“No! Dad-dee!” She screamed and arched her back, but he got her buckled in. He shut the rear door, disconnected the cables, dropped the hoods on both cars.
“Okay. That’s it. You can pull out now. Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.” She replaced her sunglasses. “Your daughter…” she began and trailed off, biting her lip. “You’re very lucky.”
“I know it.” He grinned.
She said nothing else.
He watched her slide back into her own car, her butt in those jeans hypnotizing him. Then he climbed back into his own vehicle, tossed the cables on the passenger seat. As soon as she pulled out, he maneuvered into her spot, rushing because he knew he had only minutes before the battery drained again, since the alternator wasn’t charging it.
The gorgeous redhead was long gone by the time he’d pulled Emmy’s stroller from the rear, unfolded it and got her transferred from car seat to stroller. They were only a few blocks from home where the inspector from the city was likely already waiting for him. But he had to make a stop first. He steered Emmy’s stroller into the auto parts store on Bell Boulevard, strode to the desk and asked the clerk if they had any alternators in stock for his particular SUV.
Two hundred dollars later, he, his daughter, and his alternator were on their way back to the apartment.
Pete, the city inspector, was a decent guy, and smiled wide at Emmy and wider at him. “Nice hair, man.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “One of these years, I’ll find time to get it cut.” He pushed Emmy’s stroller into the apartment, cut her loose, and grabbed his master key ring. Gabe and Emmy took Pete through each unit, making sure no fire or building codes had been violated by unsuspecting—or uncaring—tenants. Mrs. Morgan complained, loudly, when he knocked on B.
“I’ll be back for the toilet as soon as the inspection is done.”
“That was hours ago!” she protested.
“I know. I’m sorry. I had car trouble.” He fished his key from his pocket. “Here. Take this. Go settle at my place. Make yourself some tea or coffee, watch TV. Take a nap if you want. The bathroom’s just down the hall. My place is your place, okay?”
She took his key with a grateful nod.
Gabe adjusted Emmy on his hip and followed Pete to the next unit. Nobody was home in the next several apartments they visited. He’d given all the tenants ample notice about today’s inspection, including the time window. They’d had the option of remaining home to observe or leaving their deadbolts unfastened so he could gain access with his master. Unit by unit, they went and an hour later, Pete shook Gabe’s hand. “Okay, that’s it for this inspection. Thanks, Gabe.”
Emmy offered him one chubby hand. “Bye-bye, Miss Emerson.” Pete shook the little hand and laughed. “She sure is a cutie, Gabe.”
“Takes after her mother,” Gabe said, pride in his voice.
“She’s a good baby. Never let out a peep, the whole time I was here.”
“That’s because she’s spoiled rotten, aren’t you?” Gabe kissed the baby’s cheek with a loud smack, making her squeal and giggle. “Okay, we’ve got a toilet to fix in B. See you soon, Pete.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gabe was once again in Mrs. Morgan’s unit, holding Emmy with one hand and his toolbox with the other. Mrs. Morgan had followed them. He set baby and tools down on the spotless black and white tile floor all the units had and opened the clasps on the toolbox. “Okay, Emmy, the toilet is broken. Let’s fix it, okay?”
“Potty bwoke?” She shot it a look of concern like it was a puppy. “Car?”
“Yes, sweetheart. We’ll fix the car later. Right now, it’s the potty’s turn.”
Gabe saw the water level was higher than normal, so didn’t risk a test flush. He removed the tank lid, set it carefully down inside the tub. He reached into the tank, making what Madison called a stinky face, and tugged the chain. The toilet emptied.
“Yay!” Emmy clapped.
“Yay is right,” Gabe agreed. “Okay. No clogs.”
“No cogs!” Emmy echoed.
Mrs. Morgan put in her two cents. “You’re not going to allow that baby to put her hands in the toilet, are you?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. But I need her where I can keep an eye on her.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll watch her while you work.”
That was fine by him. He rubbed his face against his upper arm and nodded. “Okay. Appreciate it.”
“Emerson, would you like a cookie?”
Emmy let out a very Maddie-like gasp and nodded. “Cookie!” She happily took off with Mrs. Morgan and Gabe quickly changed out the parts inside the toilet tank in half the time it would have taken him if Emmy had ‘helped’.
The parts in this toilet were ancient. He marveled that Mrs. Morgan had not had any issues with it before. He’d better check all the toilets. The last thing he needed was one breaking and flooding the unit beneath it. He’d send the tenants an email tonight and set up that inspection.
He scrubbed his hands in the sink, grabbed his toolbox and found Emerson sitting in the living room with Mrs. Morgan, sharing a plate of cookies. The room was tidy, though a bit cluttered. Mrs. Morgan had a fondness for lace doilies. They covered every surface of the room. There was a sofa on the wall, a thickly cushioned chair with an ottoman facing the ancient TV set that sat on a wheeled stand on another wall. A stack of magazines waited on a side table with a pair of glasses on top. The whole place smelled of Lemon Pledge.
“Cookie, Dad-dee.”
“I see. And how many have you had?”
“Dis many.” She held out all the fingers on both hands and he groaned.
“She’s had two.” Mrs. Morgan stood up.
“Oh, I guess we’d better work on her counting. The toilet’s working fine now. And thanks for minding her.” He couldn’t help but smile at his daughter as he took her hand.
“Just what sort of name is Emerson for a girl?” she demanded, holding out his key.
Gabe pressed his lips together to hold back the sharp retort that dangled there.
When he didn’t say anything, Mrs. Morgan coughed once. “If I’d had a daughter, I’d have named her Diane. That’s a good name.”
“Have any children yourself?” Gabe asked.
Mrs. Morgan’s face brightened. “Three sons. All grown up. One’s in California. Another’s in Ohio. And the last one’s in the service. Got me six grandchildren.” She hurried to a table, picked up a framed photo and brought it back to him. “This was my Mother’s Day gift.”
Dutifully, Gabe examined the smiling faces in the picture. Blinding smiles, dark hair cropped close to their heads, it was easy to see their family resemblance. “That’s a beautiful family.”
Mrs. Morgan beamed. “She’s very well behaved,” she offered as she followed them to the door and Gabe recognized that as reparation for her earlier crack at Emerson’s name.
“She does me proud. They all do.”
“You’re doing a good job with them. And for us.”
Gabe inclined his head.
“You need a haircut. I’ll mind her for you while you do that.”
He frowned. Another thing to add to his list. “Have to fix my car first. Say bye-bye, Emmy.”
“Bye!” The baby waved, half-eaten cookie clutched in her hand.
Slowly, they walked back to his unit, Apartment F, Emmy stopping to look at flowers and the birds and a squirrel. He had to get the car fixed so he scooped Emmy up in his free arm.
“Does Daddy get a bite of your cookie?”
She held it up to his face and then snatched it away with a squeal. Gabe feigned outrage, as he walked up the steps that led to a central courtyard and froze.
“You,” the woman who owned the Hyundai said.
Chapter Four
Lia lifted her sunglasses, watched the man with the pretty baby move.
His gait devoured the pavement and with hardly three strides, he’d reached her. “So you?
??re Amelia? I’m the super. Gabe.”
Super Gabe. The ridiculous urge to giggle struck her. Not so super since she’d had to rescue him. But then again, the clips in his hair and pink polish on his fingers meant he was some kind of Super Dad.
And that meant everything in Lia’s book.
He carried his pretty baby on his hip and a heavy toolbox in his hand. What a picture he made. A tall man, easily six-three or six-four, with broad shoulders, large hands, and all that toasted almond hair that looked as if it had been professionally highlighted—and still held up by the same three shiny clips she’d spotted earlier, one of which was adorned with a rainbow heart. His nail polish was chipped and, strangely, that made it somehow sweeter. His black T-shirt had a pizza pie on the front, missing one slice and she grinned. She’d caught him giving her a good long look earlier, which confused her because this beautiful baby whose bright blue eyes broke her heart wore a coordinating T-shirt with the missing slice. It branded them as a unit, a family.
Her heart gave one traitorous beat before pounding at top speed and she willed it to behave itself. Yes, so he was the hottest guy she’d seen in—well, ever—and that included her ex, but that wasn’t what had sent her heart tripping. It was knowing with one glance that this was a man who’d do anything for his family. There was simply nothing sexier than that. Not for Lia.
But he had a family, which made him off-limits. She would never do to this man’s wife what Candi-with-an-I had done to her.
She cleared her throat, waved a hand. “I’m told you’ll have the keys to my unit, some paperwork to sign, and can give me a receipt for the rent check I’ll write you.”
His gaze stayed locked on her, goofy smile on his face. Lia felt her face heat up under his scrutiny.
“Oh. Right. Come on in. I’ll get them for you.”
He put the toolbox down next to the door in front of which she’d been standing for at least thirty minutes now. He shoved a hand into his pocket, came out with some keys.
Lia waited and noticed the baby studying her like she was a brand-new toy. She waved at the little girl.
The baby smiled and burrowed against her father’s neck as he opened the door and stepped inside.
“Okay, Emmy. Down you go.”
Lia froze with one foot in the apartment. Emma. The name she’d chosen for her own baby. No. No, the universe just couldn’t be that cruel. When he turned to retrieve the toolbox, his eyebrows lifted.
“What?”
She couldn’t answer him. She’d been punished enough. She wasn’t even sure what crime, what mortal sin she’d committed to suffer like this.
Large hands grasped her arms, jolting her from her self-flagellation. “You okay? You’re going a little green. Are you sick or something?”
Lia swallowed hard, shook her head. “Her name is Emma?”
“No.” A frown creased his forehead. “I call her Emmy. It’s short for Emerson.”
Relief so profound washed over. “Oh, that’s beautiful.”
He angled his head and then gave her a nod. “Okay. Come on in, then.”
He let her go and she shivered, abruptly cold. On legs that shook, she stepped into his apartment, waited while he shut the door, put the toolbox beside it. Then, he and the baby disappeared down the hall, leaving her alone.
She found herself standing in a large living room. To her right was a galley kitchen. She took in the breakfast mess on his table, the pink plastic play set erected in the corner of his living room, the dolls, clothes, and books scattered around the room. The refrigerator held crayon art, photographs, and a calendar. There were more tools on the counter, and a large basket of—of what looked like hair accessories on the table.
“Emmy, how’s your diaper?”
“Yuck, Dad-dee.”
“Be right out,” he called to her. She managed a strangled response.
Not Emma. Not Emma. Lia squeezed her eyes shut, willed the tears back as the child’s peals of laughter were answered with deeper chuckles from her father. Then, she took a good look around. She slipped off her jacket, eyeing the breakfast mess. And then she shrugged, briskly stacked plates, took them to the sink she filled with hot water and a squirt of the soap she’d found beside it. She grabbed a sponge and began scrubbing at the bits of scrambled egg stuck to plates. In minutes, she had the dishes scrubbed clean. The kitchen, aside from the breakfast dishes, was sparse. He had no appliances cluttering the counters except for one—a coffee maker.
She noticed an open space on the refrigerator door and decided that must be where the magnetic clipboard she spotted on the table hung. She replaced it and stopped to admire the photo of a beautiful smiling brunette. This must be his wife. Brown hair, brown eyes, she looked like a model. Where was she? Was theirs a reverse parenting arrangement where she went to work and he stayed home?
The patter of tiny feet running toward her had her looking over her shoulder and down into the baby’s happy face.
“Hi!”
“Hi, yourself.” She crouched down to the toddler’s level. “My name is Lia. Can you say that?”
The baby scrunched up her face and tried repeating it. “Eee-uh.”
Lia applauded. “Oh, good girl. Is your name Emmy?”
The baby gave her a single nod, huge blue eyes glued to Lia’s face.
And then she noticed the large boots behind the baby. Lia shot back to her feet.
“Any particular reason you did my dishes?” He waved a big hand over the sink.
“Um, well, I saw the mess—”
“I’d have gotten to it when Emmy took her afternoon nap. Like I always do.”
She registered the insult in his voice and understood. She wasn’t passing judgment…or not trying to, at least, though it was hard especially after the way he’d eyeballed her while his poor wife was out trying to smash through glass ceilings.
Lia met his gaze without flinching. “I was trying to help. It’s a compulsion with me. If you fill your sink with soapy water while you eat breakfast and soak the dishes until you get around to them, they’ll wash in no time.” That was a tip from one of her clients, who wrote life hack books. Lia loved it because it fit her motto. Work smart, not hard. It’s what she did. Organized. Pitched in. Revamped.
Like her life, she thought with a start.
But he didn’t thank her, just stared at her. “I don’t need help.”
The resentment in his tone got her own dander up. “Yes. You did. With the car,” she reminded him. And then she blurted out, “I could cut your hair, if you want. You wouldn’t need the clips.”
He only stared at her, face inscrutable, while the baby babbled at their feet. There was an energy between them, rippling and sizzling. She damn well didn’t like it but she couldn’t deny it. Could he? She held her ground, challenging him.
Daring him.
When his eyes dipped to her mouth, she knew he’d felt it, too. And still, she didn’t move.
“Dad-dee! Cup.” The toddler took the cup from her father’s hand and held it up to him. He turned, took milk from the refrigerator, and poured some for her, carefully fastening the lid.
Then he spelled out a curse, lifted a hand to his head like he’d only just then heard what she’d said about the hair clips. He removed all three of them, tossed them with the rest.
“I forgot about these. My kids like to ambush me when I’m asleep.” He laughed and shook his head.
He had a great laugh.
“Sure explains a lot of strange things today.” He raked his hands through all that toasted almond hair and her tongue peeked out to lick her lips. He whipped around and said over his shoulder, “Come on. I’ll let you into the unit. We’ll do the paperwork later. It’s time for her lunch and then a nap.”
The spell was broken. Lia took a breath. “Lunch time already? Wow. Time sure flew by me today.”
“Yeah, sorry about the delay. The car and then…” He waved a hand toward the toolbox still near the door.
&nb
sp; “Not a problem.” She followed him to the door, enchanted when he scooped little Emmy into his arms to press a kiss to her head. Things moved in her.
Things she swore she’d never feel again.
Chapter Five
Gabe strode out of the courtyard and up the three steps of the stone stoop to the front door of what would now be Amelia’s apartment. She practically jogged to keep up with him. His heart was galloping behind his ribs and his palms were sweaty. The more time he spent with her, the more nervous he grew.
That she was beautiful wasn’t the issue. He’d been around dozens of beautiful women in his life.
It was that he’d noticed.
He hadn’t noticed another woman since the day he’d met Janey, when they were in high school. Unfortunately for him, Janey hadn’t noticed him until a few years later. But Janey was gone and so was that part of his life. He never fooled around with tenants or the single mothers in the PTA. He didn’t want his girls hearing gossip or anything else that might make them believe he’d disrespected their mother but more than that…he just wasn’t interested.
Until now.
What was it about her that kept turning him back into that teenage guy without a clue?
Must be those eyes, he decided. Those huge, dark, expressive, hypnotic eyes. They reminded him so much of Janey’s. They were like mood rings. He’d taken one look at her, standing at his sink, and immediately assumed she’d been passive-aggressively criticizing his housekeeping. When he called her out on it, her eyes immediately told him he’d been wrong.
Her eyes spoke to him.
They told him he’d insulted her. They’d also told him something else.
She wanted him. There was interest there.
And the thought appealed to him.
Janey was gone and he had no right to think about anybody else in those terms. And dammit, he was thinking.