“First of all, he’s not exactly a stranger—he’s the man that Olivia believed was Emma’s father. Second, we’re not living together—he’s only staying with me until the question of Emma’s paternity has been answered. Third, you were the one who told me I should cooperate with him.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Ashley mumbled.
“And why doesn’t it seem like a good idea now?”
“Because there’s a … vibe … whenever you and Zach are in the same room together.”
“A vibe?”
Her cousin nodded. “Like I said, you look at him like he’s a chocolate brownie, and he looks at you like … like you’re a woman he really wants to get naked with.”
“I’m sure you’re misinterpreting something.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Even if that’s true—and Zach hasn’t said or done anything to suggest that it is—you have to know that I would never fall for a guy just because he looks good in uniform.” And she figured her cousin, who was all too aware of the tumultuous relationship Paige had with her own father, would understand that better than most.
“I’m not worried that you’d fall for Zach because of his uniform but in spite of it,” Ashley clarified.
“There’s no need to worry at all,” Paige assured her.
She only hoped she sounded more confident than she felt because the truth was, the more time she spent with Zach, the more she forgot about the uniform and focused on the man. And she knew that could undermine all of her plans.
Chapter Six
Paige had seen enough in her family law practice to know that there were good parents and bad parents and some who were simply indifferent. She also knew that some mothers and fathers emulated the parenting practices they’d grown up with, and others consciously chose to distance themselves from same.
Paige didn’t remember her mother. She remembered, too well, her father. His apparent lack of interest in and affection for his daughter, his complete disregard of her wants and needs, his callous dismissal of her love. For years, she’d believed that she only had to try harder, be better, study more, or look prettier, and if she succeeded, then he might actually see her, maybe even care about her.
After her thirteenth birthday, she’d realized how delusional she’d been. And she’d decided that if she wanted any attention from her father—and as foolish as she knew it was, she still did—she was going to have to take drastic action to get that attention.
That was when she’d started hanging out with the older kids on base, breaking curfew and, when she was grounded, sneaking out at night to go to parties. And then she’d met Second Lieutenant Matthew Sanders. She’d known he was older—that was part of the attraction for her. Not old enough that anyone would accuse her of looking for a father figure, just old enough to shock her own father, if he ever noticed that she was with him.
Of course, Colonel Phillip Wilder hadn’t noticed—not until she’d taken her rebellion further than she’d intended, until it was too late to go back and undo what had been done.
She shook off the memories and the regrets and reminded herself that she’d learned an important lesson from her father—how not to parent.
She’d thought, when she first saw Zach in his uniform, that he would be like her father. After knowing him only a few days, she’d realized she was wrong. Zach was nothing like the colonel. His determination to be a father to Emma was proof of that, and Paige knew that she couldn’t continue to interfere with his efforts.
So when they got back from their appointment at Cam’s office and Zach suggested a trip to the park, Paige surprised him as much as herself by suggesting that he and Emma go on their own. And she took advantage of the unexpected time to herself to enjoy a book and the quiet outside in the sunshine.
If Zach knew nothing else about Emma, he knew that she loved the park. And since he’d started accompanying her on her daily excursions there, she seemed to be willing to transfer some of that happy feeling in his direction. But today, she wasn’t nearly as pleased with their outing as usual.
When he took her over to the swings, she seemed more interested in playing in the wood shavings that were spread on the ground. Which was okay until he caught her trying to put them in her mouth. He told her “no” and forced her to unfurl her fists to brush the chips away, which of course caused her to express her displeasure at the top of her lungs with huge tears thrown in for dramatic effect.
After she’d finally finished crying, she decided that she wanted to go on the swings, but as soon as he settled her in and set it in motion, she was squirming to get out again. So he took her to the slide instead, then she ran to the climber then back to the swings.
He tried to be patient, but it seemed that nothing he did was making her happy. When she started rubbing her eyes, he finally figured out that she was tired. She’d gone down for her nap at what he now knew was her usual time, but she’d been awakened early so they could make their appointment for the DNA testing. Although she’d seemed happy enough then, he was paying for it now.
When he got her back to the house, Paige was in the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of iced tea.
“You look exhausted,” she commented. “Both of you.”
“Why do you find that amusing?” he asked, inexplicably irritated by the hint of a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.
She shrugged, not denying that she did. “Because I know what you were thinking when you waltzed in here that first day.”
He had never “waltzed” anywhere in his life—except on a dance floor—but he ignored that fact for the moment to ask, “What is it you think I was thinking?”
“That considering your extensive military training and the ability to maneuver an F-16 jet, taking care of a baby would be a piece of cake.”
“I’m not sure I thought it would be a piece of cake,” he denied. “But I certainly didn’t expect it to be this hard.”
“She’s teething,” she reminded him.
“She’s crankier than a constipated general,” he grumbled.
Paige broke a Popsicle in two, gave one half to Emma and put the other half back in the freezer for later. Emma immediately began gnawing on the icy treat.
“How is it that you instinctively know what she wants?”
“It’s not instinctive,” she denied. “Or not entirely. Mostly it’s practice. Five-and-a-half-months ago I was as ill-equipped as you are now.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She lifted a brow. “Because I’m female, you assume I was more automatically prepared to deal with a child?”
“No, because you’re obviously so good with her.”
She was somewhat mollified by his response. “As I said, it’s practice. I’ve been around her since Emma was born, so I learned to read her signals. You’ll figure it out, too, if you stick around long enough.”
He leaned back against the counter, folded his arms over his chest. “You do that a lot, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Take those not-so-subtle digs at me.”
“I’m not trying to be subtle,” she told him. “I want to make sure that you realize what kind of commitment parenthood requires.”
“I’m getting a pretty good picture,” he assured her.
“And how do you think