SOMEBODY'S BABY

by Marilyn Pappano

  When Katie gave her an unexpected kiss, Sarah forced a smile for her daughter. "You're a sweetie, you know that?"

  Pleased with her mother's smile, Katie rolled onto her back and lifted one foot, tugging at her shoe. It hadn't taken her long to discover that the way Sarah had tied the laces, she couldn't remove her shoes.

  Sarah gripped the shoe and gently wiggled Katie's leg back and forth. "You're a manipulative child, aren't you?" she chided. "You think a little thing like a kiss will make me untie those knots, but you're wrong. I have my shoes on, see?" Awkwardly she raised one foot to prove it. "And Daddy has his shoes on. If you take yours off your feet will get cold."

  The child locked in on the one important word in Sarah's speech. "Off," she commanded.

  Sarah picked up the stuffed bear from the floor to distract her. "Who is this?"

  Katie snatched the bear. "Teddy." But she wasn't the slightest bit distracted. Hugging him with one arm, she used the other to tug at her shoe. "Off!"

  Sarah got up and walked past Daniel without a glance, when she returned she was carrying a paper bag she'd brought with her. As Sarah had expected, Katie's interest in her shoes was replaced by the bag and its contents. Sarah had noticed plenty of toys, both handmade and manufactured ones, in the house and here in the workshop, but she hadn't seen any evidence of books. Perhaps Daniel wasn't aware of the value of reading to kids when they were young, or maybe it was something he didn't approve of or have time for or feel comfortable with. But she loved to read and intended to make sure that Katie did, too.

  The books were old and worn, the pages showing signs of plenty of use. Sarah remembered the pleasure Tony had found in hearing the tales. Pleasure had come so rarely in his brief life that each source of it was treasured, and books had been some of his favorite treasures.

  Daniel watched as Sarah settled comfortably in the corner, Katie on her lap, each holding one side of the storybook. If he had refused to let Katie remove her shoes, there would have been a screaming tantrum, but Sarah had simply directed her attention elsewhere. How had she known?

  Because, came the obvious answer, she was that all-knowing, all-powerful being: a mother. But three months of caring for a newborn didn't make a woman a mother. It didn't prepare her for handling an active, stubborn, temperamental fourteen-month-old. But she was prepared. Almost as if she'd had experience.

  His curiosity about her past was growing, but he'd blown any chance of learning anything today with his angry outburst. Anger wasn't the way to deal with Sarah; she'd just proven that with him and his demands, and with Katie and her shoes. He should have waited until they were talking companionably, as they had yesterday, until her defenses were down. Then he should have asked about her secrets without accusation or blame. But instead he had demanded an answer and gotten nothing except the knowledge that he'd hurt her.

  He had to overcome his clumsiness. After all, he had never dealt with a woman on a regular basis. It was only natural that there would be lessons to learn. But he would learn them, would learn just the right touch to use with Sarah, and, sometime soon, he would learn her secrets. All of them.

  "And the bear said…" Sarah's soft voice trailed away when she looked down at Katie. Her sturdy little body had been steadily relaxing, growing limp against her. Now the girl's eyes were closed, her arms hugging Teddy closely.

  Sarah closed the book and laid it aside. She had never expected a child as active and lively as Katie to sit still for almost an hour while she read. She supposed it was the newness that had captivated her.

  She was stiff from sitting so long on the hard floor with the twenty-five-pound weight of her daughter on her lap. She shifted Katie carefully, planning to rise to her knees, then her feet, and put Katie into the playpen. Before she'd made the first move, though, Daniel was there.

  He lifted Katie as if she weighed nothing, holding her gently in one arm. He extended his other hand to Sarah, helping her to her feet. He didn't say a word to her as he turned and carried their daughter to the playpen.

  Maybe he regretted the earlier incident, Sarah thought, stretching out the kinks. Or, more likely, he simply didn't trust her to get to her feet without waking or maybe even dropping Katie.

  Daniel turned as Sarah bent from the waist, her fingertips brushing the wood floor. Her jeans stretched snugly with the movement, molding the curve of her hips and the long line of her legs. She was too slim to turn heads—her breasts too small, her hips too narrow, her legs too long and thin. Her figure was almost boyish—lean and straight, without curves or fullness. Why, then, did looking at her make him think of desire? Why, after no more than a glance, was he feeling the heat and the hunger … the need?

  He didn't immediately go back to work, as Sarah had expected. He'd been sanding all morning, the tedious, monotonous sounds somehow soothing to her hurt feelings. He took such care with things that mattered to him—with his work and with Katie. He wouldn't stop sanding the pieces of wood that would become a chair until the finish was as smooth as satin. Until it was perfect. He was the best craftsman he could be, the best father he could be, the best man he could be.

  Not that he didn't have faults. He was so stubborn, holding onto his anger and bitterness, refusing to give her the benefit of the doubt. He'd made up his mind about her nearly a year ago, and he was determined not to change it—not to let her change it. Would he ever accept her? she wondered as she traced patterns in the fine dust that had collected on the tabletop. Would he ever stop judging her? Would he ever have enough faith in her to believe, without proof, that she had made the right choice in sending Katie to him—the only choice?

  She had to believe that he would, or their future—whether as lovers, friends, or just the parents of the same child—was hopeless. If he couldn't accept and believe in her, then there could be nothing between them, because she needed his acceptance. She needed his faith. And she was afraid that it wouldn't be long until she needed his love.

  Daniel had dawdled in front of the cabinets that held his tools and supplies long enough. He came back to the table, a soft cloth in hand, and began rubbing the dust from a chair leg. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

  She smiled wryly. He'd made demands, issued insults and thrown out challenges, but he hadn't once raised his voice. But she understood that the statement was his own vulnerably awkward way of saying he was sorry. "It doesn't matter."

  "Yes, it does. I'm not in the habit of losing my temper."

  "Of course not, when you live alone and hardly ever see anyone." She smiled again, and this time he felt the warmth.

  "Everyone gets angry occasionally. It's no big deal. Are these chairs all for the same customer?"

  He let her get away with the subject change because he was a coward, he decided. He would rather discuss his work than his own shortcomings any time. "Yes, He's already got a table and a china cabinet to match these, plus a rocker and a desk and chair."

  "Did you check your records recently, or did you just happen to remember that?"

  He grinned at the skeptical tone of her voice. "I wish my memory was that good, but it's not. He reminded me about the other pieces when he ordered this set."

  His occasional smiles softened the hard lines of his face, Sarah thought, made him look younger, nicer, less intimidating. It was too bad he wasn't more accustomed to smiles and laughter, like Katie was. Maybe their daughter could teach him.

  "Do you have a lot of repeat customers?" She wanted to keep him talking, to learn more about him before he realized that he was sharing himself and self-consciously clammed up.

  "Almost everyone who buys one piece orders again."

  "Do you know how lucky you are to be able to make a living at something you enjoy, to run your business and your life on your own terms? Most people go through life with jobs they don't like or can't make a decent living at. Of course, you've got talent, too. All the luck in the world doesn't mean a thing if it's not backed up by talent and skill."

  "Did yo
u like your job?"

  She climbed onto the stool, leaned her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in both hands. "I did," she replied, forgetting that the conversation was supposed to be about him. "I'd wanted to be a teacher since I was in grade school. I liked kids, and I loved teaching."

  He supposed that was why she was always subtly teaching Katie. Her enthusiasm and her gentle manner must have made her popular with her students. "Why did you quit?"

  She sighed deeply. "There were problems."

  One of those, he had already guessed, was her divorce. She'd told him last week that she had quit teaching three years ago. Yesterday she'd told him that her husband had divorced her a year before she'd met him, which would have been three years ago. Had she been so emotionally devastated by the divorce that she'd had to give up the job she loved?

  He didn't like either idea—that Brent Lawson had hurt her so badly, or that she had loved him so much. Not that it was any of his business. He hadn't even known her then. Still… "If you liked children so much, why didn't you and your husband have any?"

  She had decided earlier that she wouldn't lie to Daniel. He was an honest man, and he deserved honesty in return. But she had also decided that she wouldn't tell him about Tony. She wouldn't give him the ammunition to hurt her the way others had in the past. But if that meant lying to him, then… She ignored the stab of guilt. If that meant lying to him, then she would lie.

  "Brent was a child," she said, her voice distant, her eyes lowered to avoid Daniel's gaze. "Having a baby would have meant growing up, acting his age, accepting responsibility not just for himself, but for the baby, too." That was true, as far as it went. Brent hadn't wanted a baby, hadn't wanted to give up any of his precious time or his amusements or his expensive toys and trips.

  Daniel couldn't understand the kind of man she was describing. Daniel had been on his own since he was sixteen—had cooked his own meals, washed his own clothes, kept his own house. He had supported himself first by farming, then with the business. Sometimes he felt he'd always been grown up, had never been a child. Then there were men like Brent Lawson.

  Sarah followed the line of his thoughts by the puzzlement in his eyes. "Very few men mature as quickly as you did," she pointed out. "But then, very few men are left on their own at sixteen. Was it difficult?"

  His automatic response was to say no, but he considered it for a moment. Life hadn't been easy after his mother had left … but it hadn't been particularly easy before then, either. "I was close to my father," he began slowly. "I spent most of my time after school doing chores with him. He died when I was eleven, and I had to take his place. I was big and strong for my age, and it was easier for my mother to let me take charge than to do it herself. By the time I was sixteen, I guess she thought I didn't need her anymore. She got married and moved away."

  "Didn't you resent her for that?"

  Again he considered his answer before giving it. "People think that if you live way up in the mountains, you have to be strong and self-sufficient."

  Like him, Sarah thought, refusing to give in to the smile that tugged at her mouth.

  "I am. My father was. My grandparents were. But not my mother. She's the kind of woman who needs someone to take care of her." He began assembling the chair, his movements slow and steady. Patsy Ryan had needed someone to care for her, and so did Sarah Lawson, but they were nothing alike. Patsy's need was a flaw inside her; she was too weak to live on her own, to be independent. Sarah, on the other hand, could do anything she set her mind to. The need to care for her was his, a product of his old-fashioned masculine attitude.

  "So she depended on your father, then you. And as soon as she thought you were old enough to be on your own, she found someone else to lean on." After all, a son couldn't provide the same comforts that a husband could. Sarah shook her head in dismay. "I can't imagine a woman abandoning her son like that."

  Daniel looked sharply at her, and his mouth opened, then closed in a tight line. She considered it great progress that he didn't make the natural retort, "Can't you? You abandoned your daughter." But he thought it. She could tell in every hard-set line in his face that he thought it.

  "She was right," he continued after a moment. "I was old enough to be on my own. I didn't need her. I didn't need anyone. I still don't."

  "So you've told me," she said dryly. "And you know what, Daniel? I don't believe you. You have too much to give to be satisfied with no one but yourself. You need Katie. You need Zachary Adam's friendship. And you need a woman, a wife. Someone who loves you."

  "And where am I going to find that?" His tone was sarcastic, edged with a sharp bite. "With this face, I'm no prize."

  Sarah was surprised not at the sentiment, but that he could state it so bluntly to her. She gave a shake of her head. "Believe me, Daniel, any woman with experience with men will take a good man over a handsome one any time." When he didn't look convinced, she continued. "Brent was handsome, and it turned out that he wasn't worth his weight in feathers. I'll never get involved with someone like him again."

  And yet she had loved this man "not worth his weight in feathers." There must have been something more to him, something substantial. And he must have done something pretty awful to make her forget it. "Do you want to get married again?"

  "I don't know." Right after her divorce, she would have said absolutely not. She hadn't thought she would ever trust another man. Then she'd met Daniel, and the trust had come instantly, instinctively, along with the attraction. If he ever chose to marry, he would be a good husband. Whether he married out of loneliness or love, he would commit himself fully to the woman he'd chosen. "I don't know too many people who have been happily married. It's frightening."

  "My grandparents were." His memories of them were vague, since he'd been only seven when they died, one within two months of the other. But he remembered the happiness, the warmth, the love. "They were married for forty-two years, and they were happy."

  "My mother's parents were married a long time, too, but I never thought of them as being happy. He was a mean old man, and she was even meaner." She gave a soft laugh. "Maybe that was just their way of showing affection."

  He liked Sarah's way better—the easy touches, the hugs … the kisses. If she knew what he wanted to do every time she kissed him, she would probably never kiss him again. Then he considered her earlier statement. Any woman with experience … will take a good man over a handsome one any time. Maybe she did know. After all, it was almost impossible for him to hide. Maybe she didn't mind.

  She got to her feet and wandered aimlessly around the room, looking at his tools, the wide variety of supplies, the few finished pieces that hadn't been shipped yet. It must be boring for her, he thought, half his mind on his work, the other half on her, during these long hours when Katie slept and all Sarah could do was talk to him. But she hid it well.

  She picked up a level and tilted it from side to side, watching the colored liquid float back and forth. "I used to watch that show on PBS about renovating old houses," she said, returning the level to its place and sliding her hands into her pockets. There was a questioning note as she waited for acknowledgment from him. Then her face crinkled into a frown. "I guess without a television you wouldn't know about that. I think it's neat what they do—the carpenters and architects and electricians and landscapers. Barring acts of God and greedy developers, their work can last for years. So can yours. And so could mine."

  She thoughtfully considered it before continuing. "Maybe that's why I liked teaching. The nine months or so that I was with those kids would affect the rest of their lives and, in some small way, their children's lives and their children's lives." She grinned. "Maybe I liked that sense of power."

  She continued around the room, ending at the stool again. Full circle, Daniel thought, like their conversation. From their jobs to her marriage to his mother and back to their jobs. Complete.

  Suddenly Sarah was out of things to say. It was time for Katie to wak
e up, she thought. Their daughter had such an incredible sense of timing. She always interceded just when things were getting uncomfortable or, and she smiled faintly with the memory of their first serious kiss, out of control.

  But in the playpen across the room, Katie slept peacefully on.

  When Katie finally awakened they left the workshop for the house, where Daniel fixed lunch while Sarah changed Katie's diaper and helped her wash up. Every few days she offered to help with the meal, but he always turned her down. She wasn't sure if he really didn't want her in his kitchen or if he was simply giving her that little extra time with Katie, but the fact was that he was a far better cook than she was. His meals were simple, but always tasty and hearty.

  After lunch Daniel got his jacket from the rack but left Sarah's and Katie's hanging. "I'm going to put the finish on that chair," he said gruffly, his manner uneasy, his eyes carefully guarded. "It's a little cool to be opening the windows with Katie out there, so why don't you two stay in here?"

  Except for those few minutes after their kiss, this was the first time he had agreed to leave Sarah alone with Katie, and she accepted it for what it was: a measure of his precious trust, hesitantly given, but given just the same. "All right."

  He walked to the door, then looked back. "How do you do your laundry?"

  Caretaker, she thought with a smile as she slid her hands into her pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels. "Where did that interesting question come from?"

  "You don't drive all the way into town just to do it, do you?"

  "Not that it's any of your business, but I do it in the sink." In spite of the tart tone of her voice, her grin was easy and relaxed. "My clothes are clean, I assure you."