Paula Riggs - Daddy By Accident

“Bad news?” the coppery-haired nurse asked. “Geez, I’m sorry. I thought—” She waved a hand. “Well, it’s obvious what I thought. Getting back to work is usually a major concern. I kind of hoped the news would ease your mind.” She shot a disgruntled glance at the ceiling. “Good going, Prudy, old girl. Traumatize the patient with bulletins of disaster.” She brought her gaze back down to Stacy. “Jarrod will have my hide.”

Stacy couldn’t help but chuckle, even though the gesture sent a pain lancing through her skull. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Under normal circumstances, it would have eased my mind knowing I wasn’t needed desperately at my workplace.”

“Only your circumstances aren’t normal?”

“And whose are?” Stacy asked with a tone of levity she was far from feeling. “We women are the stronger gender, remember I’ll survive.”

The question, at the moment, was how, she thought after she exchanged goodbyes with Prudy and watched her walk from the room. She’d been desperately hoping for the regular paycheck offered by a permanent position—and medical insurance for both her and the baby. At the moment she had neither. Every moment she spent in this hospital bed was costing her a fortune she didn’t have, didn’t even hope to have.

Wearily she closed her eyes, but the desperate worry that had been her constant companion for six long months was still there, hovering, reminding her that she had another life to consider, another soul to nurture.

Gently she pressed her hand against her womb and tried to imagine the face of the baby inside. Len had been an extremely striking man, with jet-black hair and startling blue eyes. Her own eyes were mostly hazel, unless she happened to be wearing green, and then they darkened to the color of moss.

All her life people had been marveling at her eyes and the thick dark lashes framing them. Her best feature, they’d invariably declared, the only physical attribute of hers she cared to pass along to her daughter. The rest of her was little better than average, except her height, which was a good three inches below the national mean of five-six.

No, Victoria would be tall and slender, with the grace of a ballerina, not saddled with her mother’s two left feet and pear-shaped figure. Not if there was a God in heaven.

The smile that always formed when Stacy thought of her daughter faded, replaced by a frown that tugged painfully at the bruised parts of her face. She had exactly $226 in her checking account, a tiny studio apartment that was paid for through the end of the month only and one suitcase of clothes for both herself and the baby. Everything else had been left in the house in Wenatchee Falls. It was all gone now, burned up in the fire that Len had started in a rage over the separation.

Oh Tory, what are we going to do? she cried silently, feathering her fingers over the soft bulge where the baby lay. Even if she healed fast, it would be at least a week before she was presentable enough to enter a classroom without frightening the children half to death. Worse, the school year would soon be ending, leaving her without even the meager earnings she’d been earning as a sub.

Did McDonald’s hire expectant moms? she wondered. Did anyone?

The thought of having to swallow her pride and apply for welfare was disturbing. But what else could she do if she couldn’t find work? She was an only child. Her parents were both dead, and Len’s parents had written her off.

She felt tears collecting in her eyes and blinked them away. What she needed now was a plan of action, a strategy to see her through the next three months until the baby was born and for at least six weeks after that. But what?

Think, Stace, she urged silently. Use that brilliant intellect you’re supposed to have to come up with something... brilliant. Okay, forget brilliant, she amended after a moment’s consideration. Just come up with something that will work.

Ten minutes later she was still trying when she heard a rap on the door. Wearily she opened her eyes to find a uniformed policeman standing in the doorway, looking ill at ease. For a frozen moment she thought it was Len standing there, returned from the dead to mock her.

“Mrs. Patterson? I’m Officer Klein from Portland P.D. traffic investigations. Do you feel up to giving me a statement about the accident yesterday?”

Shaking in relief, she cleared her throat and tried to marshal her thoughts. “There’s not much to tell, Officer. My ex-husband was driving too fast and the car went out of control. We hit a tree and...and Len was killed. Leonard Patterson. He was a retired policeman, from the Wenatchee Falls, Washington, P.D.”

The officer approached slowly, his gaze giving the room and her an instinctive inspection. “Yes, ma’am. I got an ID from the DMV and a description of the accident from the witness, Dr. MacAuley, but—”

“Oh no, Officer, Mr. MacAuley’s a carpenter, not a doctor.” Once again, she saw the hard, lean contours of Boyd’s massive chest as he’d leaned over her. Muscles like those had been built up over a long stretch of hours spent in punishing physical labor.

“If you say so, ma’am, only the ID he showed me said he was an M.D.”

Stacy furrowed her brow and thought about the steady note of confidence in his voice and the words he’d used. In utero, he’d said. At the time she hadn’t noted the incongruity of the clinical usage and the sawdust frosting his massive shoulders.

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” she murmured.

The officer shifted his feet and glanced down at the yellow sheet of paper in his hand. “Ma’am, according to the registration we found in the glove box, the Trans Am is in your name as well as your ex-husband’s. Is that correct?”

“I don’t know. To tell you the truth I just assumed that Len had changed that when the divorce was final.”

Officer Klein nodded before consulting his notes once more. “There are charges for towing,” he said when he glanced up again. “Since the insurance has lapsed, the owner is liable.”

Stacy stared, her mouth open, her breath stilled, unwilling to take in the words. When the officer began to look acutely uncomfortable, she realized that she was expected to respond. “How...much for towing?” she said.

“One hundred and seventy-five dollars.” This time there was no mistaking the apology in his tone. Lord, she must really look pathetic, she thought as she nodded slowly. Two hundred and twenty-six minus one-hundred and seventy-five was...fifty-one? Surely that couldn’t be right, she thought desperately. But it was.

“Leave the bill and I’ll send you a check as soon as I get back to my apartment.”

“Yes, ma’am.” But instead of handing her the bill, the man continued to stand stiffly, his expression troubled.

“Is there something else?” she demanded, resigned to taking the bad news stoically, like nasty medicine.

The officer glanced around, as though looking for backup, and Stacy’s heart rate accelerated. “It’s okay, Officer. I promise I won’t go for your throat.”

That won her a brief smile and an appreciative salute from those cautious blue eyes. “Uh. there’s also a storage fee.”

“How much?”

“Twenty-five dollars a day.”

Stacy couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. She figured the baby would appreciate laughter more than tears, but even as she curved her lips into a smile, she felt the hot press of tears in her throat.

“Leave that bill, too,” she said in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And then do me a favor, okay? Blow the darn wreck to kingdom come.”

The young officer dropped the paper onto the bed tray next to the bright, lacy bouquet and fled. It was a long time before Stacy could stop shaking.