by Gina Wilkins
The other pals Nathan encountered during that week reacted in similar ways, all of them expressing their shock at his new circumstances. Even the guys he knew who were married with children of their own seemed stunned by his actions, saying they couldn’t picture him as a single parent, especially of such a young child.
As for his women friends…
It was true he hadn’t dated much lately. Specifically since he’d started looking at Caitlin through different eyes several months ago. But he was still rather surprised by the way women reacted to his new responsibilities. It seemed the single ones fell into two camps: those who wanted nothing to do with a man raising a child and those who made it clear that they would be delighted to audition for the position of stepguardian.
The latter group seemed to believe the commitment he had made to his half sister signaled that he was ready to embrace the joys of marriage and fatherhood. He didn’t know how he felt about those things at this point, but he was damned sure he wasn’t interested in sampling them with the few women who so eagerly offered their services.
Married women seemed intent on offering him parenting advice—some of it conflicting. That was mostly what he encountered when he dropped Isabelle off at preschool each morning. Everything from critiques of her wardrobe and hairstyles to questions about whether he was making sure she ate right and brushed her teeth regularly.
He didn’t particularly appreciate being treated like an idiot, but he always managed to answer politely—so far, at least—because he didn’t want to jeopardize Isabelle’s still-precarious standing in the exclusive preschool. He could only hope that it would eventually become apparent that he was managing to take care of her well enough on his own.
The older residents in town were far less supportive. They were the ones who had felt most betrayed by their local political hero’s scandalous behavior four years ago. The ones who had encouraged the longtime community leader to run for governor. Who had contributed to his campaign funds and worked tirelessly in his headquarters. The ones who knew and respected Lenore McCloud and sympathized deeply with the humiliation she had suffered at her profligate husband’s hands.
Those people thought Nathan had been cold and unfeeling to bring the offspring of his father’s affair into the same town where poor, dear Lenore was still living and volunteering so selflessly.
A few of his older acquaintances suggested that he should have found a nice family somewhere else—preferably in California—and paid them a generous monthly stipend to raise Isabelle. That would have been much wiser, they assured him sternly. He had tersely informed them that he did not regret his choice, would not consider changing his mind and that he hoped they—and his mother—would eventually come to terms with his decision and accept Isabelle for the special child she was. All in all, it was an exhausting week.
And then there was Caitlin.
If he had suddenly developed a highly contagious disease, she wouldn’t have avoided him more diligently than she had since he had kissed her. Yes, she was very busy at work—as was he—but she could have made a few extra minutes for some personal time with him. She didn’t. Aside from asking about Isabelle every day, she treated him like a co-worker who was little more than a stranger to her away from the office.
She was beginning to tick him off.
Every time her behavior made him question whether she had been honest about not being personally interested in him, he had only to mentally replay their kiss for reassurance. She was interested, all right. She just didn’t want to be. He had his work cut out for him.
Helping her with her complicated medical malpractice case seemed to be the most immediate way to stay actively involved in her daily routines. They met at least once daily to discuss their cases, and that one seemed to be growing more complex with each passing hour.
“Dr. Ripley’s attorneys are really starting to rub me the wrong way,” Caitlin muttered on Wednesday afternoon, a week and a day after The Kiss. “They treat me as though I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I’ve dealt with these guys before, a couple of years ago when I first started out.” Sitting beside her at the paper-littered conference table, Nathan tossed a condescending letter aside. “They treat everyone that way.”
“They’re so obnoxiously confident that we’ll decide to fold. That we’ll be so intimidated by their reputation and resources that we’ll be afraid to take them on in court.”
“They have good reason to expect so,” Nathan said with a shrug. “Few small firms have been successful in challenging them. Face it, Caitlin, we don’t have the same resources. You should know how expensive and time-consuming a medical malpractice case can become, especially against a physician as wealthy and as aggressively represented as Ripley.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t have taken the case? You know we’re in the right here, Nathan. And you know none of the bigger firms would even talk to poor Mr. Smith.”
“For the very reasons I just mentioned. It’s too tough a case. The outcome is too unpredictable, and the commitment too long-term when you consider all the inevitable maneuvers and appeals.”
“Assuming they don’t agree to a decent settlement before it gets to court.”
He tapped the letter she and her client had found so offensive. “They’ve offered a settlement, remember?”
He fully expected her reaction—a disdainful sniff accompanied by that temperamental flash of silver in her eyes. “It’s not only unacceptable, it’s insulting. Mrs. Smith died.”
“Which she might well have done, even if Ripley hadn’t misdiagnosed her. Her cancer was already well advanced.”
Even though she knew it was his job to point out all the counterarguments, her eyes still flashed again. “At least she’d have had a chance. Ripley took that away from her when he brushed her off as a hypochondriac and prescribed sedatives instead of medical tests. The guy has a nasty habit of assuming most women’s ailments can be treated with antidepressants. She isn’t the first who has had to find another doctor.”
“Hearsay. You’ll have to show proof that he is more likely to misdiagnose women than men. And you’ll need at least one recognized expert to testify that Mrs. Smith’s cancer, if caught earlier, could possibly have been cured. And, finally, you’ll have to convince a jury that Ripley was flagrantly negligent in his treatment of Mrs. Smith and not honestly misguided by her atypical symptoms.”
“We have two women—acquaintances of the Smiths—who came forward and claimed Dr. Ripley treated them for depression when they really had something else. And a former employee—a nurse—who says she left because she didn’t like his attitude toward his female clients.”
“I’ve read their statements. There’s reason to believe that at least one of those former patients did suffer depression, in addition to the neurological disease that was diagnosed later. And you can bet Ripley has evidence to support his claim that the nurse is a disgruntled former employee with an ax to grind against him.”
Her voice was terse now. “You’re saying you wouldn’t have taken the case? That you think it’s as hopeless as all those other firms did?”
He just loved it when she got that righteous-crusader-for-justice look on her face. He smiled and draped an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t say that. You’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you, but you aren’t alone. You have my full support. I think we can get a better offer from these jerks.”
It was probably her relief at his encouragement that made her smile at him before she remembered to react to having his arm around her. She shifted her weight in an attempt to move away. He promptly tightened his arm.
“Nathan.” There was a warning in her voice that he chose to ignore.
“I’ve missed you this past week,” he murmured, looking at her sternly set mouth. “We’ve hardly had a minute to be alone together.”
“This isn’t that minute.” She scooted a couple of inches sideways, but he simply moved with her, keeping her within the ci
rcle of his arm. “Nathan, stop it. Someone could walk in at any time. They could get the mistaken idea that something is going on between us.”
As far as he was concerned, something was going on between them. As far as certain parts of him were concerned, it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Have dinner with me tonight. Just the two of us.”
She shook her head. “You need to be with Isabelle.”
“I’ve been with Isabelle every night for the past two weeks. She won’t mind spending a few extra hours with Mrs. T. Isabelle has become very fond of her.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You have other plans?”
She hesitated just long enough to let him know she didn’t. Caitlin wasn’t the type to make use of expedient lies. “No. But I still have to decline. I told you last week that I don’t want to get entangled in a potentially awkward personal involvement with my business partner.”
He touched a fingertip to her lower lip. “Are you sure it isn’t already too late for that? Because as far as I’m concerned, there’s already a potentially awkward personal involvement. I can’t turn off my feelings for you just because you don’t consider this a convenient time.”
“It isn’t the timing. It’s the circumstances.”
His attention was fully focused on her mouth now and the memory of the way it had felt and tasted against his. A jolt of sensation went through him when she nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, leaving her mouth damp and soft. “If I kissed you now,” he asked whimsically, “would you sue me?”
A slight quiver went through her lips then, almost as if she could already feel him against them. “I, uh—”
Oh, yeah. She wanted him to kiss her again. Forcing himself to be content with what he hoped wasn’t sheer self-delusion, he dropped his arm and moved away. “You’re right, of course. This isn’t the time or the place.”
Seemingly taken aback by his capitulation, she hesitated a moment, then briskly began to gather her paperwork. “I’ll start compiling a list of potential expert witnesses. And I’ll draft a letter to Dr. Ripley’s attorneys, letting them know that our client finds their settlement offer unacceptable.”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay. See you later.”
It was a blatant dismissal—or a strategic retreat. He decided to let her get away with it, but not before saying offhandedly, “Come to think about it, Mrs. T. couldn’t baby-sit for me tonight, anyway. She goes to church on Wednesday nights. So maybe you and I will have dinner another night.”
Caitlin frowned, obviously trying to decide how to answer without committing herself to anything.
“Isabelle’s been asking about you,” he added. “She wants to know when you’re going to come see her again.”
Cheap shot, he knew, but hey, he was a lawyer. He would utilize any strategy that had a reasonable chance of success.
The look Caitlin gave him was heavy with reproach. “That’s really not fair.”
“I know,” he said cheerfully. “But it’s true, nonetheless. She has asked about you.”
“I would like to see Isabelle again,” Caitlin admitted somewhat reluctantly. “But—”
“Then have dinner with us soon. I’ll behave. And Isabelle can be our chaperone.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring.”
“We’ll make it very soon,” he said, speaking with a confidence that implied the matter was settled. And then he left the room, before she had a chance to reply.
He knew when not to push his luck.
Most Saturday mornings found Caitlin at the office at her usual time. She rarely met with clients on weekends and she even more rarely asked any of the staff to work those days, but she always got a great deal accomplished. At least, she did when she wasn’t interrupted, as she had been by Nathan’s mother a couple of weeks earlier, or distracted, as she was by her thoughts of Nathan on this third Saturday in October.
She had been sitting at her desk for more than half an hour, a cooling cup of coffee at her elbow, a mind-numbingly dry and complex legal description in front of her. She wasn’t a real estate attorney, so she was following the description with difficulty, comparing it painstakingly to another deed one of her clients was disputing. Her full concentration should have been focused on directions and degrees, but instead her thoughts kept wandering.
Maybe she should have worked at home today, she mused. True, she wouldn’t have had all the office resources at her fingertips, but at least in her apartment she wouldn’t be surrounded by reminders of Nathan. She wouldn’t hear the echoes of his laughter in the other rooms or picture him standing beside her desk, looking at her with that unnerving new gleam of awareness in his eyes.
She wondered what he and Isabelle were doing today. And whether Isabelle was really settling into her preschool program as well as Nathan believed. Whether Isabelle really missed seeing her. And, most annoying of all, she kept wondering whether Nathan was thinking of her today as often as she thought of him.
She groaned and buried her face in her hands. What was wrong with her? She was acting like a schoolgirl with an embarrassing crush on a classmate!
“Whatever you’re reading must be really boring,” Nathan commented from the doorway. “You look as though you’re falling asleep at your desk.”
She jumped, her hands falling to the desktop with a thud, her shoulders straightening. It was a measure of her distraction that she hadn’t heard anyone enter the offices. Again.
They really should invest in a better security system.
“I wasn’t expecting you this morning,” she said, then noticed his little blond shadow. “Hello, Isabelle.”
She was caught by surprise a second time when the little girl dashed across the office and launched herself into Caitlin’s lap. Her arms filled with warm, soft, sweet-smelling child, Caitlin rested her cheek for a moment against Isabelle’s fine hair.
This, she thought, could become addictive.
After a moment Isabelle wriggled back to look into Caitlin’s face. “Where have you been, Miss Caitlin?”
Caitlin smiled wryly. “I’ve been busy, I’m afraid. And so have you, I hear. How’s preschool?”
“It’s good. I’ve got a new friend. Her name is Kelsey. And I like Jessica and Tiffany and Justin, too, but I don’t like Danny, because he pulls my hair and says I got holes in my face. I told him he’s stupid because he doesn’t know the difference between holes and dimples, and he pulled my hair again! So I said I wouldn’t be his friend, and then he pouted like a baby.”
Caitlin followed the breathless diatribe with some difficulty, giving Nathan a quizzical look over the top of Isabelle’s head. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, except a lame, “I’m glad you’re making new friends.”
Nathan stepped forward and laid a sheet of yellow construction paper on the desk in front of her. “Isabelle made this for you at school.”
She smiled when she studied the gift. It was an endearingly lopsided crayon drawing of a woman with a big red smile, glued-on brown yarn hair, and clothes fashioned from mismatched scraps of fabric, ribbons and buttons.
“It’s a picture of you, Miss Caitlin,” Isabelle said earnestly.
“It’s lovely.” Caitlin touched a fingertip to one flyaway twist of yarn hair. “Thank you, Isabelle, I’ll treasure this.”
Nathan hefted the bulging purple backpack he carried higher on one arm. “Come on, poppet, Miss Caitlin’s busy. Let’s go set up your toys in my office and you can play while I catch up on some correspondence.”
“I brought my travel dollhouse,” Isabelle informed Caitlin. “It’s got furniture and a family and a car and a little dog and a cat. Nate bought it for me at the toy store. You want to see it?”
“It sounds really cool. I’ll come see it in a little while, okay?”
“Okay.” Isabelle bustled out of the room, obviously eager to play with her new toy.
Nathan lingered in the doorway for a m
oment. “She wasn’t able to bring many toys with her from California. I didn’t think it would hurt to buy her a few new things occasionally.”
“Neither do I,” she replied with lifted eyebrows. “And there’s certainly no need to justify your purchases to me.”
He smiled wryly. “Maybe I’m just seeking reassurance. I’m sort of playing this by ear, you know.”
“And you seem to be doing just fine.”
“Thanks.” He glanced at the pile of documents on the desk in front of her. “I won’t disturb you any longer. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”
Caitlin glared in frustration at the doorway after he left. Because of her pervasive thoughts of Nathan, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on work before the interruption. Now that she was so aware of Nathan and Isabelle only a couple of rooms away, she was afraid concentration would be even more difficult—if not impossible.
Her work had always been so important to her, taking precedence over nearly everything else. The pursuit of career success had been her one driving ambition since she was ten years old. Already tired of living in an endless series of dilapidated trailers and apartments while her good-hearted but impractical father had drifted from one dead-end job to another, she had decided that her future would be different.
Studying the parents of her classmates, she had determined that a solid career was the best measure of security and stability. Her father had reinforced that belief, telling her repeatedly that she had the opportunity to make something more of herself than he had accomplished in his own life.
It hadn’t been easy. Lacking family resources, she had funded her college education with scholarships, grants and a series of jobs. Her father—overweight and a heavy smoker—had died of a heart attack three months after her college graduation. Her mother, who had always struggled with high blood pressure, had suffered her stroke during Caitlin’s second year of law school and had never recovered from the massive brain damage. Had Caitlin been easily distracted or discouraged, she never would have made it this far.
