Judy Christenberry - Who's The Daddy?

“Was that when I left, while Mother was at the spa?” Caroline added, hoping to clarify matters.

“That’s right. Your mother left the day before you did.”

“Where did Caroline go, Mrs. Lamb? She wants to know.”

The housekeeper looked at Caroline and then her mother. “I don’t know, ma’am. She didn’t say.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lamb,” Caroline said, dismissing the woman before her mother remembered the salad dressing.

A call to her sister didn’t produce any better results.

“I have no time to keep up with your social schedule, Caroline. You disappeared just after I announced my pregnancy. I assumed you had left in a fit of jealousy. But I had no idea you’d go so far as to get pregnant yourself. Couldn’t you let me be first in something?”

Having determined that her sister knew nothing about those lost two weeks, Caroline quickly smoothed her feathers and hung up the phone. Mrs. Lamb confirmed that her father had called and would be working late, which seemed to be a common occurrence.

No wonder no one knew anything. They barely saw each other. All of them together in her hospital room must have been their version of a family reunion. And not a very happy one.

Caroline crawled into bed and rested on the pillow, hoping its softness would soothe her head.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she would confront her father. Tomorrow she would ask more questions, find out about those elusive two weeks.

Tomorrow, she would see Max again.

THE FIRST DRESS had to be replaced when she discovered it was too tight.

Fortunately, she made another discovery—an emerald green silk dress, with a V neckline that dipped dangerously low. The flowing skirt ended right at the knees and fluttered every time she moved. If he was a leg man, she’d definitely get his attention.

Max Daniels may have thought she’d tortured him before, but he hadn’t seen anything yet.

After perfecting her makeup, she ran downstairs and poked her head through the kitchen door. “Everything okay?”

Mrs. Lamb, working at the huge sink, smiled distractedly. “Oh, yes.”

“Thanks. I’ll get the doorbell when it rings.”

She didn’t have long to wait.

Speeding to the front door, she threw it open, a welcoming smile on her face. It faltered when she discovered not one handsome man, but three, on the doorstep.

And none of them looked happy.

“Uh, come in,” she muttered, stepping back.

Max glowered at her as he crossed the threshold, and the other two looked uneasy.

“Are you here to see my father?” she asked Adrian and Prescott.

Before either of them could answer, she heard footsteps behind her, and her father’s voice answered.

“They’re here as our guests for dinner, of course, just as Mr. Daniels is.”

She turned to face him. “Max and I are dining on the patio.”

Her father hadn’t bothered with her since he brought her home from the hospital, but he smiled now as if they were perfectly in tune. “I know that was your plan, Caro, but I told Mrs. Lamb you’d changed your mind. I thought we’d all dine together.”

Several responses ran through Caroline’s head, the foremost of which was to kick her father in the shins and grab Max’s hand and run. Definitely too immature. And if she challenged his decision and insisted on being served on the patio, it would cause Mrs. Lamb a great deal of trouble. And her father would probably just move his guests to the patio, also.

Leaving her no choice but to grin and bear it.

“I see. My apologies, Max. I’m afraid my plans have gone awry.” At least she wanted Max to know she hadn’t included her other—whatever they were—in the invitation.

“No problem,” he murmured, but he was glaring at Adrian and Prescott, not even looking at her.

Determined to draw his attention, she slipped her hand into his. When he looked down at her, she leaned against him ever so slightly. “I’m glad you came.”

His indrawn breath as his gaze fell to her neckline gave her some satisfaction. She grinned when his eyes met hers. At least he wasn’t ignoring her now.

“Let’s all go to the sun room and have a drink while Mrs. Lamb finishes preparing dinner,” James suggested, acting the genial host.

In the sun room, Amelia was sitting in a pool of light from a nearby lamp, industriously stitching.

“Good evening, Mother,” Caroline said, wondering if she should offer her a kiss on the cheek. She concluded it probably wasn’t a habit. This family, her family, seemed as disconnected as any she’d ever seen.

“Good evening, dear. How are you?”

It gave Caroline a warm feeling to know that her mother hadn’t forgotten her physical problems, at least. Perhaps she was wrong to think her family was uninvolved.

“Much better. My headache is almost gone.”

“You had a headache? That’s unusual, Caroline. You should ask Mrs. Lamb for some aspirin.”

So much for the warm fuzzies.

“Caroline is still suffering from her concussion, Amelia,” James explained.

“Oh, yes. You were in the hospital. Nasty places, hospitals.”

James seemed to suddenly realize everyone but Amelia was still standing. “Please, be seated. I’ll serve drinks. Adrian, Prescott, your usual?”

Caroline resented her father’s effort to make it clear that the other two were frequent guests. She turned to Max even as she tugged at his hand to lead him to the sofa where her mother sat. “What will you have, Max?”

“What are you having?” he asked.

“My usual,” she assured him with a grin, “a club soda.”

Her mother continued her stitching, but the men in the room stared at her as if she’d just revealed a national secret. “What’s wrong?”

“How did you know what you usually have?” James demanded, taking several steps toward her.

Realization of what she’d said set in, and she shook her head slowly. “I…I don’t know.”

Her father slapped his palm down on the bar. “Damn it, Caroline, why can’t you remember the important things?”

“You think I’m doing it on purpose?” she retorted, irritated by his words. She was just as frustrated as her father at her inability to recall her life.

“Really, James, your behavior is inappropriate,” Amelia said, still calmly stitching.

“Sorry.”

“Is a club soda what I usually have?” Caroline asked in the silence that followed.

“Yes,” Prescott said, speaking for the first time. “You always say alcohol gives you a headache.”

Even Max nodded in agreement. “And I’ll have the same.”

“Mr. Daniels, are you sure you want a club soda? The rest of us are having Scotch,” James said.

Max withdrew his hand from Caroline’s and rose to walk over to the bar. “A club soda is fine.” He picked up the two her father poured and brought them back to Caroline.

“Maybe I’ll have a club soda, too,” Prescott suddenly said, smiling at Caroline.

She couldn’t resist sharing a smile with Max. Poor Prescott was so predictable. And Max’s smile was heavenly. Just as she was searching for a reason to take his hand again, the doorbell rang.

“Who could that be?” she asked, looking at her father.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I would imagine it’s your sister,” Amelia stated as she continued to stitch. “She doesn’t feel like cooking and they haven’t found a housekeeper yet.”

“How can they afford a housekeeper?” James snapped. “Roddy isn’t the most successful stockbroker I’ve ever seen.”

“I told them you would pay for her,” Amelia said.

Caroline had to hand it to her mother. In her placid way, she had more effectively matched James than anyone Caroline had ever seen. Her father was gaping like a landed trout.