by Rachel Lee
“Do you need some cold medicine?”
“I have some, I think. I just hope I didn’t give this to the baby.”
“Can babies that young get the flu?”
Emma shook her head. “I’m the wrong person to ask.”
“Well, don’t worry about anything. I’ll make dinner. Just let me know if you need anything.”
“It’s better if you stay away from me,” Emma said. “You know what happens to your blood sugar when you get sick. I’m just going to curl up under a stack of blankets and feel sorry for myself. I have some chops thawing in the fridge. If you can’t find anything, just ask.”
“I’ll manage, Em. You know that. Did you let Gage know you’re sick?”
“I called him before I closed the library. He’ll be home at the usual time.”
She tottered off to bed. Realizing it was nearly five, Angela went to scope out the kitchen.
Gage arrived a few minutes later and headed straight for the bedroom to check on Emma. Angela couldn’t help but think how nice it must be to actually have someone worry about you when you were sick.
“Did I hear Gage come in?”
Angela almost jumped at the sound of Rafe’s voice. She whirled around, feeling herself tense at his nearness. “Emma’s sick with the flu and went to bed. He went to check on her.”
“The flu?” He looked down at the child in his arm. “Oh, great.”
“Can babies that young catch it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’d better keep the peanut upstairs.”
“I can bring your dinner up if you want.”
His dark eyes settled on her. “No, I don’t want you waiting on me. The kid usually naps through dinnertime, anyway.”
“Why don’t you ever call him by his name? Are you afraid of getting attached?” As soon as the words were out, Angela realized how accusatory they sounded. She braced for his response.
“Actually,” he said slowly, “it just doesn’t feel right somehow. So I call him Peanut. What’s wrong with a pet name?”
“Nothing.”
He kept right on staring at her. “Obviously it bothers you, for some reason.”
“It’s none of my business. But Raquel must have loved you a whole lot to name the baby after you.”
His face hardened, and he turned his back. “Actually,” he said, “knowing Raquel, I think she was trying to manipulate me.” Then he left the kitchen.
God, he was a piece of work, Angela thought. The woman had been dying when she named the child It was difficult to believe that under those circumstances manipulation had been very much on Raquel’s mind. Well, he wasn’t her problem.
Upstairs, Rafe settled on a blanket to play with the baby and wondered what the hell was up with Angela. Why had she acted as if he was doing something wrong by giving the kid a pet name? And why did she have to say that Raquel must have loved him very much to have named the child after him. That was ridiculous!
He and Raquel hadn’t known each other well enough to fall in love. They’d been in lust. That was all. Period.
Naming the kid after him...that had been an attempt to get him to do what she wanted, namely, raise the peanut.
Which was fine. The baby wasn’t that much trouble, and frankly, he wouldn’t give any child to wolves like the Molinas, let alone his own. She could have called the kid Cuthbert and he would have done the same thing.
But she hadn’t loved him. No way. He’d seen the hatred and anger on her face when he’d arrested her brother. If she’d ever fancied herself in love with him, that fancy had died right then and there.
But Angela didn’t believe that, and he couldn’t tolerate the thought. God, this was all difficult enough without believing that Rocky had loved him.
Forgetting the baby for a few minutes, he lay back with his hands behind his head and tried to deal with his roiling emotions, most of which were extremely unpleasant. Lately, he realized, he hadn’t been liking himself very much, and it all started with the night in the hospital.
The way the doctor had looked at him when she realized he hadn’t even known Rocky was pregnant. The way her face had changed when he said he hardly knew Rocky. It was a reflection of how he felt about himself, now that he thought about it.
He had a very strong notion about what a father owed a child, and it certainly wasn’t what his own father had given him—which was nothing but life. He’d always hated his old man for skipping out that way.
But—and this was gnawing at him, too—hadn’t he been proposing to do pretty much the same thing when he’d come up here? Would it really be any different for him to give the kid to Nate and head back to Miami? Sure, he’d planned to visit often, but the peanut would probably feel every bit as abandoned as he had.
Oh, it was an ugly picture he was getting of himself.
Closing his eyes, he listened to his son’s murmurs and coos and thought about what kind of man he would like that child to grow up to be. It was uncomfortable to realize that he wouldn’t want his son to emulate him in any way.
He wanted his son to be a better man.
Rolling onto his side, he looked at the baby and felt his chest squeeze tight with something nameless and painful.
Rocky had wanted the boy to be better, too. And there wasn’t anybody in the whole world who could undertake that task with more determination than he could.
Dinner was quiet that evening. Emma stayed in bed, and Gage stayed with her. Rafe and Angela faced each other over pork chops, mashed potatoes and spinach. Rafe seemed reluctant to look at her, and Angela couldn’t really blame him. She’d been out of line when she had spoken about Raquel. What did she know about the woman, after all, or about what had happened between her and Rafe? But she couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would erase what she had said.
Her appetite was poor, and she had to force herself to eat. One of the downsides of her condition was that she couldn’t indulge her moods when it came to food. She couldn’t skip meals when she wasn’t hungry, and she couldn’t binge on double-chocolate mocha ice cream when she got blue.
But the thought wasn’t self-pitying this time, it was wry. Wry, too, was the realization that coming here to escape stress hadn’t worked. Sitting silently across the kitchen table from Rafe wasn’t exactly stress-free.
The kitchen windows rattled suddenly in a gust of wind. She looked toward them, wondering if the weather was changing.
“What’s it like this time of year in Florida?” she heard herself ask.
“Hot.” He dipped a piece of his chop into the potatoes, then looked at it as if he wondered what he was doing. “Well, not as hot as summer. We’re generally in the mid-nineties in the summertime, but right about now we’re seeing temperatures in the mid-eighties. Sometimes even lower.”
“Sounds good.” She was beginning to feel chilly, as if that gust of wind had sucked the warmth from the house. The windows rattled again, and this time she could hear the unmistakable moan of the wind. “We must be getting a front.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing some snow. When I was a kid in Killeen, we used to get light snow sometimes in the winter. I can remember maybe a half dozen times. I wouldn’t mind seeing some of the real stuff.”
She couldn’t imagine a life without snow. A life without winter and all its attendant discomforts and chores. “I hate driving on it,” she remarked
“Then don’t go to Texas. Folks there don’t begin to know how to handle the stuff. It’s dangerous.”
“We northerners have to learn all over again every winter.”
A short laugh escaped him. “You get a lot of snow where you live?”
“An appreciable amount. I’ve always wanted to visit Florida, though. When they start showing the ads in the winter, it looks so good, all those palm trees and people in shirtsleeves.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
Another silence fell, disturbed only by the occasional gusting of the wind. Angela looked down at her plate an
d tried to psych herself into eating some more.
Rafe spoke. “If you ever decide to come to Miami, let me know. I’d be glad to show you around.”
She lifted her head and looked at him, surprised. “Thank you. That’s a very generous offer.”
He shrugged. “I’d enjoy it. You know how it is. When you live in a place you never have time to see the sights. When you have somebody to show around, you enjoy it more.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
Gage appeared, carrying his dinner tray.
“How’s Emma doing?” Angela asked.
“Not too bad, considering. I need to go out and get her some fruit juice. We’re almost out.” He rinsed his dishes at the sink and started putting them in the dishwasher. “Great dinner, Angela.”
“Thanks. Listen, if you want, I can run to the store.”
“Nah. I’ll do it.” He flashed a quick smile. “Gives me a chance to take care of her.”
Angela felt a twinge of wistfulness. “It must be nice having someone to look after.”
“It is. It makes life worthwhile.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the back door. “Back in a few.”
There was no mistaking the frigidity of the air that blew in during the brief moment the door was open.
“That feels like snow,” Angela said. She started to get up, to go look out the window, when Rafe stopped her by reaching out and covering her hand with his own. Electric sparks shot through her, so unexpected that she yanked her hand back. Her gaze met Rafe’s, and she saw something dark and lonely in his face.
“Eat, Angela,” he said quietly. “You know you’ve got to eat.”
“I was just going to look out the window.”
“After you eat. You’re picking at that like a bird, and you’re going to make yourself sick.”
She wanted to be irritated with him, wanted to tell him that she could take care of herself. But the truth was, it felt good to have someone care about her, even if it was only the passing concern of a mere acquaintance.
So she remained in her seat and resumed her meal. Rafe rose and walked to the window, looking out. “Weather report,” he said. “There are definitely snow flurries.”
“Really?” She jumped up and went to stand beside him, pulling back the café curtain to look. Snowflakes whirled everywhere, emerging from the night to sparkle in the light pouring through the windows of the house. “Oh, it’s beautiful! It looks like one of those little globes filled with artificial snow.”
“It’s fantastic.”
His tone, she realized, was almost reverential. But before she could puzzle that out, he turned to look at her. “You’re not eating,” he said sternly.
“Okay, okay.” She tried to sound grumpy, but instead it came out on a laugh. And for some reason, she realized that her appetite was returning. She went back to the table and dug in. A minute later Rafe rejoined her.
“How about coffee after dinner?” he asked. “I’ll make it.”
“Sounds good.”
He wasn’t at all awkward in the kitchen, she thought as she watched him. But he hadn’t been awkward with the baby, either, or anything else she had seen. Rafe Ortiz was a man who excelled at anything he chose to do.
She admired that in people, even if she wasn’t that type herself. She tended to be more of a screwup, she thought. She couldn’t remember any time in her life when she’d ever made the grade completely.
Gage returned while they were washing up. He stuffed bottles of juice into the fridge, then excused himself to return to Emma’s side. “I’m reading to her,” he said. “It helps get her mind off her fever.”
Rafe and Angela looked at one another. “That’s nice,” they both said at the same time.
Gage laughed and left the room.
“He knows how to love,” Angela remarked.
“Yeah.” Rafe looked at her. “I’m not sure I do.”
The honesty and vulnerability of the remark surprised and touched her. “You love your son.”
His eyes widened a little, as if he were surprised, but then he said, “Yeah...maybe I do.”
It seemed like a strange answer, but Angela refused to pursue it. She’d spoken out of turn enough for one day. They took their coffee into the living room, turned on the TV and settled on the couch while the wind blew around the corners of the house.
Aware of Rafe only a few inches away, Angela found it difficult to concentrate on the television. It would be easy, too easy, she thought, to lean over a little and touch him. The mere thought made her heart pound, but no amount of telling herself she was being silly would banish the thought.
She had felt his kiss earlier today, had felt his body hard and firm against hers, had felt the rush of sexual excitement she’d nearly forgotten, and apparently neither her brain nor her body was going to allow her to forget it again.
Every muscle in her body seemed to be heavy, and the narrator’s voice on the TV was nothing but a string of incomprehensible syllables. Every bit of her attention was focused on the man beside her and what he could make her feel. The memory of that afternoon was so vivid, suddenly, that she could almost feel the kiss of the sun on her skin.
It was both a relief and a disappointment when they heard the baby cry. Rafe jumped up immediately and headed up the stairs, leaving Angela to try to get a grip on her runaway imagination. It was almost embarrassing to realize how aroused she had become simply by thinking about him. She was just grateful that there was no way he could have known what was running through her head.
It had been a long, long time since a man had affected her this way, and she wanted to resent it. The things she dreamed of could never be hers for more than a few passing nights. She knew that. Lance had proved that. And even if her illness wasn’t a major obstacle, Rafe would be heading back to Miami shortly, and she would be heading back to Iowa. Anything they did now would be no better than a fling.
She didn’t want that. She didn’t want to use or be used. So what she needed to do was build her defenses as high as she possibly could, as quickly as she possibly could.
Rafe brought the crying baby into the living room. “Would you hold him while I make his bottle?”
“sure.”
Holding a squalling, angry child was a little more intimidating than she had expected. The baby was pushing hard at her with his legs, as if he wanted to squirt himself right out of her hold.
Rafe returned with the bottle, but when he reached for the baby, she reached instead for the bottle. “I’d like to,” she said, popping the nipple in the peanut’s mouth. He clamped on it instantly, quieting. “This is the only chance I’ll ever have.”
He sat beside her, bending his leg so he could face her, resting his arm over the back of the sofa. “You really can’t ever have kids?”
She shook her head. “Probably not. The risk is just too great, for me and a baby. It seems foolhardy. If I had better control of my diabetes, that might be different, but...” She shrugged and made herself focus on the child’s face.
“I’m sorry. I know that’s important to women.”
“But not to men?”
“Maybe to some. It wasn’t something I ever thought about...before.”
“It’s important to some, all right.” The bitterness slipped past her guard and was out before she could stop it.
“What happened?” he asked.
She told herself it would be best to tell him, because she could give him all the reasons he should avoid her, and that would help her keep out of trouble as much as anything she could do.
“I was engaged,” she said. “His name was Lance, and he seemed cool with my diabetes. Of course, my control was pretty good at the time we got together. I guess he didn’t really understand what it could be like.”
She took a shaky breath.
“And then?” he asked.
“Then I got pregnant. It was a nightmare almost from the beginning. I had to start seeing a doctor every week, my blood sugar started
going crazy, and finally one day I wound up in the hospital, unconscious in diabetic ketoacidosis—that’s what happens when the blood sugar gets really high. I lost the baby. The doctor said he didn’t think I should try again. And Lance... well, Lance said he couldn’t handle it. He wanted a normal wife and normal kids.”
“The bastard.”
She shook her head. “No. Really. He was just being honest. And he was right. Being married to me would be like living on a hospital ward. Shots four times a day, meals at regular intervals, no impromptu behavior because it might be dangerous. I mean...I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t sleep in on Sunday morning, or decide on a whim to stop and have doughnuts after a movie, or any of that stuff. It was like we were living on opposite sides of a glass wall and couldn’t quite get together.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.” Almost absently, he reached out and touched a wisp of her hair where it caressed the nape of her neck. The light touch made a shiver of longing run through her. This wasn’t working the way she had planned.
“But there’s another way of looking at it,” he said after a moment.
“Yes?”
He nodded, and this time all four of his fingertips touched the sensitive skin of her neck in a soft caress. “How about that he could have adjusted to your schedule? How about that he could have savored getting out of bed early on Sunday morning to spend the time with you?”
“Are you a romantic?”
He shook his head. “No. Not at all. Just...realistic. Your schedule is inflexible. It has to be. So why couldn’t some guy turn it into an advantage? Early breakfast over the paper on Sunday morning. Out on the patio, maybe. Bacon and eggs for two. Gourmet coffee.”
Almost in spite of herself, she smiled. “You make it sound so nice.”
“It could be.”
She shook her head. “But I can’t have children. That’s why most people get married.”
“If it is, then most people are stupid.”
She didn’t argue with him; she didn’t have the heart. Instead she looked down at the child in her arms and found herself understanding why people considered having children to be so important. To go an entire life without holding a baby like this...without holding one’s own child like this... Her throat tightened with an unbearable ache, and she forced herself to take a deep breath.
