Quarterback's Unknown Baby Daughter: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read online

  “It was his idea, Gracie. Believe me, I’m as surprised as you.”

  “I wanna go to a Jets game, see the Statue of Liberty, ride in one of those horse-drawn carriages... Can we do all that, Mom?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Mr. Connor has everything all planned. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I will. Oh, and I want to go shopping on Fifth Avenue, too.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think there’s much for little girls on Fifth Avenue. That’s kinda for grown-ups only.”

  For a minute, I picture Grace in a full-length fur coat. Not much call for that sort of clothing in west Texas; I can’t think of anything more frivolous or useless. Unless you wanted a fur rug in front of your fireplace, then like any good Texan worth his salt, you would go out and shoot it yourself.

  Suddenly my ears feel funny, and my hearing is muffled. I look over at Grace to see if she’s experiencing the same thing, but I can’t tell with her face practically glued to the window. With a popping sensation, it clears up, and I can hear everything even better than before. How odd. I fix my eyes on the ‘fasten seatbelt’ light above me to stay focused and keep calm. Now I know why they put blinders on horses; what you couldn’t see couldn’t scare you.

  The entire craft gives a lurching bounce as the flaps hit the runway, sending my stomach into my throat. It sounds like a hundred ten-pin bowling balls all rolling down an alley at once, followed by a near-deafening whine of brakes. I don’t like this, no sir. Not one bit. I wonder how many days it would take to drive back to Texas? I brace my feet on the cabin floor and wait for the whole commotion to end.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to New York, New York. The local time is...” I breathe a sigh of relief as the pilot’s words issue from the PA system.

  We’ve made it.

  “Yay!” Grace exclaims and claps her hands.

  Yay indeed; I’m happy to disembark from this mechanical bird, no matter the destination. If we’d landed in a swamp in the Everglades, I’d take my chances with a gator just to get to shore and terra firma.

  We finally come to a stop at the gate, and in a flurry of metallic clicks, people are unbuckling their seat belts and jumping into the aisles. Goodness, what a lot of fuss! Grace grabs her knapsack from under the seat in front of her while I attempt to stand and reach into the overhead bin for my own bag.

  After several minutes, Grace and I finally exit the plane and sheep-like follow the rest of our fellow passengers down a long corridor and into the arrivals area. There must be close to a thousand people scurrying in every direction, and it’s making me dizzy trying to see over their heads and scan for the one person I desperately need right now. The one who can make order out of the chaos that surrounds us.

  Like something out of a movie, the curtain of bodies before us parts to reveal exactly what I want to see.

  “Wyatt!” Grace yells, rushing forward.

  He’s standing there amid the roiling sea of humanity like my own personal lighthouse, his smile the bright beacon that protects mine and Grace’s ship from foundering on the rocky shores of the unknown. Not just the unknown of one of the biggest cities in the world, but the great unknown of where our lives might be going. Dare I hope this is the beginning of a new adventure for all of us?

  I smile back, tamping down my unrealistically soaring hopes. We’re here to let Grace and her father get to know each other. Period. It’s their voyage of discovery, not mine. I’ll drive myself plumb crazy thinking it might be anything else.

  Mine and Wyatt’s incredible night of sex is still fresh in my mind, but we’d made no commitment beyond organizing this trip. We were both caught up in the moment; our desires getting the best of us. Lord knows I needed it; cloistering myself like a dang nun all these years. I shouldn’t romanticize the event beyond what it was. Two sexual beings coming together for a moment of mutual satisfaction; the words coming out of our mouths in the heat of the moment to be stricken from memory. I plan to keep telling myself that, even if I don’t want to believe it.

  “There are my girls,” Wyatt says, leaning down to accept a surprising and freely offered hug from Grace. “Welcome to New York, ladies. How was your flight?” He straightens and turns his attention to me, his blue eyes bright and welcoming. He looks truly happy to see us.

  His girls? I’m sure it’s just an expression of friendly endearment, but I can’t ignore the overtone of possessiveness or the little flutter it ignites in my stomach.

  Stop it! Stop reading too much into things, Deanna.

  “It was fine,” I lie, not wanting to sound like the wimp I truly was.

  “It was fantastic!” Grace overrides me. “I’ve never been on a plane before. I could see the clouds and everything!”

  “Did you now? Well, if you like flying, we should make sure to arrange a few more trips for you and your mom in the future.”

  Dear Lord, no!

  “Hey now, hold your horses, you two,” I say. “First things first. Let’s enjoy this trip before we start planning our next, alright? Where do we go to collect our bags?”

  Wyatt takes hold of my arm, his other hand already claimed by Grace. She’s certainly taken a shine to him lightning fast; is it just hero-worship or is there some invisible family bond at work here, I wonder?

  “This way, ladies,” Wyatt says, towing us through the crowd.

  Grace is fascinated by the slow river of suitcases flowing along the baggage carousel.

  “There it is,” she says at the sight of almost every bag that’s a similar color to hers.

  I watch in amazement as Wyatt draws her back from the moving conveyor with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Stay back now, where it’s safe. I’ll get it for you if it’s the right one. You and your mama can relax. You’re my guests.”

  It’s such a parenty-thing to do it almost brings tears to my eyes. I really have cheated both of them out of something that’s rightfully theirs, and I feel guilty as hell. I’m glad we’ve come. It’s my chance to make it up to them. My shot at redemption.

  We make our way to a special exit that Wyatt says he has access to for VIP pickups. Once outside the glass doors, my eyes nearly pop from their sockets at the monster vehicle he directs us to. It’s black. It’s huge. It’s flashy. I’m betting it has more chrome on it than the Trump Tower’s executive bathrooms. At a click from the remote in his hand, the vehicle’s running lights blink and the rear hatch swings majestically open.

  “Wow, is this your car?” Grace asks with the kind of awe in her voice that only pre-teen girls can muster.

  “One of them, yeah. Only for special guests,” Wyatt replies with a wink.

  He opens the rear passenger door and extends a gentlemanly hand to help Grace clamber in. Good thing, too, because the swanky SUV is nearly three feet off the ground – what with the giant tires it has. One of them? How many does he own?

  After settling me in the front passenger seat, Wyatt loads our gear in the cargo area and hits another button to magically close the hatch. Damn, this rig is slick.

  “Buckle up,” he says, sliding his sexy, athletic frame behind the wheel. I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help admiring the view, especially since I’ve seen the magnificent landscape that lies beneath his tight-fitting sport shirt. “The traffic here’s crazier than a stampede of bulls.”

  We pull out of the endless ramps of JFK and into the city proper. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before if you don’t count postcards; Odessa’s not a small town, but it has nothing like the myriad steel and glass towers filling the New York cityscape. We drive through tunnels and over bridges and eventually to a below-ground parking garage beneath a high-rise.

  “What’s the name of this hotel?” I ask, not seeing any grand entrance or signage from the outside.

  Wyatt flashes me a sideways smile as he steers the vehicle into a parking stall. “Well, you could call it Chez Connor if you like. It’s where I live.”

  “You want us to stay with you
?” I’d let Wyatt make all the travel arrangements and hadn’t questioned any of it. I did ask that he not book us in first class or anything outlandishly posh but assumed he’d choose a decent nearby hotel, not his own home.

  “Wyatt, that’s too much of an imposition. Y’all don’t need a pair of messy girls invading your he-man space; we’d be a bother.”

  “Nonsense. I insist. I have three thousand square feet – enough that you don’t even have to see me, or each other if you don’t want to. It’s your first trip to the Big Apple. I want you to feel at home. Nothing but the best for my girls.”

  There it was again. His girls. And another subliminal hint that a first trip may not be our last. Is he even aware of the words coming out of his delectable mouth? Did he say three thousand square feet? Good heavens, what human being needs that kind of space?

  He escorts us to a special elevator that zooms upward at a deceivingly fast velocity. It makes no stops until we reach the top number on the readout, the doors opening directly into a living space. At least I think it’s a living space? If I was impressed by his choice of vehicle, his choice of residence blows me away completely.

  It’s massive; the open, carpeted space directly ahead is flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows that reveal a breathtaking view of the city. There’s a galley-style kitchen off to the right, and two hallways leading to the left on either side of a fabulous stone and glass fireplace. Everywhere I look is cream-colored leather, dark wood accents, and gleaming chrome fixtures. It’s uber-modern, so unlike the western ranch house vibe of the homes we both grew up in.

  It’s beautiful, but difficult to picture Wyatt living in it. Then I remember he said he’d hired a decorator. For some weird reason, I wonder if the decorator was a woman, and furthermore, did that woman take Wyatt on a test drive of all these lovely furnishings? Like the huge cream-leather couch my eyes have settled on that’s larger than my own bed? My anxiety level heightens further at the thought of what his actual bed must look like, and how many female visitors may have graced its lovely expanse. The wave of jealousy cresting over me takes me by surprise. I have no right to feel this way.

  “Whoooaaa.” Grace gasps, turning slow pirouettes in the center of the main room. “You really live here?”

  “Well, I have to live someplace, don’t I? The rooms at the YMCA were all taken. Will this do for you ladies?”

  Grace and I bob our heads up and down in the affirmative as we continue to peer around the incredible space with our jaws hanging open. Appropriate for a couple of country bumpkins like us. I feel like one of the Clampett family arriving in Beverly Hills for the first time.

  “I’ll put your bags in your rooms. Want to see them?” Wyatt shrugs a shoulder in the direction of the hallway.

  “Wait for me,” Grace calls as she trails after him, blonde hair flying.

  This is ridiculous. He has everything; money, cars, this luxurious penthouse. How could lil ol’ western wildflower Deanna Murphy ever fit into this panacea of glitz and glamor he’s been living in for all these years? I’m an idiot to think it could ever work. I have to get it through my head that those days are gone, never to be lived again.

  Wake the hell up and smell the flowers, Miss Yellow Rose of Texas.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wyatt

  WOMEN IN THE HOUSE

  “Go long there, missy, this one’s a bomb,” I say, motioning with a football in my hand.

  “I can’t!” Grace giggles. “There’s no more hallway!”

  “Well, get ready to jump then!” I exaggerate my windup and pretend to throw with all my might, then lob an easy pass to the little blonde girl backing up as far as she can in my apartment hallway.

  She leaps upward to catch the ball, her head knocking the picture frame on the wall behind her. “Ow!” she squeals but makes the catch and lands on her butt on the carpet. “Touchdown!” She laughs, clearly not bothered by a potential goose egg on her head.

  “And the Jets win the Super Bowl!” I yell, waving my arms in the air.

  Grace jumps to her feet and does the same hilarious chicken-dance I saw her do back in Odessa, accompanied by repeated vocals of ‘ooee-ooee...ooee-ooee’. I can’t stop laughing; she’s star material if ever I saw it. Hamming it up for the pure fun of it and not giving a rat’s petootie who’s watching. For such a pretty thing, she’s a very un-girly girl. And she’s mine; at least for the rest of the week. I wonder how long it will last, before makeup and boys and fashion wars turn her into a young woman that’s uninterested in such uncivilized things as football?

  “What in the hell is going on here? Set-tle down, both of you. Kids! Honestly!” Deanna enters from the other room, hands on hips. “Take that kind of stuff outside. You could break something. You want to go home early, young lady? Keep it up!”

  “Aw, Mom, we’ve just won the Super Bowl! And it’s Wyatt’s house... He thinks it’s okay; he threw me the ball!”

  “Guilty,” I say, holding my palms up in surrender. “I cannot tell a lie; I started it. But don’t worry, I have insurance.”

  Deanna shakes her head but can’t hide the smile on her face. “Your house, your call.”

  I still can’t get over the sense of wonder at having Grace and Deanna around, living in my house, taking meals together and strolling around town hand in hand. Despite her protestations of messing up my ‘he-man’ space, I haven’t minded the various female trappings they’ve left lying here and there, not that there are many. In truth, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the smells of perfume and hairspray and spying the odd pair of pink panties on the tub ledge. At any rate, I have cleaning staff to take care of everything, right down to laundry and ironing.

  But it’s a lovely October day, and Deanna’s absolutely right. We do need to get outside.

  “Well, since I was planning to take y’all on a tour of Central Park this afternoon anyway, why don’t we leave now? We can bring the football along, and you can wear that new sweater we bought yesterday.”

  “Great!” Grace says and rushes into the private bedroom I’ve given her, right next to Deanna’s.

  The master suite is down the other hallway to take advantage of the windows on that side that afford the same city view as the living room. I would just as soon have invited Deanna to share those accommodations, but with Grace around, it’s hardly appropriate. I’m not sure she would accept the offer anyway, but there’s an undeniable something between Deanna and me that refuses to fizzle out completely. In fact, being in such close quarters all week it seems to be growing stronger.

  “Wyatt Connor, you’re spoiling us,” Deanna says, stepping up close behind me and placing her warm hand on my shoulder. Her voice is soft and teasing in my ear.

  I cover her hand with my own and turn to face her. “Damn straight I am.” I lift her hand in mine and kiss the back of it. “Are you filing an official grievance?”

  “No. But you don’t have to break the bank. That sweater was over two hundred dollars. Not to mention the boatload of other clothes and outings you’ve splashed out on for us. I’m afraid your credit card is going to explode.”

  “Not a chance. But if you’re going to go on about it, the complaint department is right this way,” I say, tapping a finger on my lip and pulling her in for a kiss.

  She smiles and tilts her head at just the right angle to accept a sloppy wet one from me. She tastes like the strawberries we had for breakfast, and my fingers get lost in the soft mass of her long, honey-colored hair as I hold her fast and kiss her silly.

  “Oh, gross!” comes a voice from the hallway. We split immediately and step apart. Busted. Grace’s eyes tick back and forth between us, sizing up the situation according to her twelve-year-old’s yardstick. “You must be really good friends.”

  “We are,” Deanna replies, changing her body language by clasping her hands together behind her back. “We’ve known each other a really long time.”

  Grace looks dubious. “How long do you have to know someone before
you can kiss them?”

  A grin creeps across my face at her question. “It depends. Why... have you kissed someone lately that we don’t know about?”

  Her mouth drops open in disgust. “No!” she says, adamant in her denial but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s a total cover-up. Our little girl won’t be little much longer.

  “Oh, well then. Next boy you plan to kiss, let us know, and we’ll tell you if you’ve known him long enough.” I glance at Deanna and back to Grace. I’ve silenced them both with one sentence. “Central Park,” I say, holding up my index finger. “I’ll get my jacket.”

  As I turn away, I feel the heat of their stares on my back. This dad thing is getting to be fun.

  We walk the few blocks to the park and find some open space to play catch, but Grace says she’s had enough catching and just wants to walk around and enjoy the fresh air. Deanna and I exchange glances, but say nothing and keep walking. I admire the polished sheen of the high-heeled leather boots she’s wearing. They fitted her shapely calves so perfectly in the store I had to buy them for her and brooked no argument. I definitely had the means to spoil my two ladies and planned to keep doing so. Deanna has a gorgeous pair of legs that deserve to be shown off.

  None of us are speaking much, so I use the quiet time to just relax and observe; be in the moment and just plain be, without thinking too far ahead about anything. We follow the pathway leading to the pond, and I note the similarity in gait and posture of both mother and daughter. I steal sideways glances at Deanna, still marveling at how well she looks and my naughty brain rewinds to the memory of her luscious naked form underneath me, moaning in ecstasy. Damn, it’s going to be hard to avoid the temptation of a rematch for the remainder of the week.

  As I let my mind wander, Deanna turns her head and catches me looking. A mischievous little grin that matches my own trickles across her lovely face, as though reading my lusty thoughts. I look ahead to Grace’s slim figure hop-skipping several yards in front of us, tossing the football to herself and catching it, and become aware of Deanna moving close to me and tucking her hand in the crook of my arm.