Drive-By Daddy. Cheryl Anne Porter

will have all those questions you brought up. I realize that now.”

      “No, she won’t.”

      Tom frowned. “She won’t?” Acute disappointment ate at him. “Oh, I see. You changed her birth certificate, right?”

      “No. I didn’t. I didn’t call the nurse. I just…well, I decided to have her go by Alcott. Your name’s still on her birth certificate. But I thought it would be easier for her—at least, at first—if her last name was the same as mine.”

      Some of Tom’s disappointment eroded, but not all of it. “I see. Makes sense.”

      “You don’t like that, do you? You thought I’d call her Montana Elliott.”

      He’d hoped she would. But he just shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter if I do or don’t like it. She’s not my baby. She’s yours. You’ll do what’s right for her, I expect, Darcy.”

      She exhaled raggedly. “I wish I could be as sure of that as you sound.”

      Tom shifted the wriggling baby in his arms and frowned. “What do you mean? You’re a smart woman. Educated. You got yourself this far. You must have a good head on your shoulders.”

      “Well, except for where love is concerned.”

      He couldn’t argue with that. But he tried. “Maybe. But that doesn’t have anything to do with loving your daughter. You’ll be a fine mother to Montana, and I admire that in you.”

      Darcy smiled, looking grateful. She started to say something else, but the front door opened and in blew the three other older ladies, their arms full of flowers…including the roses that he had brought Darcy. And then, from the other way, came Margie Alcott with that promised glass of iced tea.

      Tom gently, carefully handed the baby back to Darcy and stood up, reaching for his hat. “I expect I ought to go. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. And it looks like you have—”

      “Oh, pooh.” Margie Alcott waved at him to sit back down. “Here. You didn’t even have your tea yet.” She put it in his hand. “Now, sit right back down and have your visit with Darcy.”

      Tom looked Darcy’s way, wanting her approval. “It’s just easier to go along with her,” she assured him. Tom grinned and sat down, only then realizing that Margie was still talking to him.

      “When I get my bridge club gone—well, I suppose they’ll want to be introduced to you first. Anyway, once they’re gone I want you and Darcy to go into her bedroom and—”

      “Mother!”

      Tom didn’t know where to look. Certainly not at Darcy, who was laying the baby in her receiving blankets on the sofa cushion. So he settled for taking a huge swig of the tea. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Or how much he genuinely liked iced tea. Enough to scrutinize it carefully for several moments.

      “Oh, Darcy. I don’t mean like that. For heaven’s sake. I was talking about that baby crib in there.”

      “What about it?”

      To Tom’s ear, Darcy sounded downright suspicious. He chanced a peek at her. Sure enough, her eyebrows were lowered.

      “Well, I never could get it all put together right.”

      “But you told me you had.”

      “I know. But there were too many parts, and I couldn’t figure out where all of them went. And I didn’t want you to worry. But now I’m half afraid to lay that precious baby in it for fear it’ll collapse around her.”

      Darcy sank back against the leather sofa’s thick pillows. “Oh, dear God, Mother. Don’t say things like that.”

      “Well, it’s the truth. So I thought I’d get Tom here—” She turned to him. “By the way, it’s nice to meet you.” All he got to do was nod before she continued. “So I thought I’d get Tom, as long as he’s here, to take a look at it for us and make sure it’s safe for Montana. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

      Tom saw his chance and jumped in. “I think it is. I’d be glad to troubleshoot for you.”

      Darcy rolled her head. “Are you sure?”

      “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve put up a crib or two in my time before.”

      “You have?”

      “Yeah. Remember I said Sam had five babies?”

      “You know a Sam who had five babies?” That was from Margie Alcott.

      Tom turned to her. “Yes, ma’am. Sam’s my older sister. Samantha. She taught me a thing or two about babies and their contraptions along the way.”

      Margie Alcott’s eyes lit up. “She did?”

      “Mother. Stop it right there.”

      Tom looked at Darcy. “What’s wrong?”

      She looked tired, but she was grinning—and shaking her head. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say another word, Tom.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because if you do, you’ll find yourself Eligible Bachelor Number Two.”