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

Darcy didn’t know what to think. Well, she knew what she should be thinking. She should be hoping they made a counteroffer today, one he could accept and so he would leave. Because here she was…liking him. Really liking him. He needed to go away—and now. But that wasn’t what she was thinking. She wanted him to stay. And that wasn’t good. Or even logical.

Then she thought of something else, something she hadn’t considered before. As she watched him, he reached into his white and starched Western-style shirt and pulled out two tiny envelopes. Before he could make his intentions known, Darcy blurted her belated thought. “Are you married?”

Tom Elliott froze, his hand poised in midair. Sober as a rodeo judge, he assured her, “No, ma’am. Why do you ask?”

You heard the man, Darcy—why’d you ask? “Well, I was just wondering, with all this latitude you have about staying here or going home whenever you choose…I wondered if there was someone…waiting, is all.” Lame, lame, lame.

Cool as a mountain breeze, his neutral expression never changing, he handed her the tiny envelopes. “I meant to give you these earlier. They go with the flowers.”

Darcy reached for the envelopes. His hand closed over hers making her mouth go dry. “And no, there’s nobody waiting. Just some cattle and several thousand acres of land.”

Darcy swallowed, then smiled…lopsidedly. “Oh. Thanks. For the cards. Not the explanation. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I—”

“I wanted to.” With that, he released her hand and sat back.

He wanted to? What does that mean? Why did he want to? Is he interested? Darcy did her best to keep her expression in check as she opened the first little envelope. She could see him watching her…and wondered what he was thinking. She sure wasn’t anything to look at. No makeup. In a hospital gown and robe. Her hair a fright. Her body wrung out from delivering a baby. Why, it was a wonder the man hadn’t run for the hills already.

Then, as the silence stretched out, Darcy concentrated on reading each card. Finally, she looked up, grinning. “Thank you, again. And Montana’s card…that’s cute. The Lone Ranger and Silver. I like that.”

His face actually reddened. He shifted in his chair and tried to look tough. But he failed—miserably. “It was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t. I think it’s cute.”

“It was stupid.”

“Seriously. It’s not. It’s cute.”

“Yeah? I’m not usually so…” He seemed to be casting about for the right word.

“Stupid?” Darcy finished for him, the conspiratorial grin she wore letting him know she was joking.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I deserved that.”

Darcy shook her head. The man was perfect. And would make some deserving woman a wonderful husband. Some unknown and deserving woman up in Montana…whom Darcy already hated. But that reminded her… “Hey, you want to see Montana?”

His grin died. “I already have. I live there.”

“What?” Then she realized his mistake. “No. Montana Skye. Remember? My baby. You know…the one you delivered?”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, hell. There’s that stupid gene again.” Then he sat forward and braced his hands on his knees. “Yeah. I’d love to see how that little lady cleaned up.”

“Okay. We’ll have to go down to the nursery.” Self-consciously, she started getting off the bed, realizing she was out of shape, her ankles were still swollen and she really looked a fright. She’d probably put the man off sex for the rest of his life. Why hadn’t she shaved her legs the other day?

Tom Elliott jumped up, coming to her bedside and gently gripping her arm. “Here. Let me help you. You got your land legs yet?”

His touch ignited her heart. And a few other related parts. “Yeah,” Darcy said around her bottom lip…which she was biting in penance for that momentary burst of lust as her intense soreness fairly shrieked here’s why you don’t need to be thinking about sex right now. “My slippers. Can you put them right there—” He moved them in place and she slipped them on her feet. “Thanks.”

She stood slowly and carefully, holding on to his rock-solid arm with one hand as she used her other to straighten out her gown and robe. His other hand covered hers on his arm.

It was a small gesture, but one so intensely intimate—especially here in the maternity ward—that Darcy looked up at him, felt her aloneness, and struggled with tears. As she straightened her robe and tried to cover her roiling emotions, she quipped, “I guess it’s a little late for me to stand on decorum with you, isn’t it?”

He reached out, wiping at a tear that spilled over. “You just had something on your face,” he said, covering for her. Then, he ran his booted toe dramatically over the flooring. “You say this is decorum we’re standing on? And here I thought it was linoleum.”

The man was killing her. Darcy fought to mortar up the bricks in her emotional wall that he kept knocking down with every kind word and thoughtful gesture. She just couldn’t feel this way toward him. She just couldn’t.

Then he winked at her and set them in motion…slow motion…as they headed for the opened doorway. “Come on, Darcy. Keep me from getting homesick. Show me a little bit of Montana Skye.”

“OH, LOOK…there she is. She’s so tiny and pink and sweet. I just love her so much.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Tom smiled at the pride evident in Darcy’s voice and longing expression. She’d make a great mother, he could tell. She had all the right attributes, ones he could admire. He felt qualified to draw that conclusion, too. After all, he’d observed Darcy with the baby from the first moment the little girl had come into the world. “She sure is a pretty little thing, with all that dark hair.”

Darcy sighed. “I know.” Then she leaned in toward him and whispered, “I think she’s the prettiest baby in the whole nursery, don’t you?”

Delighted with her whimsy, Tom whispered right back. “I sure do. I also think she’s the only baby in the whole nursery.”

Darcy gave a mock what-do-you-know roll of her eyes as she turned to once again stare longingly through the thick glass that separated her from her baby. “You do think she’s pretty, though, right?”

Tom turned his gaze from the pink-blanket-wrapped baby in the clear plastic crib to Darcy. Memorizing her profile, he said, “I think she’s beautiful.”

A big smile on her face, Darcy turned his way. “Yes, she—”

She caught him staring at her. He didn’t look away. He probably should have, he knew, but he didn’t. It was too late now. Darcy’s expression sobered, and became one of awareness. Intense awareness. She looked away first, lowering her brown-eyed gaze to the windowsill, where she rubbed a finger along its narrow ledge. Instantly, Tom felt bad. He’d embarrassed her. That hadn’t been his intention. “Darcy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No. It’s okay.” She met his gaze. “Really. I thought it was…nice that you’d look at me that way.”

Tom tried for humor to cover this embarrassing moment of possibly unrequited attraction. “Nice, huh? The next thing I know, you’ll just want to be my friend. And then I’ll have to go out and shoot myself.”

“Gosh, I hope not. Think of how bad I’d feel.”

How nice of her…and how noncommital. Tom decided he was right—she wasn’t attracted to him. He suddenly felt like the world’s biggest fool. Could he have made her any more uncomfortable? “Look, I shouldn’t have said anything like that, Darcy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I shouldn’t be coming on to a woman who only yesterday—”