Donna Clayton - Who Will Father My Baby?

Soon after that kiss, he’d mysteriously disappeared from the campus for nearly two weeks. And when he’d returned, it was as if their kiss had never happened.

Yes, he spent time with her in the library. On several occasions. He was always friendly, but at the same time, he never initiated contact, no matter how transparent she had made her own desire to date him.

Then a weekly newsmagazine had picked up Dane’s all-around success story. The journalist had dubbed him the Perfect Man, and Lacy had had to agree. She’d considered asking him out on another date, but before she could, final exams were upon her and she never found the opportunity. He graduated. Left the school. And she never saw him again. End of story.

Surely he was married, Sharon had warned Lacy. And she’d had to agree. He probably was. And his wife was certain to have been a Miss America contestant who had given birth to a brood of beautiful children.

Still, something inside Lacy had her braving Friday-evening rush hour in order to drive into rural Virginia to see the man. Maybe—just maybe—Dane Buchanan would live up to his Perfect Man title and become the perfect father. For her child.

“Let’s go into town for dinner tonight.”

Dane Buchanan glanced at the slate-gray sky and then leveled his gaze onto his father-in-law’s whiskered face. “Looks like rain, Alva. Weatherman’s calling for a downpour. You know how that creek is. We should be here to check the herd. Besides, I’ve got two steaks thawed in the fridge for us.”

“Aw, we have steak every Friday,” the older man complained as he latched the door of the barn. “A little rain never hurt nobody. Let’s chance it. Live a little. Couldn’t you go for a plate full of Lottie’s cheesy lasagna? I feel like some Italian food tonight.”

Dane dipped his head, suppressing a smile. He loved the way Alva said that word…with a long I, like in idea. The whole population of Italy would probably have taken offense. But of course Alva meant none. He was simply a good-hearted southern boy who spoke just like everyone else below the Mason-Dixon Line.

He suspected Alva’s hankering for pasta had less to do with lasagna and more to do with his wanting Dane and Lottie to have a chance to “keep company.” His father-in-law would probably be surprised to discover that Dane had figured out his plan, but Alva had been trying to fix him up for the past year. Before Lottie, it had been Cindy at the post office. And before Cindy, it had been Lorraine, the organist at the local Methodist church. It was clearly Alva’s opinion that Dane had been a widower long enough.

It was peculiar, Dane thought, that the father of the woman he’d married, the woman who had died so tragically because of his stupidity, would be doing everything possible to nudge other females into his path.

“Oregano upsets my stomach,” Dane told Alva. “Upsets yours, too. And Lottie uses the herb rather liberally in her cooking. You know that.”

“We could ask her to fry us some hamburgers. I’m sure she would.” He nudged Dane with his elbow. “I think she’s kinda sweet on you.”

Dane just shook his head. “Steak and a baked potato will do me just fine. And I’ve got chocolate pudding for dessert.” He pushed himself away from the fence and stretched the kinks out of his back, knowing full well his father-in-law would never be able to resist his favorite sweet. “But you go on into town, if you want.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Alva yielded. “Steak sounds good.” His grin made his mouth go crooked, his eyes glisten. “I didn’t know you made pudding. I’ll just run on home and grab a shower. I’ll be at your place in thirty minutes, so go ahead and fire up that grill.”

Both men turned at the sound of tires crunching on gravel.

“Didn’t know you were expecting company.”

The candy-apple-red sports car had Dane’s eyebrows drawing together with curiosity. “I’m not. You?”

The short exchange was silly, really. The men worked side by side every day. They had no secrets. If Alva was going to entertain a visitor, Dane would have known about it and vice versa.

The car came to a halt in front of Dane’s brick rancher, about a hundred feet from where the men stood outside the door of the utility shed. A woman emerged from the automobile and made straight for the house, the sun haloing her short, flaxen hair.

“Woo-whee!”

Alva whispered under his breath, although at this distance there was no chance the woman could have heard him.

“Cute little thing, ain’t she?”

Cute was an accurate description. But little? Dane nearly chuckled. Her body was as curvaceous as a country road, seeming to invite a man to meander along the soft hills and valleys. And she was tall. With yards of tanned, shapely legs that tapered into sexy ankles.

Suddenly the August air became so hot he thought it just might scorch his lungs…if he could remember to pull a lungful of the stuff into his chest, that was.

“I’ll take your stunned silence as a yes.”

Alva laughed softly and gave Dane another poke with his elbow, breaking what could only have been described as some kind of strange, mesmerizing spell.

“She’s most likely selling something,” he grumbled. Dane did his best to hide the embarrassment he was feeling at being the butt of Alva’s humor. “Probably wants me to buy a set of encyclopedias, or some magazine subscriptions, or life insurance.”

“Well, boy,” Alva advised, “you’d best go take care of the matter. I’m off to find a cool shower and some clean clothes.”

His father-in-law’s comment made Dane suddenly aware of the dirt on his jeans, the dust coating his hot skin. Why something so trivial should rear up to bother him now seemed unfathomable. He’d worked hard today. Just as he did every day. Sweat and grime came with the territory of running a cattle business. There wasn’t much a man could do about that.

The woman was on his porch now, her hand raising to knock on the front door. Dane took a step toward the house.

“I’ll see you in a…” His words petered out when he saw that Alva had already disappeared around the shed to take the path that led to his cedar-shingled bungalow just over the rise.

Long strides had him across the grassy patch standing between him and the front porch in no time flat. Shifting his hat back from his forehead a fraction, he called, “Can I help you?”

She spun on the narrow heel of her skimpy little sandal. “Hi,” she said.

Her smile flashed bright as the summer sun, a direct contradiction to the steely clouds gathering overhead. Dane was struck with the oddest notion that he knew this woman.

“I’m looking for…”

The rest of her sentence trailed as she took a step toward him, recognition seeming to light her big blue eyes.

“Dane? Dane Buchanan?”

His heart jackhammered, and he wanted nothing more than to blame the long hours of hard work, or the heat from the summer day, but he’d be lying to himself if he did.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Her voice had a lilting quality that started his memories churning—magnificent memories that he’d locked away in a vault years ago.

The pale pink lacquer on her long nails stood out against the royal blue of her blouse when her palm spread-eagled against her chest. “It’s me. Lacy.”

Lacy Rivers. His mouth seemed to draw into a smile of its own volition.

The years had changed her. She had filled out in all the right places. Cut off that glorious hair of hers. She looked polished. Businesslike. With a sexy edge that would drive a man wild. Much more sophisticated than the brash young woman in his memory.

The brash, fresh-as-a-spring-breeze girl who had nearly unraveled his well-laid plans all those years ago.