Terry Essig - Mad For The Dad

The man looked at her, frustration evident in his body language and written all over his face—but even so he was still as gorgeous as they came. Hair encompassing at least five different shades of color ranging all the way from white blond to brown fought to ignore the strictures of his last haircut and enjoy the light breeze. Shoulders as wide as the red wagon was long greeted Rachel at her eye level. Eyes the color of a pale blue sky hypnotized her so that she barely noticed when the man actually blushed.

“I didn’t realize anyone had seen me,” he said, his words barely audible over the child’s carryings-on.

“Oh. Well, I just happened to be looking out the window. I’m sure nobody else did,” Rachel reassured him. “My name’s Rachel. I just moved in here.” She waved at the gray stucco two-flat behind her. “I could use a break from unpacking boxes. Why don’t you let me give you a hand for a minute or two until you’ve got everything back under control?”

Even though she was long past the diaper stage in her own life and she’d have little in common with the father of a toddler, the four walls of her apartment upstairs were already starting to get to her. So, she’d help him out for a bit and start meeting some of the neighbors. It was a good plan. And maybe, just maybe his wife would rent him to her for the next event she and her ex-husband, Ron, had to attend as Mark’s parents. Wouldn’t Ron’s mouth just drop to the floor if she showed up with this hunk of masculinity at her side? The thought of there having been even a remote possibility of performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on this specimen practically had her mouth watering. She swallowed hard and made a stab at conversation. “Where do you live?” she asked as she averted her eyes and surveyed the wreckage.

“What? Oh, down on the corner.” He gestured vaguely down the block in the direction he’d had the wagon headed before he’d crashed it.

“Well, that’s not so bad then,” Rachel declared optimistically. “It’s what? Three houses? We can handle that. What’s Little One’s name?

“Todd.”

“Uh-huh, and yours?”

He grimaced. “Sorry, I’m not myself at the moment. My name is Daniel. Daniel Van Scott. I’m very pleased to meet you, Rachel.”

Daniel Van Scott was a gentleman, Rachel decided. With dirt smudges on his chin, grit embedded in his hands and Todd still screeching his sweet little head off two inches away from his ears, poor Daniel would be justified in being less than pleased with anything life had to offer right then, but there he stood wiping his free hand carefully on his jeans before offering it to Rachel. Rachel elected to take pity on him. “Here, let me hold Todd while you gather up the—no, that wouldn’t work. Small children hate to go to strangers. He’d probably cry even harder.”

Daniel looked doubtful. “I don’t think that’s possible.

Rachel laughed. “Maybe not, although he does seem to be winding down a bit. I know he just had a scare, but I was watching you come down the block and he was already crying before you took your spill. What’s the problem? Is he tired? Is it naptime?”

Daniel’s eyes widened as he stared at her. Could it be that simple? For a man who’d effortlessly flown through school and his first accounting job while maintaining, if he said so himself, a, um, satisfying social life, he’d crashed big-time with the entry of Todd into his life. Daniel knew next to nothing about children. Truth be told, he was rapidly developing an inferiority complex—something he’d never suffered from in the past. “He’s been unhappy for the last hour and I haven’t got a clue. You know anything about little kids?” he questioned eagerly.

Rachel shrugged in surprise. God, his eyes were blue. Through dint of sheer will, she managed to respond to his question. “I had one that I managed to get through this stage without inadvertently killing him,” she admitted. “But it was a long time ago. Mark’s eighteen now.” And gone away to college. She’d be lucky if she heard from him once a week. He’d probably join a fraternity and stay out drinking all night. He’d insisted on a coed dorm. What if his roommate had girls in till all hours? What if Mark had girls in till—

Daniel interrupted her worn-out thought pattern. “You think putting him to bed would make the crying stop? I thought maybe he was hungry since I was starting to feel a few hunger pains myself.”

Didn’t he know his own son’s schedule? Rachel eyed the man dubiously, beginning to wonder about Daniel Van Scott. What kind of father was he? Her mother had explained to her once—this was before Ron had come on the scene and taken an interest in Rachel strictly, Rachel was convinced, so her mother could say I told you so— that the super good-looking ones weren’t always such a great catch. Girls were so grateful when the handsome ones displayed any interest that they never required anything of the hunks but to be seen with them. Now Rachel wished she’d listened to her mother, but who could tell a seventeen-year-old anything?

Who could tell a thirty-seven-year old anything? ‘Cause even though Momma’s words had already borne fruit once, Handsome here was too darn beautiful to throw back and waste if he wasn’t already spoken for. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “It’s one-fifteen now. Todd hasn’t eaten lunch yet?”

Daniel shook his head eagerly. “No, that’s why we went up to the store. To get some food. You think that’s part of the problem, too?”

Rachel eyed him askance while she tried to figure out if he was serious. He certainly appeared sincere. Had Daniel’s genetic code worn itself out creating his truly spectacular exterior? “All I know is that if Mark didn’t eat by noon and crash in his crib by twelve-thirty every afternoon, all hell would break loose. Hungry, tired babies are cranky and decidedly unfun individuals to be around.”

Daniel suddenly felt reenergized. This woman was a godsend. He’d pick her brains and maybe he wouldn’t have to wade through all the child care books he’d bought yesterday. Galvanized into action he thrust Todd at Rachel “Here, you hold him for a minute while I throw this stuff back into the wagon. I thought he’d like the ride up to the store and back. Boy, was I ever wrong. He wouldn’t even stay seated in the wagon. I’m amazed we made it this far without a major catastrophe.”

“He’s not going to come to a stranger,” Rachel argued, leaving Todd dangling between them. “Why don’t you let me run upstairs for a washcloth so you can clean yourself up and some empty bags and then I’ll pick this stuff up while you cuddle him? Your bags ripped when the wagon turned over.”

“Listen,” Daniel said, still holding Todd out to her even though Rachel’s arms remained at her side. “You’re no more a stranger to him than I am.”

She should have minded her own business. She should have stayed up in that new empty-feeling apartment of hers and sulked for a few more days. Who cared if she never met her new neighbors? This one at least, was obviously a weirdo. She questioned him suspiciously. “How can you be a stranger to your own son? You’re not one of those people you read about who are divorced and kidnap their own children, are you?”

Daniel set Todd against Rachel’s chest and propped him there with one hand while he reached down with the other and grabbed her arm. He brought it up and wrapped it around Todd’s back before letting go.

Rachel looked down at her arm in surprise then at Daniel, then back at her arm. It had tingled when he’d touched her to make her hold—what was his name?— Todd. That kind of electrical impulse upon contact sort of thing hadn’t happened to her since early high school. How bizarre. If it hadn’t been August and humid as all get-out, Rachel would have been convinced Daniel had been scuffing his feet and had zapped her with static electricity.