Tender Loving Care

by Jennifer Greene

  “It’s nowhere as large as your house,” she warned. “You have to remember that when I left here, I didn’t know I was coming back with three extra people. I can’t imagine where we’re going to fit everyone…”

  As they all stepped inside, she rambled on. Paying no attention, Rafe took the heavy box she’d insisted on carrying, and then grabbed the suitcase before she could reach for it. The woman was driving him nuts, which she damn well knew. Radiating confidence, wearing a sassy smile, blithe as a spring breeze, she could probably benefit from a slight shaking. The problem was that he could never stay angry with her for long.

  Zoe was a master of stubbornness. Arguing with her was like fighting with the wind: The gusts just kept coming, strong, cool and relentless. He’d argued with her when he’d found her rocking Aaron at four in the morning. He’d argued with her when she’d claimed she’d broken the needle on his stereo, when very obviously Parker had done it, and Rafe didn’t care about the damn thing anyway. He’d argued with her over spending part of her life’s savings on children’s books.

  She was wearing herself out caring for the twins, but he couldn’t make her see it. She refused to recognize that she was fantastic with them, and she’d done her level best to get out of spending three weeks with them on her turf. Even last night, she’d still been arguing that there was no point in their coming here; the kids obviously belonged with him.

  Where the damn woman belonged was with him, where he could protect her and love her and take care of her and love her…and more things like that.

  Instead, she figured she had everything all set. He’d be with the monsters all day forming the attachment she was so anxious for him to feel, and she’d be off at her job, busy being emotionally uninvolved. He knew she felt she had to protect herself. He understood about that emotional brick wall she’d built up. He was just at an increasing loss as to how to convince her that he wasn’t going to hurt her. All he wanted to do was love her.

  “Hold on, Geronimo!”

  Both boys halted in midair with guilty expressions.

  “We’re not going to touch anything until we have Zoe’s permission, are we, boys?”

  “Rafe, it’s all right-”

  “Is that clear?” he demanded of the boys.

  It was clear; they even bounded off to explore at a reasonably sedate space.

  “I’m afraid they’ll have to sleep in a double bed. That’s all I’ve got in the spare room.”

  “It’ll do just fine.”

  “I don’t have that much closet space. I’ll move things to make space for your clothes just as soon as-”

  “Yes,” he clipped out, but he wasn’t really listening. Tossing his jacket on a chair, he glanced around the room, and every ounce of irritation and frustration slowly faded from his system.

  Her living room wouldn’t survive a five-minute assault by the four-year-olds. She had four similar lamps. He thought they were called Tiffany-style lamps; they had stained-glass shades that gleamed like jewels when switched on. A whimsical collection of pewter candlesnuffers sat on a cherry table that had been varnished to a high gleam. Near the door stood a hat rack festooned with a dozen of those crazy hats she loved.

  She must have started with a neutral color scheme-at least the couch and rug were of a muted sand color. It had been silly of her, really; bland colors weren’t Zoe. A cluster of peacock feathers waved brightly from a brass umbrella stand in the corner. Fat couch pillows displayed more rainbow colors, so did a handmade afghan crocheted in bright squares. Her bookcase was another catchall for color…polished stones she must have picked up at the beach, a hand-painted cup and saucer, a crystal dangling where it caught the light. Plants hung in the windows. Maybe they’d been tame at one time, but the greenery had long since taken to sprawling wildly in search of every ray of available light. Like Zoe, who so indomitably reached for zest and life, and who was so damned sure she was happy settling for tameness and safety.

  “Oh, God, it’s a mess,” she said distractedly, and immediately hid a crocheting bag behind the couch, started to gather up magazines.

  “It’s not a mess. It’s just like you,” he said gently.

  “I’m a sucker for clutter,” she agreed with a laugh, and then stood with her hands on her hips, wearing an expression he knew well. “This time, you take the bed and I’ll take the couch, and I refuse to hear any arguments about it. You wouldn’t fit on my couch if we sawed you off at the knees.”

  “True.” His tone was wry.

  “Well…” For some ridiculous reason, she suddenly felt uncertain. This was her home, where she’d always had control of her life. If Rafe would just stop looking at her with that soft smile…“I’d better show you where everything is,” she said briskly.

  She showed him everything in her coral kitchen from soup bowls to peanut butter, then revealed the secrets of her washing machine, then toured the bath and spare room where the kids would sleep. Everything went fine until they reached her bedroom, where he was going to sleep.

  She slipped inside while he stayed rooted in the doorway, and that quiet smile of his blossomed into a full-fledged grin. Darn it, she’d had no time to prepare for company, and certainly not in here. With her hand behind her at the dresser, she rapidly shoved earrings, a nightgown and bra into the drawer. “Now, I know it looks a little crowded, but the closet in the spare room is less crowded, and I’ll take some of my stuff out of the drawers…”

  He simply refused to pay attention. His gaze was dawdling over the dozen half-filled vials of perfume-she loved scent-the collection of framed butterflies on the wall, the pink satin spread with its soft fringe, the trinkets spilling out of her jewelry box.

  “Know something, Zoe?” he murmured.

  “What?”

  His blue eyes alit on her the way a bee settles on nectar. “You’re pure female right down to the smallest cell in your body.”

  Frustration coiled in Zoe’s stomach. She was going to feel safe, sound and immune from that man’s eyes if it killed her.

  Chapter Seven

  “Go on, you big ox. Swim! Get out of here. Scram. We’re your enemies, remember?” Zoe’s Institute for Orca Research had three mammoth saltwater holding tanks. At the moment the underwater gates were open on one of them. Tattered Lady and her calf were free to go, and the Pacific and freedom were waiting for them.

  Five weeks before, Zoe had been a member of the institute crew that had brought in the wounded humpback. The name Tattered Lady had been a natural. The dorsal fin had been so chewed up that the whale had been weak from loss of blood and unable to care for her young one. During Zoe’s absence, Tattered Lady had been successfully nursed back to health, but the honor of freeing her had been delayed until Zoe’s return…only the lady was not all that excited about reentering a cold, cruel world.

  Zoe had spent more than half of her first day back at work underwater in a wet suit. Dressed in street clothes now, she was weary and freezing under a typical Puget Sound mist. She crossed her ankles and all available fingers as the whale once more breached and dived in a graceful arc toward the gate. Just as smoothly, she turned and headed back inland.

  “That’s freedom out there, you big jerk,” Zoe hissed with frustration. “Where’s your pride? You want to be on welfare the rest of your life? You’re as healthy as a horse, you big lummox. Go get your own plankton.”

  “You tell her, Zoe.” Sandy, next to Zoe, was chuckling at Zoe’s scoldings. With the ink on her bachelor of science diploma barely dry, Sandy was the youngest member of the oceanographic team. A brunette with a shy smile, she’d found a mentor in Zoe from her first day on the job. “Good to have you back,” she said affectionately.

  Zipping up her jacket, Zoe grinned. “Good to be back. I hear you did a terrific job while I was gone. No more horrendous teasing about being our institute rookie?”

  Sandy shrugged her slight shoulders. “I expected that when I started here.” She motioned toward the water. “Want me
to leave the gate open overnight?”

  “No. I only made that mistake once, about two years ago, and ended up with two sharks, a ray and a school of jellyfish prepared to set up house here permanently. Tomorrow we’ll bait the water outside the gate or, if worse comes to worst, lead the calf out and hope the mother follows.” Zoe sighed, giving one more possessive glance at her humpback whale before grabbing her shoulder bag. “She’s healed well. I had my doubts she could make it when we brought her in five weeks ago.”

  “Ralph says you bully them into surviving.”

  Zoe sent her a wry glance in shared understanding of their boss’s character. “Ralph’s always free with compliments, but he keeps us in the water and himself dry and warm in the lab.”

  “You mind if I stick close tomorrow? I’d like to help you on the echolocation project.”

  “Sure.” Minutes later, Zoe was inside her car and headed toward home. It was barely five, yet the mist was slowly turning into a downpour that Zoe knew would mean a full-fledged fog by morning. A wildlife sanctuary bordered the institute’s property. Spring was busting out on both sides of the coastal road, and any other time she would have slowed to admire the burst of violet star thistles clustered so spectacularly on her left.

  Tonight she hardly noticed nature’s wonders; her foot was steady on the gas pedal. She was busy feeling relief that her first day back at work had been everything she’d hoped-absorbing, challenging, satisfying.

  You didn’t even miss them, she told herself as she passed another car that seemed to be dawdling. She was equally certain that the three males in her life had survived beautifully without her-probably a thousand times better than if she’d been there. The boys had Rafe, they didn’t need her, and heck, she’d felt as though she were being let out of prison when she’d gone to work this morning. Freedom. Lunch when she wanted it. Work she could concentrate on. Driving with both hands on the wheel instead of one adjusting a seat belt that a four-year-old had wriggled out of. Uninterrupted conversations between adults, spoken in adult language to people who’d never heard of X-Men. What more could a woman ask for?

  Frustrated at a red light, she took a thorough look in four directions, discovered no other cars and guiltily ran the light. Three blocks later she jammed on the brake in her driveway, tugged her purse strap over her shoulder and hurled herself out of the car. Noting that Jay was offering a friendly wave from his second-floor apartment, she waved back. She knew she should stop to thank the older man for taking care of her place while she was gone, and she would…soon, but not now.

  Belatedly aware that she was rushing hell-bent for leather for no reason at all, she slowed her pace to a sedate gallop. It’s that man’s fault. Before he came into your life, you were a sane, competent, rational, sensible…

  …surprised woman, she qualified fleetingly as she opened the front door. At first glance, she wondered who was moving. Her four Tiffany-style lamps were grouped on top of the bookcase, along with her pewter candlesnuffers, her crocheting bag and every ornament she’d ever collected-some of which she hadn’t seen in years. Pillowcases were draped over her cherrywood tables like giant doilies. Her afghan was meticulously folded over a hanger in the front hall closet. The apartment hadn’t looked so neat since the last tenant had lived there. No noise, no chaos…no Rafe, no children…

  Tossing her yellow felt hat on the rack, Zoe ran a hand through her hair and wandered through to the kitchen. “Where is everybody?”

  Two angels with freshly brushed hair instantly scraped back chairs to barrel toward her. “Snookums!”

  Her renegade heart turned over. She hadn’t exactly missed them all day, she’d just…missed them. Terribly. Still, one good look and she could see who was the better caretaker. No sticky fingers, no signs of tears; Rafe had found a miracle cure for little boys’ cowlicks, and their shirts were even tucked in! If her own particular failures at mothering assaulted her at that moment, she didn’t care. She could still be an aunt, couldn’t she? She could still love them.

  Wet smacks delivered, they chattered thirteen to the dozen. She nodded gravely at intervals, and finally snatched a moment to look at Rafe.

  Standing by the stove, he had a towel slung over his shoulder and a wooden spoon in his hand. “Good day?” he mouthed, and she nodded her reply with a sparkle of laughter for his efficient house-husband appearance, but then her smile wavered. His shirt was hanging out; he must have spent the day acquiring bags under his eyes; and his color brought to mind a man who’d just crossed a desert without food or water.

  When the twins left the room, she straightened. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. Just sit down and relax. Dinner’s ready and waiting.”

  It was. His meat loaf wasn’t bad, and the bakery-bought cheesecake was delicious. If Rafe didn’t say much, the two boys more than made up for his reticence with steady dinner-table conversation. Aaron only tried to climb on the table once, and Zoe watched in amazement as both boys took their plates to the counter when they finished. His control…she’d never once had that kind of control over the children, and when dinner was over he insisted she not help with the dishes. “Look, for a few weeks, our roles are reversed. While I was working, you had time for that stuff. Now you’re working, I’m the one with time to take over the house. You think I can’t handle it just because I’m a man?”

  “Of course not.” She just wasn’t used to that belligerent tone, not from Rafe, nor could she keep her eyes off his ravaged face. It seemed politic to cart the kids out of his sight for a bath, which naturally turned into a long, wet, noisy process. After that, she read them a story and tucked them in.

  Once the kids were in bed, she wandered back out. Noting that Rafe wasn’t in the kitchen, she poked her head into the living room. At first glance she saw no one there either; but then, at first glance, she hadn’t thought to look down.

  Six feet three inches of spread-eagled man lay prostrate on the carpet. Wasted was the first word that came to her mind, and laughter her first reaction, but no smile touched her lips as she looked down at him. A nameless emotion welled inside her-something vulnerable and potent and fragile.

  She reminded herself of the outstanding job she’d done over the past two weeks in avoiding physical contact with him. She reminded herself that it wouldn’t kill him to be a little tired. She reminded herself that his contact with the boys was exactly what was needed to create an emotional bond between them. She reminded herself of a lot of things, and then she quietly slipped off her shoes and tiptoed toward him.

  Kneeling beside him, she leaned forward and gently applied her fingers to the nape of his neck. Contrary to appearances, the man was not dead. He groaned, quite loudly. She didn’t find tight muscles in his neck; she found shafts of ungiving sinew and just shook her head. “All right. So tell me what happened,” she ordered him.

  It seemed to require a monumental amount of strength for him even to talk. “I took them grocery shopping.”

  “Ah.”

  “I will never make the mistake of doing that again.”

  “I understand.” She rubbed and pulled and stretched those muscles.

  “You know that park a couple blocks away?”

  “Yes?”

  “Aaron climbed to the top of the monkey bars and couldn’t get down.”

  “Hmm.” Who would have guessed that a big, strong man could be turned into bread dough by a simple back rub?

  “After we came home, Parker locked himself in the bathroom. I had to unhinge the door to get him out.”

  “Hmm.”

  “All of your perfumes are now in the medicine cabinet. I bought a lock for it. The key’s in my shoe. I couldn’t think of any other safe place to hide it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The yarn in that bag…They figured it would be a neat idea to turn the entire living room into a huge spiderweb and-never mind. I’ll buy you some new yarn. See, when I told them it was okay, I had no idea…Zoe. I had no idea-”r />
  “It’s okay.”

  “I read them this story about a choo-choo train at least forty times. Want to hear it? Because by now I’m pretty sure I’ve got it memorized.”

  “Not necessary,” she assured him.

  “Zoe?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love them. But they’re animals.”

  “Now, Rafe. Your first day was bound to be a little tough, but I think it’s possible they’re just normal four-year-olds.”

  “Maybe. But they lie. I asked them why the curtain was down.” He motioned vaguely to the curtain which was now back up. “They said it was an ‘awesome miracle.’ I asked them why your room smelled like a perfume factory. They said a little man with green hair had come into the house and done it. And they talk, Zoe. They talk all day. They never stop talking.”

  “I know,” she murmured. And at that exact moment, she knew something else: it was really too late to talk herself out of loving him.

  She pushed up his shirt-the material was only in the way, anyway-and let her palms roam possessively over his warm skin. Her conscience registered all the warnings she already knew. A short-term intimate relationship was impossible because of the children. And a long-term relationship was equally impossible, not just because Rafe hadn’t mentioned marriage, but because marriage for the sake of the children had died out in medieval times. When and if she sought a long-term relationship, she would have to be absolutely certain that she mattered to him. However selfish that was, she simply couldn’t survive failing in another relationship because of expectations about children that she couldn’t fulfill.

  So all relationships were impossible, but her hands kept kneading, and that feeling of love started in her toes and slowly filled her, engulfing her in its glow until her throat felt tight. It was the strangest thing. Sex should have been part of it. A bewilderingly strong sexual attraction had been part of her feelings for Rafe from the beginning, but hormones didn’t explain that welling in her throat, the way her eyes felt tight, the sensation of soft sweetness spreading through her in lazy tentacles.