Daddy By Design?. Kate Thomas

a bemused grin…spiky and wet or something. Dressed in a one-piece ruffled pink baby-girl-outfit thingie with snaps, she clung to her mother and eyed him warily as her mother set about making the introductions.

      “Mr. Trey Cooper,” Cinda said, “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Miss Chelsi Elise Cavanaugh.”

      As Cinda reassured the little girl that it was okay for the big and smiling man to talk to her, Trey suddenly realized something amazing. Chelsi could be his daughter. Not in the biological sense. But in the physical traits department, she looked just like him. Her eyes were blue like his, and her hair was a sandy blond, again like his. He fought to keep the shock off his face, even as he heard himself engaging in the simpleton banter adults employ with babies.

      Still, he couldn’t get past it. Anyone who saw the two of them together would have no trouble believing that he was Chelsi’s father. Of course, that was what he wanted people in Southwood to think. But this was pretty upsetting. It bothered him, and he couldn’t figure out why. So she looked like him. So what? His looks and coloring, unlike Cinda’s, weren’t all that unique.

      Then Trey realized what had him upset. It wasn’t just that Chelsi looked like him. It was that he was proud she did. As if he’d had something to do with her creation. Well, that did it. Trey’s single-male-and-liking-it genes rose up in protest. Easy, buddy. With this kind of thinking, can pushing a baby buggy be far behind? Or the tan minivan? And holding your wife’s purse in the mall while she shops for bras? Remember the race circuit. That’s your first love. Always will be. Run, man. Just hightail it out of here, dude, I’m telling ya.

      Trey knew he wouldn’t do that, but a more upsetting realization had just smacked him between the eyes: if Cinda’s baby looked so much like him, then that meant he looked a lot like the baby’s father, right? Okay, now here was some tricky ground. Trey pretty much believed that Cinda was attracted to him. He knew the signs. But could it be, at least in part, because he reminded her of her deceased husband? Oh, that would really suck.

      Trey told himself that he needed to know what Richard Cavanaugh had looked like. Just to put his mind at ease. Just so he’d know that Cinda wasn’t a vulnerable widow, one he was taking advantage of. But how the hell was he supposed to go about finding out what her husband had looked like? He couldn’t just, out of the blue, ask her. What reason would he give? Nor could he demand that Cinda produce a picture of the man. And he certainly didn’t think it would go over very well if he set out on a photograph-hunting safari of his own throughout her house. No doubt, Major Clovis would skewer him before he got to the stairs.

      Though still chuckling at the baby who refused to come to him, on the inside Trey was beating himself up. What the hell was he even doing thinking he had a right to question Cinda about her feelings about anything? He barely knew the woman. Only it didn’t feel that way.

      So here was the thing: He wanted to see her and get to know her. Yet he didn’t. If he did and came to really like her, which he thought he pretty much already did, then he’d have to confront and possibly abandon his own conviction about not being in a committed relationship right now because of the demands of his profession.

      Or he could not see her at all. Too late. Here he was in her family room and that was her standing in front of him. All right, so he couldn’t stop thinking about her and, yes, he had initiated this meeting between them. But now that he had, he was sorry—not because he didn’t feel anything for her, but because he did. And he didn’t like that. But since he did, it would really hurt now to find out that he reminded her of her deceased husband.

      Damn, this was like a splash of cold water in the face. He’d gone down roads and pathways here in the past few moments that were really not called for. After all, what the two of them were doing here was trying to even a score. That was it. So he was attracted to her. So he’d gone to some lengths to see her. So what? He’d been here before in his thinking with other women.

      No he hadn’t, Trey realized. Not even close. The way he felt about Cinda was new and different from anything he’d ever felt before. Hell, he’d only seen her twice in six months, but she’d filled every thought he’d had in that half a year. There was no denying that.

      So stick to the script, Trey told himself. What difference does it make who you might remind her of? You didn’t come here to ask her to marry you. You came here because she agreed to pretend to be married to you. So get over yourself.

      But he couldn’t. He realized that this ruse of his could work too darned well. After all, if he could see the resemblance between him and Chelsi, then so would everyone else, which, again, was what he wanted. But—and it was a big but—could he take a whole weekend of being told what a beautiful wife and daughter he had, with him already this attracted to Cinda and smitten with her baby? Wouldn’t that fill him with joy and pride? Oh, yeah, no doubt about that. All right, then, wasn’t it possible that he would then want to have that feeling permanently?

      Extremely possible. And it wasn’t fair to either one of them. He had his life on the circuit, and she had her baby and memories of her deceased husband.

      Very troubled now, Trey focused on Cinda, who was fussing with the baby’s outfit as he stood in front of her and watched. He put his hand on her bare arm. “Cinda, look at me.” She did, her expression sweet and expectant. Trey felt like such a jackass. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think I’ve made a big mistake in coming here. I don’t think this whole thing was a good idea at all. I think I should just leave.”