A Father for Her Triplets: Her Pregnancy Surprise Page 11

“How old was she?”

  “Twelve. Too young to take full-fist beating from a grown man.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Missy sucked in another breath. Hearing the truth coming from her own mouth, her anger at herself, disappointment in herself, and the grief she felt over losing Althea began to crumble. She’d been young, too. Too young to take the blame for things her father had done.

  She loosened her shoulders, faced Wyatt again. “I could see her arm was broken, so I didn’t think. I didn’t speak. I didn’t ask permission or wait for instructions. I just grabbed the car keys to take her to the hospital, and my dad yanked the bottle of bleach off the washer by the back door.” Missy looked into Wyatt’s dark, solemn eyes. “He took off the cap and, two seconds before I would have been out of range, tossed it at me. It ran down my skirt, washing out the color, eating holes right through the thin material.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “He was insane.”

  “I’d earned that dress myself.” Her voice wobbled, so she paused long enough to strengthen it. She was done being a victim, done being haunted by her dad. It appeared even her ghosts of guilt over Althea leaving were being exorcized. “I worked for every penny I’d needed to buy it. But when he was drunk, he forgot things like that. As I was scrambling out of the dress, before the bleach burned through to my skin, he called me a bunch of names. I just tossed the dress in the trash and walked to my room. I put on jeans and a T-shirt and took Althea to the hospital. His screams and cursing followed us out the door and to the car.”

  Wyatt said nothing.

  She stayed quiet for a few seconds, too, letting it soak in that she’d finally told someone, and that in telling someone she’d seen that she wasn’t to blame. That she had no sin. No part in any of it except victim. And she was strong enough now not to accept that title anymore.

  “At the hospital, a social worker came into the cubicle. Althea wanted to tell, to report our dad. I wouldn’t let her.” Missy glanced up at him again. “I feared for Mom. I knew the social worker would take us away, but Mom would be stuck there. And because we’d embarrassed him, he’d be even worse to her than he already was.”

  “Why didn’t your mom leave?”

  “She was afraid. She had no money. No skills. And he really only beat her about twice a month.”

  Wyatt sniffed in derision. “He’s a bastard.”

  “I left the next day. Got a clerical job in D.C. and an apartment with some friends. Althea spent every weekend with us. I guess that was enough for my dad to realize we didn’t need him—didn’t depend on him—and we could report him, because he stopped hitting Mom. When Althea graduated, she left town. Went to college in California. We haven’t really heard from her since.” Saying that aloud hurt. Missy loved and missed her sister. But she wasn’t the reason Althea had gone. She could let go of that now. “When one of my roommates moved out, I tried to get my mom to move in with me, but she refused. A few weeks later she had a heart attack and died.”

  Wyatt gaped at her. “How old was she?”

  “Not quite fifty. But she was worn down, anorexic. She never ate. She was always too worried to eat. It finally killed her.”

  With her story out, exhaustion set in. Missy’s shoulders slumped.

  He turned to the coffeepot, poured two cups. “Here.”

  She smiled shakily. “That wasn’t so bad.”

  “Secrets are always better if you tell them.”

  She laughed. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “School, I guess. In grade school I hid the fact that I was bullied from my parents. But in high school I knew I couldn’t let it go on. The kids were bigger, meaner, and I was no match. So I told them. They talked to the school principal. At first the bullies kept at me, but after enough detention hours, and seeing that I wasn’t going to be their personal punching bag anymore, they stopped.”

  Missy laughed, set her cup on the counter beside him and flattened her hands on his chest. “Poor baby.”

  “I’d have paid good money to have you tell me that in high school.”

  “I really did like you, you know. I thought of you as smart and honest.”

  “I was.”

  She peeked up at him. “You are now, too.”

  The room got quiet. They stood as close as lovers, but something more hummed between them. Emotionally, she’d never been as connected to anyone as she was to him right now. She knew he didn’t want anything permanent, but in this minute, she didn’t, either. All she wanted was the quiet confirmation that, secrets shared, she would feel in the circle of his arms. She wanted to feel. To be real. To be whole.

  Then she heard the kids out in the yard. Her kids. Her life. She didn’t need sex to tell her she was real, whole. She had a life. A good life. A life she’d made herself. She had a cake to bake this Saturday. Soon she’d have an assistant. She’d make cakes for grocery stores and restaurants. Her life had turned out better than she’d expected. She had good things, kids to live for, a business that made her happy.

  She stepped away. A one-night stand would be fun. But building a good life was better. “I’ve gotta go.”

  He studied her. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m really okay.” She smiled. “I’m better than okay. Thanks for letting me talk to you.”

  “That’s what friends do.”

  Her smile grew. The tension in her chest eased. “Exactly. So if you have any deep, dark secrets, I’m here for you, friend.”

  “You know my story. Stood up to bullies in high school, made lots of money, bad marriage, worse divorce—which I’m beginning to feel better about, thank you for asking.”

  She laughed and headed for the door. “Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where I am.”

  “Like I said, I have no secrets.”

  She stopped, faced him again. He might not have secrets, but he did have hurts. Hurts he didn’t share.

  Were it not for those hurts, she probably wouldn’t push open the door and walk away. She’d probably be in his arms right now. But she did push on the screen door, did leave his kitchen. They were both too smart to get involved when he couldn’t let go of his past.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SATURDAY MORNING Wyatt didn’t wait until Missy was ready to leave to get dressed to help deliver her cake. She hadn’t yet hired an assistant. She’d put an ad in the papers for the nearby cities, and a few responses had trickled in. But she wasn’t about to jump into anything. She wanted time for interviews and to check references.

  He couldn’t argue with that. Which meant he’d need to help her with that week’s wedding.

  So Friday he’d bought new clothes, telling himself he was tired of looking like a grunge rocker. Saturday morning, after his shower, he had black trousers, a white shirt and black-and-white print tie to put on before he ambled to her house. As had become his practice, he knocked twice and walked in.

  Then stopped.

  Wearing an orange-and-white-flowered strapless sundress, and with her hair done up in a fancy do that let curls fall along the back of her neck, she absolutely stopped his heart. In a bigger city, she would have been the “it” girl. In a little town like Newland, with nowhere to go but the grocery store or diner, and no reason to dress up, she sort of disappeared.

  “You look amazing.” He couldn’t help it; the words tumbled out of their own volition.

  She smiled sheepishly. “Would you believe this is an old work dress? Without the little white jacket, it’s perfect for a garden wedding.”

  He looked her up and down once again, his heart pitter-pattering. “I should get a job at that law firm if everyone looks that good.”

  Because he’d flustered her, and was having a bit of trouble keeping his eyes off her, he searched for a change of subject. Glancing around her kitchen, he n
oticed the five layers of cake sitting in a row on her counter. Oddly shaped and with what looked to be steel beams trimming the edges, it wasn’t her most attractive creation.

  “Is the bride a construction worker?”

  “That’s the Eiffel Tower.” Missy laughed. “The groom proposed there.”

  “Oh.” Wyatt took a closer look. “Interesting.”

  “It is to them.”

  Owen skipped into the room. “Hey, Wyatt.”

  “Hey, kid.” He faced Missy, asking, “When’s Nancy get here?” But his heart sped up again just from looking at her. She had the kind of legs that were made to be shown off, and the dress handled that nicely. Nipped in at the waist, it also accented her taut middle. The dip of the bodice showed just enough cleavage to make his mouth water.

  And he thought he looked nice. She put him and his white shirt and black trousers to shame—even with a tie.

  “She should be here in about ten minutes. If you help me load up, we can get on the road as soon as she arrives.”

  Making several trips, Missy and Wyatt put the layers of cake into the back of her new van. Together they carried the bottom layer, which had little people and trees painted on the side, mimicking street level around Paris’s most famous landmark.

  “Cute.”

  “It is cute. To the bride and groom.” She grinned. “And it’s banana walnut with almond filling.”

  He groaned. “I’ll bet that’s delicious.”

  Sixteen-year-old Nancy walked up the drive. Her dark hair had been pulled into a ponytail. In a pair of shorts and oversize T-shirt, she was obviously ready to play.

  “Hi, Missy. Wyatt.”

  The kids came barreling out. She scooped them into her arms. “What first? Cartoons or sandbox?”

  Owen said, “Sandbox.”

  The girls whined. But Nancy held her ground. “Owen has to get the chance to pick every once in a while.”

  After a flurry of goodbyes and a minute for Missy to find her purse, she and Wyatt boarded the van. He glanced around with approval. “So much better than the SUV.”

  “I know.”

  She started the engine and pulled out of the driveway onto the street. In a few minutes they were on the highway.

  She peeked over at him. “So...you look different. Very handsome.”

  Her compliment caused his chest to swell with pride. He’d had hundreds of women come on to him since he’d become rich, but none of their compliments affected him as Missy’s did. But that was wrong. They’d decided to be friends.

  Pretending to be unaffected, he flipped his tie up and let it fall. “You know, I don’t even dress like this for my own job.”

  “That’s because you’re the boss. Here I’m the boss.”

  “You never told me you wanted me to dress better.”

  “I think it was implied by the way everybody around you dressed. It’s called positive peer pressure.”

  He chuckled, then sneaked a peek at her. Man. He’d never seen anybody prettier. Or happier. And what made it even better was knowing he’d played a part in her happiness. She wanted this business to succeed and it would. Because she’d let him help.

  Pride shimmied through him, but so did his darned attraction again, stronger and more potent than it had been before she complimented him. But they’d already figured out they wanted two different things. The night before, she’d even offered to listen to his troubles. Smart enough not to want to get involved with him, she’d offered them the safe haven of friendship. He shouldn’t be thinking of her any way, except as a friend.

  It took two hours to get to the country club where the reception was being held. The party room of the clubhouse had been decorated in green and ivory, colors that flowed out onto the huge deck. The banister swirled with green and ivory tulle, down stairs that led guests to a covered patio where tables and chairs had been arranged around two large buffet tables.

  As they carried the cake into the clubhouse, Missy said, “Wedding was at noon. Lunch will be served around one-thirty. Cake right after that, then we’re home.”

  He snorted. “After a two-hour drive.”

  “Now, don’t be huffy. Because we get home early, I’m making dinner and insisting you eat with us.”

  “You are?”

  “Yep. And I’m not even cooking something on the grill. I’m making real dinner.”

  “Oh, sweetheart. You just said the magic words. Real dinner. You have no idea how hungry I am.”

  She laughed. They put the cake together on a table set up in a cool, shaded section of the room. When the wedding guests arrived, however, no one came into the building or even climbed up to the deck. Instead, they gathered on the patio, choosing their lunch seats, getting drinks from the makeshift bar.

  The bride and groom followed suit. On the sunny, beautiful May day, no one went any farther than the patio.

  “One of two things has to happen here,” Missy said as she looked out the window onto the guests who were a floor below them. “Either we need to get people in here or we need to get the cake out there.”

  He headed for the door. “I’ll go talk to somebody.”

  She put her hand on his forearm to stop him. “I’ll go talk to somebody.”

  She walked through the echoing room and onto the equally empty deck, down the stairs to the covered patio. Wyatt watched her look through the crowd and finally catch the attention of a tuxedo-clad guy.

  She smiled at him and began talking. Even from a distance Wyatt saw the sparkle in her eyes, and his gaze narrowed in on the guy she was talking to. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark curly hair, he wasn’t bad looking... Oh, all right, he was good-looking, and was wearing a tux. Wyatt knew how women were about men in tuxes. He’d taken advantage of that a time or two himself. And Missy was a normal woman. A woman he’d rejected. She had every right to be attracted to this guy.

  Even if it did make Wyatt want to punch something.

  As she and the man in the tux walked up the stairs to the deck, he scrambled away from the window. She opened the door and motioned around the empty room.

  “See? No one’s even come in here.”

  The man in the tux glanced around, his gaze finally alighting on her creation. “Is that the cake?”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  Tux man strolled over. He examined the icing-covered Eiffel Tower, then looked over his shoulder at Missy, who had followed him. “You’re remarkable.”

  Her cheeks pinkened prettily. Wyatt’s eyes narrowed again.

  “I wouldn’t say remarkable.” She grinned at him. “But I am good at what I do.”

  “And beautiful, too.”

  Unable to stop himself, Wyatt headed for the cake table.

  Missy’s already pink cheeks reddened. “Thanks. But as you can see, the cake—”

  “I don’t suppose you’d give a beleaguered best man your phone number?”

  Her eyes widened. Wyatt’s did, too. Beleaguered best man? Did he think he was in a Rodgers and Hammerstein play?

  “I—”

  He slid his hand into his pocket. “I have a pen.”

  Wyatt finally reached them. “She’s got a pen, too, bud. If she wanted to give you her phone number, she could. But it seems she doesn’t want to.”

  Missy shot Wyatt a stay-out-of-this look, then smiled politely at the best man. “What my assistant is trying to say is that I’m a very busy person. I keep a pen and paper for brides-to-be, who see my cakes and want to talk about me baking for them.”

  The best man stiffened. “So you wanting to get the cake downstairs, into the crowd, is all about PR for you?”

  “Heavens, no.” She laughed airily. “I want the bride to see the cake she designed.”

  But the best man snorted as if
he didn’t believe her. He shoved his hands into his pockets, casually, as if he held all the cards and knew it. “I guess you’ll just have to figure out a way to get the bride up here yourself, then.”

  But Missy didn’t bite. She smiled professionally and said, “Okay.” Not missing a beat, she walked over to the French doors leading to the deck and went in search of the bride.

  His threat ignored, the best man deflated and headed for the door, too.

  Wyatt chuckled to himself. She certainly was focused. The best man might have temporarily knocked her off her game, but she’d quickly rebounded.

  A few minutes later, Missy returned to the room in the clubhouse, the bride and groom on her heels.

  “As you can see, nobody’s here.”

  The bride stopped dead in her tracks. “That’s my cake?”

  Missy pressed her hand to her throat. “You said you wanted the Eiffel tower.”

  The bride slowly walked over. She ambled around the table, examining the cake. Wyatt stifled the urge to pull his collar away from his neck. In the quiet, empty room, the click of the bride’s heels as she rounded the table was the only sound. Her face red, Missy watched helplessly.

  Finally the bride said, “It’s beautiful. So real. Isn’t it, Tony?”

  Tony said, “Yeah. It’s cool. I like it.”

  “I think I’ll have the band announce that we’re cutting the cake up here, and ask everyone to join us.”

  Missy sighed with relief. “Sounds good.”

  Tony caught the bride’s hand and they went back to the patio.

  As soon as they were gone, Missy turned on Wyatt. “And you.”

  “Me?” This time he did run his fingers under his shirt collar to release the strangled feeling. “What did I do?”

  She stalked over to him. In her pretty orange-and-white-flowered dress and her tall white sandals, with her hair all done up, she looked like a Southern belle on the warpath.

  “I fight my own battles. He was a jerk, but I handled him. Professionally. Politely.”

  “He was a letch.”

  She tossed her hands in the air. “I’ve handled letches before. Sheesh! Do you think he’s the first best man to come on to me?”