Diagnosis: Daddy. GINA WILKINS
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him.
Looking sheepish, he dropped his arm. “I know. I’m just…antsy,” he admitted.
As if that was something she didn’t already know.
It was Tuesday afternoon, and the minutes were creeping toward 5 p.m., the time when Patricia Caple, Alexis’s aunt, had said she would arrive at Connor’s house with the girl.
Connor had offered to drive to Springfield to fetch the child, but Patricia had refused. Mia suspected she didn’t want Connor to know where she lived, for some reason. Maybe so he couldn’t return Alexis if he changed his mind about keeping her?
As if a child were a sweater or something that could be returned if the fit wasn’t perfect, she thought in exasperation.
Connor was a nervous wreck and she couldn’t say she blamed him. She could not imagine how it must feel for him to be on the verge of meeting the daughter he hadn’t known existed for six years.
She was more than a little anxious herself.
As she had promised him, she had not changed her mind about her reckless offer during the three days that had passed since she’d made it. Even though her parents had expressed concerns about her decision. Even though Natalie had asked her flatly if she had lost her mind. Even though she knew the gossips would have a field day with her moving in with Connor, despite her stated reasons for doing so. Even though she was occasionally overwhelmed with the reality of what she was doing, of how much responsibility she was taking on.
Just don’t let me mess this up, she prayed silently as she had quite a few times during the past few days. She hoped she was up to the challenge she had given herself.
The doorbell finally rang at 5:05 p.m. Stopping mid-pace, Connor took a moment to smooth his hair before moving toward the door, a gesture Mia found touching. He wanted to look nice when his daughter saw him for the first time. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a nice green shirt and neatly pressed khakis.
She, too, had freshened up after work, brushing her shoulder-length brown hair into a shiny curtain and donning a fresh pink top and gray slacks. Curious, she moved to stand behind him as he opened the door.
Patricia Caple was a tall, thin, bleached blonde with full breasts pushed upward into a black, scoop-necked sweater. Her high-heeled boots looked very expensive, as did her diamond earrings and the rings that glittered on her hands. It didn’t look to Mia as if money was her reason for declining to raise her niece.
“You’re Connor Hayes?” Patricia asked, giving him a long once-over.
He nodded, his gaze already going to the child half-hidden behind Patricia’s left leg. “Yes. You must be Patricia.”
Mia knew he’d already spoken to the woman by phone a couple of times and had expressed his sympathy at the loss of her mother and her sister. He’d told Mia afterward that whatever Patricia felt about those losses, she hadn’t shared her feelings with him. From what she saw now, Mia suspected Patricia kept her emotions locked tightly inside her carefully smoothed and perfectly made-up face.
“Yes. And this is Alexis. Say hello to your daddy, Lex.”
Patricia pulled the little girl forward as she spoke, and Mia was struck by her first sight of the child. She was a beauty. Her hair was still childhood-blond, although it looked as if it would darken with age. Her eyes, like Connor’s, were large and very dark blue, framed in long, dark lashes. Her little face was flushed, and the dimpled chin a bit unsteady when she gazed up at the father she didn’t know.
“Hello,” she whispered, obeying her aunt’s instructions.
Connor’s voice was husky when he responded. “Hello, Alexis. I’m very glad to meet you.”
She didn’t respond as she continued to look at him with searching eyes.
“This is Mia Doyle,” he said, including both the child and her aunt in the introduction. “My very good friend.”
Patricia gave Mia the same comprehensive assessment with which she’d greeted Connor. “You’re the nanny?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Mia agreed, knowing Connor had given the woman a brief explanation of the arrangements he’d made for his child’s care.
“She’s a good kid,” Patricia said somewhat off-handedly. “My mother raised her right. I guess she learned from the mistakes she made with Brandy.”
Mia didn’t know what to say to that.
Patricia turned toward her car. “I’ll get her bags.”
“Let me help you,” Connor said, moving forward. “Alexis, you can stay here and get to know Mia, okay?”
The child nodded, her somber eyes focused on Mia now. Mia held out a hand to the little girl. “Come into the living room, Alexis. We can get comfortable.”
Once again, the child obeyed without protest, sliding one cold little hand into Mia’s. Only then did Mia notice the somewhat grubby stuffed cat clutched in a death grip in Alexis’s other arm. “What’s your cat’s name?”
“Pete,” Alexis said quietly. “My mama gave him to me when I was little.”
“Did she?” She wondered how much contact Alexis had actually had with her mother. Or did she refer to the grandmother who had raised her? “I like the name Pete.”
Alexis nodded, her fine hair swaying around her face. “Me, too.”
“Are you hungry? I’m making spaghetti for dinner.”
“I’m a little hungry. And I like spaghetti.”
Most children did, which was why Mia had chosen to make that particular dish that evening. She’d made brownies for dessert, another popular treat for her nieces and nephews.
“We’ll eat soon,” she promised, sitting on the couch and drawing Alexis down beside her. “I’m sure you must be tired after your long drive. Did you have a good trip?”
“Aunt Patricia plays the radio kind of loud. But we had hamburgers.”
Mia suspected that Patricia had played the radio as an excuse to avoid making conversation with a six-year-old for four hours. Patricia didn’t seem antagonistic or particularly unkind toward Alexis; it was more that she seemed detached. Almost indifferent.
“I like an occasional hamburger myself,” she assured the child.
Connor and Patricia returned then, each carrying one bag that presumably contained the child’s clothes. Connor had a pink backpack in his other hand, and Patricia bore a bag that might have held toys. It wasn’t a lot of stuff considering it was everything the little girl owned.
“Okay,” Patricia said, both physically and metaphorically brushing off her hands after setting down her load. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”
“You’re not driving back to Springfield tonight, are you?” Connor asked with a frown. “You’re welcome to stay here. I’m sure we can make room.”
“Thank you, but no. I have plans tomorrow.” She held out a hand to him. “Goodbye, Connor. It was nice to finally meet you.”
Giving her hand a quick shake, he replied courteously, “It was nice to meet you, too. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, feel free to—”
“Thank you,” she said, already turning toward Mia.
They shook hands briefly, murmuring platitudes.
Patricia looked down at Alexis then, and for just a moment, Mia thought she might have seen a glimmer of emotion in the woman’s eyes. She couldn’t interpret what she’d seen, but she thought it might have been just a hint of regret. Sorrow, perhaps?
“You be good for your daddy and Ms. Doyle,” she instructed, no emotion in her voice.
The child nodded