by Gina Wilkins
“That’s okay. I’ll probably head back to Springfield in the morning. If Julian won’t let me bunk with him for a few days, maybe I can stay at Grandma’s house.”
“We’ll call Julian together after I put the baby to bed.”
Stuart nodded and moved toward the door, then paused. “I like herbal tea okay—but do you have anything else to eat? Like some cookies or something?”
She smothered a smile, looking at her brother’s stick-thin frame and thinking he must burn calories like a furnace. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”
“Okay. Thanks, sis,” he said just a little too casually, then darted out the door.
Feeling a hard lump in her throat, Kim carefully scooped up her daughter and headed toward the nursery. Her emotions had been through the wringer during the past three days. The only way she could deal with it all at the moment was to focus on the tasks at hand.
She couldn’t think about Tate just then. Not without falling apart. And that would be of no help to any of the people who were depending on her.
* * *
Tate was disappointed, but not terrible surprised, to see an empty chair at the restaurant table when he and Evan entered on the last Wednesday in August.
“Where’s Kim this week?” he asked casually of Emma and Lynette, who’d arrived a few minutes before them.
“She said she had some errands to run today,” Emma explained. “And she wanted to stop by the day care center. She said Daryn was acting a little draggy this morning and she wants to make sure she’s not coming down with something.”
Tate hoped the baby wasn’t really getting sick, but he couldn’t help wondering if Kim had simply been looking for excuses to avoid him. Last Wednesday, he’d been told she had an appointment for a haircut. She hadn’t mentioned having that appointment when they’d parted from the others Sunday evening, so he had figured she’d made it specifically to avoid seeing him again so soon. Now she had skipped out on a second gathering.
He had neither seen nor heard from her since they’d parted so tersely outside her house, though he must have reached for his phone half a dozen times to call her. He had resisted only because he’d told himself he needed to give her time to come to terms with what he’d said to her. Pushing her would only drive her farther away.
Would she be back next week, thinking enough time had passed by then for him to get the message that nothing more was going to happen between them? If she knew he’d spent the past week and a half lying awake at night missing her and replaying in his mind every minute they had spent together, would she realize that a couple of weeks wasn’t nearly long enough to make him forget?
When had he actually fallen in love with her? Had it been sometime during their “weekend marriage” or even before that? Had the main reason he’d been willing to subject himself to that challenge in the first place been that he’d wanted an excuse to spend more time with Kim, outside this restaurant?
Hell, yes.
It turned out he was an even better actor than he’d realized. He’d managed to fool himself for several months that he hadn’t fallen head over heels in love with a pretty, prickly single mother. He’d even convinced himself that he hadn’t asked anyone else out almost since the first time he’d met Kim because he was just too busy and preoccupied with his business.
No wonder he’d rushed her into the bedroom the minute he’d had a private moment with her. Of course, Kim had been doing some rushing herself, which had been a serious boost to his self-esteem, even though she had pretty much shattered it since.
So where did that leave him now? Aching, brooding, perplexed, sleep-deprived. Missing her like crazy—as a lover and as a friend. Wondering what it would take to win her back as either or even better, both. Asking himself repeatedly if he was really ready to take on the responsibility of her child, and fully, nervously aware that was an intrinsic part of the bargain, if he could somehow convince Kim to give them a chance.
“Um, Tate? Were you going to order, like, sometime today?”
Evan’s quizzical question brought Tate out of his thoughts abruptly. “Um, yeah. Kung pao chicken,” he said to the server waiting with her pen poised patiently over the order pad.
“Something on your mind, Tate?” His sister eyed him speculatively.
“No, just hungry. So, how are things at work this week?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject. He directed the question toward Emma, hoping she’d take the question as a conversational cue.
“Hectic.” As he’d hoped, she launched into a discussion of things that had happened at work since the last time they had seen each other. Tate made a show of paying attention, though he couldn’t stop glancing at that empty space at the table. He was aware that his sister watched him a bit more closely than usual during the meal, but he avoided her eyes studiously.
He stayed busy at work during the next few days as the Labor Day weekend approached. There was a lot to be done prior to the three-day weekend and as the end of summer approached. A good month of warm days lay ahead, but winter would arrive inevitably and that required advance planning in the landscape business. The time passed in a blur of meetings and paperwork and scheduling, problems to handle, decisions to make. He was so busy he hardly had time to think of Kim at all—probably no more than a dozen times an hour, he thought wearily Friday afternoon, squeezing the taut muscles at the back of his neck with one hand.
Checking email on his phone, he smiled faintly when he saw a note from Stuart O’Hara. The message was brief, merely reporting that Stuart liked his roommate and had done well in his first week of classes and was still grateful for the scholarship. Tate had invited Stuart to stay in touch, and the young man was taking that offer seriously, as though to reassure Tate and Evan that they had chosen a worthy recipient for their first scholarship.
Jason really would be proud, Tate thought with the familiar wistfulness that always accompanied thoughts of his late friend. He was sure Kim was proud of her brother. He hoped they were growing closer, even if they did still live in separate states.
So, his thoughts had come back around to Kim. For the thirteenth time that hour.
His phone rang in his hand just as he was preparing to put it away. Glancing at the screen, he saw his sister’s number displayed above the time. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Lynn? I thought you and Emma were supposed to be on your way to your friend’s lake house for the long weekend.”
“I’m on my way now to pick up Emma. I just wanted to ask you to check on Kim, will you? I’ll feel a lot better going off for a holiday if I know she’s okay.”
Tate frowned, going onto full alert. “What’s wrong with Kim? Why wouldn’t she be okay?”
“She’s sick. She started feeling bad at work yesterday and today she couldn’t even make it in. It’s the first time since I’ve known her that she’s missed a day of work. And since she doesn’t have any family nearby, and Emma and I are going to be out of town for a few days, I just want to know there’s someone here to check on her. I mean, I know she has other friends, but you know how stubborn she is. She would never ask for help. So maybe you could just go by and see if she needs anything?”
“Kim’s sick? What about the baby?”
“The baby wasn’t feeling well yesterday. Kim had to leave her with a neighbor who watches her when the day care center is closed or any other time Kim needs a babysitter.”
“Have you called Kim?”
“Of course. A couple of times. She assured me she was feeling better, but she sounded terrible. I offered to skip the lake house trip this weekend and help her out, but she wouldn’t even consider it.”
“I’ll check on her.”
“Thanks, Tate.”
Tate wasn’t sure how grateful Kim would be. She’d made it clear enough that she wan
ted him to stay out of her personal life from now on. But he’d promised Lynette, and now that he knew about it, he needed to reassure himself that Kim and Daryn were okay. And he didn’t want to simply call and ask; he needed to see them both for himself.
Chapter Ten
He should have called. Standing at Kim’s front door an hour after Lynette’s call, one finger poised over the doorbell button, Tate hesitated before announcing his presence. Should he turn around, drive away and call to ask if she needed or wanted him to visit? That would probably be the courteously correct procedure. Yet he knew what would happen if he did call. She would assure him she was fine, as she had Lynette, and then she would stubbornly struggle to deal with her problems on her own, as she always did.
Oh, she’d probably ask for help if it were important for Daryn, but she would request nothing for herself. She had learned not to depend on anyone else to be there for her even if she reached out.
So, knowing she would politely decline if he called to offer help, and knowing he wouldn’t be comfortable until he determined for himself that she was okay, and knowing the worst that could happen would be that she would turn him away—maybe with a firm request that he stay away afterward—he pushed the doorbell button.
It took so long for Kim to respond that he was beginning to think she wasn’t going to do so. But then he heard movement and heard Daryn crying, the sound growing louder as she neared the other side of the door. A curtain flicked, which probably meant that Kim had checked the identity of her caller. Did he only imagine hearing her groan when she saw him?
After a very brief pause, the door opened. Tate was shocked at the sight that met his eyes.
Kim was visibly ill. Pale, hollow-eyed, her hair disarrayed, her lips nearly colorless. Barefoot, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and shorts, she stood somewhat unsteadily with the crying baby on her hip. Daryn wore a one-piece sleeper and while she, too, was more disheveled than usual, she looked more cranky than sick, at least to Tate’s inexperienced assessment.
“Hi, Tate,” Kim said, her voice hoarse. “I would ask you in, but I’ve got a little cold. I wouldn’t want you to get sick, too.”
“I think it’s more than a little cold. And I’m not here for a friendly visit, Kim. I’m here to help.”
She sighed. “Did Lynette call you?”
“Yes. She said you were ill, but I don’t think she knew how bad it really is or she’d have been here herself. Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes. I’m to rest and drink fluids. I’ll be fine, Tate, I have three days to recover before I have to be back at work.”
Her throat must have been extremely painful; each word sounded as though it were forced through broken glass. Daryn wailed again, and Kim winced, a sign that her head was pounding in addition to her sore throat.
“Is anyone staying with you?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“I don’t need anyone, I’ll be— What are you doing?”
Without waiting for an invitation, Tate moved past her into the house. Kim whirled to glare at him, but the sudden movement must have made the room spin around her. She rocked on her feet.
Tate reached out quickly to relieve her of the disgruntled baby.
“Go lie down before you fall down,” he ordered her gruffly. Had it not been for Daryn, he would have been tempted to lift Kim off her feet and carry her to bed—but only to tuck her in tenderly and let her rest. “I’ll take care of Daryn while you get some sleep.”
“No, really, Tate, it would be better if you—”
Somewhat awkwardly patting Daryn’s back as he rocked her against him, Tate spoke in a quiet voice intended to soothe the baby and convince the mother. “Unless you want to have me escorted out, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily, Kim. There is no way I’m leaving you this sick and with no one here to help you. Now, go get some rest and when you feel better, you can berate me all you want and then throw me out on my ear.”
She looked torn between anger and temptation. He supposed it would have been too much to expect gratitude, considering the way he’d barged in on her. “You don’t know what to do with Daryn.”
“I think I can figure it out.” Daryn had already stopped crying, subsiding to little sniffles as she rested her head on Tate’s shoulder. “If not, I’ll come get you. Now, go.”
Kim’s eyes looked suspiciously damp now. It was a measure of just how sick she was that she finally nodded and locked the front door. “Okay, fine. You’ll probably get sick, too, and then you’ll be sorry. And it will serve you right.”
“Yes, it will. Has Daryn eaten?”
Running a trembling hand over her hair, Kim nodded. “I just fed her a little. She wasn’t very hungry. I was going to give her a bottle.”
“I can do that. Is the bottle in the fridge?”
“I had just taken it out and set it on the counter when you rang the bell.”
“Okay. Go to bed. Sleep. Don’t worry about Daryn.”
She turned toward the bedroom, then looked over her shoulder. “I forgot to check her diaper.”
“Go to bed, Kim.”
Her steps dragged as she left the room.
Tate looked down at the tear-streaked child in his arms. Okay, now what? He had so confidently assured Kim she had nothing at all to worry about, but she must have been near delirium to have let him talk her into leaving him with her daughter. He didn’t have the faintest idea what he was doing.
Daryn gazed up at him with wide, curious eyes. Probably wondering what he was going to do next. Good question.
“So…bottle, huh? Or, uh, guess we should check the diaper first.”
She blinked, then gave him a faint smile of acknowledgment before turning somber again.
“Okay, we can do this,” he assured her. “Let’s go change that diaper.”
He carried the baby quietly into the hallway, shaking his head when he saw that Kim’s bedroom door was open. Probably so she could monitor every little sound coming from the other room. Peeking inside, he saw that she lay on the bed still wearing her T-shirt and shorts, as though she had intended to lie down for only a few minutes. She was sound asleep. Deciding she would be warm enough without coverings, he pulled the door almost closed so as not to disturb her when he passed by to Daryn’s room.
The nursery was both cheery and functional. The walls were yellow, the furnishings a dark honey wood, the bedding soft yellows and greens. Framed prints of nursery rhyme characters decorated the walls and an inviting rocker with a footrest sat in the corner facing the door. Toys were arranged neatly on shelves, and a changing table was stocked with diapers and wipes. Even a novice like himself could find everything easily in here, thanks to Kim’s efficient organization.
Somehow he managed to get a clean diaper on the baby. He vaguely remembered putting a diaper on a doll in a high school class that included “life skills” lessons, one of which had been diapering a child. As he recalled, they had also tested the heat of bathwater with their elbows and of heated bottles by sprinkling milk on their wrists, but he had no intention of giving Daryn a bath and he remembered that she liked her milk cold, so neither of those skills would be called upon.
“We can do this, kiddo,” he assured her, refastening her sleeper and lifting her back into his arms. “Piece of cake.”
She made a fretting sound that perhaps expressed doubt, but he didn’t let her skepticism daunt his determined optimism. “Let’s go get that bottle.”
It was an interesting night, to say the least. Daryn was fussier than he’d ever seen her and wouldn’t let him put her down even when she finished her bottle. He sat for hours with her and Mr. Jingles snuggled in his lap while he watched baseball and news programming on TV.
He dealt with two particularly nasty diapers th
at he could only assume were worse than usual because she’d been ill. And somehow he handled them without being sick himself. He even managed to wrestle the kid into a clean sleeper, which seemed to have a couple dozen tiny little snaps that were not made for a man’s clumsy fingers.
Every so often he tiptoed into the hallway to peek in and check on Kim. She didn’t stir. Some part of her, at least, must have trusted him with the baby, he thought in satisfaction as he pulled the door to again. Could she really have slept so soundly if she hadn’t, no matter how sick she was?
Growing hungry once his appetite recovered from the unpleasantness of the second dirty diaper, he rummaged in the fridge and found the makings for a sandwich. Assembling it with one hand while holding the baby in the other arm proved to be a challenge, but he managed. He swallowed the sandwich in a few bites while Daryn watched him with an intensity that was both amusing and a little disconcerting.
He talked to the child in a low voice during the evening, a running commentary of what he was doing or what was going on in the ball game. He didn’t expect her to understand a word he was saying, but it seemed natural to speak to her when she was awake. At least the monologue seemed to entertain her enough that she didn’t cry, though she whimpered occasionally until he rocked her or jostled her or—at one desperate moment—sang softly to her. That seemed to surprise her more than impress her, but at least her fussing subsided before growing into shrieks that would have disturbed her mother.
Daryn finally fell asleep, so deeply that Tate was able to carefully lay her in her crib without waking her. He remembered that Kim had laid the baby on her back in the travel crib, so he did the same now. He set Mr. Jingles nearby, then hesitated there, uneasy about walking away. He rested a hand lightly against her flushed cheek. Did she feel a bit too warm?
Maybe he’d just sit in the rocker for a few minutes, until he was sure she was resting comfortably. He’d slip out in a little while to check on Kim, then crash on the couch until Daryn woke up at her usual early hour. He imagined Kim would feel better in the morning, after a good night’s rest, and she’d probably throw him out then. But as soon as he was sure she was fully recovered, they were going to have to talk.
