The Nine-Dollar Daddy Page 3

  “Goodness, that’s an odd one,” she said with a trace of uncertainty. “You said this is for a science project?”

  “Yes,” Hutch injected hastily. “I’ll explain it to you after it’s done.”

  “Well...I guess a perfect date would be yellow roses and food.” Her laugh eased across the line, stirring an odd sensation deep in Ty’s gut. He could almost see her face light up, her expression filled with humor and spirit and character. “So long as you feed me, I’m happy.”

  “And the yellow roses?”

  “I like them. They’re...hopeful.”

  “She’s got a thing for them,” Hutch whispered. “That’s why I picked this place.”

  “Makes sense,” Ty muttered. At least, as much sense as any of this made.

  “Listen, boys, I have to get ready for work. Are we almost finished here?”

  “Just one more question,” Ty said. “What are your goals and ambitions?”

  “To raise my son the best I can,” Cassidy answered promptly. “I’m saving to buy a house of our very own. A small place with a yard and a garden where I can plant yellow roses. A home where we can set down roots nice and deep. The permanent kind.”

  Ty understood all about roots. His family had lived in the San Antonio area for generations. The homestead he owned had been his father’s and his father’s before him—a long line of Merricks stretching into the past, their history and heritage planted so deep in Texas soil, they could never be yanked free. “Roots are good,” he agreed.

  “I’m glad you think so, Ty. That’s my goal. To have a home, my roses, and most important of all, my family close by. I don’t want or need another blessed thing beside that.”

  “Not even a husband?” he suggested.

  “Gracious, no! Especially not a husband. What put that crazy idea in your head?”

  Her vehement response exploded in the room. For a long moment, Ty sat quietly in his chair, struggling to control his temper. “I haven’t a clue,” he answered through gritted teeth. Heaven help him, he was going to kill the kid. Maybe he could step on him and claim he’d squashed the boy by mistake. “Thanks, Ms. Lonigan. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to us.”

  “You’re certainly welcome. Hutch? When will you be home?”

  “I’ll be back in time for dinner, Mom.” His voice held a nervous squeak that, fortunately, his mother didn’t hear.

  “Call if you’re going to be late. And feel free to invite Ty if you’d like.”

  The instant the connection was broken, Ty leaned across the desk toward the boy. “Definitely not a husband?” he questioned softly. “Definitely not?”

  Hutch waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a temporary fixation. She has this thing about being independent right now. I’ll take care of it.” A nervous bravado crept into his expression. “How come you stopped the interview? That wasn’t all the questions.”

  “Aside from the fact that it’s an exercise in futility?”

  Hutch cleared his throat. “Yeah. Aside from that.”

  “The last one would have tipped our hand, which might be for the best, all things considered.”

  “No! I—”

  “So, you’ll have to answer it,” Ty cut in. “Assuming we’re continuing with this nonsense.”

  “I’m still sittin’ here, aren’t I?” Before Ty could argue that particular assertion, Hutch asked, “Okay, what’s the last one?”

  As pointless as the final question seemed, it would complete the damned form and get this mule-headed kid on his way. “What do you think your mother is seeking in a relationship?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What does she want from the guy she dates?”

  “Oh. That’s easy.” Hutch offered an endearing grin. “You can tell she doesn’t know it yet. But she wants marriage.”

  OPERATION HUSBAND

  by Hutch Lonigan

  Progress Report

  The Mountain wasn’t very happy with me. Said I was keeping secrets and better cut it out. Well...yeah, I’m keeping secrets! How else am I going to get a dad? Anyway, he promised to have a man available for Mom by tomorrow for her birthday. Once that happens I can get the experiment going. The computer better pick a good one. I might not get another shot at this. I still have to set things up at school and may have to put Plan B into action. Hope not. But Mom comes first! And since she won’t take care of this herself...somebody’s got to take charge.

  Looks like I’m it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Equipment and Procedures to Organize:

  1. Take Mom to Yellow Rose Matchmakers without her catching on.

  2. Have the computer do its magic.

  3. Check the stats on the match. (Note: Make sure this guy’s not a loser.)

  4. Convince Mom to go along with it. (Sure wish wishes were scientific!)

  CASSIDY calculated the figures for the fourth time. Not that it changed anything. The bottom line on her checking-account register still added up to the same pitiful amount as before—an amount too small to meet all her current financial demands. She clenched her fingers around the tiny nub of a pencil her boss, Freddie, had been wasteful enough to trash, her knuckles turning white from the strain. What the heck was she going to do?

  A lock of thick, dark brown hair drifted into her eyes and she pushed it away with hands that trembled. Darn it all! Why couldn’t she have curls instead of hair so painfully straight not even a rubber band would hold it? At least curls could be confined or cropped short. At least curls would—Stop it, she ordered herself briskly. Stop wasting time on foolishness and focus on the serious problems. There were certainly enough of them to keep her occupied.

  She scowled at the check register again. Okay. The final payment on Hutch’s computer would come first, she decided. It had to. That computer was his future. She tapped the pencil on the scarred kitchen table. And maybe if she spoke to Mrs. Walters, explained that she’d pick up an extra shift or two and get the money together by the end of the week, the landlady would let the rent slide a few more days. She might...especially if Cassidy bribed her with another clipping from her poor rosebushes.

  Okay, what next? The utilities. She’d dole out a few precious dollars on her electric bill. That way, the computer would have a place to live and the juice to run it. Let’s see...next on the list would have to be food. She perked up a bit. Perhaps Freddie would have some leftovers from the restaurant she could take home. That might help stretch their pennies. And she could give up all the extras. No more instant coffee. Skip the odd lunch. Tape up the hole in her sneaker. Not get sick or twist any more ankles. She could get by. Sure she—

  “Everything okay, Mom?”

  She glued a bright smile on her face. “Just fine, sweetie. Why?”

  Hutch perched on the edge of the chair across from her. “Your eyes are that funny color again.”

  She stared at him in bewilderment. “What funny color?”

  “Like pencil lead.” He glanced at the open check register. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s great.” He didn’t believe her, not that his skepticism surprised her. He often saw things no one else noticed. “Really,” she insisted, “we’re fine.”

  “I can tell if there’s something wrong,” he explained patiently. “When you laugh, your eyes are a pretty silver. But when you’re upset, they look like lead. So, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh.” Crud. “I hadn’t realized.”

  Smile! she ordered herself sternly. Think of something happy. She forcibly summoned a picture of Hutch right after she’d given birth to him. Even then, he’d displayed an intense curiosity that was such an innate part of his character. He’d peered up at her with huge blue eyes and she’d known in that instant that she’d do anything for him...sacrifice anything. He’d been the one bright spot in months of fear and desperation. He’d made everything worthwhile and just thinking about him eased her tension.

  Cassidy smiled. “How’s that?”
<
br />   “Hey! They’re silver again.”

  “It must have been the light,” she teased.

  “I guess.” He kicked the table leg. “You won’t forget about tomorrow, right? You need to get off work for a couple of hours so I can take you for your birthday surprise.”

  She frowned, fingering the checkbook. “I don’t know, Hutch....”

  “You promised, Mom. Please.”

  “And a promise is a promise,” she conceded with a sigh. “Okay, sweetpea. I’ll talk to Freddie.” And to Mrs. Walters. And to the electric company. They’d all understand. She drew an anxious breath. There wasn’t any choice. They had to.

  “He wants a father.”

  Willie nodded. “Most boys do, Ty. Is that so bad?”

  Ty unhitched his shoulder from the support pillar he’d been leaning against and turned to face his grandmother. She sat at the far end of the porch in a large wooden swing, her favorite spot at the Yellow Rose to “ruminate” as she called it. “Not for Hutch. But I doubt Cassidy feels the same way. She sounded as though she’d had her fill of men.” An understatement if ever he’d uttered one. “What if she kicks up a fuss because we’ve encouraged this kid’s scheme?”

  “Is that the impression she gave when you spoke? Did she seem like a troublemaker?”

  Ty frowned. No. He’d sensed Cassidy Lonigan was a warmhearted woman devoted to her son—a woman thrilled to her tippytoes that Hutch had a friend. A friend she’d immediately invited over for dinner. “She’ll date whomever the computer picks. She won’t like it, but she’ll do it for the boy.”

  “There you are, then. Problem solved.”

  “It’s not solved, Willie.” He frowned, not quite sure why he was involving himself in the Lonigan match. He had more than enough work waiting at the ranch. Nice, strenuous, mind-numbing jobs. The sort that didn’t leave room for thoughts of Georgia peaches and porcupine boys. But Willie had raised him from the time he was a snotnosed whelp. He owed her more than he could ever hope to repay. Investing in her company and checking up on her business interests periodically was a small way of showing his appreciation. “Is it wise to encourage this kid’s scheme when it’s clear his mother isn’t interested?”

  “Perhaps she’ll discover the man of her dreams,” Willie replied complacently, setting the porch swing in motion. “That is what we do, Ty.”

  He released his breath in a gusty sigh. “You’ve been borrowing Wanda’s rose-tinted glasses, haven’t you? I hate when you do that.”

  Willie chuckled. “Don’t pick on Wanda. She’s the best employee I have.”

  “That’s open to debate.”

  “Just because she’s a romantic—”

  “That’s not the objection I have to her and you darn well know it.”

  Willie brushed that aside. “It’s not like we don’t have a few romantic legends in our own family.”

  “Don’t start that again,” he warned.

  “You’re the most hardheaded man I know.” Her snowy brows drew together, signaling her annoyance. “Do you really think I’d have told you about The Kiss if I didn’t believe in it myself? What do you take me for? Some doddering old half-witted fool?”

  “Yup.” He joined his grandmother on the swing and slung an arm around her shoulders, plying her with the sense of humor he’d inherited from the Eden branch of the family. “I suspect you’re one step away from a padded room with a beefy guard named Louie.”

  Willie clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Oh, go on with you. I’m serious. Because you haven’t kissed the right woman yet doesn’t mean she isn’t out there wondering what the heckfire’s keeping you.”

  “You’ve been feeding me this story since I was a baby,” he objected. “When are you going to give it up?”

  “Never! It was as true for your parents as it was for your grandfather and me. Just as it was true for his parents before him, and his before that. Mark my words. It’ll happen to you, too.”

  Ty bit off a laugh. “One kiss and I’ll know.”

  “Whether it’s true love.” She gave an adamant nod. “Yes, sir, you will. It’s taking you a bit longer than it did the rest of us is all.”

  “I believe we were discussing Cassidy Lonigan’s love life. Why don’t we focus on that and keep me out of it?” He didn’t wait for her to agree—which was probably just as well since it looked as though agreeing with him was the last thing likely to escape the sharp edge of her tongue. “That reporter’s still sniffing around, isn’t she?”

  “She was...intrigued by young Hutch. She was particularly intrigued by the fact that we let him buy a date for only nine dollars.”

  Ty didn’t like the sound of that. “She didn’t think you were doing it as a publicity stunt, did she? I’d be happy to clarify the matter for her.”

  Willie waved off his concern. “Yes, the question was raised. And I believe Maria set the woman straight in short order.”

  Somewhat appeased, Ty asked, “So this reporter’s going to follow up on the dates the Yellow Rose arranges?”

  Willie shrugged. “Probably.”

  “And when nothing good comes from it? What if Cassidy rejects the candidates the computer chooses?”

  “Why don’t we worry about that if it happens?”

  Something in his grandmother’s tone had him fixing her with a sharp-eyed gaze. She sounded almost...complacent. That had to mean trouble. “Why don’t we worry about it now. Perhaps we can come up with some alternate ideas if the worst happens.”

  “You’re such a pessimist, Ty.”

  “I’m realistic. Cassidy Lonigan had one bad marriage. From what the boy said, she’s tried various other relationships without any success. So he’s decided to take a hand in matters. That’s not a formula guaranteed to yield positive results.”

  “Stop being so logical,” Willie groused. “You’re thinking with your head—”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Yes, well, it’s her heart we’re concerned with, isn’t it? That’s what we’ve been hired to engage. Why don’t you give the agency a chance before deciding it won’t work?”

  “Maybe I’d be more willing to go along if it wasn’t for last month’s foul-up. Does that ring a bell? When your dear employee kept matching everyone all by her lonesome? Wanda didn’t even have the computer—” He broke off with a frown. “What did she call it?”

  “George.”

  “She didn’t even have George plugged in.”

  “Her success rate was phenomenal. You can’t argue with that.”

  “Great, except for one small problem. Yellow Rose Matchmakers is billed as a computerized dating agency, remember?”

  Willie dismissed that with another wave of her hand. “Minor details. The bottom line is...the agency made the matches and they all ended in matrimony. What makes you think this one won’t?”

  Ty’s memory replayed a slow, husky Georgia drawl, the kind that slid all over a man before seeping deep inside. The kind that went with sultry nights, a large bed and hours of hot, sweet loving. “I gather the lady is running scared.”

  “Then we’ll have to be certain we pick someone who’ll break her in gently, won’t we?”

  Ty’s mouth twitched. “You make her sound like a horse.”

  Willie nodded. “In a way, I suspect she’s a lot like a mare who’s had a rough first ride. It’s our job to make sure her next experience is more satisfactory.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Wrong?” Her eyebrows winged upward. “How’s that, boy?”

  He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her tanned cheek. “Making sure her next dating experience is satisfactory is your job, not ours.”

  Willie simply smiled. “We’ll see.”

  “Careful, Mom. Don’t peek.”

  “Oh, Hutch. I’m going to trip. Is this blindfold really necessary?”

  “I want it to be a surprise. And it won’t be if you peek.” Cassidy chuckled. “I won’t look, I promise. But you’ll have to steer
me. If I fall and break a leg, I won’t be much good as a waitress.” The words had barely escaped when her size ten sneakers tangled. “Dagnab it!”

  Hutch helped prop her up. “Easy does it. I won’t let you fall. Now stand here for a minute while I open the gate.”

  “There’s a gate?”

  She tried to catch a glimpse of where they were headed from beneath the voluminous bandanna that served as a blindfold. Not that she wanted to spoil Hutch’s surprise. But she’d been wearing the darned thing ever since they’d gotten off the bus a few blocks back. It seemed a wise precaution to make sure she wasn’t about to stumble over her own two feet again. With her luck, she’d end up having all five feet eight inches sprawled in a jumbled heap of arms and legs across a painfully hard sidewalk.

  She wrinkled her nose a couple of times hoping it might edge the bandanna up a bit, but it remained stubbornly in place. Her son had tied the blindfold with the same thoroughness he gave most of his endeavors.

  “Don’t bother. I made it tight.”

  “Come on, sweetpea,” she said with a sigh. “Stop teasing. Where are we?”

  “At your birthday present. Okay. Now, here come some steps. Put your hand on the banister. That’s it. And hold on to me with your other hand. One more step and we’ll be on the porch.”

  An atypical nervousness assailed her. If she’d considered herself the least bit psychic, she’d have thought something momentous was about to occur. Of course, she no longer indulged in such foolish fantasies. She’d learned that painful lesson years ago. “Whose house is this?”

  “Not telling. Just stand there while I open the door.”

  “We can walk right in?” Her concern increased.

  “Yup. They know me here.” He helped her inside, then released her arm. “You wait by the flowers while I go get Miss Willie.”