Suzanne McMinn - Make Room For Mommy

She closed her eyes and saw Ryan Conner’s soft smile.

“Daddy?”

Ryan hesitated, his fingers curved over the switch to his daughter’s bedside lamp. The book he had read aloud a chapter from—as per their usual evening ritual—lay closed on his lap. Brandy often fell asleep before he finished reading an entire chapter. Tonight she was awake. Wide-awake.

There was something about the way she spoke that caught his attention and made him freeze. She was worried about something.

“What is it, sweetie?” Ryan asked. Softly his fingers swept along her small, rounded cheekbone.

“Why don’t you like Maggie?” Brandy asked, her voice low in the stillness of her bedroom.

Snapping emerald eyes and rich auburn hair flashed into Ryan’s thoughts. And that scent that had surrounded her, like peaches ripe in a summer-hot grove, tempting and sweet.

He knew the answer to Brandy’s question. He knew exactly why he didn’t like Maggie Wells. He was afraid she might turn out to be too much like Delia, Brandy’s mother—who always seemed to have plenty of good intentions, but never the time to carry them out.

He’d approached the community center program with cautious optimism from the start. He knew Brandy could benefit enormously from the opportunity—but he wanted to be very certain that he didn’t set his little daughter up for a disappointing experience.

Still, in spite of all his concerns, he’d been attracted to Maggie at an immediate, undeniable, gut level. So attracted, that the careful wall he’d formed after his divorce had very nearly crumbled during their meeting.

“What gave you the idea that I didn’t like her?” Ryan asked, sidetracking to another question.

Brandy’s blue eyes stared back unwaveringly.

“I don’t know,” she answered simply. “I just didn’t think you did.”

Ryan laughed and ruffled his daughter’s hair with a careless brush of his hand. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“I’m sure she’s a very nice lady,” Ryan told her. “You know what? I bet you’re going to get to meet lots of nice ladies at the community center, and you’ll get to choose one to be your very own special friend.”

“I want Maggie to be my special friend.” Brandy reached out and took her father’s hand. “Please.”

Ryan looked down at the small hand in his, then back up to the pleading expression in Brandy’s eyes. And he remembered the flash in Maggie’s gaze when he’d demanded to know why she wanted to be part of his daughter’s life.

She felt she had something to give, she’d said, and no one to give it to. She had no husband, no child of her own.

He couldn’t help but wonder why. Had she made work her whole life?

The spark in Maggie’s eyes when she’d talked about her job hadn’t passed Ryan by. He’d seen that kind of spark before. At the time, it had been walking out the door, leaving him to raise Brandy alone.

“Doesn’t Maggie want to be my friend?” Brandy asked. A crack broke through her voice on the last word.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ryan leaned down and hugged his daughter. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant that you don’t have to make a decision right away. Mrs. Fletcher is going to introduce you to some other nice ladies, too.”

“But I don’t want anybody else,” Brandy persisted. “I want Maggie.”

“Why?” Ryan asked, genuinely surprised by Brandy’s insistence on Maggie Wells. After all, they’d spent only five minutes together. Ryan had hoped Brandy would forget all about her.

But apparently his daughter was having as much trouble clearing her mind of Maggie as he was. He’d been haunted all day by her heart-shaped face and luscious fall of red curls, and pained by the old memories she stirred, inside him.

“I like Maggie,” Brandy said softly. She chewed her bottom lip. “Doesn’t she like me?”

“Of course she likes you, sweetie,” Ryan assured her.

“Will you call Mrs. Fletcher and tell her I want Maggie?”

Ryan hesitated. Seconds passed in silence.

Too bad, Maggie had said to him coolly as she’d left the community center. You’ll never know, she’d added.

Never know what?

“Please, Daddy.”

Water dripped from Maggie as she hurried from the bathroom to the shrilling brass phone in her bedroom. Damp footprints marked her path across the plush tan rug. She grabbed the receiver as she fumbled to wrap a towel around her wet form.

“Miss Wells?” the familiar gravelly voice inquired.

“Yes. This is Mrs. Fletcher, isn’t it?” Maggie asked. She experienced the little sinking feeling that always came to her when she knew someone was going to give her bad news.

“I’ve spoken with Mr. Conner,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “He says Brandy wants you. He’d like to go ahead and sign you up with her. Do you accept?”

Maggie gasped. Had that horrible conversation with Ryan Conner really taken place last week, or was that just a nightmare? What could have changed his mind? For a few seconds she considered whether she should say no. Or tell Mrs. Fletcher she’d have to think about it. After all, how could she work with this man’s child? What if he kept acting the same way toward her?

Oh, who cares about him? she decided in a flash. Brandy is the one who matters.

“Yes,” she agreed quickly before she could change her mind.

“Fine,” Mrs. Fletcher said. “Now, it’s going to be up to you to set up the days and times to see Brandy. Remember to clear all your plans with her father first. Let me give you his phone number and address. Be sure to tell me when your first outing is scheduled so I can check back with you to see how things are going.”

Maggie grabbed a pad and pen from her night table and shakily wrote down Ryan’s phone number and address. After saying goodbye to Mrs. Fletcher, she set the phone down and sank onto the bed, heedless of the spreading wet splotch she made as she soaked into the downy white comforter. She stared at the ceiling.

Should she call him now?

She sat up. Yes, she answered herself, she should do it now, before she lost her nerve. She stared numbly at the piece of notepaper that held Ryan Conner’s phone number. She picked it up, then set it back down as if the paper had burned her fingers.

She stared at the notepaper again. She could see Ryan Conner’s clear, cold stare in her memory. Then she remembered Brandy’s earnest blue eyes, gazing hopefully at her.

Maggie picked up her pen and quickly punched in Ryan’s phone number.

“Hello.”

Maggie swallowed tightly.

“Mr. Conner—I mean, Ryan, this is Maggie Wells.”

Good start, she chided herself.

“Yes?”

Maggie fingered the edge of her thick, damp towel.

“I’m calling about seeing Brandy next weekend, if that’s all right,” she said. “Mrs. Fletcher called me today.”

“What time do you want to see her?” Ryan asked. His voice was businesslike and polite, without the animosity he had formerly shown, yet still lacking warmth.

“Well, there’s a miniatures exhibit at the civic center this Saturday. I thought Brandy might like to see it,” Maggie suggested, gaining confidence. “It starts at ten o’clock.”

“Fine.”

“Can I talk to—” Maggie began, but stopped short as she realized he had already hung up. She shook her head in frustration.

She put down the receiver and lay back on her soft bed, staring up at the ceiling. She hoped she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.

Maggie pressed slowly on the brake, easing her car to a smooth halt in front of Ryan Conner’s house. The long, one-story gray brick house sat back from the road, partially hidden from the street by a stand of pine trees. The house occupied a large lot in a rural area just outside Charleston. From the large bare patch at the side of the house, Maggie could see Ryan was a gardener. This surprised her, and then she wondered why it should.