Firefighter Daddy Page 4

  No. Yes. No, he didn’t, but damn it, how did a seven-year-old get to be so perceptive? What would Laura have done in a situation like this?

  Tell her the truth.

  He couldn’t be sure if that was Laura’s voice in his head or Miss Sunshine’s, but honesty was probably the best way to go. If he told her the truth, maybe she’d drop it, at least for now.

  “No,” he said. “Not really.”

  “Is it because of Mom?”

  He hadn’t seen that coming, either. Did he want to be completely honest? “Yes,” he said finally. “It is.”

  On their first date, he’d taken Laura for a cable-car ride and she’d loved it. Six months later he’d proposed to her on one, and a year after that, it was where she’d told him they were going to have a baby. Not that he was overly sentimental, but he associated the city’s cable cars with being in love, not with grieving, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  “That’s kind of dumb, don’t you think?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mom’s not here anymore, but she’d still want us to be having fun.”

  Mitch set his spoon in his bowl. There was no sense putting anything in his mouth, since he’d never be able to swallow it anyway. He was the parent, yet there were times when his daughter seemed way more sensible. “You’re right,” he said, although he still wasn’t saying yes to the cable car. “The wharf and some ice cream will be fun. I’ll bet you even know what flavor you want.”

  “Uh-huh. Chocolate-chip cookie dough.”

  Mitch shuddered—even the name grossed him out—but he didn’t let on to Miranda. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “And you’ll have chocolate,” she said confidently. “You always do.”

  She was right. Laura had tried something different every time, but he was a creature of habit. There was nothing wrong with wanting things to stay the same, forever—except for having to deal with the devastation when they didn’t.

  He watched Miranda pick up her bowl and drink the last of her milk and soggy cereal. Laura, in spite of her spirit of adventure, would have reminded her to use her manners, and a spoon. Like Miss Sunshine having her students put on their best manners.

  He gave his head a shake. It had been well over a year since Laura’s accident, and for the past few months he’d been getting by just fine. Some nights he’d go to bed and realize he hadn’t thought about her all day. On the one hand he felt guilty, but on the other he thought he was finally pulling his life back together. Or at least managing to live it. But since he’d met Rory Pennington-Borland, the guilt was back in spades, and so were all these haunting thoughts about Laura.

  He didn’t know who to blame. Laura, for leaving him? Rory, for having those ridiculously sexy feet? Or himself, for being so weak? The answer was a no-brainer. It wasn’t Rory’s fault, and being angry with his dead wife made no sense.

  Miranda’s spoon clanged into her empty bowl. “I’m going upstairs to pick out what I’m going to wear this afternoon.”

  Mitch stacked their bowls and put them in the sink. “Need some help?”

  “Nope,” she said. “I can do it myself.”

  He let her go. He was rinsing their dishes and loading them into the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock. If this was the new tenant, she was an early bird.

  He opened the front door and stared at the woman standing there. “Miss Sunshine?”

  Great. Now she was making house calls to point out what a lousy parent he was.

  Chapter Three

  Before Mitch could stop himself, he glanced down at Rory’s feet. Idiot, he chided himself. But to his relief, they were sensibly clad in a pair of hand-painted white sneakers. Okay, maybe not so sensible. Beside those sat a small pet carrier stuffed with a large quantity of black and white fur. And then the reality of why she was here settled into his consciousness with a tangible thud.

  She was the new tenant.

  “Hi,” she said. At first she looked just as surprised to see him, then she laughed. “I rented Betsy’s attic apartment,” she said, pointing up the stairs. “So…is she your mother?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

  More like a bombshell. Just what he needed. His daughter’s teacher—her very attractive teacher who seemed to think he was a less-than-stellar parent—living right upstairs.

  “Betsy said there’d be someone here to help carry my things upstairs. Did she mean you?”

  “That’s what she meant.” Thanks, Mom.

  “I really appreciate it,” she said, and she seemed sincere. “This place has a lot of stairs.”

  “How much stuff do you have?” he asked, wondering what he’d been volunteered for.

  “My van is packed pretty full,” she said, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of the street. “That’s everything, though, and it’s mostly…you know…stuff. Not much furniture.”

  He looked past her. “That van?” The ancient two-tone green Volkswagen with a kaleidoscope of flowers painted down the side?

  She nodded. “It used to be my mother’s. Pretty cool, huh?”

  Groovy.

  Miranda appeared and saved him having to answer out loud. “Miss Sunshine!” she squealed.

  “Hi, Miranda.” Rory glanced at his daughter, still in her too-small pajamas, and then back up at him. “So…do you two actually live here?”

  “We do,” Mitch said. That seemed to genuinely surprise her, which meant that in addition to not checking references, his mother hadn’t exchanged any personal information with her. No surprise there.

  “You’re who’s moving into the attic apartment?” Miranda asked.

  “That’s right. We’ll be neighbors.”

  “That’s so awesome. Wait’ll I tell the kids at school.” She crouched in front of the overstuffed pet carrier. “Who’s this?”

  Rory knelt beside her. “My cat. His name is Buick.”

  “Can I pet him?”

  “You sure can, but let’s take him upstairs first. I don’t want to open his crate down here because he’ll probably run away.”

  They both stood up. “I can help you move in, too,” Miranda said. “I’m good at helping.”

  “I know you are. Thank you for offering.”

  Mitch glanced down at his daughter and smoothed a hand over her feathery curls. “Run upstairs and get dressed, okay? Ro—um, Miss Sun—” Man, this was going to be awkward. “We’ll get started.”

  “’Kay. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  That made his chest tighten. Laura used to say that all the time. Back in a flash, she’d written on the note she’d left that day when she’d gone to pick up Miranda from a birthday party, in case he got home before they returned. Except she hadn’t returned, and by the time he’d found the note, he already knew she never would. The only thing he could be grateful for was that the accident had happened on her way to the party, and their daughter hadn’t been in the car with her.

  Rory laughed as she watched Miranda run up the stairs. “She’s adorable. So much energy and creativity. I love having her in my class.”

  “That’s not the impression I got when you called the other day.”

  Her laughter faded and she looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry you were offended.” Except she didn’t sound sorry. “All children misbehave. It’s my job…our job…to help them learn from their mistakes.”

  He knew perfectly well what his job was and he also knew that she didn’t think he was very good at it, but this was neither the time nor the place to have that conversation. “I guess we should get started.”

  “I guess we should.” She picked up the carrier and then smiled, which got the muscles in his chest to relax again. “I’ll take him upstairs and be right down.”

  He stepped back to give her access to the stairs. “Oh. Sure. I’ll grab a couple of boxes from your van.”

  “Thanks.” She breezed past him, and there was t
hat faint hint of citrus again. “Oh. You’ll need these.” She handed him a set of keys.

  He held out his hand and he’d swear he felt the tips of her fingers graze his palm.

  Her clothing was a little more subdued than she’d been wearing at school the other day. She had on a narrow-fitting pair of jeans with the bottoms turned up into cuffs and an unbuttoned orange shirt with the sleeves rolled up partway. Under the shirt she wore a hot-pink T-shirt. Okay, not so subdued, but at least there was lots of coverage.

  As he approached the passenger door of her van he could see a fire-safety booklet on the seat—the one with his phone number on it. He didn’t know why it seemed significant that it was here, but it did. He unlocked the side doors and, as they swung open, a large wicker basket filled with clothing toppled toward him. He grabbed it before it hit the sidewalk, and another waft of her delicate perfume momentarily overtook him. He set the basket on the front steps and went back for some of the boxes.

  He was staggering up the stairs with an armload of them, wishing he’d left one for the next trip, when he encountered Rory on her way down. She’d taken off the shirt, and the bright pink T-shirt turned out to be more of a tank top. Not so much coverage after all.

  To give him enough room to get past, she flattened her back against the wall, causing her breasts to jut out a little. When they were at eye level, he couldn’t help looking.

  He climbed the rest of the stairs with the image of their perfect shape in his mind. He should not have looked. It was one thing to admire her feet, but the rest of her had to be strictly off-limits, especially now that they’d be living under the same roof.

  The thought made him groan as he shouldered open the door to the apartment. He lowered the boxes to the floor and noticed a pair of green eyes gazing suspiciously at him from inside the pet carrier.

  On his way back down the stairs he encountered Rory on her way up with the basket of clothing. This time it was his turn to make room for her. As she passed, her smile and the feel of her arm grazing his chest did some more crazy things to his insides. A few more run-ins like this and he’d be in danger of embarrassing himself.

  “Why don’t you stay up there and start unpacking? Let me carry everything upstairs.”

  She stopped and looked at him. “You don’t mind?”

  She was slightly winded from all the stairs, and the rise and fall of her chest made her breasts even more noticeable. Then she climbed another step to meet him at eye level, and he had the makings of an erection. “Don’t mind at all.”

  She smiled back at him. “Thanks.”

  He watched the side-to-side sway of her curvy little rear end making its way up the stairs and reprimanded himself again. Watching her was not a good idea. Hell, none of this was a good idea.

  He clumped down the stairs two at a time and was hauling a stack of canvases and another huge wicker basket full of shoes out of the van when he caught sight of his mother making her way up the street.

  “Looks like our new tenant has arrived,” she said.

  He looked at her over the top of his load. “She has. Did you know she’s Miranda’s teacher?” He would really be ticked if she’d known about this and hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Rory is Miss Sunshine? I had no idea! Isn’t that a surprise?”

  That seemed to be the consensus, but he found it hard to believe she didn’t know who Rory was.

  “Is something bothering you?” she asked.

  “No. It just seems odd that she turned out to be someone we already know. And how is it that on the days you walk to and from school with Miranda, you’ve never met her?”

  She seemed unfazed by the question. “We go as far as the corner and I wait there while she walks the rest of the way herself. What’s the problem with that?”

  Much as he’d like to, he couldn’t think of one.

  “At least you don’t need to worry about what kind of influence she’ll be on Miranda.”

  Right. Except now he wasn’t worried about Miranda.

  His mother dragged a box out of the van. “I’ll run up and say hello.”

  “You don’t have to carry this stuff. I can manage.”

  She gave him a sharp glance. “Cut the hero routine. It won’t kill me to carry a few boxes.”

  Here we go, he thought. “I just meant—”

  Betsy laughed and gave him a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “That womenfolk shouldn’t be doing a man’s work?”

  Why do I even bother? he wondered. He followed his mother up the front steps, and Miranda met them at the door. “I’m ready to help. Should I bring something out of the van?”

  “I thought you wanted to see the cat,” Mitch said. The boxes he was holding were getting heavier by the second and he didn’t want to leave Miranda out on the sidewalk by herself.

  “Right!” She scampered up the stairs ahead of them. “Wait’ll you see him, Grams! He’s black and white and his name is Buick.”

  “What a great name.”

  As opposed to Dodge or Ford, Mitch thought, which would be just plain silly.

  They trooped into the apartment, single-file.

  Rory had already opened several boxes and seemed to be studying their contents. “Betsy! Hi!” she said when she looked up.

  “Where would you like these?” Mitch asked.

  “Oh, anywhere.”

  “Need some help?” his mother asked.

  “If you don’t mind, I would really love that. Mitch already offered to carry everything upstairs for me.”

  “Did he now?” No one else would have detected the subtle reprimand in her voice, but it was there.

  Mitch sighed. His mother could think whatever she liked, but he wasn’t doing all this heavy lifting out of some misguided sense of chivalry. He was doing it because…

  Rory chose that moment to bend over a box on the floor, providing him with a full-on view of the valley between her breasts. That was why he needed to spend as little time up here as possible. When he’d been married to Laura, he’d never looked twice at another woman. Now, his attraction to Rory felt wrong. Disloyal.

  His mother tracked his gaze and smiled.

  Damn. He quickly crossed the room and piled the boxes in an out-of-the-way corner. When he stood up, he banged his head on the sloped ceiling. Everyone laughed.

  He hotfooted it out the door and down the stairs, thinking, This is the thanks I get?

  RORY SURVEYED THE ever-increasing pile of boxes and baskets full of her belongings. Mitch Donovan was doing almost too good a job of emptying out her van, and she was having trouble keeping up. Instead of asking her where she wanted things, he was stacking most of the boxes just inside the door. Other than his remark about her phone call earlier in the week, he didn’t seem to want to talk much.

  Miranda was sprawled on the floor with Buick, who had ventured out of his carrier but not much farther. “Can you hear how loud he’s purring?” Miranda asked.

  “I sure can.” Rory smiled at the little girl, once again regretting that she hadn’t made time to look at Miranda’s file. Given that Mitch and his daughter lived here with his mother, it seemed unlikely there was a wife in the picture. It wasn’t common for a father to have custody, but it wasn’t unheard-of. Or maybe Miranda was only here part of the time?

  “Is there something I can do to help?” Betsy asked after checking the fridge and stove to make sure they’d been cleaned properly.

  Rory hefted a box labeled Dishes onto the table and tore it open. “This is kitchen stuff. Would you mind unpacking it for me?”

  “Happy to.”

  “Great,” Rory said, feeling a little less overwhelmed. “I can’t wait to have everything organized.”

  Betsy unwrapped a set of blue-glazed pottery dinner plates and set them on an open shelf above the counter. “Do you do a lot of entertaining?” she asked.

  “Not really. I’m usually too busy during the school year and I like to travel during the summer vacation.” Was she worried a
bout too much noise? “I won’t be having any wild parties up here.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” Betsy folded the newspaper she’d taken off the plates. “What about a boyfriend?”

  Mitch appeared in the doorway, added two more boxes to the pile, and hesitated as though waiting to hear her reply.

  “Oh…ah…no, actually…” The question caught her off guard, and knowing Mitch was listening made her feel strangely self-conscious. “I just moved to San Francisco so, um, I haven’t had a chance to meet anyone.”

  Betsy smiled as she hoisted another box onto the table. “I’m sure that won’t last. What do you think, Mitch? A beautiful woman like Rory won’t be single for long.”

  He looked as if he’d rather fling himself down the stairs than answer that question. “There are only a few things left in the van. I’ll just run down and grab them.” From the thud of his footsteps, it sounded as if he took the stairs two at a time.

  Betsy was still smiling after he left. “This is beautiful pottery.”

  “My mother’s neighbor made those dishes for me when I went away to college. I’ve always loved them.”

  Betsy turned the plate over and examined the potter’s mark. “I’m a potter, too, but I don’t make tableware.”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Clay dragons,” Miranda volunteered.

  “Like the one on your front steps? He’s charming.”

  The compliment was genuine, and Betsy looked flattered. “I also make planters, birdbaths, that sort of thing. If you’d like some pots and a garden ornament for your balcony, I’ll bring them up for you.”

  Rory had no intention of venturing onto the balcony. Her fear of heights might be irrational, but it was still very real. “Thanks.” She winked at Miranda. “A dragon will be good company for Buick, don’t you think?”

  The little girl stroked the cat’s thick black fur. “I’ll keep Buick company, too. I think he likes me.”

  “I can see that.”

  Buick rolled onto his back and Miranda giggled.

  Rory opened a box of books and started sliding them onto the shelves that lined one wall in the living room.