Suddenly Married (4 page)

“Maybe not,” he said in a quiet voice, “but they deserve the best, and I’m a far cry from it.”

This
was a side of Noah Lucas that Dara never would have guessed existed.

“I just wanted to thank you is all, for your kindness.”

Coming from anyone else, the words would have been taken at face value, and she would have said, “Just doin’ my job.” But from a man like Noah Lucas—reserved, private, stoic—they took on a whole new meaning, because Dara had a feeling he didn’t make a practice of saying such things.

“You can be very proud of Bobby and Angie,” she admitted. “They are two of the best-behaved children
I’ve ever met” Grinning, she held a finger in the air to add, “And I’ll have you know this isn’t my first encounter with children.”

“So I’ve heard.”

So he
had
checked her out! The question was, had he done it because of the funny-money business down at Pinnacle? Or because she’d be spending an hour each week with his precious children? It had to be one or the other, because it was a sure bet he wasn’t interested in her as a woman, Dara thought. More than likely, he believed that adage that the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree, and intended to keep a very close eye on her for the duration of the Sunday-school class.

People are not what they appear to be.

If her father had said it once, he’d said it a hundred times. Where Noah Lucas was concerned, the statement seemed more prophetic than ever.

Had
she misjudged him when she’d jumped to the conclusion that he was cold and heartless? Had she been wrong when she’d assumed Bobby and Angie behaved the way they did because he encouraged it?

“What was that, ah, that
stuff
they were eating when they walked out of here?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.

“Peanut butter balls.”

“You taught them to make—”

She gave a proud nod. “Yup.”

“How did you know it was safe?”

Dara tucked in one corner of her mouth. “Safe?”

“When I was a boy, I knew a girl who was allergic to peanuts. One whiff of anything made from them and she’d go into anaphylactic shock. More than once, she was carted off to the hospital in an ambulance, fighting for her life.” He raised a brow. “I admire the extra
effort it took on your part to ensure none of your students would have such a reaction.”

Was he…was he
smirking?

Well, that sure isn’t a smile on his face!

Noah Lucas had her dead to rights, and he knew it. She had made no such “check” to find out if any of the children might be allergic to peanuts, and the shame of it made her cheeks hot. It had been only by the grace of God that none of her first graders was allergic to peanuts. Later, she’d say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for the Almighty’s protection. Right now, all Dara wanted to do was get rid of Noah Lucas.

She’d been right about him after all. He
was
a smug, patronizing know-it-all. And more than likely, he
had
been responsible for the way his children behaved. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Lucas,” she said, clipping her words, “I have…I have a very busy day ahead of me.”

“Of course. Forgive me. It was never my intention to make you late for—” the smirk became a grin “—for your very busy day.”

Somehow, he knew full well that she had no plans for the rest of the day. But how could he have known? Because he’s researched you, that’s how, she reminded herself. She could hardly blame him; Dara had probed into his background, too. Straightening her back, she tilted her head. “‘Know thine enemy,’ eh, Mr. Lucas?”

That
seemed to wipe the pompous look from his face!

“I’m sorry?”

Dara had no idea why the confusion that suddenly wrinkled his brow would make her feel the need to comfort and console him. But it did. Sighing with vexation,
she put her back to him, pretending to be busy gathering her teacher’s manual, her purse.

Lucas relieved her of the coat, held it out and waited for her to shrug into it. Funny, she thought, but I don’t remember it feeling this heavy befo—Then she realized it had been his hands, resting on her shoulders, that had caused the added weight. Dara wondered how the touch of a man who had riled her temper in her father’s office, who had further fueled her fury by pointing out that her inattentiveness might well have endangered an innocent child, would feel so comforting, so reassuring, so
right.

Because, she decided, turning suddenly to face him, you’re losing your mind. Nothing short of insanity, she believed, could explain why such a feeling would come over her.

“Angie and Bobby are waiting in the hall.”

She raised a brow, as if to say, “What does that have to do with me?”

“They have something to ask you,” Lucas said.

Dara glanced toward the door, and saw the children standing side by side. Lucas waved them in. “Go ahead,” he encouraged, “you can ask her now.”

Bobby took a half step forward. “Would you do us the honor of joining us for dinner?”

N
oah watched her face as a myriad of emotions—confusion, surprise, delight—flickered over her lovely features.

“Father is making lasagna,” Bobby announced, nodding and grinning.

It was apparent that Noah’s son wanted her to say yes every bit as much as he did.

Smiling, Dara lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “My goodness! I don’t know what to say.”

“If you’re busy,” Angie said, “say no. If you’re not…” The child held out her hands and lifted her shoulders.

Laughing softly, Dara combed her fingers through Angie’s dark curls. Noah couldn’t help but notice the way his little girl’s too-old stare faded under Dara’s tender touch. The children needed a woman like this…had
been
needing someone like Dara for nearly four years now.

The idea had begun to formulate last Sunday, when Bobby told him how Dara had hugged Angie in Sunday-school
class and called her “sweetie” and referred to Francine as “Mommy.” Since his wife’s death, Noah had felt like a bumbling, stumbling mess when it came to providing affection. Oh, he doled out the occasional hug and kiss and greedily ate them up when the children offered them, but soft touches—like hair tousling and kisses—had not been a spontaneous part of his personality.

He could have blamed it on the fact that he’d been raised in an institutional setting with hundreds of parentless children just like him. He could have said it was because men weren’t born with instinctive nurturing tendencies.

But neither was true, and Noah knew it.

The only person in the world he’d felt free to be completely open and honest with had been Francine. She’d seen the vulnerable, needy side of him—and had loved him in spite of it.

“I know you,” she’d said days before her death. “You’ll stick your nose in a ledger book and try to hide from the world.” And grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she’d pulled him nearer with a strength that belied her condition. “The children will need you more than ever after I’m gone,” she’d said. “Promise me you’ll find a good woman who will be there for them. Someone who will make sure they get the guidance and discipline they need to become respectable citizens and obedient followers.” She’d shaken a maternal finger under his nose to add, “She’ll have to be a strongwilled woman who isn’t afraid to speak her mind. You’ll look for a woman like that, won’t you, after I’m gone?”

Of course he’d promised. How could he have denied her at a time like that? It had been an easy enough vow
to take; living up to it, he soon discovered, was what had required constant and serious effort.

Because he loved Angie and Bobby more than life itself. They were more than extensions of Francine and him, the children were proof of his love for her and hers for him. That love turned out to be a double-edged sword, for every time he looked into their sweet, angelic faces, he was reminded of that love, and missed it all the more.

They were such well-behaved children—everyone said so—never talking out of turn, always tidy and eager to please. In truth, Noah had no idea
why
they rarely cried or complained, why they never roughhoused like other children. He’d never asked perfection from them…

Had he?

So it was the most natural thing in the world, he decided, when Bobby told him how Dara had mothered Angie. Was it any surprise that the idea had begun to formulate?

“If you’re busy,” Angie was saying, “say no.” If not, his daughter’s dainty shrug implied, what else was there to say?

Dara met Noah’s eyes, and the questions there made it clear she wasn’t certain he’d approved the invitation.

“I make a mean Caesar salad,” he prompted, “if I do say so myself.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to make a
nice
salad?” Angie asked, grinning.

“Nice is always better than mean,” Dara teased, winking.

“Does that mean you’re coming to dinner?” Bobby wanted to know.

Dara licked her lips. Swallowed. He could almost
see the wheels grinding in her head as she considered all the reasons she should say no. Then she focused a dark-eyed, loving gaze on his children, and he saw the indecision and apprehension disappear. In place of her wary smile there was a warm grin.

“I’ll come,” she told them, “but on one condition only.”

Angie and Bobby probably didn’t even realize they’d taken a step forward. Noah had felt the pull, too, but they were children, without a lifetime of restraint and self-control under their belts.

“What?” they asked.

“That you’ll let me bring dessert.”

The children exchanged a glance before facing her again. What happened next convinced Noah he’d made the right decision, that God had planted the idea in his head and would continue guiding his actions.

“Well, okay,” Bobby began, slowly, quietly. Blue eyes alight with mischief, he added, “So long as it isn’t…”

A moment of silence ticked by before Angie covered her mouth with both hands and giggled. He couldn’t remember the last time his little girl had
acted
like a little girl. The sight touched him so much that Noah had to swallow to keep tears of gratitude at bay.

“Peanut butter balls!” she shouted through her fingers.

Dara got onto her knees, making herself child size, and held out her arms to them. The children melted against her like butter on a hot biscuit. That quickly, she’d worked her enchantment on them. “No peanut butter balls,” she promised, smiling. “Now, tell me—what’s your favorite dessert?”

“Brownies!” said Bobby.

“Chocolate cake!” Angie insisted.

Standing, Dara turned to Noah. “What time is dinner?” She spoke with the precise diction of a TV news anchor.

“Five o’clock?”

When she nodded, her shining reddish brown curls bounced. “Is your place easy to find?”

He never went anywhere without his trusty pen and pencil. Can’t tell when you might need to work out a problem, he’d found. He flipped open the pad, quickly jotted down the directions, then placed the small sheet of paper into her palm, closing his large hand around hers. “Route 40 west,” he said, pretending not to notice the slight tremor, “left on Centennial Lane, right at the light at Old Annapolis. We’re the fourth house on the right.” He turned her loose. “You can’t miss us.”

She stared at the directions, then looked at him. In school, when the teachers weren’t watching, he’d made fun of the supersensitive male poets who’d written lush prose describing how it felt to be lost in a woman’s gaze. He hadn’t understood a word of their sweet talk, because frankly, he couldn’t get a handle on the
why
of it.

He understood them now, as he looked into dusky eyes that made Dara seem mysterious and elusive and at the same time vulnerable and sensitive, with a capacity for love like no one he’d ever known.

It disappointed him more than he cared to admit when she blinked, turned that warmth on his children again. “See you in a few hours, then,” Dara said, waving and smiling as he took them by the hand and led them toward the big double doors at the end of the hall. Bobby and Angie turned three, perhaps four times
to look over their shoulders, tripping over his feet and their own before he was able to guide them outside.

Clearly, his children were charmed by Dara Mackenzie.

He had a feeling it was going to take a concerted effort on his part to keep her charm from working on
him.

The kids had been in the living room for half an hour already, knobby knees poking into the cushions, elbows resting on the sofa back as they pressed their noses to the windowpane. “Where
is
she?” Angie sighed.

Chuckling, Noah said, “It’s only four-thirty, sweet girl. Miss Mackenzie said she’d be here a little before five, remember?”

“But it’s snowing harder now. Do you think she decided not to come?”

“I think she would have called.”

“But maybe
you
should call and offer to pick her up and bring her here, Father.”

“Maybe.”

“I saw one car slipping and sliding a few minutes ago. Do you think she was in an accident?”

It surprised him, the way his heartbeat quickened at the possibility. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute, Angie.” But Noah sent a prayer heavenward on Dara’s behalf, just in case.…

“Do you think she’s…” Bobby squinted, searching his memory for the right word. “Do you think Miss Mackenzie is a
punk
-shal kind of person?”

“Yes, she seems the punctual type.”

“I hope she doesn’t get lost.”

“She won’t,” Angie confidently assured him.

Noah pocketed his hands and leaned on the door frame as he watched them, heads turning to follow every car that drove up or down the street. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them looking forward to having a guest to dinner. Fact was, he’d
never
seen them so excited about company, particularly female company.

A year or so ago, he’d warily ventured back into the dating scene, but only because his wife had insisted that he try, as soon as possible, to find a mother substitute for Angie and Bobby. He might not have considered it even then if Bobby hadn’t asked, “Father, do you ever get lonely?”

The answer had cried out from his heart, from his head. Yes! he’d wanted to shout, yes, I’m lonely. He’d felt the pangs of it day and night, starting on the morning when Francine’s doctor had announced her prognosis. But he couldn’t very well admit it to the boy. The children needed his strength, not his weakness. So he’d said, “Now, why would I be lonesome when I have you and your sister to keep me company?”

Either Bobby hadn’t heard him, or chose to ignore the comment. “I get sad sometimes,” Bobby had said, “because I miss Mother.”

Angie, he recalled, had not agreed. He’d sloughed it off to immaturity; perhaps the girl felt her mother had abandoned them.

“No need to be sad, kids,” he’d said, “because your mother is in heaven now, with Jesus.”

“Is she happy there?” Angie had wanted to know.

Francine had talked so much about paradise in those last, pain-filled days. “Yes, I believe she is.”

Bobby nodded. “Do you think she misses us?”

He’d looked into his little boy’s face, a face so small,
so innocent, yet so old and wise. “Of course she does. Your mother loved you more than…more than life itself.”

Angie had sighed heavily and frowned. “Then I don’t see how she can be happy.” She’d met Noah’s eyes and said very matter-of-factly, “I’m sure not happy when I think about how much I miss
her.
”

They’d been so young when Francine died—Angie, four and Bobby three—too young to remember much about their mother. Or so the experts said.

“They miss the things she did for them,” insisted the Christian counselor Noah had hired. “Have you considered remarrying, Mr. Lucas?”

In truth, he had not. It may not be macho to admit it in this day and age, but Noah had never been with any woman except Francine. The thought of sharing himself so completely with another woman…

But the therapist’s words had echoed Francine’s own. If it would help his children, he’d set aside his feelings, take another wife. But it would have to be in name only, he told himself time and again, because the woman hadn’t been born who could replace Francine in his heart.

He’d learned to trust his children’s instincts about potential dates. They liked Dara Mackenzie. Noah had a feeling that tonight’s dinner was going to end up quite differently.

“Father, she’s here!” Angie announced, in a voice filled with anticipation and wonder.