Adopt-a-Dad

by Marion Lennox

  “No,” he said flatly. “I don’t need them.”

  “I’ve learned not to need my parents, too,” she told him sadly. “I had no choice. But every morsel of information I could ever find out about them was important to me. I can’t understand why it’s not important to you.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It’s all to do with not letting people close, isn’t it,” she probed, still gently stroking Socks. “Not needing anyone. Pretending you can stand alone-that you’re you and you’re not part of anyone else.”

  “Jenny, get off my case.” He sighed. “I do let people close. My brother and sisters.”

  “You love them?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “But you tell yourself that you don’t need them.”

  “Look, this is getting a bit personal,” he said tightly. The emotion in the room was supercharged, and his reaction to emotion was to bolt. “Do you mind if we just concentrate on Socks?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, her green eyes shrewd and assessing, and Michael thought suddenly-even more uncomfortably-that she saw more than he wanted her to. Finally she nodded.

  “Well, at least we know he needs us,” she said cheerfully, looking at the dog. She cast another sideways glance at Michael. “Tell me,” she said. “If you were down on the riverbank just now-alone and not with me-would you have brought Socks home?”

  “No!”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows shot up.

  “Definitely not.”

  He looked at Socks, and Socks looked at him. Michael felt a pang. Reproach was something this dog had honed to a fine art.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have abandoned him entirely, he thought. He would have at least taken him to the pound.

  Jenny was shaking her head in disgust. “Then it’s just as well I’m here,” she told him with asperity. “Michael Lord, you need humanizing.”

  “By humanizing, you mean turning me into chief cook and bottle washer for a misbegotten mutt?”

  The mutt rolled over on his back, exposing his newly dematted tummy. Socks closed his eyes in bliss and waved one back leg, begging to be scratched. Michael glared at the dog, glared at Jenny, then scratched.

  And Jenny grinned.

  “That’s exactly what I do mean,” she said smugly. “It’s very therapeutic. She lifted another tuft for Michael to clip, but she winced as she did it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You winced.”

  “I did not wince. I never wince.”

  “You winced.” He frowned. “Cramp?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not a labor pain?” he demanded, startled.

  “Yeah, right. One labor pain and I intend to start yelling my lungs out. That was a ‘my leg’s been stuck in one position for too long’ wince-if there was a wince. And if there was, then it was a very little wince, and I’m denying it, anyway.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He was sure she was hurting. “Jenny?” What was he thinking of? She’d had one heck of a day, and it was late. “Go to bed, Jen,” he said sternly.

  “No. I want to finish this-and we haven’t decided where he’ll sleep.”

  “I’ll organize it. I’ll finish his brushing. Go to bed.”

  “I am tired,” she admitted. She paused. “I’ll go soon. But I want to watch.”

  “Then lie on the couch and watch. Now!” He turned his voice into a roar, and her eyes twinkled-just the way he liked them most.

  “Yes, sir.” She started to rise, but staggered, and he moved like lightning to help her, holding her hands, pulling her up then supporting her as she lowered herself onto the couch.

  “Ten minutes of watching,” he said sternly, reluctantly releasing her hands. She felt nice. “And then bed.”

  “You sound like my father.”

  “That’s exactly what I feel like.”

  ONLY IT WASN’T at all what he felt like, he thought as he brushed Socks. Jenny’s father? That would make the feelings he was having paternal. Ha!

  The dog was asleep, abandoning himself to Michael’s ministrations with absolute trust. Michael had found the very spot on a dog’s belly that needed scratching most, and he’d thus been deemed a friend for life. He could do anything he wanted, and it was okay with Socks. Socks was fed and clean and flea-free, and he was with belly scratchers. Friends. He could afford to sleep because he was in doggy heaven.

  And it suddenly seemed like that for Michael, too, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

  It was midnight on Sunday. He should be still over with the guys or else sleeping the sleep of the dead, he told himself. Instead, he was sitting by the fire, gently brushing a starving mongrel and watching a very pregnant and very lovely woman drift off to sleep beside him. She’d watched and watched for a whole four minutes, and every minute her eyes became heavier.

  And now she slept with Socks.

  It was strange. Surreal.

  He should stop brushing, he told himself, his hand still rhythmically stroking. He should boot Socks into the laundry room and send Jenny to bed. But he wanted her to wake up the next morning to a perfectly groomed dog. He knew she’d expect it of him.

  And he was content exactly where he was.

  So he brushed on into the night, woman and dog sleeping beside him. And when he finished brushing, he sat and stared into the flames for a very long time.

  SOMETIME about two in the morning he decided he should go to bed. He was three-quarters asleep himself, the dog settled on his knees with his long ears draped onto the floor, and he was resting against the couch with Jenny’s sleeping face just inches from his. The fire had died to a heap of glowing embers, and there were no more thoughts left to think. There were only feelings, and feelings were threatening to overwhelm him.

  So…bed.

  “Come on, boy,” he told Socks. “Let’s get you settled.” His body was lethargic, unwilling to stir, but he forced himself upright. The dog whimpered in protest. Michael stood firm, then stooped and lifted Socks into his arms.

  “Let’s introduce you to the garden and then show you your sleeping arrangements.” He cast one long, lingering look at Jenny and left her to her slumbers.

  The garden was entirely to Socks’s satisfaction. He did what he needed to do in the manner of a well-trained dog, then headed indoors and directed himself straight for the living room again.

  “No way,” Michael told him. “The laundry room’s where dogs sleep.”

  Socks looked reproachfully at him as if he’d just taken offense. He sighed-heck, the dog’s sigh was almost human-and then trod heavily to his designated sleeping place. He eyed a couple of dry towels Michael had laid out for him as if they were an affront to his dignity, sighed again, then watched with mournful eyes as the door was closed firmly behind Michael, locking him in.

  WHICH LEFT JENNY.

  He could leave her in the living room, Michael thought. It was warm enough. She could sleep on the couch for one night.

  The couch wasn’t quite long enough, he decided. Her legs were bent. She’d be better off in bed.

  But there was no way in the world he intended waking her, so he stooped and gathered her gently into his arms, lifting her to lie against him.

  She didn’t stir. Her body was warm against his bare chest. His bathrobe seemed far softer against his skin now than when he wore it himself. She was totally relaxed in sleep. And she smelled of something. What?

  He couldn’t place it. He didn’t know what she smelled of. He knew enough of Jenny now to know she wouldn’t be wearing some expensive perfume, but whatever it was, it was lovely. Lavender water, maybe? Or maybe the smell was just Jenny.

  This was ridiculous. He was growing sentimental in his old age. He got a grip-metaphorically as well as literally-and carried his lovely burden to her bedroom.

  She still didn’t stir. He lowered her onto the bed, pulled the bedclothes away, and then rolled her
over so she was lying on the sheet. Then he unfastened her robe and stared for a second, his mouth twisting at the sight of her pregnant body in her shabby pajamas. She looked defenseless. Young. Poor.

  His sisters wouldn’t be seen dead in clothes like these, he thought grimly. Maybe he could call Lana tomorrow and ask what women wore when they were pregnant, something soft and pretty and-

  What was he thinking of? Jenny wouldn’t thank him for criticizing her clothes!

  Enough. He stooped to pull the bedclothes over her, and as if he’d spoken her name, she stirred and opened her eyes. She looked at him as if she was dreaming. Her eyes crinkled into a smile of pleasure, but they had that look that told him she wasn’t seeing him. She was seeing some lovely thing in her dreams.

  He touched her eyelids, closing them gently.

  “Sleep,” he told her. “Sleep, Jen.”

  “Love…” It was a husky whisper. Her eyes didn’t open. She wasn’t seeing him-heaven knew who she was seeing-but her arms came out and her hands reached for his face, urging him down to her. He was so surprised that he let himself be propelled toward her.

  “Love.” The word was whispered in the dark, and her lips found his as he froze into stunned submission. He let himself be kissed.

  Her lips were so soft, urgent, even in sleep. They tasted like nectar, and he couldn’t believe what she was doing. Her hands were holding his face against hers, and her mouth was searching, searching…

  And finding. She had what she wanted in the touch of his mouth against hers. She had…what?

  Whatever it was was indefinable. The touch was like fire between them, a fierce, burning pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt his gut tighten, and it was all he could do not to gather her body against his and sink beside her on the soft, welcoming bed.

  No! For one long moment Michael froze, but she was too sweet. Like a siren’s song, she was impossible to resist. He let himself be drawn in, sinking to sit on the bed beside her and returning her kiss with a passion that stunned him. With a fire he didn’t know he possessed. With a need…

  No!

  This was crazy. Jenny was asleep! She was dreaming of her dead husband, not him!

  Somehow he dragged himself back, and her hands fell loosely to her sides. Her eyes were still closed, but her mouth curved into a gentle smile of happiness. She was making no objection. She’d kissed her man, and now the dream could continue.

  “My love,” she whispered, and she turned, snuggling into the pillows and drifting into dreams in which Michael had no part.

  HOW COULD HE sleep after that?

  He couldn’t. No man could. He lay and stared into the dark for a long, long time. At about three or four there was a whimper from the laundry room, then another. Not a howl. If it had been a howl, maybe he could have resisted, but the dog sounded as miserable as he was. And lonely.

  He swore, then padded through the living room and opened the laundry room door. Socks lay on his towels and looked at him with eyes that expected nothing-he’d lost all hope.

  “This is ridiculous,” Michael said. “You should be in the pound.”

  The dog’s eyes said he agreed with him entirely. That was what he deserved.

  “She wanted me to brush you. I’ve fed you and housed you. There’s nothing else you need.”

  The eyes said he was entirely right. Socks needed nothing more. Except…

  “Come on,” Michael said, goaded, holding the door wide. “I guess I’m lonesome, too.”

  It was the first time he’d admitted such a thing in his entire life.

  It was also the first time in his entire life that Michael Lord shared his bed with a dog. Yet still he stayed awake.

  Because all he really wanted to do was to share a bed with Jenny.

  CHAPTER TEN

  J ENNY SLEPT LATE-gloriously late. She woke to sunlight streaming in over her bright coverlet and to a snuffling at her side. A moist tongue touched her tentatively on the cheek. She smiled with delight and rolled over to embrace one ecstatic dog.

  “Socks! How did you get in here?” And then she frowned, remembering the events of the night before. “How did I get in here? Michael?”

  He must have carried her in. Her eyes flew open, and the memory of a dream came back to her-a dream so sweet it made her toes curl and a blush creep across her cheeks. Michael holding her. Michael’s mouth on hers, the feel of his body…

  “It must have been a dream,” she said fiercely, sitting up with a start. Socks looked inquiringly at her and let his tongue loll, waiting for the next move. “I never would have… He wouldn’t…”

  Unbidden, her fingers came up to touch her mouth, and the taste of him still seemed to be there, infinitely sweet.

  Michael.

  “For heaven’s sake, what am I thinking of? It was probably you doing the kissing, you dopey mutt.” She gave Socks a hard, swift hug and swung her feet out of bed-then stopped as a knock sounded at the apartment door.

  She froze. Michael would get it. She’d just stay here.

  Michael didn’t get it. The knock sounded again, firm and sure, and Jenny figured this wasn’t someone who’d go away. She looked at the clock on her bedside table and gasped in disbelief. It was ten o’clock!

  She never slept until ten o’clock. Never!

  Michael would be at work. He must have left without waking her.

  The knock sounded again.

  She didn’t want to answer it. Not alone. But if it was the immigration people, then the worst thing she could do was to pretend not to be here. She took a deep breath, hitched her pajamas over her pregnant tummy, grasped Socks’s scruff and padded barefoot toward the front door.

  “This is your job,” she told Socks firmly. “I’m the one in charge of TV dinners and you’re the one in charge of security around here. You’re a guard dog, Socks. Guard!”

  He looked adoringly at her and wagged his tail. Yeah, right.

  IT WAS MEGAN MAITLAND.

  Jenny opened the door half an inch without releasing the chain and checked the front step with one cautious eye. Then she gasped and withdrew, fumbling to release the chain. Megan! The CEO of Maitland Maternity-the matriarch of the entire Maitland clan-and here was Jenny looking like…

  “Like something the cat dragged in,” she told Socks desperately. “Or maybe you dragged in. For heaven’s sake, I’m wearing Peter’s old pajamas…”

  It couldn’t be helped. Megan had seen her and Megan was waiting. Pinning on her most welcoming smile and hoping her hair wasn’t sticking straight up-which it always did after sleep-Jenny opened the door.

  When she finally made her voice work, it came out a ridiculous squeak. “Hi.”

  “Hello, my dear.” Megan smiled, unfazed at the sight before her. She appeared not to notice the pajamas, or the amazing hairstyle, or even the pregnancy, but took Jenny’s hands in hers as though welcoming her into the family. “Michael told me you’d be home and that I could find you here.”

  “I-I don’t…” Jenny was floundering like a fool but Megan didn’t seem to notice that, either.

  “I wanted to catch you yesterday at the children’s wedding,” she said, edging around Jenny and heading straight for the kitchen. She left Jenny to follow, talking over her shoulder. “It was so like Michael to bring you to an occasion like that and then take you away before we could meet you. Honestly, we were ready to shoot him.”

  “I was tired.” The squeak was still there. It was all she could do to get her voice to work.

  “I don’t blame you for that,” Megan said warmly, turning to face her. “Sit down, child. You look exhausted. Ellie says you’ve had quite a time, and your baby’s almost due.”

  “I-”

  “Now I’ve pieced together quite a lot between Ellie and Garrett and Lana,” Megan said briskly. “But why don’t you tell me all about it yourself? Michael’s my godson, you know, and I’ve always been an honorary aunt to all the Lord children. I want to know…”

 
And then her voice trailed away. Jenny stared.

  Megan Maitland. Although Jenny had seen Megan at the hospital, she’d never been formally introduced, but her reputation as a mover and shaker was daunting.

  But now, despite this woman’s power, despite her obvious authority, her beautifully groomed appearance, her confidence and her interest in Michael’s life, there was a hint of appeal in the older woman’s voice. It was as if she really did want to be allowed to come close.

  As if she really cared.

  “I want to know everything,” she said, and her smile wavered. “Please. I care so much for those children-Michael and his sisters and brother. It’s as if they’re partly mine.”

  “I don’t-”

  Megan’s hand came out and took hers. “Please, my dear. I care about Michael, and if what Garrett says is true, then I intend to care about you, as well.”

  Jenny hesitated. For seven long months she’d kept herself apart. Her troubles had been hers and hers alone. But now she had a husband who cared about her, and her husband had family and friends who wanted to know all about her.

  Who had a right to know. And who might just care for her, too.

  “Let’s get you some breakfast, child,” Megan said. “And then tell me everything.”

  To do anything else was impossible.

  Jenny found herself talking freely. She talked and she talked, in between tackling the cornflakes and coffee Megan insisted she demolish. After a while she forgot about the baggy pajamas and her tousled curls and even Socks devouring cornflakes under the table. And all the time she spoke, Megan listened, as if every single word was important.

  As she told her story, Jenny watched Megan’s face, expecting condemnation, but there was no such thing. When she had finished, there was a twinkle in those compassionate eyes.

  “Well,” she said. “Well, child.”

  “I never wanted to draw Michael into this mess,” Jenny said desperately. “What you must think of me…”

  “What I must think? I think you’re an incredibly brave woman,” Megan said warmly. “The easiest thing in the world would have been to return to England, to surround yourself with luxury and allow your baby to be brought up by others. To stay here must have taken sheer courage.”