darcy took pity on the man. “You don’t have to do this, Tom. I’m sure you hadn’t planned to sign up for crib construction when Mom had you tracked down and told you to come out here today.”

      Tom turned to her. So did her mother. They spoke as one. “What do you mean—”

      “Darcy Jean, I never—”

      “She didn’t—”

      “I went to the hospital—”

      “He went to the hospital—”

      “—and they gave me directions—”

      “—and they gave him directions out here—”

      “I hope you don’t mind—”

      “They’re not supposed to do that—”

      “Never mind.” As amused as she was overwhelmed with their denials, Darcy held up a hand. “Okay, I’m sorry.” She turned to her mother. “You really didn’t coerce him into coming out here?”

      “She didn’t.”

      Darcy’s heart took a thrilling leap as she turned to Tom. “She didn’t?”

      His blue eyes regarded her sincerely. “No. Like I said, I came out here because I wanted to. I went to the hospital, where I was told you’d just left. Then the nurse at the desk gave me directions here. She said she wasn’t supposed to do that, but me being who I am and seeing how I’d helped deliver Montana…well, you know the rest.”

      “Yes. I read about it in the newspaper,” Darcy said drolly. “Didn’t I, Mother?”

      The older woman’s eyes widened…guiltily. But she recovered beautifully. “Do y’all smell something that’s soured?” She bent over the sleeping infant in her arms and sniffed at her. “Phew. I think this child has christened her diaper.” She stood up. “I’ll just take her in the living room and change her there where all that stuff—” She began her retreat from the room. “—they gave you at the hospital is and then I’ll—” She exited the room and took a sharp turn to her left, heading up the hallway. “—do something else, I don’t know what. It’ll come to me.”

      Darcy waited a moment, giving her mother a chance to leave, and then turned to Tom. “Is she a piece of work, or what?”

      “Museum quality,” he assured her, adding a wink to his words.

      “She means well. Underneath that busybody exterior is a heart of gold. Even if she does go a bit far sometimes.” Warmed by his wink, and itching to stroke his face, his jaw, his neck…Darcy felt self-conscious now that she was alone with him in her bedroom, knowing he’d sought her out on his own. That knowledge had done nothing to settle her reawakening libido.

      Hunkered down on a knee, with a screwdriver in his hand, looking like an open invitation, Tom smiled back at her. “She goes a bit far? You’re talking about me being Bachelor Number Two, right?”

      Darcy put her hands to her suddenly too-warm cheeks. “You poor man. СКАЧАТЬ