The Man Who Would Be Daddy. Marie Ferrarella

noticed the woman with the little girl in her arms. It looked as if she was hurrying to catch up to his boss, but Malcolm seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he was being followed.

      That wasn’t unusual. Working here over the last year, Jock had noticed that Malcolm Evans had an ability to shut out everything around him when he wanted to.

      Circumventing the front end of the car, Jock nodded a greeting at Malcolm. “Hi, boss. You had me worried. I thought maybe you weren’t going to come in.”

      Malcolm hadn’t missed a day since he’d opened, though a lot of days he’d wanted to. He knew if he gave in to that feeling, he’d never stop. He’d done that once, and it had taken him almost two years to crawl out of that black hole. “I would have called you if I wasn’t going to be in.”

      The voice was solemn, even. Jock’s father had told him that Malcolm had been the life of the party during their racing-circuit days, but Jock found it really hard to believe. He had yet to see a smile on the man. When he had once gathered enough courage to ask him about it, Malcolm had pointed out to him that Jock grinned enough for both of them.

      Jock nodded toward the woman who had almost caught up to Malcolm. “Don’t look now, but you’re being followed.”

      Preoccupied with memories that had suddenly assaulted him, memories he’d been working so hard to lock away, Malcolm hadn’t heard anyone walking behind him. He stopped and turned around abruptly.

      Unable to stop quickly enough, Christa collided with him. Malcolm’s hands went out automatically to steady her and the child she clutched to her. He’d thought he’d left her behind with the policeman who claimed to be her brother.

      What was she doing following him? Their business was over.

      “What?”

      He bit off the question the way he might have bitten off the end of a cigar, spitting it out because it interfered with his goal. Having her anywhere around him, having the child anywhere around him, interfered with his ability to blank out his mind. To forget what only caused him pain to remember.

      Christa caught herself swallowing before answering. She felt as if she was being interrogated. What was his problem? And why would anyone who was so obviously unfriendly put himself out to rescue her child? He was behaving like someone who didn’t want to become involved. But he had.

      Why?

      Robin was sinking. Christa shifted her, moving the little girl up higher in her arms. “I just wanted to thank you.”

      “You already did.” Malcolm raised his dark eyes to indicate the rear parking lot where her van was standing, buffered by two squad cars.

      “I mean really thank you,” she insisted. “Words don’t seem adequate.”

      “Then don’t waste them,” he advised mildly.

      With that, he turned his back on her and walked into the service area where ailing cars and the various parts that could get them up and running again were housed. In the back was a tiny alcove with a door that served as his office, a place where he retreated to when he wanted to be alone.

      He was always alone now, Malcolm thought.

      She had no idea what to make of him. Christa exchanged looks with the tall, gangly attendant who in turn raised wide, bony shoulders in a helpless shrug.

      A car pulled up to the full-service island, and the attendant retreated. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but he looked somewhat relieved about it.

      Christa licked her lower lip and tried again. She took a step forward, only to have Malcolm whip around, his hand raised to keep her back.

      “This area’s restricted,” he snapped. “You could get hurt here.”

      Christa saw nothing that posed any immediate threat beyond the man’s temperament, but she took a step back, more in reaction to his demeanor than anything else.

      When she spoke, her voice was patient. “Maybe I’m not making myself clear. You just gave me back my whole life. There has to be something I can do to repay you.”

      Her eyes on Malcolm’s face, she stroked Robin’s hair to calm herself. The girl curled up against her, sucking her thumb. Her wide blue eyes were sliding closed, lulled by the soothing action.

      He could remember Sally’s eyes sliding closed just like that. Sally, sleeping in his arms.

      Sally…

      Damn it, why was he doing this to himself?

      -His eyes had swept over her, and a glimmer of something tender flickered in them as they rested on Robin. But when he spoke, his voice was just as gruff as it had been a moment ago.

      “You could get out of the way. I’ve got a lot of work to do today, and you’re interfering with my schedule.”

      Stung, confused and just a shade annoyed, Christa retreated. Emotions raw, she felt completely out of her element here. It was clear that the man couldn’t be thanked. Maybe he had reacted before he thought and now regretted the whole incident. Why, she didn’t know. All she knew was that, for whatever reason, he had saved Robin, and that was enough.

      She nodded, turning to leave. “All right,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

      Malcolm was already leaning over the engine that had perplexed Jock. The engine he’d promised Mr. Mahoney was going to be purring by two this afternoon. “Don’t let her suck her thumb too much.”

      The advice was carelessly tossed in her direction like a discarded gum wrapper. Surprised that he’d offered it, that he’d say anything that wasn’t yanked out of him, Christa turned around to look at him again.

      He never looked up, but he could feel her eyes on him just the same. He knew she was waiting for him to say something more. She’d probably stand there all day until he did.

      Malcolm moved the overhead light clipped to the hood so that it illuminated the area beyond the spark plugs. “If she doesn’t stop, she’ll distort her palate and you’ll be looking down the wrong end of a two-thousand-dollar bill for braces in about eight years.”

      The prediction stunned her almost as much as the man himself did. Did he have children? She glanced at the sign to the extreme left that told her that Malcolm Evans was the proprietor of Evans Car Service. She wondered if that was him. Something vague, just beyond the periphery of her thoughts, nagged at her, but she couldn’t grab hold of it.

      “I’ll keep that in mind.” She waited, but he said nothing else. With a perplexed sigh, Christa walked away from the service station.

      Tyler was still waiting for her when she returned to her van. He was leaning against the hood of his car, talking to Elliott. The other squad car was nowhere in sight.

      Straightening as she approached, Tyler nodded toward the gas station. He’d watched her brief encounter with Robin’s rescuer. Body language told him that it hadn’t gone the way Christa had wanted it to.

      “What was that all about?”

      Christa opened the passenger side and climbed in with Robin. All she wanted to do now was go home, sit holding Robin in her arms and forget about all this.

      “I was just trying to thank him. I wanted to do something to show how very grateful I am.” She shrugged as she snapped the seat harness around Robin. “He told me to get out of the way.”

      Tyler had surmised as much from the look on her face. “Some people can’t handle gratitude. They get embarrassed.”

      Christa climbed out again, then pulled the door shut. She turned her face up to Tyler’s. “I know, but if he hadn’t been there—”

      He wouldn’t let her do this to herself. She’d already been through too much lately as it was.

      “But he was.” When she looked away, Tyler bracketed