Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(57)

They were right where they started, with one additional player, and he held her in his arms. He turned his gaze from Franci and buried his face in Rosie’s sweet-smelling neck. “What are you cooking, short stuff?”

“Chicken,” she said, and giggled from his tickle.

“And broccoli?” he asked with a laugh. She nodded vigorously and he looked at Franci. “Don’t you feed this kid anything but chicken and broccoli?”

“Lots of things,” she said, getting up from the couch. “Are you good to go? Because I should get that nap or I’ll be useless tonight.”

“Go,” he said. “We’re going to do stuff.”

“Now remember, always—”

“Wear seat belts, make frequent bathroom stops, never let her out of my sight,” he finished for her.

“And never—”

“Send her into the ladies’ room. I will take her into the men’s room with me, if necessary, make sure it’s clean and private and, when possible, use the handicapped facility for privacy. And plenty of vegetables and nothing that tastes fun.”

“You don’t have to be a wise a—”

He grinned.

But inside he wasn’t grinning. He was thinking of all the things he really had to discuss with Franci. It had been his plan to talk to her over the next several weeks about what kind of future the three of them might have, a little piece of it at a time. The meeting with his boss, Jake, upped the urgency.

His cell phone chimed with a text and he lifted it out of his pocket, glanced at it and put it back. When he looked up, Franci was staring him down. “Haven’t you taken care of that yet?” she asked.

“I meant to, but I’ve been busy,” he said. “By the way, have you taken care of him yet?”

“We should talk about this later,” she said.

“We should,” he agreed. He shifted Rose onto a hip and walked toward Franci. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Get some rest, Franci. Being tired makes you cranky.”

“I’d slug you if that weren’t true.” Then she went to her room. Harry ran after her, scratched at the door and was let in to nap with her.

“Well, what do you say, sport. Wanna get some warm outside clothes on so we can go play and shop?”

“I’ll wear dis,” she said, touching her worn-out taffeta.

“You can’t wear that to the park and the store—it’s getting cold out.”

“I’ll wear dis!”

Sean furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips just the way his father had done and was surprised to find this all came quite naturally. He lowered his voice a notch. “Fine, then we’ll stay home and read and nap.” He lifted one brow.

She stared him down for a long moment. Then she said, “Oh-kay!” But she didn’t say it happily.

Sean had never spent much time alone with children. When he socialized with friends who had kids, he fit in just fine—he could toss the ball, throw a little one up in the air, make goo-goo faces, tickle and tease. But he’d never had any actual responsibility for a child before he met Rosie.

This was their first full-day outing alone and Sean learned something he had never before known. Women paid even more attention to him with a child in tow than they had before! He wasn’t bad looking, had an adorable daughter and no wedding band. Women approached him in the mall, in Target, at the playground, remarking on his beautiful child, making small talk. They smiled hugely while they said, “Well, having a daddy-daughter day?” Or, “If you live around here, we could get the kids together for a play-date sometime.” He was shocked and astounded.

When he was checking out of the grocery with his dinner makings, the checker said, “I’m about to go on a coffee break, if you feel like a cup of coffee. Maybe your daughter would like some ice cream?”

Sean immediately said, “Thanks, but I have to get going. My wife is waiting.”

And Rosie said, “Who’s your wife, Daddy?”

The checkout girl nearly threw the groceries into the bag as she shot daggers at him with her eyes. He felt fortunate she didn’t bean him in the head with the produce. On the way to the car he said to Rosie, “We’re going to have to get our story straight, kiddo. I don’t know if you’re helping or hurting the situation.”

“Daddy? Daddy, I know the baby is in the mommy’s tummy and the baby comes out of the mommy’s tummy, but, Daddy? How do that baby get in the mommy’s tummy?”

He stopped dead in his tracks in the parking lot, his daughter in the rider seat of the shopping cart, his bagged groceries in the cart, and stared at her dumbly. Time stopped. He tried to channel Franci, who seemed to do all this parent stuff with such ease, but nothing came.

“Daddy?” she asked.

He smiled with what he hoped was confidence, pinched her little chin and said, “After you have Stroganoff and peas tonight, would you like chocolate or vanilla ice cream?”

“Chocolate!” she yelled.

“Whipped cream and a cherry?”

“Whip cream and a cherry!” she yelled.

“That’s what I thought. No chicken and broccoli for you tonight. No, sir. You’re having fun food! Daddy’s Stroganoff and ice cream!”