Marrying the Wrong Man (10 page)

Charly.
Morgan hadn’t had the guts to call Charlotte by that nickname, even though she knew somebody, sometime, would. It seemed perfectly appropriate for that somebody to be her father and namesake.

“Dinner is served,” Aunt Phyllis called from the kitchen.

Charlie stood, and Morgan put Charlotte on the ground, taking her hand. “How ‘bout you walk, and I’ll carry the bear?” Maybe if
she
carried the bear, Charlotte would let Charlie hold her other hand.

Charlotte shook her head and tightened her grip on the stuffed animal. “No. My bear.”

“At least she likes the bear,” Charlie said.

“Baby steps.” Morgan said. That was the only way they were going to get through this.

After Charlotte was settled in the booster seat, Morgan looked at the table Aunt Phyllis had set. A plate was missing. “We need one more.”

Aunt Phyllis waved her off. “No, we don’t. I’m not feeling well, so if you’d excuse me.”

“Did you eat the macaroni and cheese?” Charlie eyed the steaming plate in front of him.

“Heavens no. I don’t eat macaroni and cheese without fish sticks.” She stared straight at Charlie’s back, dropping her chin and bobbing her brows in the general direction of his boots.

Morgan turned her head to hide her shock. She hoped Charlie hadn’t sensed Aunt Phyllis’s obvious attempt to manipulate an innocent dinner into some kind of warped courtship.

Charlotte picked at her macaroni with both hands.

“Use your fork, honey.” Morgan patted the neglected, plastic utensil.

Charlotte simply ignored it and shoved a handful into her mouth.

“What can I say? She’s a little rough around the edges.” It was something her mother had said the one and only time she’d visited her granddaughter. At the time, it had seemed like a direct dig at the child’s Cramer lineage.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Charlie said.

When Morgan glanced at him, he was watching Charlotte shovel more into her mouth. He’d always had such a strong jawline and flawless lips.

She looked at her plate. “I know it’s not gourmet, so I won’t be offended if you don’t eat it. But, I can promise you there’s no margarine.”

He chuckled, and she had no choice but to look at him again.

“What did you end up telling that guy?”

“That we were out of margarine.”

“Much more diplomatic than I would’ve been. Ever since I stopped drinking, I’ve had a crazy short fuse.” He slid a forkful of macaroni into his mouth. As he chewed, his brows rose. “This is good.”

“You look surprised.”

“I’m definitely surprised you cook anything.”

“It’s a newer skill cultivated from a lack of money and a little girl who loves pasta and cheese, but I’m a one-trick pony. Otherwise, it’s PB&J and canned soup.”

She helped Charlotte reach her sippy cup, and wiped a piece of macaroni from her chin. When she looked at Charlie again, he was studying her.

It was unnerving.

She focused on Charlotte again, and grabbed at the first innocuous thing that came to mind. “Let’s show Daddy how smart you are. Where’s your nose?”

Charlotte pointed to her nose, leaving a cheesy fingerprint in her wake.

“Good girl. Where’s your chin?”

She smacked her fingertips below her mouth.

“Where’s your mouth?”

She slapped her lips.

“Good girl! Where’s your belly?”

Charlotte lifted her shirt and punctuated the action with a silly grin.

Charlie laughed. The lines deepened at the corners of his sparkling eyes. God, how long had it been since she’d seen him laugh?

He was so handsome.

Charlotte pointed at him. “Belly,” she squealed as she patted her rounded stomach with her other hand.

Charlie wrinkled his nose. “You don’t want to see my belly. It’s hairy.” He stuck out his tongue.

“Belly!” Charlotte shouted, rearing onto her knees and reaching across the small table to pinch Charlie’s shirt.

He laughed again. “Boy, you’re pushy … just like your mother.” He grinned at Morgan before he turned his attention back to Charlotte again. “Fine. Belly.” He lifted the edge of his T-shirt and gave the flat surface a smack.

Damn.
She tore her gaze away from Charlie’s abs and settled it on Charlotte, who was bouncing on her knees, giggling and smiling.

“Belly!” Charlotte screamed, and this time she reached for Morgan.

“No! You’ve seen mine lots of times.” It wasn’t nearly as impressive as Charlie’s.

Morgan jumped up, grabbed her plate, and walked to the sink. This was not going to work. No more “family” dinners. Nothing good could come from repeated bonding like this. It would only make it harder on Charlie and Charlotte when Morgan had enough money to leave town.

She moistened a paper towel so she could clean Charlotte’s face and hands. When she turned around, she saw Charlotte holding a mashed piece of macaroni inches from Charlie’s mouth. He was probably going to nudge her hand away. It took one heck of a person to accept already-been-played with food.

He wrinkled his nose, but he opened his mouth, and he smiled while he chewed.

Morgan faced the sink. Aunt Phyllis was right. Charlie Cramer was a good catch, but not because of his cooking skills or his cowboy boots—or even his flat stomach. Because surprisingly Charlie was a natural when it came to being a dad.

“Hey, sit,” he said. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

A
good
catch? How about a
great
catch? But not for her. That line had snapped three years ago, and she would never use Charlotte as bait.

• • •

Charlie sat on the floor beside the coffee table in Phyllis’s living room, building a house with playing cards. He couldn’t get the structure past two stories high without Charlotte knocking it down. But, he didn’t care. When she giggled, microscopic fireworks exploded in his chest.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy her this much.

“How do I go about paying child support? Is that something we can work out between us, or does the law need to get involved?”

“I don’t want your money, Charlie.”

“But you need my money. She needs my money.”

Morgan nodded as she sat on the couch behind Charlotte, worrying her bottom lip. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail again. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen it down since she’d been back in Harmony Falls. He liked it this way. Low maintenance, without the ultra-shiny, inky strands competing for attention with her face. Her face with those piercing green eyes and strawberry lips had always been his downfall.

“We can work it out between us.”

Charlotte dropped her diapered bottom into Charlie’s lap as she took a card from his hand. She attempted to start the second story, but the cards crumbled, and she laughed. He liked how she found joy in what most people would consider to be failure. It gave him hope that she could grow up finding joy in him instead of resenting the mistakes he made.

Morgan moved from the couch to a spot on the floor near the toy basket, and Charlotte left his lap to cuddle up with her.

The child was asleep in minutes.

“She’s my little narcoleptic,” Morgan said. She smiled as she smoothed Charlotte’s sunny hair.

They were like a beautiful, peaceful painting, but he recognized the trouble with seeing them that way. There’d been nothing peaceful about being with Morgan in the past. So what if she cooked, wore less makeup, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Those were surface changes. He still couldn’t trust her with his heart.

“I’m going to go,” he said, standing and shaking his jeans over his boots. He hoped to shake off the layer of raw emotion that was weighing him down, too.

“Okay,” Morgan whispered. “I’m so glad you came. It went well, didn’t it?” A warm smile lit her face.

He nodded as he slid a crooked finger over Charlotte’s rosy cheek. “Thanks for dinner.” But he wasn’t going to be making a habit of it.

Next time he’d ask to spend time with his daughter alone. It would be far less complicated.

“Could we give our compliments to the chef?” asked a friendly redhead as she exchanged conspiratorial glances with the brunette across the table and handed Morgan the billfold.

“Sure, I’ll let him know you enjoyed your meals.” Morgan snuck a peak at the credit card sticking out of the top. She didn’t recognize the face or the last name, which meant this particular bill should be paid along with a tip.

“We were hoping to do it in person.” The woman grinned. “We drove all the way from Puckett just to see him.”

Morgan matched her grin when on the inside she felt a tightening. She didn’t have a right to be jealous of any female attention Charlie received, but last night’s dinner had made her feel a territoriality she had no business feeling. She hadn’t come back to Harmony Falls to rekindle anything, and she sure as hell wasn’t staying. “Red” on the other hand seemed harmless.

“Customer satisfaction is my top priority,” Morgan said. “Let me see if he can spare a minute or two.”

Charlie reluctantly agreed, but he smiled his way through whatever was happening at the table while Morgan and Corbin watched from behind the partition. Watching him with the clearly enamored women was eye-opening. Surely he’d had dates—even a girlfriend—over the past few years. Maybe he even had one now. He hadn’t mentioned one, but it was possible.

“Do you think he’ll ask the redhead out?” Morgan asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Maybe,” Corbin said. “But I would be surprised.”

“Why?”

“As far as I know, he’s had his eye on someone else.”

Morgan’s heart flipped. “Who?”

“Carrie something. She’s from around here and used to come in regularly.”

Carrie was a common name, but for the life of Morgan, she couldn’t remember a single one in Harmony Falls. “Why doesn’t she come in anymore?”

“I don’t know. I just haven’t seen her in a while.”

Probably since I got here
. Shoot. He’d given her a job. He was paying child support. He was being nice to her. And her payback to him was screwing up his life again.

Morgan grabbed the water pitcher and walked to table seven, where Gertrude Cash and Tubby Stanwick, two of Alice’s biggest fans, were making eyes at each other over their candied-walnut salmon. Refilling the glasses was part of her job, but she already knew this was one table that wouldn’t yield a tip.

“Poor Alice,” Gertrude said as she gave Morgan the stink-eye. “Knowing you’re back in town and with her brother again has to be hard to swallow.”

“There’s nothing to swallow,” Morgan said as pleasantly as possible. “Charlie and I aren’t together, and I’m not staying in Harmony Falls.”

The sneer slipped from Gertrude’s lips. “You don’t say.”

“I do say.” Morgan smiled, thankful something seemed to reduce the hostility. Maybe if she was more forthcoming with all her critics, it would have the same effect. “As soon as I find a new job and have enough money to relocate, I’m out of here.”

Gertrude and Tubby gave her a five-dollar tip.

The theory held true the next day, too, when Wren Cannon, Alice’s friend and assistant at the theater, brought her grandmother in for a birthday dinner and left a full twenty percent after hearing Morgan proclaim she wasn’t interested in Charlie as anything more than a father to Charlotte.

It was a wonder what a little peace and money could do.

Morgan relaxed, letting the next few days unfold. She spent days with Charlotte and Aunt Phyllis and evenings at the restaurant cracking jokes with Corbin. It was a welcomed, monotonous rhythm after the upheaval of the last few months. She wasn’t even rattled when Mrs. Mitchell and Mark appeared for their customary Friday evening reservation and insisted on sitting in her section.

“You should never fill a water glass that full,” Margaret complained. “People with a weaker constitution might spill.”

Mark laughed. “You do not have a weak constitution, Mother.”

“But I will keep that in mind for other guests.” Morgan hid a smile.

Later on in the evening, Mark stopped Morgan outside the kitchen. “Things look like they’re going well.”

“They’re much better. I haven’t spilled anything lately, and Charlie hasn’t thrown anyone out, either. I’m sure you heard about what happened when your brother came in.”

He nodded. “Something that juicy spreads like wildfire around Harmony Falls.”

She bet it did. Morgan Parrish dumping two plates full of fish and running off to the ladies’ room had to make half the population’s day. “Thankfully the bistro is closed Sunday and Monday, which means I have two days off to hide up on the hill and lick my wounds before I have to face everyone again.”

“I don’t buy you’re that wounded. Your constitution is about as weak as my mother’s.”

Morgan laughed.

“Table eight would like their waitress,” Corbin said as he passed. He added a head nod and a blinding smile directed at Mark. “Good evening, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Ooh, Mr. Mitchell,” Morgan teased. “And here I thought Will and Justin had all the power.”

It felt good to have someone to tease. When was the last time she had an honest-to-God friend?

Apparently, Mark felt the same, because he called on Sunday morning to say he had an unexpectedly free afternoon, and since she did too, she agreed to lunch in the park with him as long as Charlotte could tag along. But then Charlie called, asking if
he
could see Charlotte again, and an enormous part of Morgan—the part with the racing heart—wanted to cancel on Mark so she could spend the day with Charlie.

She didn’t know what to do.

“I sort of have plans today,” Morgan said as she paced the linoleum floor in the kitchen while Charlotte was out back with Aunt Phyllis feeding the chickens. “Would tomorrow work?”

“I can’t do tomorrow. I have three windows being delivered, and I have to yank out the existing ones and install the new ones before it rains. But listen, does Charlotte have to go with you? Could she stay with me for a few hours?”

Crap.
It was completely reasonable for a father to spend unsupervised time with his child. The courts would back Charlie up on that. Besides, Morgan had seen how good he was with Charlotte. And he was only going to get better. He was arguably more stable than a woman who harbored thirty-six cats and treated her small band of livestock with children’s pain reliever.