Read the book: «Daddy By Surprise»

Chapter One

If there was one thing Molly Shipman hated it was arriving anywhere late. The kitchen clock indicated that she had exactly seven minutes to get to her appointment with Della Bailey, her friend, Trisha’s, mother and the owner of a roomy duplex on a quiet residential street in south Scottsdale. She’d gotten up at six just so she wouldn’t have to rush. Of course, if she hadn’t dripped orange juice on her blouse, necessitating a change, or broken a nail opening the coffee can, she’d have had time to spare. As it was, she had to fly.

Stuffing the last bite of toast in her mouth, she grabbed her large canvas bag before racing down the outside stairs of her apartment building. She unlocked the door of her eight-year-old Honda and got in, wondering why she ever bothered to lock it. Nobody but the truly desperate would steal old battered Bessie.

Sending up a silent prayer, Molly turned the key in the ignition and breathed a sigh of relief when the tired old engine wheezed into life. Just two more paychecks and she’d have enough saved to take old Bess in for a much-needed tune-up.

Whipping out of the parking lot, she turned onto Thomas and headed east. If only this rental would turn out to be perfect, or nearly perfect, Molly mused. According to Trisha, who waitressed alongside Molly at the Pan Handle Café, the recently vacated house with an upper and a lower apartment had just had a face-lift consisting of fresh paint and new carpeting. Mrs. Bailey, who lived next door and used the income from several such homes to supplement her Social Security, always kept up her properties.

The mid-April sun was already quite warm as Molly made a right turn, her mind racing. Since learning that her apartment building was converting to condos, she’d given notice and been searching for a place not too far from her job because old Bess couldn’t be counted on for long daily trips. Good rentals at reasonable rates were hard to find and the lower unit sounded ideal. She was sick of the three flights of stairs she’d had to climb several times a day for the past three years. Molly hoped no one else had spotted the For Rent sign and beaten her to the punch. Reminders of the early bird getting the worm buzzed through her anxious thoughts.

A quick glance at her watch told Molly she was only a few minutes late as she swung onto Cactus Lane. As she completed the turn, a noisy Harley came zooming around the bend behind her. The driver wasn’t wearing a helmet, she noticed in the rearview mirror, his dark hair shifting in a soft morning breeze.

Slowing, she turned into the drive of number 9430 where, thankfully, the sign was still in the lawn. The two-story stucco house with its southwestern style, red-tiled roof was set back from the street leaving room for a small lawn and several old cottonwood trees that provided much-needed shade. Mrs. Bailey was waiting on the porch and raised her hand in a wave. Molly turned off the engine and got out. But before she could take a step, the Harley pulled in alongside the Honda, blocking her path.

Unhurriedly, the rider dismounted and engaged his kickstand. Arizona sunshine reflected in his mirrored sunglasses before he took them off, tucking one stem inside the opening of his white knit shirt. Molly found herself staring into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

He didn’t look like her idea of a biker, she thought, dressed conservatively as he was in clean jeans and very white Nikes. His square chin—sporting a deep dimple—looked as if it had been carved from granite, hinting at a stubborn streak. His gaze was every bit as measuring as hers. An unexpected sensual pull lasted mere seconds yet took her completely by surprise. Why was this man following her? Molly wondered, her pulse slightly erratic.

“Do I know you?” she asked, though she doubted very much she’d have forgotten this man.

His smile softened his hard image, his teeth gleaming white against his tan face. “I haven’t had the pleasure,” he answered, holding out his hand. “Devin Gray.”

From the corner of her eye, Molly noticed Mrs. Bailey shuffling her feet impatiently. But she could hardly ignore the man’s offer to shake hands. “Molly Shipman,” she said, noticing that her fingers barely touched his skin before her hand was engulfed by his. Oddly fascinated, she stared at the contrasts, pale to tan, small to large, soft to hard.

He was the first to break away as he nodded toward the house. “I’m here about the rental. You, too?”

Molly swallowed around a dry throat and took a step back. “Yes.” Did she want to share a house with a ruggedly handsome biker? she wondered. However, she might have no choice in the matter, she realized as he fell in step beside her on the walk to the porch.

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Bailey greeted Molly. “It’s good to see you,” she told the older woman, then stood aside as the newcomer introduced himself.

Della Bailey patted her short hair, which was dyed a becoming ash blond, and smiled at both young people. “I hate to rush you two, but I’m being picked up shortly by a friend. We’re going to the Indian reservation casino to play bingo.”

Molly knew Mrs. Bailey since she often came into the café to visit her daughter. She also knew that the widow had two passions: bingo and kids. A retired schoolteacher, she baby-sat several neighborhood children after school.

“We wouldn’t want to hold you up,” Devin said, opening the screen door for the short little woman to lead the way into the lower apartment. He watched Molly Shipman walk past, her eyes avoiding his. She seemed a little nervous and he wondered why.

“As you can see, this unit’s unfurnished,” Della began, showing them through a good-sized living room, one large bedroom and an old-fashioned kitchen with wooden cupboards. The smell of fresh paint was evident.

Not bad, Molly thought, checking out the living room with its tiny corner fireplace. She’d have to get rid of the heavy drapes, get something light and airy. She strolled on, admiring the cozy window seat in the bedroom, the bright blue carpeting, the sunny kitchen where her plants would thrive. Yes, it would do nicely. Best of all, no stairs to climb. As soon as Trisha had told her about the place, she’d hoped she’d like the lower. “I have my own furniture,” she said, opening the refrigerator, pleased at how spotless it was. When she looked up, she noticed that Devin Gray was studying her far more than the apartment, which brought a frown to her face. Was this man going to be a problem?

Devin could see by her expressive face that Molly Shipman was already moving in mentally. “Is the upper furnished?” he asked as Mrs. Bailey checked her watch. He had a few things, but he’d moved too often to drag along a houseful of furniture.

“Yes, and it has its own entrance and stairs in the back.” She led the way onto the back porch and pointed to a door at the far end. “That’s the laundry room. You’d have to share.” She started up the stairs. “The upper’s rooms are a bit smaller, but there’re two bedrooms. I believe you said you needed the extra room.” Devin followed her.

She’d already decided she wanted the lower, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at both, Molly thought as she trailed after them. Her gaze naturally fell on Devin Gray’s broad muscular back, the way the faded denim fit over impressive buns and long, long legs. Quite a package, her feminine side couldn’t help registering. But not for you, her practical brain reminded her.

Along with the usual appliances, the kitchen contained a small oak table with two chairs and checkered linoleum that looked newly installed. An archway opened into a square living room with a couch and pole lamp along one wall. A short hallway led to two small bedrooms and a bath. A double bed, dresser and night-stand were in the largest room, but the other was empty except for a studio bed.

“I suppose I should say this unit’s semifurnished,” Della said as Devin examined the second bedroom. “You mentioned you work from home. Is this large enough for what you had in mind?” she asked, peering at him through her new bifocals that she still evidently hadn’t gotten used to.

“It’s fine.” Devin turned from the window. “Is that pool in the lot next door yours?” She’d told him on the phone that she lived one house over. “It’s not exactly the ocean I’m used to in California, but it sure looks inviting.”

Della smiled. “Use of it comes with each rental. I keep the gate locked so no children will wander in, but give all my tenants a key.”

Just what he needed, Devin thought. His job consisted of putting the seat of his pants on the seat of the chair for hour after hour. Without regular exercise, not only would his muscles cramp up, but he’d start getting wide in the beam. “That’s great,” he told Mrs. Bailey.

He’d been staying at a motel since arriving last weekend. Last night, he’d driven around this neighborhood and found it quiet with a minimum of distractions. No basketball hoops or garages or kids playing in the street. There were also several restaurants within a few blocks for nights he didn’t feel like cooking, which were many.

The apartment was only temporary, of course, a year at the most. But for now, it suited his needs perfectly. “I’d like to take the upper.” He took out his wallet and started counting out bills, then handed her a folded sheet of paper. “And here are the references I mentioned.”

In the doorway, Molly felt a frown form. Devin Gray wasn’t someone she’d choose to have live above her. He didn’t look like someone who worked indoors. She’d wager he’d once been a California surfer from his tan and mention of the ocean. Carefree and seductive, she assumed from the looks he’d been throwing her way. Pretty successful at it, too, she imagined from that killer smile. He was too big, too masculine, too self-assured.

If the apartment wasn’t ideally located and priced right, she’d walk away. However, she’d handle it. Mr. Charm would soon learn she wasn’t the least interested. She’d been fending off men like him for over three years. Trisha had once said Molly had turned rejection into an art form. Molly took that as a compliment.

“I’d like to take the lower, Mrs. Bailey,” Molly said, reaching into her canvas bag for her checkbook. “First and last month’s rent all right?”

“That would be fine.” Della strolled to the kitchen, pleased that her vacancies were no more. “Maybe I’ll see more of my daughter with you practically next door, Molly,” she said with a laugh. “She works too hard.”

Molly was aware that, like so many single mothers, Trisha needed every cent she could scrape together to support herself and her eight-year-old son, Danny, even though the two of them lived rent-free in one of Della’s houses several blocks over. The boy’s father sent support checks only when the ponies were running well. Still, Trisha had that great kid, which was more than Molly had wound up with from her disastrous marriage.

But she wasn’t going to dwell on that today. Ripping out the check, she handed it to Mrs. Bailey. “I’ll definitely have Trisha and Danny over as soon as I get settled. I can move some boxes in tonight and the rest tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

Della held out a small ring with two keys on it. “It’s yours, honey.” She turned and took the money from the tall man as well and handed him his keys. “I’ll check out your references and if everything’s okay, I’ll have your lease ready tomorrow. Oh, wait. You said you’d prefer to rent month-to-month, right?”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve paid you for three months in advance, the first two and the last month’s deposit.”

“That’s fine.” They walked out onto the porch overlooking the fenced backyard.

Molly’s gaze took in the grassy area with a clothesline stretched between two poles and a small shed at the back. “I’d like to plant a garden at the far end, if you wouldn’t mind. Maybe some flowers. I’ve lived on the third floor of an apartment building for three years and I’ve really missed having a yard.”

“You’re welcome to garden, if you like,” Della said, heading for the stairs.

“One more thing,” Devin said, aware that his new landlady was anxious to get going. “I forgot to mention that I have a dog, a German shepherd, yard trained. Naturally, I’ll pick up after him, even cut the grass. King’s a good watchdog, as well. Hope that’s okay?”

“I like dogs,” Della said, “as long as they’re well behaved.” She heard a car pull into her driveway next door and her friend’s horn honking. “You two can work things out between you about sharing the yard. Molly, I’ll have your lease ready for you to sign tomorrow. Trash pickup’s Friday and cans are in the back shed. I’ve got to run. See you later.” One hand adjusting her glasses, the other on the railing, Della made her way down the stairs.

Devin turned to Molly Shipman and saw she was frowning. Again. Much as she had been throughout their tour. He wondered what was bothering her.

A dog, Molly thought. A big dog. She liked animals well enough, though she preferred smaller breeds. “German shepherds are large and sort of scary. I have a Brownie troop, eight six-year-old girls. We meet once a week at my home and do projects.” Her sister had talked her into being a leader awhile back and Molly had to admit she enjoyed working with the girls. But she couldn’t afford to be sued by a parent over a dog bite. “I’d hoped to be able to use the yard for some meetings.”

Once a week? Just what he needed, Devin thought. He knew from long experience that kids were noisy, accident prone and could create messes in minutes. There went his nice quiet neighborhood. However the apartment was just right and he was tired of looking. He tried a reassuring tone. “King’s good with kids. He’s friendly, even gentle. But I’ll keep him inside with me on the days you need the yard for your projects.” As for the garden, he didn’t add that King would probably eat the petunias and dig up her vegetables.

What could she say in the face of such a reasonable attitude? Truth be known, it wasn’t the dog that had Molly concerned, but rather his owner. The way those green eyes looked at her, looked into her, as if trying to read her thoughts. She’d just have to avoid him, that’s all. With her work schedule and outside projects, that wouldn’t be so difficult.

“All right, I’ll hold you to that.” Another glance at her watch had her digging out her keys. Hank Thompson, the café’s owner, frowned on his people being late. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around then.” She flashed a brief, distracted smile and skipped down the stairs, heading for her car.

Devin leaned back against the porch railing and watched her. Did he really want to live practically on top of such an attractive woman? Molly Shipman, with that head of shiny blond hair, eyes the blue-green of the sea on a cloudless summer day and a body even her plain white blouse and black slacks couldn’t disguise would be an unwelcome distraction.

He needed the place he lived and worked in to be a quiet haven with no diversions or temptations. Molly wasn’t overtly tempting, but he’d always been drawn more to the subtle than the obvious. Her staid costume and offhand manner had him more interested than if she’d been wearing something skintight and acting flirtatious. Or was his interest centered in the fact that he’d been single-minded about his work for so long, to the detriment of his social life?

Straightening, Devin breathed deeply and could still smell Molly’s scent, a light fragrance that suited her perfectly. In those big blue eyes, he’d spotted a keen intelligence, a definite wariness and something else. Something shadowy where a vague sadness lingered. It would be challenging to see if he could discover more.

Perhaps having an attractive woman one deck below wouldn’t be so bad, after all. He could ask her up for dinner, conversation, a little touchy-feely tension reliever. Maybe he could…

Annoyed with his thoughts, Devin ran a hand through his hair and frowned. He was here to work, not play. His deadline was a mere three months from now. He’d best keep that in mind.

He locked the door and left the porch.

Molly arrived at the Pan Handle Café and noticed from the big clock above the counter that she had five minutes to spare. She caught Trisha’s eye and made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, indicating she’d gotten the rental. Trisha winked her acknowledgement before lowering the heavy tray and turning to serve her customers.

Molly waved at Hank at the cash register, greeted the short-order cook by name and walked on past the ladies’ room to the back locker area. The air-conditioning was set on high, but with all the heat from the kitchen, it was fairly warm inside most of the time. Quickly, she stashed her bag and fixed herself a tall iced tea with lemon. It was too hot for coffee some mornings. She sipped it slowly, glad that the breakfast rush hour was tapering off.

She was aware that many people looked down on waitressing, but as far as Molly was concerned, it was honest work that she enjoyed and was good at, and the tips weren’t bad. The Pan Handle was located in a small strip mall that bordered an enclave of older, well-kept homes peopled mostly by young families and year-round retirees who kept the ten booths along the windows, the six counter stools and the eight tables filled almost constantly. Word-of-mouth also brought tourists to the café with its down-home cooking and reasonable prices. And then there were the truckers who’d first discovered Hank’s place. Molly enjoyed the diverse clientele.

Of course, that didn’t mean she intended to spend the rest of her life waitressing. The people she worked with were aware that she was taking night classes, but only Hank knew that she’d attended the University of Arizona on a full scholarship and quit in her senior year before getting her degree. Foolishly starry-eyed, she’d rushed headlong into marriage. Four years later, divorced and on her own with no job skills to speak of despite years of schooling, she’d faced a frightening reality check. Although she’d had a variety of part-time jobs for spending money during her college days, she was poorly qualified for a steady full-time position.

After many long days of job hunting and being turned down mostly for a lack of experience, she’d stopped in at the Pan Handle for a cold drink and spotted the Help Wanted sign. Her smile shaky, she’d told Hank that she’d never waitressed, but she was a quick study and she badly needed a job. He’d hired her on the spot, earning a permanent place on her grateful list.

Of course, Molly worked hard and earned every cent she made. In three years, she was only two courses shy of enough accounting credits to take the state CPA exam. Dreams of her own company, her own business, kept her going through all the hours on her feet serving others and the late evenings she did typing, charging by the page. When that day came, she’d set up her office, hire a staff, eventually get a reliable car and maybe even a small house of her own.

Molly Shipman had vowed she’d never be beholden to anyone for anything ever again.

“So, you moving in soon?” Trisha asked, joining her after turning in two orders.

“I’ve got the weekend off.” She squeezed her friend’s hand. “Thanks for telling me about your mom’s vacancy. It’s perfect. Another hour and it would’ve been snatched up.” As she’d driven away from the duplex, a young couple had stopped their car, eyeing the sign Mrs. Bailey hadn’t bothered to remove and taking down the phone number. “I owe you.”

“I’ll settle for a cold drink. It’s been a madhouse in here since six.” Trisha bent to rub her sore calves.

Molly poured the drink, adding two sugars for energy the way Trisha preferred her tea. “Tell Danny the living room has a cable TV hookup for when he stays over.” A tall, slim brunette, Trisha was outgoing and dated a lot, often leaving her son with Molly evenings when her mother was unable to keep him. Molly had taught Danny to play chess and now he was beating her regularly.

“Will do. He’ll be thrilled.” Trisha took a long swallow, then left to check on her orders.

Time she got to work. Setting aside her glass, Molly put on a bright smile and walked to the front to greet an older couple who were regulars.

Hank’s gaze slid to Molly Shipman and his face relaxed. Of his three full-time waitresses, it was Molly who pleased him most. He enjoyed just looking at her. He watched now as she delivered an order to an older couple, then went to pour coffee all around for three truckers in a front booth. He saw their eyes wander over her slender frame, frankly admiring, boldly appraising. She laughed at something one of them said, then politely dodged their comments and one wandering hand as she wrote up their order. Little did they realize that no matter what they said or did, Molly wasn’t buying.

Unlike Trisha who flirted outrageously and dated frequently, in three years, Hank had never seen one customer get to first base with Molly. Oh, she was friendly to everyone, some more than others, but there it ended. She always went home alone and her phone number was unlisted. Hank didn’t know the story of her marriage or the reason for her divorce, but he figured she had to have had a rough time. Never once did she speak of those years. Divorced himself, he understood, but at nearly fifty, it wasn’t so surprising that he didn’t want another go around. But Molly was only twenty-eight, too young to want to be alone.

If only he was a little younger, Hank thought uncharacteristically dreamy. Then the scowl returned and he called himself a fool. What would a lovely young woman want with a slightly pudgy guy with thinning hair and a bad hip? He’d better keep such thoughts to himself if he wanted to keep Molly as a friend and an employee.

Molly stepped up to the service counter and raised a questioning brow. “You okay, Hank?” she asked, wondering at his grimace as she handed him her order slip. Hank was usually easygoing.

“Hector’s going to be late,” he complained, blaming his mood on that.

“Oh. If you need me to stay longer…”

That was Molly, always willing to help out, but he couldn’t let her do that. “Nah, we’ll manage. I hear you’re moving.”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“I’ll get my nephew to help. We’ll go to your place with the truck. Is seven good?”

He’d known she’d been looking and had offered to help her move in some time ago. Still she hesitated, hating to accept favors and remembering that Hank had a bad hip. “Listen, Hank, you don’t have to…”

“That’s right, I don’t. I want to. Seven?”

She gave him a grateful smile. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Then thanks.” The bell over the door rang out. Molly swung around and waited for the new arrivals to seat themselves before going over with menus.

Carefully placing the last box in Bessie’s trunk, Molly closed the lid and paused to gather her shower-damp hair into a ponytail. Only April and already the daily highs were in the eighties, quickly approaching ninety, with four or five more months of summer ahead. You had to love heat to live in Arizona, she thought, settling behind the wheel. Fortunately, she did. She’d liked the weather in Colorado, too. She’d left for other more important reasons.

The car was loaded—trunk, backseat and even the passenger side—with boxes and bags containing nearly everything from her cupboards. If she could get her new kitchen in order tonight, she’d be ahead of the game, leaving tomorrow free to figure out furniture placement. Not that she had that much, just the necessities and a few luxuries that she’d managed to purchase over the last three years. But at least it was all hers.

She’d left her ex’s house without any of the lovely wedding gifts that her mother and sister had insisted were half hers. She’d taken not a plate nor pot nor pan from the kitchen, not a favorite photo or designer suit or piece of jewelry. Only her own things, though not the expensive clothes and jewelry Lee had gifted her with. She’d wanted no reminders of him or his marvelous family.

Even with no tangible evidence of her four-year marriage in the small apartment she’d moved into, it had been many months before she’d been able to sleep through the night without waking and remembering. Many long weeks when Lee’s hurtful words kept replaying in her head like a broken record spewing out a litany of her shortcomings. Endless days when she’d had to force herself to quit hiding and leave her small sanctuary to look for work. Though Lee had never laid a hand on her, she’d felt beaten up and beaten down.

But that was then and this was now, Molly thought, starting up old Bessie and moving out into traffic. She was beginning a new chapter in her life, a new place to live and, hopefully in about a year, more meaningful work that would lead to a bright future. She’d read somewhere that you can handle anything as long as you know one day it’ll end. That thought kept her going.