Daddy By Design?: Daddy By Design? / Her Perfect Wife - Kate Thomas

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He just hadn’t met the right woman yet. The one who filled him with passion, like Mark Mason had just said. Suddenly the image of one Cinda Cavanaugh came to mind. Blond, delicate, beautiful. Warm, funny, witty. Rich, out of his league, as good as locked away in a tower, for all the access he had to her. All right, so maybe he had met a possible candidate for “the right one.” But maybe he was trapped in one of those “in another time, another place” deals. Because there she was, a chic millionaire New York woman. And here he was…he looked down at himself, at his greasy dirty mechanic’s coveralls. Yeah, here he was. Damned depressing was what it was.

      Trey shrugged his shoulders, as much to exercise cramped muscles as to shake loose his bothersome thoughts. Still, he decided, wouldn’t it be funny if he just waltzed into town with a family? Yeah, real funny. Ha-ha. His mother would kill him. But that was exactly what he needed, if he had any hope of quickly derailing Bobby Jean Diamante’s shallowly disguised plot to catch him in her web. The more Trey thought about it, the better he liked the idea. An instant family. Then he heard himself and shook his head. Like you can pick one of those up on any aisle in a grocery store.

      Sudden inspiration dawned. Trey jerked his head up and stared unseeing at the stock-car calendar hanging on the wall in front of him. He knew exactly where to get an instant family. Hadn’t she said to call her if his life needed saving? Trey nodded to himself. His life most definitely needed saving. Or did it? After all, he had no proof that the disgruntled Rocco Diamante would follow his wife to Southwood. Not that Trey wanted Cinda to handle the man for him. Or even Bobby Jean. He had always handled her before, and he could do it again this time.

      And there was no real danger here, except to him. Still, it wasn’t as if Trey thought the man would come in shooting the whole town up like in some old mobster movie. And who said the guy was in the mob, anyway? It wasn’t like they advertised that. A more likely story was this was one of Bobby Jean’s drama-queen spoutings of organized crime connections, just to make her life look more exciting. Still, if it was true, Trey figured the guy would load him down with chain, sink him in the lake, and then take Bobby Jean home. He wouldn’t mess with anyone else. He’d have no reason to. Problem solved.

      For Rocco maybe. Certainly not for Trey. Okay, that was a pretty scary thought. Trey preferred to think of this from another angle. The one where his ex-girlfriend had maybe just handed him a golden opportunity to reconnect with Cinda Cavanaugh.

      Trey chuckled. Yes, if this worked out, he’d have to remember to thank Bobby Jean. She’d love that—about like a hornet did someone stomping on its hive. That quick-tempered redhead would probably react in much the same way, he figured. And then, having created sufficient hoopla and having gotten all the attention she wanted, she’d blow out of town and go right back to her husband.

      And everyone would be happy. Then it was decided, right?

      Yep. Grinning, Trey reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Before he could change his mind, he lifted out the folded piece of paper and opened it. Staring at Cinda’s handwriting and her phone number, he remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. Even after just having a baby, she’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Certainly the classiest. Yeah, he’d been smitten. Since that day, he’d carried this piece of paper in his wallet like a good-luck charm. It had served as a concrete link to her, a slim possibility that the two of them might become something more to each other some day.

      And now, maybe that day was here. Trey took a deep breath. This was a big step. And wasn’t this using her and her baby, somehow? Maybe, but not really. She’d know up front what was going on. So if she agreed, there’d be no harm. After all he only wanted one weekend out of her life. Nothing more. The worst she could do was say no.

      Trey focused on the wall-mounted phone next to the calendar and simply stared at it. He admitted to himself now that one of the reasons he hadn’t called her yet was that if he didn’t, she couldn’t reject him. And if she couldn’t reject him, then he wasn’t out of her life. Oh hell, man, that’s stupid. She couldn’t be more out of your life than she is right now this minute. You don’t see her or talk to her. She probably doesn’t even think about you anymore.

      Great. So he was going to reject himself before he even gave her a chance to do it. This was messed up. He was a thirty-year-old man who was experienced with women. So act like it, he told himself. Trey reached for the phone but caught himself. The guys he worked with would just love this conversation, wouldn’t they? Trey lowered his hand. Forget it. If he was going to put his heart and pride on the line, then he’d do it from the privacy of his own home. That way, if she said no, he could immediately go drown himself in his shower.

      That sounded like a plan. Trey folded the note Cinda had given him and stuck it back in his wallet. He’d call her later.

      4

      FRESHLY BATHED and clad in her nightgown and robe, Cinda sat curled up on the sofa in the family room. The large-screen TV was turned off, and the built-in stereo system softly played jazz in the background. Cinda was tired but it was too early in the evening to go to bed. She’d already nursed and rocked Chelsi to sleep and this was Major Clovis’s and Marta’s night out. So Cinda essentially had the place to herself.

      She loved moments like this. Yet she also hated them. They were too quiet, too ripe for reflection. Her mind insisted on wandering from the book she’d picked up, to center itself on Trey Cooper. She supposed it was only natural. After all, he’d been a major player in a really big moment in her life, the birth of her daughter. Oh, nice try, Cinda. It was more than that and you know it. Much more. Okay, so there had been attraction. She hadn’t imagined that. Something chemical had happened between them. He’d made quite the impression on her senses. A lingering impression.

      Feeling all dreamy, like a lovesick teenager, Cinda allowed her hardcover mystery to flop onto her lap as she gave in to thoughts of Trey Cooper. Such a handsome, virile man. Cinda sat up, hearing herself and looking around guiltily. What am I thinking? Here I am a widow with a six-month-old baby acting as if I have my first crush. Now she was sounding like her mother-in-law. The woman would have a stroke if Cinda even thought of seeing someone, much less marrying anyone else. The Real Mrs. Cavanaugh, as Major Clovis called her because of her condescending airs, talked as if she believed Cinda should remain chaste in loving memory of Richard the Second.

      Frowning, Cinda spared a moment for her complicated relationship with Ruth Cavanaugh. She supposed she loved the difficult woman, who could be over-bearing and opinionated. Okay, so she could be a battering ram. Most days, though, and on most issues, Cinda simply didn’t give in to her. In disagreements with Ruth, Cinda tried to remain firm but respectful. After all, Ruth was Chelsi’s grandmother, which meant she would always be a part of her life. And, Cinda knew Ruth had it hard. After all, she’d lost her only child.

      Oh, Richard. Cinda’s eyes grew damp. She had loved him. Well, she’d tried to. But he wouldn’t allow it. He hadn’t wanted a wife, just a child, an heir. And now he was gone. But wasn’t life for the living? Cinda asked herself. She’d always heard that, and now she understood what it meant. She was alive. And so was Trey Cooper. In light of that, what was she supposed to do with all the hormones that still drove her, as well as the fifty or so years of life still ahead of her? Just sit here and vegetate? She didn’t think so.

      So why didn’t she just get over it and call Trey Cooper? Where was the harm? Women called men all the time now. She had, before she’d met Richard. In fact, that was how she’d met Richard. She’d called him. Okay, so she’d been a reporter assigned to do a story on him. But still, she’d made the first move. And that had worked out well, hadn’t it? For a while, anyway. It had certainly worked out better for her than it had for Richard. Poor Richard. He got the yaks, and she got Chelsi.

      Just then, the phone rang, shattering the silence. Nearly jumping out of her skin, Cinda tossed her book aside and scrambled up onto her knees. Reaching over the back of the sofa, she plucked up the cordless hand-set from atop the long narrow table that reposed there. A quick check of the caller ID had her groaning as she sank back onto the plush cushions. Speak of the devil. Her in-laws’

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