he’d struck another sore spot…either that, or a source of fear. Not that Kenny would ever demand visitation rights, but maybe Lucy didn’t realize that.
“Not actually raising Emma,” he hurried to explain, “but at least paying his share.”
The explanation didn’t seem to make much difference in the rigid set of her shoulders. “I don’t want that, either. Just leave it alone, all right?”
“But…”
She turned the baby even closer to her, so that Conner could see nothing of his niece but a soft pink blanket, and glared at him. “Emma is mine, and I don’t need anyone else getting involved!”
Making things better would be a serious challenge, he realized, considering that no one except himself was unhappy with the status quo. Kenny obviously hadn’t cared to follow up on his child, and Lucy just as obviously didn’t want any assistance.
In fact, she seemed almost panicked at the very idea.
“All right,” Con said. A courteous withdrawal was always a safe delaying tactic, and it might take a while to locate Kenny on the Asian tour. Meanwhile, he would have to arrange for child-support payments until his brother showed up. But before he could find an acceptable way of phrasing such an offer, Lucy surprised him once again.
“I mean it,” she insisted, facing him across the counter with such intensity in her gaze that he wondered for a moment whether she had guessed his plan. “As far as Kenny’s concerned, I could’ve gotten rid of her and he’d be fine with that. So he’s got no business in Emma’s life—and neither do you.”
“All right,” Conner repeated, more loudly this time. “Lucy, I hear you. I won’t fight you for the right to change her diaper.”
For once, he saw, he’d hit exactly the right note, and he was rewarded with her sudden, sheepish smile. “Okay, then,” she said, giving Emma another gentle squeeze before returning her to the baby carrier, taking another gulp of coffee and picking up a handful of flatware. “I didn’t mean to jump on you like that. I just…”
“You’ve just got this thing,” Con finished for her, “about taking care of yourself.”
She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, as if searching for some trick in his statement. But she evidently didn’t find anything to disagree with, because she gave him another smile…the kind, he imagined, that would make anyone within view feel suddenly lighter. More energized. “Exactly,” she said, laying a white-handled spoon, fork and knife on the first placemat to his left. “So, what are you doing today, anyway? Playing golf?”
It was a reasonable question, Conner acknowledged, gulping the last of his coffee a little faster than he’d meant to and forcing himself to concentrate on business instead of her smile. Why else would a Philadelphia lawyer spend the holiday season alone in Scottsdale, if not to soak up the sunshine on a resort course?
“No,” he answered, moving to the coffee machine to refill his mug and gesturing a warm-up offer at her. “I came here to get some work done.” Not to mention a fierce desire to escape the memories of Christmas at home. “I figured I’ll turn the dining room into an office for the next six weeks. What about you?”
She looked surprised at the question, which reminded him that she was already planning today’s move—a move she’d better forget, Conner realized, because he couldn’t very well throw his brother’s baby out of the family home. No, Lucy and Emma were entitled to stay there, assuming she wouldn’t mind sharing a roof with Kenny’s brother.
“I’m going to find an extra job,” Lucy answered, sliding her mug down the counter for him to refill without letting their fingers touch. Just as well. You’re not going there. “This time of year, everybody’s hiring.”
She sounded remarkably confident, which made him guess she was no stranger to the process of job-hunting. And of course that made sense. A dedicated career woman wouldn’t have time to follow a pro golfer—even one as entertaining as Kenny—from party to party. No matter how earnestly he might have promised to love her forever.
Damn, Lucy deserved better than that….
“So as soon as we find a place,” she continued, accepting the freshened coffee he slid back to her with a nod of thanks and gathering another set of flatware, “I’ll come get the rest of my stuff out of your way. I’ll call first and see if you’re home, or out on… What kind of work are you here for?”
“A foundation,” Conner said, forcing his attention toward business as he returned to his seat. She obviously didn’t think Kenny’s family owed her a place to stay, but he couldn’t turn his back on a baby. “My partners talked me into taking some leave from the law firm, so I can get it done before I go back in January.”
“A foundation?” she repeated, looking so bewildered that he wondered whether Kenny had mentioned anything about the past two years. “Like for charity?”
“It’s a memorial.” The words came harder than he expected, but he knew better than to let the guilt over Bryan linger. No, he had to focus on what he could do right now. “There’s a lot of work involved up front, and that’s what I’m starting today.”
Or at least, that was what he’d planned to start today. But first, Con knew, he needed to figure out some way of making things right for his brother’s child.
Which, given Lucy’s determination not to accept anything from the Tarkingtons, might present a problem.
“Foundations give money to people, right?” Lucy asked, returning to the flatware bin at his end of the counter and setting down her coffee a safe distance from Emma’s carrier. “How much work does it take for you to write checks?”
Not nearly enough, which was why he’d set himself the task of creating The Bryan Foundation in the first place. Only by using every skill he possessed, not just every dollar, could he say that he had come to terms with his son’s death. That he was ready to move on with his life.
A life with no more false promises. To himself, or to anyone else.
“First,” Conner explained, “I have to organize the groundwork. Today I’m calling a temp agency…” And then, with a sudden jolt of triumph, he flashed on a solution to the problem of Lucy’s pride. “I’ve got to find someone who can help with the clerical stuff,” he told her in the same cordial tone he’d use with any potential employee. Thinking of her as an employee should make it considerably easier to keep his mind on business…and that was the only responsible choice he could make. “Typing envelopes, copying proposals, that kind of thing.”
Lucy was watching him warily, but there was no mistaking the interest on her face—so he might as well finish the offer.
“Is that,” Con asked her, “something you could do? Whenever you finish here?”
She hesitated. “I’ve done office work, sure. But I already know about the Tarkingtons and phony job offers.”
“This one’s real,” Conner retorted, trying not to show any annoyance. Such caution was understandable, considering what Kenny had pulled. “If you don’t want the job, that’s fine, but I’ve got to hire somebody. And I’d rather it was someone I know.”
He’d intended all along to hire someone for
