The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler

by Arlene James

  It didn’t take long. There wasn’t much to tell. Not even nineteen when Barry was born, Avon hadn’t had much time to acquire a history. What there was, though, was mostly sad. More than a decade younger than Bryce, she hadn’t developed any real ties with her older brother, who had left home early in order to escape their abusive father. Avon’s mother died when she was eleven. She’d lasted two years alone with her father before running away for the first time. Her own experiences with social services after that had soured her on that course. They’d returned her to him. She’d run away from him the last time at sixteen.

  At seventeen, social services had cut her loose and she’d eventually shown up on Bryce’s doorstep, but it was Laurel who had insisted that she stay, and it was Laurel who had worked hard to create a stable life for her. Only after Avon had taken off again after an argument during which Bryce had slapped the girl had Laurel fully given up on her marriage and filed for divorce.

  Avon had shown up once more, this time to find that Laurel and Bryce had split up. She had gone to Danny Hardacre and talked Laurel’s address out of him. After she had told Laurel that she was pregnant, Laurel had moved them to her current apartment in an attempt to honor Avon’s desire to keep Bryce from finding out. Bryce apparently hadn’t cared enough to look for his wayward sister, much to Laurel’s relief.

  Avon had talked at times about Galveston, Texas, and had said that it was there on the beach one night when Barry had been conceived. She had stated baldly that she did not know his father’s identity and did not desire to know. From this and other things she had let slip, Laurel had determined that Avon had been raped, even though Avon would not confirm her suspicion or consent to any sort of counseling on the subject. Only her physical description remained to be discussed, and Laurel pointed out that Barry was a small male version of her, from the top of his red head to the bottoms of his tiny feet. Then she remembered a photo of Avon that she had stuck in his baby book. She hurried away, found it and returned with it in only moments.

  Edward studied the tall, slender girl in the photo, her red hair cropped short and worn close to her head, large amber eyes full of a saucy sadness, full mouth bracketed by dimples in freckled cheeks. Her neck was long, her shoulders, exposed by the tank top she wore with faded cutoffs, knobby and thin. She wasn’t a beauty, but she wasn’t unattractive, either. More than anything else, she simply looked lost and somewhat defiant.

  “May I keep this for a while?”

  At Laurel’s nod, he put the photo in his shirt pocket. Then he tore the sheet from the pad, folded it and put that in his pocket, too. He stood and reached for the suit coat that he had draped over the back of his chair, slinging it on as he came around to Laurel’s side of the table.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked. “I’d planned to do the shopping this evening, but if you’d rather, you can take me to the office and keep the car.”

  She was surprised by the generosity of that offer, though after everything else he’d done, she couldn’t think why. She shook her head. “We’ll be fine until this evening. I don’t think there’s anything here for dinner, though.”

  “We’ll eat out,” he said, standing just inches behind her left shoulder, “and do our shopping afterward.”

  She twisted her head around and tilted it back in order to look at him as they spoke. “We don’t have to go out. It’s difficult with a baby. I’ll order in, if you like.”

  “No,” he said, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders, “I want to take the two of you out, unless it’s too much trouble for you.”

  “No, it’s fine. Whatever you want.”

  He leaned down until his nose touched hers. “Careful,” he said, “I happen to want a lot.”

  She pulled back a little and twisted around in her seat. “What is it you want, Edward?”

  There was that secretive little smile again, and then he was cupping the back of her head with one hand and bringing his mouth down on hers for a long, sweet, gentle kiss. She wanted to get up and wrap her arms around him, but she knew that if she did, she would give him what he apparently wanted. She supposed that she would eventually anyway, despite what it would do to her heart to leave him afterward. She owed him, after all, and in all honesty, she wanted him. It was just too much enticement to be desired this way. Just once, she wanted to know what it meant to be truly, deeply wanted by someone, even if it was only physical for him. And what else could it be? The fact that she was a Heffington obviously meant nothing to him or anyone now that her grandmother was no longer around to wield the family name like a cudgel. She had no money at the moment, and whether or not she ever would have was anybody’s guess. Her fashion expertise was his for the asking. What else but her body was there to want?

  She stayed in her chair, and he eventually broke the kiss, placed another in the center of her forehead, then did the same to Barry before walking to the door. “I’ll try to be home by six,” he said.

  “We’ll be ready,” she assured him.

  “Call the office if you need anything.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “And don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know.”

  “I won’t.”

  He winked and went out through the dining room, across the entry and through the door to the garage. A few moments later she heard the rumble of the car engine and then the clank and clatter of the garage door as it lifted.

  It was a quarter to seven before she heard the garage door lifting again. She was sitting in the living room with Barry, trying to keep them both neat, not that her denim skirt and cotton, sleeveless sweater were likely to wrinkle. She had purposefully chosen her ensemble for its durability. If there was anything she’d learned about babies, it was that they tended to crawl all over you. Of more concern to her was her makeup. She had carefully applied it, after spending most of the day with an ice pack on her cheek and eye, to hide the bruising as much as possible. Her lip was already nearly healed, and the ice had taken care of most of the swelling and the worst of the discoloration. What remained was barely visible beneath the cosmetics, but if she couldn’t keep Barry from rubbing them off her face, it wasn’t going to matter. Added to that worry was another.

  Earlier in the day, she had moved some of the furniture around, breaking up the boring, unimaginative arrangement of walls lined with whatever came next. The large, cream-colored, suede sofa now sat at a slight angle in the center of the room, a white, tan, and orangish rug spread over the wood flooring before it. She placed the chrome-and-glass coffee table in the center of the rug, then arranged a tapestry armchair and small ottoman next to it. Edward’s recliner, which she found a truly abhorrent piece of furniture, she placed at an angle opposite, pointing it toward the entertainment center across the room. A small writing desk and chair of exquisite rosewood had come out of the corner and taken center stage against the longest wall, surrounded by potted plants—silk, unfortunately—and overhung by a lovely sketch of the firehouse as it once was, framed in chrome—another unfortunate choice.

  She’d moved the smaller tables, lamps, magazine caddy and various other pieces into small groupings that took them away from the walls and gave the room a comfortable, lived-in feeling. She’d also rehung several pictures, none of them extraordinary, but all more striking now that they’d been arranged properly.

  Looking around the room, she knew that it was vastly improved, but she suddenly doubted whether Edward would think so or not. Nervously she jumped to her feet and gathered up Barry and baggage, hurrying toward the staircase, intending to meet Edward in the foyer and distract him until she could tell him calmly what she’d done to his house. Edward was already bounding up those same stairs, however, and practically bowled her over at the top, throwing his arms around her and baby to steady them.

  His smile was warm and apologetic. “Sorry I’m late. I forgot about a consultation, and I didn’t want to call you and have a private conversation in front of the guy, and the staff had already g
one home, and…” He stopped in midexplanation and looked around him, mouth ajar.

  Laurel’s stomach dropped. “I’ll move it all back,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have moved anything to begin with. I—I only—”

  “This is great!” he exclaimed, interrupting her and taking a better look around. “Parker’s always said I couldn’t arrange a plate of cookies. Guess he’s right. I’d never have thought of arranging it like this any more than I’d thought of dressing in double-breasted suits. But you’ve got the eye,” he said. Turning back to her, he looked at her as if seeing more than he had before. “Ken was right,” he muttered mysteriously, and then he put his arms around her in a hug. “Listen,” he said, after a moment, “I’d be pleased if you’d redo the whole house top to bottom, but then I’d be pleased if you never did anything but sit in that chair over there from now on. You’d still be nice to come home to. You’re looking good, too, by the way. Bruises hardly show.”

  Laurel leaned back in his arms, Barry perched on her hip, and looked him in the face. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He kissed her then, quickly but firmly, and said, “I’m starving. I know it’s my own fault for being late, but can we go now?”

  She nodded dumbly, and he lifted Barry from the crook of her arm, held him against his chest with one arm and slipped the other about her, moving them all toward the stairs. In short order, they were loaded in the car and backing out of the garage. He named a family-style restaurant up the street a few blocks and asked if that would do for dinner. She said it would, and he drove them there, parking and vaulting out. Before she could get her seat belt undone, her feet on the ground and her denim miniskirt straightened, he had Barry out and was locking the car. Together, they walked into the restaurant. Twenty minutes later, Edward began making a double order of chicken fried steak disappear while she fed Barry off her plate with mashed potatoes, pinches of soft dinner roll, carrots she mashed with a fork and minced grilled chicken.

  Barry was fascinated with the restaurant, the people, the food, Edward. He hardly spared his mother a glance, even while obediently responding to her soft commands to eat by opening his mouth and leaning toward her while his inquisitive eyes followed the frenetic movements of a three-year-old child driving her parents nuts at the next table. Edward chuckled. “You’d think this was his first time out in public.”

  “It is,” Laurel told him. “His first time in a public restaurant, anyway.”

  Edward’s fork halted midway to his mouth. “You’re kidding.”

  She concentrated on mashing a carrot with her fork. “We can’t exactly afford evenings out.”

  Edward lowered his fork as if suddenly losing his appetite. “It’s been pretty tough, hasn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “We’ve managed, but I can’t pretend that the future hasn’t worried me. He’s outgrowing his shoes about every other month now. Fortunately they can be had pretty cheaply at this stage, but what about next year? And the year after that? I don’t even want to think about five or ten down the road.”

  Edward held his hands poised over his plate. “That’s why you’re fighting for your inheritance.”

  She looked at Barry, her heart overflowing with love, and smiled at the way he tried to get that little girl’s attention by smacking the table with the flats of his hands and making a tentative sound partway between a bark and a grunt. The girl didn’t know he existed, but several adults were watching him with bemused expressions. Laurel felt a swell of pride. “Yes, I’m fighting for him,” she said. “It’s all for him.”

  After some time, she became aware that Edward was staring at her, and a faint blush of color stained her cheeks. She looked back to her plate.

  “I understand now,” he said. “I understand everything now.”

  She nodded briskly and focused on the food. She had just put a bite of chicken into her own mouth when a pair of women stopped by the table. One of them, a grandmotherly type, beamed down at Barry and said, “You have the sweetest little boy. He’s so well behaved.”

  Laurel smiled and gulped and moved the chicken to one side of her mouth, but before she could manage to speak, Edward said, “Thank you. We’re proud of him.”

  The woman cooed a moment and moved on, but Laurel could only stare at Edward. Had he meant that? Or had it merely been the expedient thing to do and say? She was afraid to think otherwise, and yet as the evening progressed, Edward showed every sign of intending to step into the role of doting father. He assumed responsibility for getting Barry in and out of his car seat as if that was the normal scheme of things, and insisted on filling their shopping cart at the grocery store with every conceivable food, beverage and snack suitable for a one-year-old.

  Back at the firehouse, as Laurel had come to think of his home, he spent a good half hour on the floor with Barry, playing. When Laurel announced that it was bath time, Edward carried Barry into the bathroom and hovered over them both while she ran a few inches of water into the obscenely large tub, disrobed Barry and began the arduous task of washing him. Soon, Edward had gotten into the fray himself, and soon after that, all three were soaked.

  Edward even followed them into the bedroom and sat on the bed with Barry playing peekaboo with the towel while Laurel gathered up his nightclothes, diapers and all the requisite paraphernalia connected with putting a baby down for the night. Edward even gave him his medicine and put his diaper on him, but when putting his jammies on threatened to become a game of tickle, Laurel had to step in and take over, pointing out that it didn’t help little boys sleep if they got all excited and stimulated just before the lights went out. With that new knowledge, Edward himself dimmed the lights and stood by to occasionally pat Barry’s little back while Laurel cuddled him, humming softly, and tucked him into bed. As they tiptoed from the room minutes later, Edward slipped his arm around Laurel’s shoulders. They moved down the short hall and turned into the living room, where Edward brushed his damp shirt and said, “We need one of those baby bathtubs.”

  “There’s one under the kitchen sink at home,” she answered distractedly.

  “I’ll get it tomorrow if you like.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no point going to that trouble.”

  “You sure? I don’t mind.”

  She shook her head more firmly. “We’ll be going home soon.”

  Edward brought his hands to his hips, his face suddenly shuttered. “Do you really think that’s wise? Bryce would be stupid not to make another grab for Barry if he thought he could, and I guarantee you, we wouldn’t get him back so easily again.”

  She sighed. “I know you’re right. I just don’t want to impose on you any more than I have to. Maybe I should look for another apartment.”

  “You don’t want to stay here?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She shook her head, knowing she couldn’t explain, and said again, “I just don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing,” he told her softly. Stepping up beside her, he brushed his hands over her shoulders and down her bare arms. Her skin felt supersensitized, tingling. “I want you here with me,” he said. “Both of you.”

  “I know you’re trying to keep us safe,” she said breathlessly, “but—”

  “It’s not that! Not only that.”

  “No? What is it then? Because—”

  His hands slid up her arms, over her shoulders and up the smooth column of her throat to cup her face and tilt it. “You ought to know by now,” he whispered, stepping closer still. “I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you from the first. I didn’t understand it myself in the beginning, and I made some stupid mistakes. I want to make up for that, though, and I want—”.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “You,” he said. “I want you.”

  Laurel caught her breath, mesmerized by the smiling warmth of those pale blue eyes and the feel of his hands against her skin, his big body stan
ding next to hers, the male strength of him. She thought dimly that if she simply forgot for a moment that this wasn’t love, then this would be a perfect moment. In some ways, it was as if her whole life had been about this moment, and she knew that when it passed she would never be the same. Then he brushed his thumb across her lower lip, and the moment became more. Not only was she safe, she was free. Not only was she desired, she desired, as well. Not only was she treasured…Such love for Edward White swelled her heart that it was almost painful. She gave a little sob as his mouth brushed against hers and felt the tickle and prickle of his mustache all through her body.

  He tilted her face with his hands and settled his mouth against hers. Parting his lips and slanting them, he opened her mouth for the gentle exploration of his tongue, first touching the edges of her teeth. Slowly he licked the sensitive undersides of her lips and then the slick, silky walls of the cavern of her mouth.

  Laurel slid her arms around him, locking herself tight against the hard column of his body. Her eyes closed, and she gave herself up, finally, to the heady plunge of his tongue into the well of her mouth. What had been gentle exploration became savage thrusting. His hands dropped away, his arms closing around her. She knew then that she was going to give him any and everything he wanted of her. It was too late to worry about what came next. Whatever came, she’d have this. It would have to be enough.

  Somehow, it would just have to be enough.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He felt ten feet tall and as strong as Atlas, especially when he swept her up into his arms and carried her swiftly to the bedroom. He left the doors open, mindful of Barry in the other room. He might need his mother. She would feel guilty and blame herself if he cried and she didn’t hear. And it was Edward’s selfappointed job to take care of them both. He had never embraced any responsibility more fully, had never cared so deeply, and he was grateful beyond words that she understood that, that she had forgiven him his stupidity and opened her heart to him. He was grateful. He was humbled. He was deliriously happy.