A Dad At Last by Marie Ferrarella Page B

alive.
    â€œI want,” Lacy told her, offering the brightest smile she could, “whatever’s best for Chase, and being close to his father is best.”
    Megan nodded, then surprised Lacy by pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I’m going to like you, Lacy. Very, very much.”
    For the moment, Lacy was left speechless. And properly appreciative.

CHAPTER SIX
    â€œI T NEEDS WORK ,” Connor warned Lacy as he opened the front door to the new ranch house two days later. He watched her as she walked in, trying to gauge her thoughts by the expression on her face.
    He got nowhere.
    The ranch house was new only in the sense that it was new to him. It was probably close to eighty years old, at the very least, and if he had to guess, he would have said that the last repairs or additions had taken place thirty years ago. And that was being charitable.
    One sweeping look around revealed that renovations were desperately needed. But the acreage was good and the proximity to his family better. Connor counted himself lucky to have found the ranch on such short notice.
    â€œDoesn’t everything?” Lacy countered vaguely, lost in thought.
    Holding Chase to her, she looked around slowly. She made her way to the large bay window that faced the direction they’d just come from. The heavy, dust-laden drapes trapped any sunlight, keeping it from entering the room. She located the drapery cord andtugged at it. The drapes refused to budge. She took a corner of the dirty fabric and pulled hard. A little of the drape gave.
    Sunlight struggled to get through windows that were almost opaque.
    She’d been in better places, she mused. But she’d also been in worse. And with its high wood-beam ceilings and spacious living room, the place possessed definite possibilities. She always believed in looking positively at the possibilities.
    Lacy crossed to the fireplace. The bricks were almost bowed beneath the thick layers of dirt, some crumbling in places. The fireplace, like the rest of the house, had the air of long-standing neglect.
    Wrapping her arms around the baby, Lacy debated where best to start reviving the victim. She turned to look at Connor, wondering if it was her imagination or if he was watching her intently. Why? What did he expect her to say?
    Lacy wandered over to a leather sofa. It was hard to say what the original color had been. Somewhere between black and tan.
    Her mouth curved. She wondered if she would stick to the furniture if she sat down. “Looks like housekeeping wasn’t a high priority on the last owner’s list.”
    He gave her the pertinent information, spitting the words out like an old-fashioned teletype. “Widower. Lived alone after his only son was killed in the GulfWar. Garrett said he kind of let things slide after that.” Slide wasn’t the word she would have used, Lacy thought. More like a chicken hawk’s spiraling descent. “The man was just waiting for an offer. I gave him a fair price.”
    â€œI’m sure you did.”
    Probably more than fair, if she knew Connor. Lacy looked around again. She didn’t see anywhere she’d be willing to put Chase down, so she continued holding him as she made her way around the first floor. Almost afraid to venture there, she saved the kitchen for last.
    The stove was going to be the first thing to go, she decided the moment she saw the blackened appliance. She had her doubts it even functioned.
    It was time to stop being a spectator and dive into the challenge. Lacy turned and almost bumped into Connor. He was standing behind her like a shadow. “I think I’ve seen enough.”
    Placing a protective hand over her son, she made her way out of the dreary room and into the living room. The space looked better to her now. It was all relative, she mused.
    Lacy raised her eyes to his. “Remember what I said about housekeeping being extra?”
    He’d half expected her to