Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

is not the reason you dream about it now. It’s not the reason you dream about him. And I’ll bet you a new clothes dryer you didn’t talk to him about that!”

Kendra shrugged as she opened the car door. “It doesn’t matter. After all, this isn’t about him. Or me. The important person in all this is Matthew.”

Whose father hadn’t even touched him. And whose mother didn’t know whether to be relieved or heartbroken over that fact.

*

Marti had saved Kendra and Ellyn seats up front for the standing-room only turnout for the proposed child-care cooperative at the community church. With her usual no-nonsense authority, Fran Sinclair led the meeting in the basement room where the cooperative would be housed.

Far Hills had experienced its own baby boomlet. The need for childcare formed a recurring topic in encounters Kendra had in the grocery store, working at the Far Hills Banner, or pumping gas, since the station owner was the harried father of twins.

The only one who’d done anything about it was Fran Sinclair, an organizer from way back and, as step-mother of the late Dale Sinclair, now the step-grandmother of Ellyn’s kids. Fran supported Ellyn and the kids in a hundred ways. As Marti’s lifelong friend, she was also a frequent visitor to Far Hills Ranch.

Kendra liked and respected Fran. She just couldn’t keep her mind on Fran’s words tonight.

Kendra heard Fran’s logical, orderly setting out of rules for enrolling a child in the program, the basic fee structure, plus minimum hours of duty required, birth certificate and immunization records to bring, snack duty to sign up for. She heard it all–she didn’t absorb much.

When a question was asked about the proposed after-school program to start in a few weeks, Kendra twisted around to look at the asker, hoping that would focus her attention.

And there, against the back wall, leaned the dark-haired, broad-shouldered form of the man named Daniel Delligatti.

He’d said he’d give her time to absorb his reappearance in her life. What right did he have to come here, throwing her even more off balance than she already was?

She’d clamped her lips shut when she spotted him, but she must have made a sound, because Ellyn, on her left, asked, “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t look like nothing.” Ellyn twisted farther around, then added a significant, surprised, “Oh!”

Kendra faced forward. “What on earth is he doing here?”

“This was the best he could do for night life in Far Hills?”

Kendra glared at her friend.

“Ellyn, that’s–”

“Did you have a question, Kendra and Ellyn?” Fran asked from behind the lectern.

Exchanging a look like first-graders caught talking in class, they muttered no in unison and remained quiet–and facing forward–for the rest of the meeting. As soon as people started filing out, however, Ellyn turned to the back of the room.

“Still there,” she reported in a low voice. “Go talk to him.”

“I’m not–”

“I’ll wait in the car. Take your time.”

Without waiting for a response, Ellyn corralled Marti and Fran, easing them toward the door along with the handful of people who’d lingered to ask Fran questions. They’d almost reached the door when Kendra saw Marti put on the brakes, her head turned toward where Daniel stood, in jeans and a blue plaid shirt.

“What’s he doing here?”

At Marti’s question, Fran craned around, but Ellyn took a firm hold of each woman’s arm and practically pushed the pair out the door.

“He must have come to see Kendra. Come on.”

Then she closed the door behind them, leaving Kendra alone in the room with Daniel.

Kendra knew that wouldn’t last. The custodian would arrive soon to fold the chairs–if Marti didn’t show up first.

Daniel hadn’t budged, arms folded over his broad chest, leaning against the wall. Only his eyes moved as she walked toward him.

“You followed me? I didn’t know Taumaturgio indulged in spying.”

He grinned, swift and short. “No, I didn’t follow you–this time. You and your friends talked about a meeting for a baby-sitting cooperative. A copy of the Far Hills Banner did the rest.”

He’d listened very closely if he’d picked up all that.

“Why bother?”

“I have a son who’ll be coming here, don’t I?”

“Matthew will be coming, yes.”

“There you go, Kendra.” He said it the way he used to–Paulo used to. She held off a flood of memories as he continued, “So, shouldn’t I know what it’s about? Shouldn’t I expect to be putting in my share of time, too?”

She felt a jolt in her chest–surprise or fear?

He meant to stick around long enough to get involved in that sort of commitment?

“Fran doesn’t want people dropping in and out of the program.”

“I heard.”

“Why so interested now, Daniel?”

“I’ve been interested from the moment I knew I had a child.”

“Really?” she challenged him. “Then I would have thought you might have touched him, held him this afternoon.”

Daniel didn’t look away from her, didn’t change his posture, but Kendra had a sudden impression of withdrawal. His strong bones appeared harsher, his dark eyes colder. And yet, for no reason she could fathom it made her think him more vulnerable.

In the unforgiving overhead light she noticed for the first time the jagged scar on his cheek from the wood fragment she’d removed from his flesh. She had to clench her hands to keep from tracing it with her fingertips, to assure herself it had healed.

“Guys don’t have the same advantage women do–we’re not born knowing how to deal with kids.” From lightly mocking, his voice sank to almost a growl. “I don’t know how.”

Jerked back from her thoughts, she stumbled out a “What?”

He didn’t answer, as if he regretted his words.

“You can’t be serious.” She studied his face, which gave away nothing. The same sort of expression she’d gotten from Paulo when he hadn’t understood–when he’d pretended to not understand–her English. “You hold him the way your father held you. Besides, you can’t tell me you’re not comfortable with kids–you of all people. All the tales I heard about Taumaturgio and children? How children loved him. How he could get children to trust him, so they weren’t