Building The Perfect Daddy

Ryder to the Rescue!

On location for his home-improvement show, “America’s Hottest Handyman” Ryder Wallace has his hands full with the station’s contest winner. Lauryn Schulte is a single mom with a falling-down house, a failing business and two kids under four—exactly the kind of woman that has this playboy running for the hills…but not this time. Not when her little girl has him playing tea party, building castles and cuddling her baby brother.

And Lauryn? She torments his libido in ways that should be outlawed. Ryder doesn’t do relationships with strings—but Lauryn has him tied up in knots. He’s got to cut and run. So why does he keep getting tangled up in the most outrageous idea of all—becoming a husband and a daddy?

She felt his eyes on her.

He watched her every move as she came downstairs from putting the kids to bed.

“Thanks for babysitting,” she said. “And for the pizza. I’m sure you have more exciting plans for your Friday night, but I appreciate that you stayed.”

“I didn’t have plans. And I enjoyed hanging out with you and the kids.”

She sat across from him. “You’re my daughter’s new BFF, you know.”

His eyes glinted. “We’re more than BFFs. She asked me to marry her.”

“Well, you gave her flowers and played Barbies with her. Of course she’s head over heels in love with you.”

“Is that all it takes?”

“For a three-year-old.”

He leaned forward and settled his hands on her knees. Even through the denim she felt the heat of his touch—a heat that seared her whole body. “What about the three-year-old’s mom?”

She eyed him warily. “Are you flirting with me?”

“If you have to ask, my skills must be rusty.”

“It’s more likely that mine are,” she admitted, feeling out of her element here.

He lowered his head toward her. “Then maybe we should work on changing that.”

* * *

Those Engaging Garretts —The Carolina Cousins

Building the Perfect Daddy

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BRENDA HARLEN is a former attorney who once had the privilege of appearing before the Supreme Court of Canada. The practice of law taught her a lot about the world and reinforced her determination to become a writer—because in fiction, she could promise a happy ending! Now she is an award-winning, national bestselling author of more than thirty titles for Mills & Boon. You can keep up-to-date with Brenda on Facebook and Twitter or through her website, www.brendaharlen.com.

This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband, who has proved, time and again over the years, he is capable of tackling the various home improvements our various homes have required (with thanks for finally putting up the new trim in the hallway!).

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was raining again.

The sound of the water drumming on the roof woke Lauryn up well before her seven-month-old son. She cracked an eyelid and squinted at the glowing numbers of her alarm clock—5:28 a.m.

Way too freakin’ early.

She rolled over and pulled the covers up over her head, as if that might muffle the ominous sound of the rain. When she’d had a couple of leaky spots patched in the spring, the roofer had warned her that the whole thing needed to be redone. She’d nodded her understanding because she did understand. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the money for that kind of major expense right now, and the sound of the water pounding down felt like Mother Nature beating on her head, chastising her for the foolish choices she’d made.

But she was no longer the idealistic twenty-seven-year-old who had been as much in love with the idea of being a bride as the man who had proposed to her. And she was still paying for that mistake—which was why she couldn’t afford a new roof right now.

She looked up at the ceiling and sent up a silent prayer: Please hold out for just one more year. Just long enough for me figure out my finances and my life.

She didn’t know who she was trying to bargain with—the roof or Mother Nature or God. At this point, she would willingly make a deal with anyone who had the power to change her fate.

Her parents—Tom and Susan Garrett—had given her and Rob the money to buy a house when they’d married. A proper house, like the simple Craftsman-style bungalow in Ridgemount that she’d thought would be perfect for a young couple starting out. But she’d let her charming new husband convince her that they could split the money between a less expensive fixer-upper and his start-up sporting-goods business, The Locker Room.

After six years, the house was still in need of major repairs, the business was failing and she was on her own with a preschooler and a baby. Was it any wonder that she only wanted to stay in bed all day with the covers over her head?

But she didn’t have that option. She didn’t get to follow her bliss, as Rob had claimed he was doing when he walked away from all of his responsibilities. She was stuck right where she was with the old roof, drafty windows, leaky plumbing and rotting porch.

Still, she tried to focus on the positive—her final divorce papers had come in the mail a few days earlier and she was grateful that it was done. She might have wished away her entire marriage, except then she wouldn’t have Kylie and Zachary.

No matter what happened, she was determined not to let her mistakes impact their lives. She had to figure a way out of the precarious situation they were in, to give them a stable and loving home. Hopefully, the way out would be found within the business plan she’d prepared for her upcoming meeting at the bank, because taking more money from her family was definitely not an option.

She glanced at the clock again—5:57 a.m.

Knowing that Zachary would be up within the hour, she reluctantly pushed back the covers and slid out of bed. Avoiding the creakier floorboards, she tiptoed to his room to confirm that he was sleeping soundly in his crib. He was so big already. Almost eighteen pounds and twenty-eight inches long at his last checkup, he’d long since mastered rolling from his back to his stomach and over again and was now starting to use the rails of his crib to pull himself up.

She gently touched the ends of his baby-soft curls and felt her heart swell inside of her chest. She might hate her ex-husband for a lot of reasons, but she would always be grateful to him for the two precious children he’d given her.

Moving away from the crib, she headed to the master bath. Stripping away the tank top and boxer shorts she’d slept in, she showered quickly, determined to have herself put together and ready for the day before either of the kids woke up. But she hadn’t even finished drying her hair when she heard the baby stirring. Zachary was inevitably up with the sun, but apparently he knew seven in the morning even when the sun wasn’t shining.

She hurried downstairs to fix him a bottle of formula. He was eating some solid foods now and drinking from a sippy cup during the day, but a bottle continued to be part of his early morning and late-night routine, and Lauryn appreciated the quiet time snuggling with her baby. She returned to the bedroom with the bottle in hand and lifted him from his crib, changed his diaper and settled into the rocking chair by the window to feed him.

When Zachary was satisfied—at least for the moment—she headed across the hall to check on her daughter. Stepping into the little girl’s bedroom was like stepping into the pages of a fairy tale. The interior walls were painted to look like they were made of stone blocks, with three arched “windows” providing spectacular views of the kingdom, including snowcapped mountains, a lush green forest and even a waterfall spilling into a crystal-clear lake. There was also an exquisite glass carriage drawn by a pair of white horses making its way down a long, winding road toward another castle with numerous turrets and towers. The castle was guarded by knights and dragons; there were wildflowers in the grass, fairies peeking out from the trees and butterflies, birds and hot air balloons in the sky.

She didn’t know how many hours her sister had spent, first sketching and then painting the mural. Jordyn had created a complete fantasy world for her niece, and Kylie absolutely loved everything about it. It was only Lauryn who had recently started to worry that she wasn’t doing her little girl any favors by encouraging her belief in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters.

Lauryn used to believe in those same things. And when Rob Schulte had proposed, she’d been certain that he was her Prince Charming. Even during the rocky periods in their marriage, she’d been confident that their love would guide them through the difficult terrain. And she’d remained optimistic right up until the day her prince had ridden off into the sunset with a yoga instructor, leaving her trapped in a crumbling castle surrounded by fire-breathing dragons in the form of unpaid creditors.

It had taken her a while, but she’d eventually come to accept that he’d never loved her the way she’d loved him. She could forgive him for walking out on their marriage—but not for walking away from their children. She was relieved, but not really surprised, that Rob hadn’t shown any inclination to fight for custody. She had enough struggles trying to manage the business he’d left floundering and keep a leaky roof over all of their heads without battling on yet another front.

As she made her way down to the kitchen, Zachary let out a loud belch, then a relieved sigh.

She continued to rub his back as he settled. “Does that feel better now?”

The baby, of course, didn’t answer.

Feeling dampness on her shoulder, she tore a paper towel off the roll and attempted to wipe off the spit-up that was now sliding down the front of her shirt. Obviously she would have to change, but Kylie would be up soon and she wanted to get her breakfast started.

She settled Zachary in his high chair with a handful of Cheerios on his tray to keep him occupied while she gathered the necessary ingredients to make French toast. Hopefully Kylie’s favorite breakfast would make the little girl more amenable to spending the afternoon with her grandparents while Lauryn attended her meeting at the bank.

Susan and Tom Garrett absolutely doted on their grandchildren, and Kylie had always loved spending time with them, but since Rob had gone, the little girl had become unusually clingy and demanding. It was as if she was afraid to let her mother out of her sight in case she disappeared from her life, too.

Lauryn was turning the first slice of bread in the pan when she heard Kylie’s footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, her daughter trudged into the kitchen, wearing her favorite princess nightgown made of a silky pink fabric with a ruffled hem, white silk underskirt and puffy sleeves—and a decidedly un-princess-like scowl on her face. Kylie had never been a morning person.

Climbing into her booster seat at the table, she reached for the cup of orange juice waiting for her. Lauryn cut up the fried bread and set the plate in front of her daughter, who picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of toast. Lauryn sat beside her and sipped her coffee.

Kylie finished about half of her breakfast, then pushed her plate aside. “Can we go to the park today?”

“Maybe later,” Lauryn said.

“I wanna go now,” her daughter insisted.

“It’s raining now,” she said. “And Mama has to take care of some paperwork this morning.”

Kylie folded her arms over her chest in an all-too-familiar mutinous posture. “I wanna go to the park.”

“Later,” she promised, kissing the top of her daughter’s head before lifting Zachary out of his high chair. “Right now, we have to get the two of you washed up and dressed.”

She’d just propped the baby on her hip when the doorbell rang. Kylie immediately raced down the hall.

With a weary sigh, Lauryn followed. If it had been up to her, she would have ignored the summons. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with some kid selling chocolate bars or magazine subscriptions, especially when she could afford neither. And why anyone would be going door-to-door on a Wednesday morning in this weather was beyond her comprehension, but since Kylie had already climbed up on the sofa in the living room and was pushing the curtains apart to see who was at the door, she could hardly pretend that no one was home.

“There’s lotsa peoples outside,” Kylie told her.

Lots of people?

Lauryn knew she was frowning when she unlocked the door and pulled it open—a frown that deepened when she saw that her daughter hadn’t been exaggerating. In addition to the mouthwateringly handsome and impressively muscled man on her porch wearing a hard hat and a tool belt—Oh, please God, do not let this be some kind of stripper-gram, because I have no idea how I’d explain that to my daughter—there was a man on the lawn with what looked like a video camera propped on his shoulder, a trio of people standing a little farther away under an umbrella and a van and two pickup trucks parked on the road in front of the house.

The hunk in the hard hat and the tool belt smiled, causing a fluttery sensation in her belly, along with a nagging suspicion that she’d seen him somewhere before.

“Are you Lauryn Schulte?” he asked.

“I am,” she confirmed, her tone giving no hint of the unexpected and unwelcome awareness she was feeling. “But unless you’re from the North Carolina State Lottery with one of those big checks for me, you can get yourself and your camera crew off my property.”

Chapter Two

The experiences gained from three years in front of the camera had taught Ryder Wallace to keep a smile on his face under almost any circumstances. Circumstances certainly more challenging than a frazzled mother with a baby on her hip and what looked like baby vomit on the shoulder of the pale yellow T-shirt she wore over faded denim jeans.

Except that she then closed the door in his smiling face.

And locked it.

He actually heard the click of the dead bolt sliding into place.

Not quite the reaction he’d anticipated.

“Cut!”

Owen Diercks jogged over to the rickety porch, where Ryder was still staring, slack jawed, at the closed door.

“What in the hell just happened?” the director demanded.

“I think we came at a bad time,” Ryder said.

“I’m tired of standing around waiting for these women to primp for the camera,” Owen grumbled. “Whoever decided to surprise the contest winners obviously didn’t think that one through.”

“I believe the surprise aspect was your idea,” Ryder said, although the home owner’s tone made him suspect that Lauryn Schulte’s reasons for closing the door on his face were about more than an unwillingness to face the cameras without her lipstick on.

“Which is probably why no one ever listens to my ideas,” the director acknowledged as lightning flashed in the distance. He glanced at the sky, a worried look on his face, then at his watch. “I don’t particularly want to stand around in the rain for God only knows how long while our home owner does her hair and makeup.”

“Do you want to wrap for today?” Ryder asked him.

“No, I want to stay on schedule,” Owen grumbled as thunder rumbled and lightning flashed again. “But it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen today.”

Ryder glanced back at Carl, who was using a garbage bag to keep his camera sheltered from the rain while he waited for further instructions.

“Pack it up,” Owen called out to him.

Carl nodded and immediately moved toward the van with his equipment. The assistant to the director and the AV tech followed the cameraman.

“We need to get back on schedule,” Owen said. “Which means that someone needs to remind Mrs. Schulte of the terms and conditions she agreed to when she submitted her application.” He looked at Ryder. “Do you want me to do it?”

“I will,” he offered. Because as great as Owen was in handling the numerous and various aspects of his job, he also had a tendency to piss people off. And after only a brief interaction with Lauryn Schulte, Ryder got the impression that she was already pissed off.

Owen nodded. “I expect to be back here first thing Monday morning with everyone ready to go.”

“They will be,” Ryder promised, with more conviction than he felt.

As the director made his way down the driveway to his own vehicle, Ryder considered his options. For him, walking away wasn’t one of them.

He was accustomed to home owners opening their doors wide and inviting him and his Ryder to the Rescue crew to come inside—not just happy but grateful to see him. Because it was his job to fix other contractors’ mistakes, to finish the projects that do-it-yourselfers gave up on doing. In sum, he gave people what they wanted and they were appreciative of his time and efforts. They hugged him and sent him thank-you cards. They were never dismissive or disinterested.

Clearly Lauryn Schulte didn’t understand what was at stake here, so he knocked on her door again.

There was no response.

He knew she was home, and she knew that he knew she was home, and thinking about that began to piss him off.

He knocked once more, and once more she ignored him.

But the little girl pushed back the curtains at the front window and waved to him. Something about her looked vaguely familiar—or maybe she just looked like most little girls of a similar age, even if he didn’t know what that age might be.

He lifted a hand and waved back.

She smiled and twin dimples creased her cheeks. She really was a cute kid. Through the glass, he heard her mother say something. Though he couldn’t decipher the actual words, the message was clear enough when the child gave one last wave before the curtains fell back into place over the window.

He sat on the porch, mostly sheltered from the rain pounding down around him by the overhang, and waited.

As he did, he made a quick visual scan of the surrounding area. It was a decent neighborhood, showing some signs of age. Most of the houses were simple designs—primarily bungalows and two stories, between thirty and forty years old—but well kept, the lawns tidy, flower beds tended. There were no flowers in Mrs. Schulte’s garden, only a few scraggly bushes and a plastic bucket and shovel likely intended for digging in beach sand rather than potting soil.

He heard a click behind him—the dead bolt releasing—then the sound of the door opening.

“Why are you sitting on my porch in the rain?” Lauryn asked wearily.

He stood up and turned. Though her sweetly curved mouth was unsmiling and her soft gray-green eyes were filled with suspicion, neither detracted from her beauty. But he’d known a lot of beautiful women, and he wasn’t going to be distracted from his task by an unexpected tug of attraction.

“Because you didn’t invite me to come inside,” he responded.

“And I’m not going to,” she said firmly.

“Let’s start at the top again,” he suggested, with a hopeful smile. “My name is Ryder Wallace—I’m the host of WNCC’s home improvement show Ryder to the Rescue.”

She was unimpressed. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“I’m here to discuss the details of the work you want done, and it would be really great if you’d let me come in out of the rain to talk about it.”

Though she was still frowning, she finally stepped away from the door to allow him entry.

“Do you have any coffee?” he asked hopefully.

“I thought you wanted to talk.”

He smiled again. “Talking over a cup of coffee in the kitchen is so much friendlier than standing in the foyer.”

“You’re right,” she said, “but I’m not feeling particularly friendly.”

The little girl, who had been hiding behind her mother, peeked out at him now. “You can have tea wif me,” she offered.

Lauryn sighed. “Kylie, what did Mama tell you about strangers?”

But the little girl shook her head. “He gived me flowers.”

Ryder looked at the mom for an explanation, but she seemed equally confused by her daughter’s statement.

“At the weddin’,” Kylie clarified.

“My sister’s wedding,” he guessed, because it was the only one he’d attended recently.

Lauryn’s puzzlement gave way to speculation. “Are you telling me that Avery Wallace is your sister?”

He nodded, confirming his relationship to the obstetrician who had recently married Justin Garrett, another doctor at Charisma’s Mercy Hospital.

“Okay,” she finally—reluctantly—relented. “I guess I can offer you a cup of coffee.”

“Were you at the wedding?” he asked, following mother and daughter through the hallway to the kitchen he recognized from the photos she’d submitted with her application.

She shook her head. “No. Zachary—” she glanced at the baby in the playpen, playing with colorful plastic rings “—was running a bit of a fever, so we stayed home. Kylie went with my parents. And when you caught the bride’s bouquet—”

“Avery threw it at me,” he felt compelled to point out in his defense. “It was an automatic reflex.”

She shrugged, as if the details were unimportant, and set a filter into the basket of the coffeemaker on the counter—the only modern appliance visible in the whole room.

“And when you caught the bouquet,” she said again, measuring grounds into the filter, “you gave the flowers to Kylie.”

He looked at the little girl in the frilly nightgown and finally remembered. “You were wearing a dark blue dress?”

Kylie smiled and nodded.

“Then you must be related to Justin,” he said to Lauryn.

“He’s my cousin,” she admitted. “Our fathers are brothers.”

“Small world,” he mused, wondering if the loose familial connection would help or hinder his case.

“Small town,” she corrected, handing him the mug of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Sugar, please.”

She offered him the sugar bowl and a spoon so he could fix it the way he liked it.

As he did, he asked, “Why do I get the impression that you changed your mind about being on the show?”

“What are you talking about?”

He frowned at the genuine bafflement in her tone. “You applied for a Room Rescue from Ryder to the Rescue.”

“My sister Tristyn is addicted to the show, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it,” she told him. “I don’t have time to watch a lot of television, and when I do, it’s usually Nick Jr.”