One Sexy Daddy

Vivian Leiber lives in an Illinois town so small that a yearly lottery is drawn to determine the grand marshal of the Fourth of July parade. She lives on a corner on the busiest street, and that still doesn't warrant a stoplight, but she thinks it's a great place to raise her two boys, to while away a summer or a lifetime and to write her books.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

When Adam Tyler got off the overnight from Rio de Janeiro to Chicago, he figured he was having a great day. And not just because he was back in the States after—was it two, three, four?—months since the last time he was home,
or
because his next assignment would include denim-blue skies, sunshine on tap and a distinct lack of anacondas.

He glanced at the rearview mirror before slipping his tomato-red Beamer into the line of cars exiting Chicago's O'Hare Airport turnstile. “I'm so glad to be back.”

“Sentimental about home,” the voice of his office-mate Ryan Jennings crackled on the car's speaker phone. “Does that mean you're staying?”

“No way. I'm packing for Vegas.”

“Okay, Mr. Wanderer, you deserve it. Six months building a hospital on the banks of the Amazon. Whooo-eee, that is rough.”

“Five and a half,” Adam corrected. “We came in early on deadline.”

“For that, you'll get brownie points in heaven—and in the Lasser & Thomas corporate offices. Old Man Lasser will give you the Vegas project for sure.”

“Good, because I need it,” Adam said. “The jungle was awesome, but I don't ever want to go back.”

“I heard it wasn't that bad—rumor has it a certain semi-finalist in last year's Miss Universe contest visited you.”

“Only twice,” Adam said. “And Miss Venezuela was runner-up to Miss Trinidad and Tobago. She was charming and beautiful, certainly, but she wasn't my type.”

“Adam, they're all your type. We could get the Antarctica project and you'd be the only man there with a dinner date. And she'd be drop-dead gorgeous.”

Adam shifted the phone as he grabbed toll money from the cup holder. He had a reputation, to be sure, and in his twenties he had done enough—and more—to deserve it. But he had done nothing less chaste than kiss the beauty-crown holder.

“You gotta feel sorry for me,” Ryan continued. “A job came into the office. Deerhorn, Wisconsin. Podunk little farming town. I'll be building an elementary school to replace a one-room schoolhouse. Lasser grew up there, so he's doing it as a favor. At cost.”

“That's generous—for him.”

“But I'm the one who's gotta do it. Just think—two or three months of cows, corn fields, basement-brewed beer and cheese fondue. Why do I get all the glamour assignments?”

“I'd rather go back to the Amazon,” Adam sympathized. “Summertime in Wisconsin? Boooooring!”

“Lasser's supposed to make it official today although he'll probably hold off on yours until you come in to the office.”

“I'll be there tomorrow morning. Early.”

“Great. We'll do lunch. Compare lives. You can pretend you're not thrilled with Vegas and I'll put on a stiff upper lip about Deerhorn.”

“Ryan, I don't know how you stand it.”

“Hey, I have a family,” Ryan said. “I can't take an assignment that keeps me away from home too long. And the jobs that are long, I have to be able to take the whole group—including the dog. Las Vegas is no place for a family.”

“I have a family, too,” Adam said.

But they both knew it was different. Ryan had a wife, twin boys, a mother-in-law in residence. Ryan was a coach in Little League, a scoutmaster and took his wife on a “date” every Friday night.

For family, Adam had a housekeeper, a cell phone, a set of pictures in his wallet and a daughter named Karen who drew the pictures that his sec
retary faxed to him from the Lasser & Thomas headquarters.

Still, he had the life he wanted, a job that gave him the freedom he craved, and—unlike Ryan—he didn't have to call a family conference every time he took on a new assignment. He wished he saw more of Karen and that feeling grew more acute when he came back home and saw how she had grown. He tried not to think about the fact that one day, he would come home from a job and she'd be a grown-up.

Still, as happy as he had been to get the Amazon River project, he was just as happy to get home. He mentally blessed the afternoon rush hour, the billboards and the top-ten hits on his car radio—none of which he had ever heard on the one Brazilian station he could get. He waved cheerily to the pickup truck that cut him off. And slowed to let another driver cut into his lane. He paid attention to the radio commercials, getting excited about episodes of sitcoms he'd never seen and the newest burger combo meal.

He thought about meeting with Lasser tomorrow morning. He'd get a new project, catch up on the mail his secretary hadn't taken care of for him and make flight arrangements for Vegas.

He'd need a haircut, because his normal corporate crew had been bleached by the sun and fell to the collar of his suit. His suits were another problem, the one he had taken to Brazil for occasional
meetings squeezed tight at the shoulders and drooped at the waist. His muscles had bulked up in the past months, more than twice a week in the gym could ever do. He had a reputation for doing anything to keep a project on time and under budget. For this job that had included being lead bricklayer when the one from the Lasser & Thomas crew was airlifted out after a snake bite, and also clearing forest side-by-side with his men in eighteen-hour days that wouldn't show up in his time-sheets.

But if he wore a short-sleeved shirt, Lasser would sourly tease that he looked as though he had spent two months at the beach—his skin was the color of
dulce de leche
, a Brazilian caramel custard—and the burn his skin endured early on at the project was long gone. Besides, if he didn't wear a suit, Lasser might think him not corporate enough for Las Vegas.

He got off I-294 at Willow Road and headed west to Northfield. He had a doll for Karen and a velvet bag of loose gems he had purchased in Rio de Janeiro. He'd split the stones evenly between his secretary, his housekeeper and his daughter Karen. Karen wouldn't be too impressed, but his secretary always liked what he brought back from jobs. And his housekeeper…?

He thought about how he had returned home for visits fewer times in the past five months than he had promised, and so he bought for her all the
roses left in the neighborhood florist's shop. He'd have to make sure he paid her an extra large bonus if he were to have any chance of persuading her to stay on while he went to Vegas.

Ryan was right, Vegas was no place for a family. At least the parts of Vegas he'd be working in.

He drove down the pretty lane with clipped, green lawns and borders of colorful flowers surrounding little Cape Cod houses. He parked in front of a white house with brown grass and a couple of limp, sun-battered daisies bordering the steps. Home. He reached behind the seat to retrieve the several dozen roses.

When Affie the housekeeper charged out of the house, he didn't recognize her. Blonde, curly hair. Hadn't she been a brunette the last time he saw her? Or was that the last housekeeper?

And what was with the suitcase? He got out of the car.

“Hi, Affie. Thanks so much for all you've…” he said, holding out the roses.

Her dark eyebrows drew together in a sharp, angry line.

“I'm leaving.”

“What about Karen?”

Affie threw her suitcase in the back seat of her rusted coupe and jerked a thumb in the direction of the house.

“Maybe you can learn to be a father to her,” she said.

Adam felt the roses slip from his fingers.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere. You've been gone for six months—”

“Five and a half.”

“Six! And do you know how many times you came back and gave me a day off?”

“Four?” Adam guessed.

Her glance was withering.

“Three?”

“Two!” she said.

“Sorry.”

“How many times have you seen your little girl?”

He exhaled and raked his free hand through his hair.

“Twice! And how many times have you called her?”

“As often as I could, but out there the telecommunications were a constant—”

“Forget it. Just make sure your secretary sends me my last paycheck. The pay's good, but I haven't had a day off in I don't know how long.”

Neither have I
, thought Adam, but he knew he was a breed apart—a man who found his everything in work.

He stared as the little coupe stopped at the end of the block and then, just as suddenly, went into reverse. Lurching to a halt on the curb in front of
Adam, the housekeeper rolled down the passengerside window.

“And one other thing—” she said. “I have always, always hated your damn dog. He farts, he drools and he's too old to be cute.”

She put her foot down hard on the accelerator. The coupe sped to the corner, turned and disappeared.

Not a good homecoming. But he wondered if he'd have time to drop in on the dry cleaner and get a few shirts done before leaving for Vegas.

He entered the house, surprised but not shocked to see that it was a mess. Toys, old newspapers and magazines, empty white pizza delivery boxes, and the unmistakable odors of cigarettes and nailpolish remover.

“Hey, Mugs,” he said to the brown-eyed mutt lying in the hall. Mugs hoisted his aged body up to sniff Adam's hand. He wagged his tail appreciatively as his master scratched behind his ear. “She didn't mean it. I'm sure she didn't.”

Yawning, Mugs padded behind him to the back bedroom.

Karen lay on her bed. She lifted her head from the pillow when he entered the room. A halo of chocolate-colored hair frizzed up out of its lopsided pigtails.

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” she said, swiping dirty tears from her cheek. “I lost another housekeeper, didn't I?”

“I did,” Adam corrected. “It has nothing to do with you.”

He sat down on the twin bed.

“If I was a good girl, they wouldn't leave,” Karen said, burying her face in his chest as he brought her up to his embrace. “I'm sorry. I must be bad.”

“You're a good girl. I'm the one who's a bad boss.”

They sat silently contemplating their faults.

“How come you never take me with you?” Karen asked. “I'm old enough. I could take care of myself.”

“You're five years old.”

“But where are you going to find another housekeeper? We've already used them all up.”

“Chicago's got plenty more.”

He thought long and hard about the five years since he had been astonished to be given a baby by the Miami Beach nightclub owner who had told him that a) he was a father, and b) being a mother interfered with her personal growth. He had never seen Karen's mother again, didn't think much about her and barely got a chance to see Karen between jobs. He enjoyed taking Karen to the zoo, the Lake Michigan beach, the ice arena and he'd definitely take her down to the office tomorrow—she'd play with the computer, make paper-clip necklaces, follow his secretary on her errands and use up a lot of drafting paper. And then he'd get
another assignment. A succession of housekeepers had been hired, fired and retired—if they hadn't quit. Affie hadn't struck him as being exceptionally good or bad at what she did—her display of anger hadn't been shocking, just wearying.

Karen rubbed her eyes, her lower lip fluttering with emotion.

He wasn't a good dad. He'd be the first to admit it. He paid the bills, spoiled his only child when he saw her, did his darnedest to keep in touch when he was gone. But he wasn't a dad, not a real dad. And since she didn't have a mother, that left her…

“I suppose you could come with me.”

She stared wide-eyed.

“Where're you going?”

“Las Vegas. You'd love it. So will you, Mugs.”

He lay back on Karen's My Little Pony sheets and as she curled up at his side, told her all about the wonders of Las Vegas: the desert, the pools, the restaurants, the neon signs, the horse-back riding—especially the horse-back riding. Not a word about showgirls, gambling, Elvis impersonators, Wayne Newton or all-night quickie marriage chapels.

Nothing about blondes either.

He shoved out of his head all the worries about him taking care of a five-year-old girl, a prospect more daunting than building the entire city of Las Vegas in a pile of sand.

“Will I really get to ride a horse?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, baby, we'll set you up with horse-back riding lessons first thing.”

His cell phone rang in his pocket. He held up a finger to Karen to caution her to not interrupt. She obediently zipped her fingers across her lips.

“Tyler here.”

“Welcome back, buddy,” the voice of his boss, J. P. Lasser, boomed with the unmistakable lurch and pop of a speaker phone. “I hear from the Brazilian government that the hospital looks wonderful. They've even released payment early. Good work.”

“Thanks, J.P.”

“Only a minor problem.”

“What's that?”

“Miss Venezuela. Her father is upset. Her exfiancé, who happens to be in the Brazilian civil engineering department, is furious.”

“How is she?”

“Taken up your suggestion to go back to college.”

“I'm glad. She's more than just a pretty face.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn't be so charming. I've heard through unofficial sources that Lasser & Thomas won't be getting the contract on the office complex near the hospital because of you.”

“Sorry,” he said. “But what about my next assignment?”

“You're going to love it.”

“Great,” Adam said, winking at his daughter.
She beamed and he resolved that he'd get her those horse-back riding lessons even before he lined up local contractors or took a meeting with the Vegas city officials.

“I'm counting on you, really counting on you because this job means so much to me,” J.P. said, adding, “on a personal basis. It'll give you a little quiet time—and you need it.”

“No, no, I don't need any—”

“And when you come back to Chicago, we'll start talking corner office. But only if you can keep that charm of yours under control. It's a small town with small-town ways. You'll think them terribly quaint, maybe even backwards.”