Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments) (3 page)

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Authors: Pat Warren

BOOK: Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments)
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But Alex wasn’t buying that. “They wouldn’t have considered him if they hadn’t thought he had a good chance. But every patient has a narrow window of opportunity. If no replacement organ shows up in time...” He let his words trail off.
“Damn it, I never should have hired this guy, never should have gone along with your cockamamy request.” Angry with himself, with Alex for asking him, with the Fates, Mitch got up and paced the room.
That brought Alex around quicker than anything could have. “Look, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. My fault.”
“No, it isn’t!” Mitch became louder as his anger grew. “It’s Ron’s fault, but how can we blame him? I’ve got kids. I’d do it for them in a heartbeat Think about it. Wouldn’t you, if you had a kid?”
Alex’s eyes were grave. “Maybe.” But he didn’t have a kid. Neal Delaney had had one, and now that boy had no father. Because of him. Absently, he rubbed his incision through his clothes.
Mitch got up and stood looking down. “You’ve got to put this aside, forget what you read. Think about it this way—if you’d died, your father would probably have given up and been dead inside a year. He’d have no one to live for after his other losses.” He stepped closer. “Remember that saying that goes change the things you can and learn to live with the things you can’t? That could’ve been written for you.”
Alex drew in a deep breath. He had no business thrusting his concerns on Mitch. With no small effort, he made himself smile. “You’re right. I’ll try.”
But that evening after the rain had stopped, Alex walked along the sandy shore and watched the waves roll in, wondering if he’d ever learn to live with what he’d learned today. He’d inadvertently been the cause of a man’s death. It was one thing to risk his own neck countless times for the thrill of it or for God-only-knew what reason, but quite another to risk someone else’s.
He wondered what kind of woman Neal’s wife was. Was she bitter, lonely, angry? The insurance money wouldn’t go very far over the long haul, not with a business to run and a growing child to raise. A fatherless child at that. And how much could she take in running a bed-and-breakfast? There were dozens along the California coast.
Damn, but this wasn’t like him, focusing on others to the exclusion of most everything else. He’d always been a man who wanted to be responsible only for himself. He’d been more or less a loner all his life. Yet since his surgery and now since learning about Neal Delaney, his concerns had shifted somewhat. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Neal’s widow.
He couldn’t help wondering if somehow she’d learned that another man had gotten the organ meant for her husband. Did she blame that faceless, nameless individual for living while Neal had died? Did she worry how she’d tell her young son the truth one day? And what was the boy like? Had he been close to his dad and was he now suddenly feeling lost and abandoned? Who’d take him to ball games, tell him about girls, teach him to drive?
But most of all, Alex wondered if he’d ever be able to get the Delaneys out of his mind.
 
In Twin Oaks, it was still raining, a quiet, steady September rain. Good for the flowers, Megan Delaney thought as she stood looking out her kitchen window. They’d had a dry spell, so rain was most welcome. Tomorrow, time permitting, she’d get out there and do some weeding, pick some wildflowers for the tables.
She finished washing the cookie sheets and baking pans, left them to air-dry, then moved to the counter to wrap up the evening’s baked goods. In the morning, Grace would take the cookies, the zucchini bread and banana loaves to the Cornerstone Restaurant in town to be sold. The baking she did afforded her a good side income and she really didn’t mind doing it most evenings.
Glancing over at her son stealthily reaching for another warm chocolate cookie, she smiled. His hair was as dark as hers, a lock falling onto his forehead. His eyes were a deeper blue than hers, large and round and inquisitive. An altogether handsome boy, Megan thought, as only a mother does. But she was also a mother who had to worry about cavities and dentist bills. “Hey, kid, I told you two was your limit.”
“Just one more, Mom? I promise I won’t ask again.” Ryan made the sign of the cross over his heart, his mischievous grin revealing a space where his two front teeth were missing.
How could she refuse that face? “All right, but that’s it.” Just to be sure, she removed temptation from the table and began stacking cookies in the tall jar shaped like a clown. From long experience, she knew that even out of sight didn’t necessarily mean out of mind for Ryan when it came to his favorite dessert.
“Is your project ready for tomorrow?” It was the third week of the new school semester and Ryan’s third-grade teacher had already assigned a project. Each student was to make a dinosaur of his choice from papier-mâché. Megan had helped Ryan with his before dinner, but he was to have added the finishing touches.
“Yeah, I glued it into the shoebox I decorated yesterday. I even made some hills out of clay and stuck them around him to look like rocks. You think I’ll win a prize, Mom?” Ryan washed down his last bite with milk, eyed the full-to-bursting cookie jar his mother finished filling and wondered if he dare push his luck and ask for one more. Nah, probably not. He didn’t want her to get upset ’cause he had a favor to ask her. A big favor.
“I think you’ve got an excellent chance of winning a prize.” Megan knew that all of the kids would probably receive some kind of prize. It was usually done that way in the lower grades to encourage participation.
“Mom,” Ryan began, climbing down and putting his dish and glass in the sink the way he’d been taught, “you know those kittens that Tommy’s cat had last month?”
Megan almost groaned aloud, knowing exactly what was coming. “Uh-huh.”
“Are you
sure
we can’t take one? I mean, we’d be doing Tommy’s mom a real favor ’cause she’s got the mama cat and three kittens left and four are just too much work. This one is really cute, black with white paws and all cuddly. He likes me, Mom.”
Megan steeled her heart and stood firm. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about this. You know with so many guests coming and going around here, we can’t have a kitten underfoot. He might get stepped on or maybe run away when someone leaves the door open. And some people are allergic to animals and can’t stay where cats live. I can’t afford to lose business because of a kitten, Ryan. Please try to understand.” Living in a bed-and-breakfast had its drawbacks if you were a young boy.
Ryan heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “Okay. Only one day, can we, Mom? I mean one day when we don’t have to have all these people living with us, can I have a kitten or a puppy?”
Megan felt a lump form in her throat. How could she explain the necessities of life versus a boy’s desire for a pet to her son? “One day, Ryan, I promise.”
His face brightened immediately. Basically a happy child, he was seldom sad-faced long.
She pulled him to her, hugging him fiercely, blinking back tears. Why were her emotions still so close to the surface? Of course, Neal’s funeral with all its accompanying problems were part of the reason, but that had been weeks ago. For Ryan’s sake, she needed to get a grip.
She buried her face in the sweet little-boy curve of his neck. He allowed it for all of five seconds, then pulled away, his attention roaming. “I love you, punkin,” she whispered.
“Mom! You said you wouldn’t call me that anymore. I’m almost eight, you know.”
Megan smiled down at him. Too soon, Ryan was moving toward independence. Though in her head she knew that was as it should be, her heart wasn’t ready to let him start the journey. “You’re absolutely right. I forgot. But you won’t be eight for another three months.”
“Close enough. Can I go watch Looney Tunes?”
Glancing at the kitchen clock, she went back to packaging her remaining baked goods. “All right, but I’ll be up to run your bath right afterward. School tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Ryan’s white Nikes pounded up the uncarpeted back stairs leading to their third-floor living quarters.
“Was that the 101st Airborne Division marching upstairs?” Grace Romero asked as she came into the kitchen carrying an armload of clean dish towels and table linens.
“Sure sounded like that, didn’t it?” Megan turned to smile at her assistant. Chief cook and bottle washer might fit better. Grace helped out in everything from the front desk and bookkeeping to upstairs maid, running errands and keeping an eye on Ryan. But mostly, Grace was her friend, a woman who’d saved her sanity on more than one occasion. “Think you can drive Ryan to school tomorrow morning? He’s got a dinosaur project he has to take in, and I know if he rides the bus, he’ll smash it somehow. I’ve got two couples from Oregon checking in early and I probably won’t be finished with breakfast till late.”
“Sure, no problem.” Finished putting away the linens, Grace took a flat cardboard out of the cupboard and began shaping it into a box. “I can drop these at the Cornerstone on the way back.”
Megan set aside the last loaf and reached out to hug her friend. “You’re a godsend.” Grace had answered her help-wanted ad shortly after she and Neal had bought the big older house and set out to remodel it into a bed-and-breakfast. Childless and divorced twice, Grace had no family this side of the border and only a few cousins in Mexico. She’d pitched in from the start and become like a member of the family. Megan was certain she couldn’t manage without her and told her so.
“You got that right.” Grace grinned as she packed the box with baked goods.
Hurrying so she could spend a little time with Ryan before his bedtime, Megan quickly did a mental inventory, checking to make sure she had everything she needed for breakfast in the morning. When her Oregon guests arrived, all seven of her rooms, including the two larger suites, would be full. And three couples were staying a week. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to think about getting a new washer soon. The old one was on its last legs and small wonder since it struggled through at least ten loads daily.
Absently, she jerked open the cupboard to put away the cookie sheets and gasped as the door fell off into her hands, one of its hinges broken loose. Ruefully, she stared at the bent screws. “Not again. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.”
“What we need around here is a handyman, if there is such a thing somewhere on God’s green earth. Or maybe just any man.” Grace moved over to hold the door for Megan. “If only—”
“Don’t! Don’t you dare say if only Neal were here, he’d fix it. You know better, and so do I.”
“You’re right about that. I kept hoping he’d grab hold.” Grace’s opinion of Neal Delaney had never been high, not even during the early days. She’d spotted his aversion to work, his champagne tastes on a beer budget and, unfortunately, his wandering eye long before Megan had.
She’d hoped he’d grab hold, too, Megan thought, but he never really had. “You and I can fix this. We don’t need a male around here except the one upstairs watching Looney Tunes.”
Megan walked to the laundry room and reached for her toolbox.
Her
toolbox. Neal had had trouble pounding a nail in straight. During his many absences, she’d slowly gathered a small assortment of tools for minor repairs and learned how to use them.
Back in the kitchen, she rummaged around and found the correct anchor, then shoved it into the hole left by the bent screw. While Grace held the cupboard door, Megan threw away the old screws, put a new one through the hinge and, using her automatic screwdriver, fixed the first hinge, then tightened the second. Pausing to look at the repair, she nodded satisfactorily. “Good as new. Until the next time.”
“Until you yank it too hard again, you mean. Honey, you move at double time. You’ve got to slow down.” Grace nodded her russet head toward the window. “There’re roses out there you’ve never smelled. And snapdragons and peonies and all manner of growing things. You need to get out there and smell the flowers now and again. All work and no play makes Megan a pale and tired little innkeeper. You need to have some fun. You remember what that is?”
Megan frowned. Did she? Not really. “Fun for me is getting the bills paid, keeping the rooms filled, being with Ryan and you. I don’t need anything more than that.”
“The hell you say, sweetie. A woman needs a man. No child or girlfriend or full house can match that kind of fun.” Grace’s dark eyes danced with excitement, with memories.
Grace was still a very attractive woman, Megan thought, with her thick auburn hair that she usually wore in a twist during working hours and down around her shoulders when she went out. Which was far oftener than Megan did, even though Grace was on the far side of forty. Odd how the woman was still looking for Mr. Right after two disastrous marriages, the first to a man who robbed her blind and the second a drinker whose reckless antics nearly bankrupted her. Hope springs eternal for some, she supposed.
But not for her. “No, thanks. I’ve tried that kind of fun and the cost is too high.”
Grace sobered. “Honey, every man’s not like Neal. Or my exes, for that matter. Somewhere out there is a guy who’ll—”
“Sweep me off my feet? Whisk me away to paradise? Puhleeze. I’ll leave the romantic daydreams to you.”

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