A Pregnancy And A Proposal

“If I have to.” He’d do whatever it took, stick to her like glue, quit his job, rent a secluded cabin in the Pocono Mountains and force her to…To what? he wondered.

“I’m trying to tell you it might not be necessary. You need a mediator.”

“And you think that’s you?”

“I’m the one she’s been talking to. I’m the one she seems to trust right now.” She stroked the curls at the back of Mary Beth’s head, absently pressed a kiss to the baby’s hair. “Heather’s had a lot of upsets in her world lately.”

“I don’t need you to tell me the sorry happenings in my life,” he said tightly.

“See there?”

“What?”

“You’re not in the right frame of mind to successfully deal with Heather right now.”

Resentment made him edgy and sharp. “Don’t tell me how to deal with my—”

“Hold it right there, buddy.” Darcie jiggled and soothed when Mary Beth looked like she was going to cloud up again over the squabbling. “I’m trying not to judge you. I’m trying to help Heather. I’m trying to help you. I didn’t tell your daughter to run away—or to call me, for that matter. But she has and she did. I’m involved whether you like it or not. And because I’m an outside party, I can be more objective. If you go blazing after her, your emotions are going to come across as anger and you’re going to make it worse. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Her impassioned words seemed to echo off the tiled walls of the rest room. For a long moment, Flynn didn’t comment. He just watched her, making her squirm, making her forget why they were there…making her want.

“Did you run away?” His voice was soft and deep.

“No, but a close friend in school did.” Darcie didn’t want to think about that outcome. But her heart clenched anyway. “And we’re wasting precious time.” She juggled the baby as she reached for a piece of paper.

“Here, let me take Mary Beth.”

Darcie kissed the baby’s cheek and passed her back to Flynn, deliberately ignoring the flash of heat that streaked up her arms as their hands bumped and tangled.

Why, oh, why did she have to be so crazy about this guy?

With fingers that trembled slightly, she wrote down the address and telephone number of her parents’ house and handed it to Flynn.

“This is where my folks live. Are you familiar with the area?” The address was in a blue-collar section of Trenton called the burg. Her family had lived there for more than thirty years. At one time Flynn O’Grady had too.

“I can find it,” Flynn said.

“Good. Give me an hour head start and then meet me there.”

“I don’t like this.”

She softened, placed her hand on his arm and gave a compassionate squeeze. The jolt was there, as she’d expected. But she couldn’t not touch him. This man needed. Needed badly.

And that’s why she’d suggested her family’s home to meet. If she had any hope of staying out of trouble with him, she needed people around her.

Added to that, her mother had plenty of experience soothing the ruffled feathers of a rebellious teen. It was a knack. Between her mother and her grandmother, they would feed Heather back into good humor. And if Darcie’s guess was right, Flynn would come away from the evening a winner, too. Nobody left the Moretti house without a meal or dessert or a week’s worth of leftovers.

“I know you don’t like it, Flynn,” she said softly, making herself remove her hand after one final squeeze—that one purely for herself. “But please let me try with her first. I want the best for all of you.”

He nodded, his nicely tapered fingers absently stroking his baby daughter’s silky blond curls. “I’ll meet you in an hour.”

She hoped to God that was long enough.

And she hoped she’d find the nerve somewhere along the way to tell him he was going to be a daddy. Again.

Chapter Two

Heather O’Grady sniffed and wrapped her gloved hands around the chain of the swing, pushing off with her feet. The canvas strip hugged her thighs like a soft horseshoe cradle as the metal chains creaked against the swing set crossbar. It was dark in the playground, and quiet.

Snow started to fall again, the flakes dropping and melting against her coat. Absently she wondered if they would pile up in her lap if she stayed real still. Would they freeze her to death? Would anybody find her frozen body? A kid, maybe?

Oh, that wouldn’t be right.

Heather thought about her baby sister, Mary Beth. She was a cute kid, and Heather loved her. But sometimes she sort of resented her, too. If Mary Beth weren’t around, Mom would probably still be here.

The minute the thought surfaced, she pushed it back. She wasn’t quick enough to stop the sting of tears, though, the horrible ache in her throat. Her breath puffed out in a cloud as a soft sob escaped. This park had been her playground, the place where she and Mom had come, just the two of them. Before Mom had gotten that stupid job. Before the baby was born.

Heather swiped at her cheeks, her gloves scratching her wind-chapped face. It wasn’t fair to blame the baby. She pictured Mary Beth’s cute little face, her round blue eyes, the way her dark blond hair flipped up around her tiny ears. The kid slobbered a lot, but that was probably because she was getting more teeth.

Pride nudged her. She was getting good at guessing what was wrong with Mary Beth, tending to the baby’s needs. Sometimes, she even felt sort of like a mom, which was a pretty weird feeling for a thirteen-year-old girl to have.

She felt old one minute and young the next. She wanted to be a little kid again, then five minutes later she wanted to drive and go to parties and hang out alone with Robbie Sanders. She’d been thinking about sex lately and that made her feel really confused—and guilty. Robbie wanted to do it and she kept saying no. Her friend Gina Warnelli said it was no big deal, that she should just go ahead and do it. But Gina had a bad reputation, and Heather didn’t want everybody talking about her that way.

She couldn’t admit to any of her friends that she didn’t really know anything about sex. They’d think she was some kind of prehistoric creature or something. But who was she supposed to ask? Not her dad. He’d blow a gasket. He’d immediately assume she was talking about Robbie, and he’d do something stupid, like taking the phone away or grounding her till she was thirty or something. Her dad already thought Robbie was too old—just because he was in high school! That was so stupid. It wasn’t like she was a baby or anything.

She kicked at the sand where glistening snowflakes turned the earth damp. Her heart lurched when she saw a shadow from the corner of her eye. Her fingers tightened against the chain. What if some bad guys tried to come and take her?

A whimper sneaked past her throat, catching her off guard, scaring her half to death. Then she really did feel like a baby. Nobody was there…were they? Her eyes burned from staring and her palms stung where the chain cut into them through her wool gloves.

Maybe she should go find a phone and call Robbie. Or maybe she should just go home. She’d told Darcie Moretti she was gonna run away, but so what? Darcie only knew her name, not what she looked like or anything. It wasn’t like she’d have to face the lady or anything. And Dad didn’t know she was gone. He was at that stupid Daddy Club meeting trying to figure out how to be a Mr. Mom.

She rolled her eyes. If only he’d just get a clue.

Headlights swept the playground equipment as a compact car pulled to the curb. Heather’s heart pumped.

Daddy?

Relief swept her and she nearly cried out. Then she took a closer look, her heart dropping like a stone.

It wasn’t Daddy. The car was too small and there wasn’t a baby seat in the back.

And Daddy was totally oblivious to what she was doing anyway. Like that was any big news flash, she thought.

As whoever it was got out of the car Heather picked up a rock and cupped her gloved fingers around it. She was scared. She was sorry she’d come out here. She was cold.

Tears burned her throat, swam in her eyes. It seemed like all she did lately was cry. How many tears did a girl have, anyway? The problem was, she didn’t even know why she hurt this way. Her insides stung, felt like they were churning, like if she just opened her mouth, all the bad thoughts would bubble up and come out in a loud scream.

Her fingers tightened around the rock. The person wasn’t so big. And Heather was pretty tall for thirteen. Already five foot five. It gave her an advantage, made people think she was older. Daddy didn’t like that. But so what? Why should he care anyway? He was always so busy, always had those blueprints spread out on his worktable and his head bent over them, always expected Grandma or her to take care of Mary Beth.

Shoot, she was only thirteen, yet he never bothered to wonder who would take care of her, did he?

Her eyes squinted and her heart still raced. It was hard to tell if the figure approaching was a man or woman.

“Heather?” The voice was female. “Heather, it’s Darcie Moretti from the hot line.”

As Darcie came closer, her coat flapped open and the wind plastered her top against her. Heather stared. She thought the lady was fat. But the lady wasn’t fat.

She was pregnant.

Heather’s heart sank. For some reason, pregnant ladies bugged her. Seeing them made her feel bad inside. Her mom had been pregnant and then she’d left.

“May I sit with you?”

Heather shrugged. “I guess.” She watched, intrigued by the way the sling style swing seat molded to Darcie’s hips, by the way Darcie’s pregnant belly pooched out and rested in her lap. “Does that hurt you?”

Confused, Darcie frowned. Then she noticed the direction of Heather’s gaze. Guilt made her grab at her coat, tug it around her. Of all times to let down her guard—and of all people to let it down in front of! “What? The baby?”

Heather nodded.

“No, only when she’s pretending to be a basketball star. That can get a little tricky. Thank goodness she’s still small yet.”

“A she? How do you know?”

“I had a sonogram.”

“Oh.” Heather jutted out her chin and looked away. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“No, I suppose it never came up. Little reason it should. Is that a problem?”

Heather shrugged and kicked at the sand. “I told you stuff about me. You could have told me stuff about you.”

“Is that what you’d like?”

“Doesn’t make no difference.”

Darcie skimmed her fingers over Heather’s hair. This young girl was a fraud, trying to act all tough, when she was scared silly and aching for attention. Darcie had seen this same attitude on so many adolescent faces. She’d worn it herself as a teen.

“You know, kiddo, I wouldn’t go back to being your age for all the money in the world.”

Heather’s eyes filled and Darcie slid off the swing, sank to her knees in front of her and gathered the young girl in her arms. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. It’s all going to work out.” Please God, let it all work out.

“No, it’s not.” Heather sniffed. “I hate him. He treats me like a baby one minute and then wants me to do grown-up stuff the next.”

“Dads can be a pain sometimes, but yours loves you, Heather. He’s just having trouble finding balance.”

“How would you know?”

Darcie had to tread carefully here. She didn’t want to lose the girl before she had a chance to form a bond. “Because I’ve spent several weeks talking to you on the phone. You’re a good girl, Heather, caring and sweet and smart. Those qualities come from being loved.”

“I guess. I miss my grandma, though.”

Darcie found it odd that Heather mentioned missing her grandmother rather than her mother. She knew Heather’s mom had died five months ago.

Flynn had told her himself—after several shots of whiskey.

“When did your grandma leave?”

“About three weeks ago. Aunt Lois fell and broke her hip or something and Grandma had to stop taking care of us and go take care of her.” She shrugged. “It feels weird in the house without her.”

“Did she always live with you?”

“No. Just since Mary Beth was born.”

And now Heather had to assume a larger share of the adult responsibilities in the O’Grady household at a time when she should be enjoying a carefree youth. Darcie understood that all family members—regardless of age—needed to pull together and do their part, but she still felt bad for Heather, for the obvious pain and hurting that would cause the girl to cry out for help by way of the runaway hot line.

They were quiet for a moment, and Darcie pulled back, sensing that Heather had shown enough of her vulnerabilities for the moment. And Darcie’s own vulnerabilities were about to eat her alive. This was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter, and she longed to just hold her, to fix her, to love her the way she loved Heather’s father.

Impossible. Darcie knew that much better than most.

Feeling an ache born of hopelessness, she stood and looked around. “It’s pretty cold out here.”

“It’s okay.”

Good thing Darcie had a lot of patience. It could get trying when a young person was determined to disagree—or to make a point not to totally agree—with everything an adult said.

“So what is it about this park that’s special to you?”

Heather thought about not answering. Her feelings were private. And it was different talking to Darcie on the phone. It felt more anonymous. Face-to-face made those scary emotions do freaky things to her brain, made her feel stupid and embarrassed. But Darcie wasn’t looking at her like she was stupid.

“This is where my mom used to take me when I was little.” Heather watched as her breath puffed out in a white cloud. “She would push me on the swings and hold my hand when I went down the slide. And she laughed a whole lot back then.” Oh, God, the hurt inside was really bad.

“You miss your mom.”

“I guess.” She hated admitting to a need. “I miss Grandma, too, but at least she’s not dead.”

“I’m sorry about your mother, sweetie. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent. As much as my mom and I fight, I can’t imagine being without her.”

Heather looked up. Most people said they knew what it felt like, even if they didn’t. Darcie Moretti spoke honestly. And she didn’t talk down to her or shy away from sad subjects. “Do you, like, live with your mom still?”

Darcie laughed. “No. I have my own place, but sometimes I wonder why I shell out the money. I’m at my folks’ house a lot. Mealtimes especially. Ma takes it as a personal affront if I don’t show up for pot roast.”

Heather gave a wistful smile. “Grandma makes a pretty good pot roast.”

“A lot of problems and worries seem smaller over a bowl of mashed potatoes and pot roast.” Darcie heard the rumble of Heather’s stomach. “I bet you got so upset with your dad, you forgot to eat.”

Heather giggled, looking slightly embarrassed that her stomach had made such a loud noise.

“How would you feel about coming home with me? You’d be doing me a big favor,” she added quickly when Heather looked as though she was going to object. “I got tied up earlier and missed dinner. This is one of the unforgivable sins in a household like mine. Especially on Wednesdays and Sundays. If you don’t show, you’d better be dead or have a good reason why you’re not there.”

“But it’s nearly nine o’clock.”

“Doesn’t matter. A missed meal is a major cause for drama and lectures, with a huge helping of guilt so you don’t repeat the infraction. Ma’s side of the family is Irish and German and Dad’s is Italian. I imagine you can guess what sort of dramatics fly with a combination like that.”

“Do they yell at you?”

“Heck, yes. They yell at me and the dog and the walls. It’s an art families like ours learn at birth.”

Heather giggled again.

“Honest,” Darcie said, watching the softening, the acceptance, knowing she was on the verge of victory. She wanted that victory for Heather.

And she wanted it for Heather’s father. Just the thought, the image of Flynn O’Grady nearly sidetracked her.

“Grandma talks to the wall, and Mom talks to thin air. ‘She says she’s coming, then doesn’t show her mother the courtesy of a phone call. A body could be lying dead in the gutter, but does she bother to call her mother? No. And here I have a nice chicken in the pot going to waste,”’ Darcie mimicked, waving her arms like a conductor for emphasis, pleased by the way Heather’s face stretched farther into a grin. “You really don’t want to leave me alone to face that, do you?”

Heather stood. “What did she cook tonight?”

Darcie stood, too, barely restraining the urge to reach out, to make sure Heather didn’t walk off. “Roast chicken and stuffing. And chocolate cake.”

“I guess I could come for dinner.”

Darcie led Heather to the car, wondering if she would beat Flynn to Trenton, if she’d have a chance to form a bond with his daughter, to talk her into going home and staying there. She wondered if there would be enough time for the Moretti clan to work their magic as they had so many times in the past.

She prayed that there would be. She couldn’t lose a kid to the streets. It hurt too much.

Now that she knew it was Flynn O’Grady’s daughter at stake, it was all the more important to her. It was personal.

DARCIE DEBATED having a second piece of chocolate cake.

“Oh, go on,” Grandma Connor urged. “Your thighs won’t appreciate it, but life’s short.”

Rose Moretti raised her gaze to the ceiling as though seeking divine patience. Darcie decided that her mother had really perfected that look. “She insults her own granddaughter, right here in my kitchen. I ask you, is this the way to act?” Though Ma was German-born, thirty-five years of living with an Italian man had added to her repertoire of gestures and voice nuances.

“Of course it is. If family can’t tell the truth, it’s a sad day. Besides, she’s growing a baby in her womb and every little girl has to learn about chocolate.”

Darcie’s hand jerked and her next forkful of cake landed icing down on the china plate. She wanted to put a muzzle on Grandma Connor, but knew from thirty-one years of experience that it wouldn’t do any good. Grandma said what she wanted, when she wanted.

And that could well be a problem. Especially with Flynn coming over. She hadn’t yet told her family the identity of her baby’s father. And thankfully they hadn’t pushed her. Now, all she needed was for Grandma to mention the baby before she had a chance to talk to Flynn.

Trying not to think about any more disasters, Darcie forked a bite of the sinful dessert into her mouth, noticing that Heather had stopped eating and was watching to see if anyone had actually taken offense over the fat comments. The way Rose and Grandma were nose to nose, it sure looked like war.

“Hopefully this baby won’t inherit my tendencies to gain weight. And hopefully she’ll have more willpower.”

“You’re not fat,” Heather said cautiously.

“Of course she’s not!” Rose agreed, shooting another glare at her mother, which Grandma ignored with a sniff. “And Grandma does not think so, either. She just likes to hear herself talk. Trouble is, she lets anything that comes into her brain just rip right from her lips.”

“And you don’t?” Grandma asked, making a face.

Darcie couldn’t help it. She laughed. And so did Heather.

“I told you, didn’t I?”

Heather nodded. Both Rose and Grandma hid smiles. They were putting on a show. That it appeared to be at Darcie’s expense wasn’t a problem. Darcie understood them, knew she was loved.

“So, tell me about this ogre of a father you have.”

“Grandma!” Darcie said.

“Well, a girl runs away from home it must be that she is living with a beast.”

“He’s not really a beast,” Heather said, her fork suspended half way to her mouth.

“No? What is he, then?”

“An architect.”

“A businessman. Good sturdy stock. That’s important. And you have brothers and sisters?”

“A little sister. She’s one.”

Grandma nodded, her twinkling gaze darting to Darcie. “So he is a nice boy. A businessman, father, good husband material. My granddaughter should find such a man. A single one, that is.”

“Grandma, stop.” Darcie wondered if her guilt was flashing across her forehead. She’d already found Flynn O’Grady. And he was single.

Her face heated and she grew uncomfortably warm beneath her coat. Her mother was still frowning and shooting looks at Darcie over wearing her coat in the kitchen. But she’d rather sweat. She didn’t want to give Flynn a heart attack when he showed up. He’d had enough upsets for one night.

Already she could feel herself chickening out of telling him. At least for tonight.

“What, a grandmother can’t have a conversation?” Grandma Connor gave Darcie a long, probing look, then turned her attention back to Heather. “And how about your mama?”

Heather lowered her eyes, pushed her glass of milk back and forth on the maple table. “My mom died.”

Rose was across the room in an instant, her pillow-soft arms wrapped around Heather, her snapping gaze shooting licks of flame at Grandma Connor.

“Ah, darling, such a tragedy. You must forgive us for prying.”

Heather wanted to cry but was determined not to. Darcie’s mom smelled of chocolate pudding and love. The kitchen was warm from the oven and stove, yet the furnace kicked on. The house was modest, a narrow duplex with a small front yard, where the kitchen was the hub of the family and the neighbors were a holler away.

Totally different from the house she and her dad and Mary Beth lived in outside of Princeton. The O’Grady house was large—a hoity-toity upper-class house Robbie Sanders had told her once. It sat on an acre of wooded land surrounded by apple and oak trees and pitch pines.

Heather decided that she’d trade fancy for homey any day. She liked these comforting arms around her. And truthfully, she was kind of tickled by Grandma Connor. She didn’t want to spoil everything by acting all sad and upset.

“That’s okay,” she said to Rose. “I’m over it.”

“Of course you’re not. No one ever gets over losing a mother. But we’ll talk of more happy topics, shall we?”

“Men are happy topics,” Grandma muttered. “I especially like the ones with tattoos. Your daddy got any of those tattoos?”

Rose threw up her hands, Darcie choked on a swallow of cake and everyone jumped when there was a loud knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Darcie said, hopping up. Passing her mother, she whispered, “Put a cork in Grandma, would you?”

“You know she has a mind of her own,” Rose said, not even bothering to lower her voice. “I’ll see if your father can do anything with her. And when are you going to take off that moth-eaten coat?”

Darcie ignored her mother’s last question, pulled open the door and felt her knees go weak at the sight of Flynn O’Grady. He wore a long black overcoat, dress shoes that probably didn’t have a lot of traction against the icy stoop and a tie decorated with pictures of hot sauce bottles and chili peppers. Mary Beth was cradled in his arms, all bundled up in a furry pink snowsuit.

“Is she here?” he asked.

All conversation behind them stopped. She turned and looked at Heather, who went through several emotions at record speed. They flashed across her face like neon on an Atlantic City marquee—relief, elation, love, then suspicion, rebellion and accusation. This last was aimed at Darcie.

Darcie left Flynn to make his own way inside and went to Heather. The girl stood, backed up. “You told him?”

“Heather—”

“I trusted you. How come you called him?”

“I didn’t call him. I was at Hardware and Muffins when the hot line paged me. That’s where The Daddy Club meets.”

“So you what, told him everything?”

“No,” Darcie said softly. “Not everything. But you gave me your name, Heather, your full name, as well as your father’s. If you wanted anonymity you wouldn’t have done that.” The girl was silent, casting furtive glances over Darcie’s shoulder at Flynn. “Would you?” Darcie prompted.