Rough Around the Edges

by Marie Ferrarella

  He shrugged, not wanting to pursue the matter. It had been a stupid one at that, he thought. “What about Shawna?”

  She stiffened her shoulders unconsciously. “What about her?”

  He’d have thought that would have been the first question she’d think of. “Who’ll watch her if you go back to work?”

  “Sylvia works at home most of the time.” She’d already broached the matter to Sylvia when she’d returned from the interview. Sylvia had stayed with Shawna for the afternoon and was more than willing to turn that into an on-going event. “She can watch her.”

  He knew all about the hours that Sylvia kept. They were highly irregular. “Most of the time,” he echoed. “What about when she’s out? Are you going to have someone else raise your baby?”

  “Why are you interrogating me this way?” she demanded. “What’s it to you if Sylvia watches the baby or I have a sitter for her?”

  “Because…because…” The right words weren’t coming. The doorbell rang at that moment, preventing the wrong ones from emerging. Frustrated, he shot her a look as he crossed to the door. “This isn’t over yet.”

  “What isn’t over yet?” she asked, confused and annoyed at the tone he had taken with her.

  He didn’t trust himself to answer her civilly. If someone had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to explain what was going on inside him now—or why there was this overwhelming urge, as he yanked open the door, to just keep walking until he’d put her and these feelings all behind him.

  The man standing in the doorway quickly sent thoughts of prolonged walks or a drive to the Shamrock out of his head.

  “Mr. Rutherford.”

  Framed by the doorway, the INS agent appeared even smaller than he had in his office. He gave the impression of peering over O’Rourke’s shoulder without moving a muscle. “Is this a bad time?”

  O’Rourke struggled for composure. Was there something wrong with his application for citizenship? Had the paperwork been turned down after all? “No, why?”

  Rutherford kept his expression bland and unreadable, save for a small, obligatory smile. “I thought I heard raised voices coming from here just as I rang the bell.”

  “I was shouting to make myself heard over the doorbell and the radio,” O’Rourke told him. Realizing that he was blocking the way, O’Rourke stepped back to admit the agent into the apartment. His eyes found Kitt’s. “Look who’s here, love.”

  Instantly alert, Kitt smiled brightly at the INS agent, completely burying any residual annoyance she’d just felt. It was showtime and O’Rourke needed her—the big, dumb jerk.

  Coming forward, she put out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Rutherford.”

  “Hello. Mrs. O’Rourke.” He shook her hand, looking around. “What radio?” he asked O’Rourke. “I don’t hear a radio.”

  Kitt jumped in quickly. “That’s because I shut it off when I realized the doorbell was ringing. We like to play the radio. It helps soothe Shawna in the evening.”

  She saw the look of gratitude in O’Rourke’s eyes and it pleased her.

  “How is your daughter?” Rutherford asked. Like the investigator he sometimes was, the man drifted around the room, observing, making mental notes.

  The best way to handle this was straightforwardly, Kitt decided. “Come see for yourself.” Beckoning him to follow her, Kitt led Rutherford to the bedroom so he could see the baby.

  “You keep her in your room?” Rutherford asked Kitt.

  The baby stirred but continued sleeping. Kitt nodded toward the doorway, taking O’Rourke’s hand as she moved out of the room again.

  Rutherford made note of that, too.

  “For now,” she told the agent quietly, answering his question. “She’s been sick and O’—Shawn Michael,” she corrected herself quickly, “wanted to be able to hear her if she started to cry.” She smiled, remembering how kind O’Rourke had been that evening they’d rushed to the hospital. Whatever else the man was, she had to give him his due. He was good to her daughter. And just because he was distancing himself from her didn’t mean he wasn’t a good man.

  She was quick on her feet, O’Rourke thought, tipping his hat to her. Aware that she was still holding his hand, he threaded his fingers through it and smiled at her when she looked at him.

  They were in the living room now. Rutherford felt it was all right to cease talking in whispers. “Sounds like you’re turning out to be a good father.”

  “He’s a natural,” Kitt told the man as O’Rourke self-consciously shrugged away the observation.

  Surprised at the feeling behind her words, O’Rourke raised his eyes to Kitt’s. Her smile widened.

  The silent communication was not lost on the INS agent. Looking around the room, he saw the application form Kitt had been filling out when O’Rourke had walked in. He raised a quizzical brow and nodded at the form. “What’s this?”

  “A job application.” Picking it up, she handed it to the man, making sure that he noticed what she had filled in as to her marital status. “I was thinking of going back to work.”

  His attention was drawn to O’Rourke rather than to her. “Oh?”

  Trying to cull the man’s good graces, she still felt herself resenting the implication that the decision of whether or not she return to work rested with her so-called husband. They’d come a long way since the Dark Ages.

  “I’m the independent kind, Mr. Rutherford,” she told him. “I like pulling my own weight. Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I expect my husband to provide for me. I like the idea of being able to bring something to the table, so to speak, as well.”

  Rutherford studied her for a long moment. His expression gave nothing away. The silence was driving Kitt crazy. Her hand tightened in O’Rourke’s.

  “So, everything’s going well?” Rutherford finally asked. “In general,” he added.

  “Very well,” Kitt told him with feeling, deciding that maybe she’d better play up the role of the supportive wife. After all, this was about O’Rourke, not her. “Shawn Michael’s got that backing he needed after all.”

  “Really?” For the first time, there was genuine interest and a smattering of pleasure on the other man’s lean face.

  O’Rourke was relieved to be able to discuss something he knew about. “Someone my father once knew back in Ireland has connections here and—” He realized he was about to become long-winded. “To make a long story short, we have the funding to finish the work on the computers. The Emerald computers should be on the market before Thanksgiving.”

  “And these are different from hundreds of other brands how?” Rutherford asked, curious.

  O’Rourke felt himself getting revved up. “Mine use a different kind of processor. One that’s extremely affordable for smaller businesses. They’re four times as fast as the standard computer on the market today and—” O’Rourke stopped. “You really want to hear this? I can get pretty carried away.”

  “That he does,” Kitt put in, gently caressing O’Rourke’s cheek. “Work consumes a lot of his time. But he’s always there for the baby and me when we need him,” she added quickly.

  There was such feeling in her voice that again, Rutherford stopped to study her for a long moment. “I see. And is this marriage everything you’d hoped it would be, Mrs. O’Rourke?”

  If she laid it on too thickly, she knew he would be suspicious. So she brushed a kiss against O’Rourke’s cheek and wove her arms through his.

  “We’re still in the period of adjustment, Mr. Rutherford, but yes, I think we’re on our way to making a strong marriage.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Rutherford said.

  “It’s what I answered.” Kitt tossed her hair over her shoulder. “And I think my answer is actually better than your question.”

  Rutherford raised a brow, then looked at O’Rourke. “I see you have your hands full, Mr. O’Rourke.”

  O’Rourke laughed and there was pleasure in his voice. “You don’t know the half o
f it.”

  “Maybe I do.” They both looked at him quizzically. “I’ll be honest with you. When I gave my seal of approval to the matter of your wedding, I had some reservations. I’ve seen too many bogus marriages not to. But I also saw something in the two of you that made me think that maybe, just maybe, this one was on the level.” He allowed himself a half smile. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m relieved I wasn’t wrong.”

  Kitt exchanged looks with O’Rourke, relieved that for now, they’d cleared another hurdle. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Mr. Rutherford?”

  The question took the agent by surprise and he didn’t answer at first. “You know, in all my years of doing this, not a single couple has ever asked me to break bread with them. They’re always in a hurry to hand me my hat and see me on my way.”

  “That’s because they’re afraid of you,” she told him honestly. “You’re the man who could put an end to their hopes.”

  “And you don’t feel that way?” he asked her, his eyes shifting to take in O’Rourke as well.

  “No, I don’t feel that way. And neither does Shawn Michael.” She looked at him, waiting for O’Rourke to agree. “We’re all responsible for ourselves in this world, Mr. Rutherford. We’re the ones who can make our own dreams come true—or not.”

  He liked her spirit and her philosophy. Slanting a look at O’Rourke, Rutherford had a feeling he wasn’t alone. “You have yourself a wonderful woman, here, Mr. O’Rourke.”

  O’Rourke slipped his arm around Kitt’s waist. “Yes, I’m just beginning to fully appreciate that.”

  There was something in O’Rourke’s voice that gave Kitt pause and she looked at him.

  You’re just reading things into his voice, she told herself.

  Looking toward the kitchen, Rutherford hesitated for a moment, then made his decision. “Much as I’d like to stay and as convinced as I am that the wonderful aroma I detect coming from your kitchen far surpasses anything that Mrs. Rutherford might have waiting for me on my arrival home, the way I’ve made my marriage work is always to be home when I said I would be.”

  O’Rourke opened the door for him. Rutherford raised his eyes to O’Rourke’s as he crossed the threshold. “You might want to keep that in mind.”

  “Absolutely,” O’Rourke agreed. “Nice to see you again.”

  And nice to see you leave, he added silently as he closed the door behind the man.

  O’Rourke didn’t know whose sigh of relief was louder, his or Kitt’s.

  Chapter Twelve

  O’Rourke turned to Kitt after a moment, a myriad of feelings moving through him, jockeying for space and recognition.

  He owed her, he thought, he owed her a great deal. But it wasn’t gratitude that was rising to the top right now. It was something else. And he wasn’t any surer of what he wanted to do about it now than he had been all the other times he’d felt it making its presence known.

  “You think well on your feet.”

  Relieved that the INS agent had decided not to take her up on her impromptu dinner invitation and had left, Kitt looked at the man she’d put herself on the line for and wondered if she was making a big mistake again.

  Somehow, she didn’t think so. Her mouth curved in amusement at his comment. “I think well in any position. What are you referring to, specifically?”

  He followed her back to the living room. “Coming up with a reason for the crib in the room.”

  She lifted her shoulder, shrugging off the accomplishment as next to nothing. The peasant blouse she had on slid down, exposing her shoulder.

  “Piece of cake.”

  Her words dried in her mouth as he pushed the material back into place before she had a chance to. She could feel his fingers moving up her shoulder slowly. Fanning fires that were supposed to remain dormant.

  His eyes held hers. Did she feel it? Did she feel that spark between them?

  Spark, hell, it was a forest fire waiting to go out of control. “And that bit about me being a good father was a nice touch.”

  His eyes were holding hers. She was finding it difficult to breathe. A sensible woman would have stepped back by now. But a sensible woman probably wouldn’t have gotten herself into this situation—any of it—in the first place.

  “I meant it.”

  O’Rourke fought the very real urge to bring the peasant blouse back down until it was around her waist. He wanted to hold her. To touch her. “I never thought of myself as the father type.”

  “You should,” she told him softly, wishing he would kiss her. “You’ve all the qualifications for it.”

  He didn’t want to crowd her. Just because he was having trouble wrestling with urges he hadn’t dealt with since he was a teenager, didn’t mean she had to put up with them.

  O’Rourke stepped back. “Why? Because I know CPR for infants? I already told you—”

  Space, why was there always space between them? Didn’t he find her attractive? She tried to concentrate on what they were talking about and not on what was ricocheting all through her.

  “You’re a caretaker,” she contradicted. “Why does that bother you so much?”

  Before he knew what he was doing, he was telling her. Telling her things he didn’t talk about with anyone because it was his business, his and his family’s. But he was telling her, anyway. “Because my father was a caretaker and it killed him. Working double shifts in the mine to provide for kids he shouldn’t have had. At least, not all of them.”

  “Oh? And which ones should he have cut out?”

  O’Rourke looked at her, taken aback by the passion in her voice, confused by her question. “What?”

  “Your brothers and sisters, which one would you have left out of the mix? If you could pick which ones should never have been born, who would you choose?”

  “I can’t choose—” O’Rourke snapped, annoyed.

  “Then you like them all.”

  “Of course I like them all, but—”

  Did she have to hit him over the head with it, or was he being deliberately obtuse just to bait her? “Maybe so did your father.”

  He sighed. She had a point, he supposed, but he wasn’t about to say so. Whether or not James O’Rourke loved all his children—and he did—didn’t matter. The end result was still the same. “He died too young.”

  Kitt’s eyes locked with his. “Everyone dies too young.”

  She’d made another valid point, he thought, not knowing whether to be impressed or irritated. He settled for a little of both. “You know, woman, you do have an antagonistic way about you.”

  She grinned, the mood lightening. “So I’ve been told. I wasn’t trying to make friends, I was trying to show you that you’re wrong.”

  He bristled at that and felt the need to retreat from the thought he’d been entertaining himself. “Well, if anyone’s wrong, it’s Rutherford.”

  She started to sit down again, to finish filling out the rest of the application, but he’d sparked her curiosity. “About?”

  “Saying that he had a feeling when he saw us that we might be the couple who would ‘make it.”’

  So he thought that was wrong, did he? Kitt felt something tightening inside her. And something hurting. Damn it, what was wrong with her? Why did she insist on doing this to herself? Why did she insist on letting the strings around her heart loosen to the point that she was in jeopardy of being hurt? Wasn’t once enough? Hadn’t she learned anything?

  “So you thought he was wrong?” she asked stiffly.

  “Of course I did.” O’Rourke tried to read her reaction and failed miserably. “Didn’t you?”

  “Sure.” She glanced up. “The baby’s crying.” And for once, Kitt blessed her for it. She needed an excuse to get away from O’Rourke before she did something stupid like cry. God, but she’d thought she was made of sterner stuff than this. “I’d better go to her.”

  He frowned, cocking his head slightly as he listened. “I don’t hear anything.”

&nb
sp; “Deaf as well as blind,” she muttered before she could stop herself. “Not much of a prize, are you?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He found himself talking to her retreating back.

  “Nothing,” she shot back over her shoulder, annoyed with her lack of control, “absolutely nothing.”

  Left standing alone in the living room, O’Rourke shook his head. What the hell had just happened here? Had they been in the same conversation? And where had all this tension come from?

  But she’d certainly put him in his place, he thought, agreeing as to how wrong Rutherford had been in his whimsical estimation that they looked like a couple who actually belonged together.

  The thought was really absurd.

  And yet wasn’t that what he’d just been thinking himself? Still, one of them thinking that wasn’t enough. It took two…

  Kitt found herself blinking back tears as she changed the baby.

  This was stupid, she upbraided herself. Reaching for the baby powder, she dusted the newly dried bottom. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She hadn’t been this emotional while she was pregnant. Why was she having such a hard time harnessing her emotions now, after the baby was born?

  Powder container met bureau with more force than it should have, sending up a white cloud. It had been two months now, shouldn’t things have gotten back to normal by now?

  Normal, right, she laughed at herself. Here she was, living in some strange man’s apartment, pretending to be his wife….

  No, she wasn’t pretending, Kitt corrected herself silently. She was his wife. The words were legal, the document was legal. What she was pretending about were the feelings…

  No, she admitted to herself quietly, she wasn’t pretending about those, either. They were there, all right.

  But she was going to have to ignore them. She folded one diaper tab into place, then the other. Shawna kicked bowed legs that were becoming chubby in glee. Kitt smiled in response, her heart heavy. Certainly O’Rourke didn’t feel anything for her. Except maybe gratitude, and even that was hard to tell, once he got a burr under his saddle and growled his way through the day.