Daddy on Her Doorstep. Lilian Darcy

company and he went to the produce section and lost his head a little, throwing into his basket broccoli, cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, mangoes, purple onion, baby spinach, parsley, carrots, strawberries and corn.

      Standing at the checkout, he looked at the crowded plastic basket and clicked his tongue. His father was right. Ten different items from the fruit and vegetable group was definitely overinvolved.

       Chapter Two

      Andy heard Claudia’s neat knock at his front door at five after six, when he had the electric grill heating up, the broccoli and corn in the steamer, the potatoes circling in the microwave and the colorful salad already tossed in the bowl.

      He’d even cooked up the mushrooms, parsley and onions to make a gravy for the steak, and the mangoes and strawberries sat on the table in another bowl ready to serve as dessert, little cubes of orange and blobs of red.

      His new tenant wanted nutrition and she was going to get it, with bells on.

      She seemed a little edgy after she’d followed him into the kitchen and looked at what he had on the table and stove top. “You’re doing all this for me?”

      “I’m a doctor, remember? I totally support women eating well during pregnancy.”

      “Thank you.” But you still think I’m nuts.

      She didn’t say it, but she looked at him, head tilted a little, and he could read her face.

      Or rather her chin and her eyes.

      The chin was raised, showing her lovely, streamlined jaw. Her eyes were narrowed in a mix of defiance and uneasiness. The dark, gleaming knot still sat tight on the top of her head. She was pretty sure of herself with this planned solo pregnancy thing, and yet something—or someone—had put some doubts in her mind at some point.

      “No problems with your half of the house so far?” he asked, throwing the steaks onto the grill.

      “No, it’s beautiful, a great environment, a wonderful sense of peace and space and light, just what I was looking for. And the town is lovely.”

      “What else are you looking for?” he asked before stopping to consider what a personal question it was. He added quickly, “Here in Radford, I mean.” The addition made his query somewhat more acceptable.

      “Well, I’ve chosen the Spring Ridge Memorial Hospital for the birth, if that’s what you mean.”

      “Mitchum Medical Center is closer.” Radford itself was too small to warrant a hospital.

      “Mitchum didn’t have the high-level neonatal facilities I was looking for. Not that I expect to need them.”

      “Still, it’s a good hospital.” He sent patients there all the time, delivered most of his babies there.

      “Oh, I’m sure it is. I wasn’t implying—”

      “It’s fine. Just wanted you to know there is a good hospital ten minutes from here.”

      “An hour to Spring Ridge isn’t that far.”

      “They have an excellent neonatal transport team, if a baby has to be moved.”

      “Don’t they say it’s always better to move a baby when it’s still inside the mom?”

      Were they arguing?

      She seemed to realize it, too, and pulled back from her defensive position. “As you point out, though, ten minutes is closer. I’ll take your advice and look at Mitchum Medical. Maybe it’s not too late to book in there, if it has everything on my checklist.” There was a tiny pause, then she added, “It’s so good of you to have me over. I wasn’t expecting that from a landlord. Can I put plates on the table? How can I help?”

      He directed her to the crockery and silverware, and she went out and laid them on the formal dining table that he almost never used, when he’d envisaged eating here in the kitchen. The choice seemed typical of the differences between them. She liked structure, he was laid-back. She preferred planning, he liked to go with the flow. She dressed for dinner, he stayed in his jeans.

      And, in fact, she seriously had changed outfits, he registered. This ensemble was green, like the outfit she’d been wearing earlier, but the green was a little darker, the fabric silkier, and instead of one stretchy top, she wore some kind of tank or T-shirt or blouse with a matching jacket on top. It would probably appall her to learn that he’d taken this long to notice the difference.

      It might appall her even more to know that he was struggling not to notice other things. The fineness of her skin. The way she smelled. The mix of lean grace and pregnant clumsiness in how she moved. He was appalled about it, himself. This was not the kind of overinvolvement Dad talked about. It was worse.

      They sat down to eat, and asked each other the usual polite questions. Do you have family in the area? You must enjoy your work?

      Her answers were almost the same as his. She loved her career. She had family in New York City.

      “Although it’s really just my mom,” she said. “My parents divorced a long time ago, and I’m an only child. My dad’s still in Allentown.”

      “Pennsylvania?”

      “That’s right. I’m not sure what Billy Joel was thinking, setting a song there. There is nothing romantic or interesting about Allentown! And I was born there, so I’m allowed to say it.” She wasn’t smiling. Sounded almost angry about it, as if she and Allentown had been through a bitter and drawn-out breakup.

      Well, maybe in a way they had …

      “Your dad likes it, though,” he pointed out gently, with some sympathy for the unknown man who’d chosen to remain in a small working-class city on a pretty river, instead of moving into the fast lanes of Philadelphia or New York.

      “He must.” Don’t go there, said her tone and her elbows, pinching in at her sides, making her shoulders and whole body look tense.

      Andy wanted to tell her to lighten up. He wanted to tease her or tell jokes until she smiled. His sister Scarlett was like this, so driven and rigid. He’d been like this once himself. Successful but unhappy and riding for a fall and not even knowing it. He scrambled for something to say, finding inspiration in the way the silky fabric of her jacket caught the light. “Some of my pregnant patients will want to know where you get your maternity clothes.”

      “Oh!” She beamed suddenly, and the wide smile softened her whole face. “You think?” For a moment she’d lost the stiffness and narrow control, and the difference in her seemed to light up the whole room. “I do love this outfit!”

      She ran her fingers lightly down the sides of the jacket, unconsciously emphasizing breasts made fuller by pregnancy. Then she straightened the neckline of the top beneath and Andy felt an unwanted—and unwarranted—tightening in his groin. She had such graceful, sexy hands, all smooth skin and long fingers and neat nails. And to watch her touching herself in unconscious sensuality …

      But she was his tenant, and she was pregnant, and the baby had a file number in a fertility clinic for a father, and he wasn’t going anywhere near any of that. Dad would be proud. He chewed some steak, instead.

      “Clothes are so important,” she said, still energized by the subject. “Well, to me. I love beautiful cuts and colors and fabrics. And you’re right, it’s hard to find nice things when you’re pregnant. I researched it early on, and put together a whole list, stores and catalogs and online, grouped by price range. I could print it out if you think your patients might find it helpful. It would be no trouble.”

      So she had a streak of kindness and an appreciation of beauty, along with the rigidity and cool-headed efficiency and drive …

      “Really?” he said. “You would?”

      “Of course, or I wouldn’t have said