Page 2 of The Maverick’s Forever Home (Montana Mavericks: Behind Closed Doors #2)

Braden Parker stared at his daughter’s mismatched socks and shook his head.

How had he just noticed? One knee sock was bright pink with white polka dots and the other was dark blue with yellow stars.

Then again, he was running on less than three hours’ sleep, he had one heck of a crick in his neck, and he’d only managed to down one cup of coffee before he and Delilah started their morning routine.

So far, that routine meant Delilah picking out and changing her clothes a half dozen times, trying to do her own hair and poking at the breakfast he made.

Her breakfast of choice was a banana but she was such a tiny thing, he worried it wasn’t enough.

He’d tried French toast, pancakes and eggs but she always reached for her banana.

For her birthday, he’d tried banana pancakes and been delighted with the six extra-large bites she’d taken.

“Daddy?” Delilah liked to hold his hand and swing their arms back and forth—like she was doing now as they entered her school. “You gonna see cows today?” She stared up at him with her big blue eyes.

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled down at her, determined to make her birthday special. “After I do some celebratin’ with you.”

“Cuz it’s my birthday.” Delilah’s smile was so bright and sweet it was impossible for him not to smile back. “I’m the birthday gir-l.”

“Five whole years old.” He wiggled their arms. “Soon, you’ll be driving.”

“Me?” She laughed. “I gotta grow wots.” She held her free hand up over her head and stood on her tiptoes. “Up here.” She jumped, her tangled mess of a ponytail bouncing. “Up this high. Wike this.”

Delilah tried to enunciate all her l ’s, but they still came out sounding like w’s—especially when she was excited.

It was something he’d read up on and was trying to help her with but, if she kept struggling, might be something he’d have to talk to her teacher about.

But no matter what, to him, she was just about the cutest little girl on the planet.

“That’s pretty tall, Delilah. Might take some time.” And he was in no hurry to rush through a single minute with his daughter. He still marveled at how much he loved this tiny wisp of a girl. Not too long ago, he hadn’t known she existed. Now she took up his whole heart—and then some.

“Delilah.” A little girl with curly red ponytails ran up. “Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed Delilah’s hand and tugged his little girl down the hall to their classroom.

It was a relief to see his daughter was making friends.

But why wouldn’t Delilah make friends? She had a happy-go-lucky spirit that could charm even the crustiest of individuals.

His father was proof of that. That was a relief, too.

That his family—his father in particular—had been so eager to welcome his daughter into the family.

They’d been surprised when he’d shown up with her at his brother Miles’s wedding but not as surprised as he’d been when Delilah’s mother, Phoebe, had called him to tell him he was a father—and that she had terminal cancer.

The six months since that phone call had been a whirlwind.

Going to Florida, taking care of Phoebe, handling all the paperwork required to ensure his paternity and legal guardianship of Delilah—made easier by the birth certificate with his name on it—before Phoebe succumbed to cancer, and, finally, bringing his daughter home to Tenacity to start their new life as a family.

If someone had told him he’d be bringing princess and football birthday cupcakes for his daughter’s kindergarten class a year ago, he’d have thought they’d suffered some sort of head injury. But now, here he was, doing exactly that.

All around him, moms and dads were dropping off their kids like it was just another morning.

They knew how to do this—how to be a parent.

While he had so much to learn. Some days, he felt like he was making progress.

Others, he felt like he’d taken three—or more—steps back.

Lucky for him, Delilah was loving, kind, smart as a whip and full of imagination.

When he was struggling, she’d give him a hug or a smile and things wouldn’t seem so bleak anymore.

The only time he felt truly helpless was when she was missing her mother. Delilah’s tears tore at his insides in a way he couldn’t reconcile. Her pain gutted him. And knowing there was nothing he could do to ease her pain? It was the closest thing to torture he could imagine.

“Mr. Parker.” Mrs. Peacock greeted him at the door. “Welcome. I hope you had extra coffee this morning because I can tell today is going to be a high energy day.”

“I’ll try my best to keep up.” He was kicking himself for not filling up an insulated mug and bringing some coffee with him.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” The older woman’s smile offered comfort.

Delilah said Mrs. Peacock was funny, liked to sing songs and gave big, squishy hugs. From the deep lines bracketing the older woman’s eyes and mouth, he suspected she smiled a lot. As far as singing songs and big hugs, he’d take Delilah’s word for it.

“Come on in.” Mrs. Peacock waved him in. “We always start with circle time. Today, you’ll get to be Delilah’s show-and-tell.”

“That’ll be a first.” He chuckled. “Where should I put these?” He held out the cupcakes.

After the cupcakes were stored away for midmorning snack, Mrs. Peacock managed to get each and every student onto the brightly colored carpet at the front of the room for sharing time.

To Braden, it looked a lot like herding cats.

As soon as one kid was seated, another was crawling across the floor, picking on another student, or—as was the case with one little boy roaring like a lion in the corner— making noise until Mrs. Peacock coaxed him onto the mat next to her.

Braden leaned against the cabinets along the back wall and watched his little girl.

She looked a mess. Looking at her now, he was surprised Mrs. Peacock hadn’t said something to him.

Her attempts to braid her hair had turned into one giant tangled ponytail.

No matter how many times he offered to help, she insisted on doing it herself.

And since she didn’t seem the least bit bothered by how her handiwork turned out, he didn’t have the heart to argue with her.

Then there were the knee socks.

Preparing his little girl for her first harsh winter was more challenging than he’d anticipated.

For one thing, Delilah hated socks. She said they made her feet sweat and itch and she couldn’t move her toes.

Since the first four years of her life had been spent mostly barefoot or in flip-flops, it made sense.

Phoebe’s rented studio was part of an old apartment complex that had seen better days.

The location, however, had been pretty idyllic—perched along the dunes of Florida’s Jensen Beach.

His daughter had never known the need for thick socks, boots or coats, nor had she experienced cold weather.

And Montana cold was a different kind of cold.

Cold that required socks. Delilah had been adamantly against all socks until she’d spied the rack of colorful knee socks.

Then, she’d squealed with glee and fallen deeply in love with the knitted foot coverings.

Now two whole drawers of her chest of drawers was nothing but knee socks.

While he did his best to keep matching pairs, Delilah’s selection process seemed to be more haphazard.

“Delilah. I believe you have something extra special to share with us today?” Mrs. Peacock asked.

When Delilah got excited, she did this whole-body crinkle thing that always made him chuckle. She crinkled up her nose, her shoulders, even drew her hands up to her chest—like she was about to burst with excitement. “I do, I do. It’s my birthday!” The words sort of erupted from her.

“It is?” the red-haired girl asked.

A chorus of “Happy birthdays” followed. All the while, Delilah sat beaming.

“Is that why your dad is here?” a little boy asked.

“Uh-huh.” Delilah waved at him. “Right, Daddy?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for his little girl to smile any bigger, but she was now—and his heart was flooded with happiness.

“Where’s your mommy?” the red-haired girl asked. “Is she coming?”

“No.” Delilah shook her head, her smile instantly dimming.

Braden wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and hug her close.

He didn’t want anything to ruin Delilah’s birthday.

He wanted her to smile and laugh and giggle all day long.

But there was no forgetting the truth. Phoebe Billings was gone.

His little girl had lost her mother to cancer, and there was nothing he could do or say to fix that.

“My mama lives in Swissaland with my other daddy.” This from another little girl. “She calls on my birthday.”

A boy with a buzzed haircut sat forward. “My gramma makes my cake.”

“My daddy can’t come this year ’cuz he’s in jail.” The boy who said this shrugged like it was no big deal.

“How about we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Delilah?” Mrs. Peacock cut in quickly. “First, we need a party hat.” She put a pom-pom topped party hat on Delilah’s head. “Perfect. Are we all ready?”

Once the “singing” was over, Mrs. Peacock went over their sight words for the week, had them repeat the words, then gave them a thumbs-up.

“Excellent.” About that time, the overhead speaker crackled and the disembodied voice of the elementary school principal began the school announcements.

When Delilah’s name was included in the birthday announcements, she crinkled up in excitement all over again.

The rest of the morning went pretty smoothly and, before he knew it, it was snack time. As the birthday girl, Delilah would get to pass out her cupcakes.

“Daddy.” Delilah’s gaze bounced from the cupcakes to his face. “These are wrong.”

“What’s wrong with them?” He squatted beside his daughter, assessing the plastic container of cupcakes. He’d made sure half of them had plastic footballs on top and the other half had tiny plastic crowns.

“Chocowate cupcakes.” Her lower lip wobbled, and she struggled with her l’s a bit more, he noticed. “I don’t wike chocowate.” She shoved the container into his hands. “Mommy knows. I… I only wike vaniwa.”

He swallowed against the tightness of his throat. “I’m sorry, Delilah—”

She shook her head, then ran past him and out of the classroom.

“Delilah.” He stood, handed the cupcakes to Mrs. Peacock and ran out of the classroom.

He hadn’t thought to ask her what her preference was.

He hadn’t thought something like this would upset her so.

But he should have. He rounded the corner, his concern mounting when his little girl was nowhere to be seen.

“Delilah, wait!” he called out, trying not to panic.

The school kept the doors locked so she was here somewhere. But where? He paused, scanning the hallway—and locking eyes with a woman inside a nearby classroom. She stepped outside the room and asked, “I’m guessing you’re looking for the little girl in the knee socks?”

He nodded, swallowing against the tightness of his throat. “Yes, ma’am. That would be my daughter.”

“She went into the girls’ bathroom. Down the hall.” There was compassion in the woman’s eyes as she pointed. “She’s safe. Don’t worry.”

Delilah was fine. In the bathroom. He could breathe again.

But not worrying? That’s all he’d been doing since he’d become Delilah’s sole parent. “Is it that obvious?” He took a deep breath and looked at the woman.

She nodded. “Maybe. A little.” Her smile was almost apologetic.

It was entirely the wrong time and place for him to feel any sort of appreciation for the woman in front of him, but he was.

For the thirty seconds their gazes held, he wasn’t aware of much else.

Something about her grabbed a hold of him—until a door slammed somewhere down the hall, that is.

Then he was giving himself a mental shake.

If he didn’t have a daughter to find and a birthday to save, he would’ve found out who this woman was. But he did. So he touched the brim of his cowboy hat, said, “Ma’am,” and set off in search of Delilah.