She feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“Instead of looking for parents for Amanda, you should find yourself a husband. Then you can provide the brothers and sisters Amanda needs.”
She swallowed the panic his suggestion provoked. “I’m not marriage material, Mike.”
He gave her hands another squeeze, then released them, but his clear blue gaze skewered her. “You didn’t think you were mother material, either, but look how you’ve handled Amanda. My own Katie couldn’t have done better.”
“You really think so?” Satisfaction cascaded through her at his words.
“Absolutely.” He rose to his feet. “Now, how about some lunch?”
“You go on. I’ll be down as soon as I’ve transmitted this week’s column to the syndicate.”
She watched him leave with a spring in his step, unusual for someone who had been so ill only a week before, but she was glad he was mending. Dear old Mike. His compliments boosted her confidence in her parenting skills, but they did nothing to reassure her about the idea of marriage. As daunting as bringing up a baby was, parenting was a picnic compared to the skills necessary for a permanent relationship with a man.
Even a man like Colin?
She thrust the thought away. What she really needed was advice on what to do when Colin’s kisses turned her knees to water or when her heart leaped into furious pounding whenever he entered the room. She needed someone to explain how to deal with him when her words displeased him or she couldn’t make him understand how she felt. Gramma’s journals, aside from suggestions for feeding a man well, provided no help at all in that department.
She relayed her column over the phone line and hurried downstairs for lunch. When she reached the foot of the stairs, Colin came through the front door with a flat of potted flowers tucked under one arm.
She halted on the bottom stair and gripped the newel to stop herself from running to him. The bright Florida sun outlining his muscular physique, the flowering plants beneath his strong, tanned arm and a look in his eyes warm enough to incinerate icebergs resurrected every memory of his touch, of his lips on hers.
She struggled for objectivity. “Your dad says lunch is ready.”
“Looks like you’ve caught me with the goods.” He inclined his head toward the plants. “I was hoping to surprise you.”
“Those are for me?” Joy surged inside her, but she tamped it down, refusing to place importance on it. He worked for her, after all. Maybe the flowers were part of his job. “Are they for the yard?”
He laid the flat across some nearby sawhorses and dusted his hands. “The fire killed the plants in your kitchen window. I saw these while I was at the home store and thought they’d make a good replacement.”
She stepped into the hall and examined the ruffled jade leaves and pale yellow blossoms that suffused the air with a sweet, peppery fragrance. “They’re beautiful. What are they?”
He moved behind her, and although he didn’t touch her, her nerves danced with an awareness of his closeness. “A new geranium hybrid. They’re the color of sunshine, so they reminded me of you.”
His voice caressed her, enveloping her in its richness. She’d never longed to kiss anyone as much as she wanted to kiss him at that moment, but she breathed deeply, willing the urge to pass. Of course the flowers reminded him of her. Wasn’t every room in her house some shade of delicate yellow? She shouldn’t look for meaning where there was none.
But when she turned to face him, her common sense couldn’t deny the emotion in his eyes. All her senses clicked on alert. She tried to tug her gaze away, but she couldn’t move.
“Mom always had flowers in her kitchen window,” he said with a whimsical softness in his voice. “Makes a place feel more like home.”
She nodded and swallowed the lump his tenderness had brought to her throat. “They’ll be good for the interview.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the interview.” Fire blazed in his gray eyes as he reached behind her, placed a firm hand between her shoulder blades and drew her to him, then dipped his head and covered her lips with his.
She responded with a ferocity that frightened her back to her senses. With both hands planted on the broad expanse of his denim shirt, she pushed away. “This is pointless.”
He cocked his head and fixed her with a skeptical grin. “Why?”
She brushed the back of her hand across lips that throbbed from the pressure of his mouth. “Because there’s no future in it.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Did you enjoy it?”
A flush started at her collar and spread upward across her face. “That’s irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? Enjoyment is the whole point.”
He reached for her again, and she sidestepped his arms, banging her shin against a sawhorse. The flat of plants tipped, and Colin caught them just before they hit the floor. While he juggled the plants, she scooted down the hall beyond his reach.
“Lunch is ready,” she called over her shoulder.
“Devon.”
The sound of her name on his lips stopped her. At the far end of the hall, she looked back at him. With a graceful motion, he lifted the flat of plants and strode toward her. The flowers’ peppery fragrance, Colin’s special scent of maleness and wood shavings, his rich voice echoing in her ears and the overpowering nearness of him set her senses on overload.
She backed away. “What do you want?”
He leaned toward her, planted a fleeting kiss on the tip of her nose, then grinned with the look of a man well pleased with himself.
“I want to teach you how to enjoy life,” he said.
Her back stiffened with indignation. “I don’t need anyone to teach—”
He stifled her response with another quick kiss, this one on her lips. She should pull away. She could feel Mike and Mrs. Kaplan observing them through the open doorway, but she couldn’t move, except to rise on tiptoe to meet the pressure of Colin’s lips with her own.
As quickly as he had swooped down on her, he withdrew, and the laughter twinkling in his eyes reminded her of his father.
“Lesson number one will start tonight. Now let’s eat.”
He proceeded into the family room and left her standing stunned in the hall, struggling for breath and wondering how in a few short days she’d managed to turn her whole life into an adventure that scared her senseless.
Chapter Nine
A reliable baby-sitter is a young mother’s most valuable resource. Enlist a grandparent or aunt, a trusted neighbor, or a capable teenager to care for your child while you attend those events and occasions not appropriate for children or simply to give yourself a needed break.
Amanda Donovan, Bringing Up Baby
Mike had gone home to welcome Betsy, and Mrs. Kaplan had returned to her house across the street. Devon raised her eyes from the sunny cabbage roses on the chintz slipcover she was stitching to watch Colin on his hands and knees, rolling a pull toy back and forth on the hardwood floor in front of Amanda.
Devon jabbed the needle through the cloth, pricking her finger. The pain reminded her that the scene before her was a sham, make-believe bliss invented solely for the Sara Davis interview. Why had she allowed herself to become so entangled in deception?
To find the baby a good home and keep your own house and job, her heart reminded her, while her head chastised her for attempting more than she could handle. She had created perfect domestic bliss for columnist Amanda Donovan, but how was plain old Devon Clarke going to feel when the television lights went out and Colin and Baby Amanda disappeared from her life forever?
The baby giggled with delight and clapped her hands before lunging for the plaything. Colin’s voice blended with the child’s delighted laughter in the family room, driving Devon’s misgivings away and filling her with a sweet contentment.
Colin lifted his head and stared at her over Amanda’s golden curls. “Time for the lessons I promised you.”
“You’re being presump
tuous.” She hadn’t forgotten their conversation before lunch, and at his reminder, her momentary bubble of well-being shattered around her. “I am perfectly capable of enjoying myself.”
He sat back on his heels, folded his muscled forearms across his broad chest and viewed her with a grin that tilted one corner of his mouth. “Convince me.”
With the uncomfortable feeling she’d just engaged in a battle she was sure to lose, she squirmed beneath his gaze. “Why should I?”
“So I’ll leave you alone. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he challenged.
“No!” The intensity of her denial flustered her, and she struggled to cover her embarrassment at revealing how fervently she wanted him to stay. “I just don’t want anyone believing I’m a drudge.”
“Like I said-”
“I know, convince you.” She secured her needle in the cabbage-rose chintz and set it aside with a deliberate motion designed to give her time to think.
He scooped Amanda up from the rug, settled into the chair beside the sofa and bounced the child gently on his knee. “Well?”
Devon scrambled through her memories, searching for examples of her ability to have fun, but since Aunt Bessie’s death, her life had revolved solely around her column and restoring the Victorian house. Not a hint of frivolity anywhere, but she refused to confess to the lack of it. “Remodeling this house— that’s been fun.”
Amanda rubbed her eyes sleepily. As he nestled the child comfortably in the crook of his arm, he raised his dark eyebrows above doubtful eyes and confronted her across the slumbering baby. “Sanding, scraping, painting—sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
He was right to contradict her, but she’d never admit it—nor the reason his approval was so important to her. “Restoring this house has been very…satisfying.”
He chuckled softly and shook his head. “So is mowing the lawn, but I’d never place it on my top ten list of things I enjoy.”
Her defense had failed miserably, so she shifted to the offense. “What is on your top ten list?”
His expression turned thoughtful as he leaned back in the chair, rocking gently. “A quiet evening at home with a good mystery novel or video heads the list.”
“See,” she replied with satisfaction, “we’re not that different.”
The warmth of his smile radiated across the room. “I’m beginning to think we have a great deal in common.”
She tore her focus away from the heat in his steel gray eyes and fumbled with the fabric beside her. “What else is on your list?’
“Do you like surprises?”
His swift change of subject threw her bewildered senses into further confusion. “That depends on whether they’re good or bad.”
He rose without disturbing the dozing child, and she avoided his eyes, concentrating on a fleck of pale yellow paint above his left cheekbone.
“Will you trust me if I promise a good surprise?” he asked in a teasing tone.
Her mouth went dry and her heart hammered at the sight of the powerful man, smiling down at her as he cradled the baby in his arms. Trust him? The way she felt at that moment, she’d follow him to the ends of the earth and back again at the crook of his little finger. What was the matter with her? What had happened to her good common sense Aunt Bessie had so often praised? Everything between them was an act, with Colin trying to please his father to keep him well, and her working to fulfill her contract with the syndicate and find Amanda a home.
Unable to speak, she nodded.
“Good.” He passed Amanda to her. “I’ll pick you up in an hour. We’re going out to dinner.”
“But Amanda—”
“I’ve already arranged for Mrs. Kaplan to stay with her.”
Events were progressing too fast, and the idea of an evening out with Colin—alone—sent her head spinning. She rose to her feet and tried to center her whirling thoughts on her responsibilities. “What if the kidnapper—”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and slid them lightly down her arms, making her skin tingle beneath his touch. “I’ve taught Mrs. Kaplan how to activate the alarm system. She and Amanda will be fine.”
“But—”
“No buts accepted. I’ll see you in an hour for lesson number one in enjoying yourself.” He moved his hands back up her arms, grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him, crushing her lips with his own.
I’m enjoying myself now. She struggled against the weakness in her knees to remain standing.
The kiss ended too soon. He drew away and ran a knuckle down the curve of her chin. “One hour. Wear something casual. We’re going on a picnic.”
She sucked in the breath his kiss had driven from her lungs. “A picnic? At night?”
He turned at the door and threw her a grin that sent a rush of pleasure from her head to her feet. “Learn to relish the unexpected—like that sweet bundle Farnsworth sent you. That’s the best way to enjoy yourself.”
Before she could think of an appropriate reply, the front door closed behind him.
COLIN TOOK the front steps two at a time, five minutes earlier than he’d promised. His heart was as light as his step when he rang the bell. Betsy, his favorite sister, had arrived, and his father seemed to be mending, looking and acting like his old self.
And his father wasn’t the only one improving. For the first time since the divorce, the hollow, leaden feeling that had dragged him down had completely disappeared, and the bitterness that had corroded his insides every time he thought of Felicia had receded. He wondered if his improvement was due to time and distance between him and his ex-wife or the healing influence of Devon Clarke.
Damn. His very thoughts were betraying him now. Bad enough that his old man had shoved him hard in a direction he had no inclination to travel.
“Be nice to the girl,” his father had begged him earlier in the day. “She’s working herself silly, caring for an infant and preparing her house for the interview. She’s going to crack if she doesn’t take a break.”
“A break?”
“Get her out of the house. Show her a good time. You could use some relaxation yourself,” his father added. “Seems to me you’ve done nothing but work since you and Felicia separated.”
“I’m a carpenter, not a dating service,” he’d replied, dismissing the entire idea until he’d seen the pain on his father’s face and noted the way he labored for breath. He wouldn’t be responsible for upsetting his father and precipitating more heart trouble. He eased his father into a chair. “Whatever you say, Dad. Maybe a night out would do us both good.”
He’d brought up the subject at lunchtime with his father as witness to ease the old man’s worries. But Colin hadn’t planned on enjoying the prospect of dating Devon.
When she opened the door to greet him, she was dressed in jeans that hugged her slender hips and a form-fitting white cotton top with the sleeves of a plaid shirt tied around her shoulders. The sight of her heart-shaped face, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes bright with anticipation made his heart lurch dangerously.
“Let me say goodbye to Amanda,” she said.
He followed her to the family room, where Mrs. Kaplan was ensconced in the rocker with her knitting on her lap.
“I brought out the portable crib, so Mrs. Kaplan won’t have to climb the stairs to put Amanda to bed.” Devon leaned into the playpen and picked up the child, and Amanda’s tiny arms twined around her neck as Devon planted kisses on her cheeks. “Be a good girl for Mrs. K., kiddo.”
The homey picture generated a longing deep within him, but he resisted the urge to collect them both into his arms and claim them as his own. Although beginning to heal, the wounds from Felicia were still too fresh, his judgment still unreliable. Life was too short for him to make another great mistake, and Devon hadn’t indicated she’d changed her mind about putting the child up for adoption. For all he knew, she considered Amanda no more than a pleasant diversion, a responsibility she’d soon reject without a qualm.
> The possibility of such an action on her part unsettled him. He’d allowed one woman who didn’t want a family to break his heart. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
He wanted to turn on his heel and beat a speedy retreat before his untrustworthy emotions and his raging hormones mired him in a situation he wasn’t prepared to accept, but memories of his father’s face, pinched with pain, crossed his mind. A promise was a promise.
He squelched his misgivings and shifted his attention to the tiny, gray-haired woman counting stitches as she rocked. “Thanks for filling in on such short notice.”
“My pleasure,” Mrs. Kaplan said. “Now don’t worry about a thing. Just have a good time. If I get sleepy, I’ll stretch out on the sofa, so don’t hurry home on my account.”
With reluctance written clearly across her pretty features, Devon lowered Amanda into her playpen and turned worried eyes on him. “What if there’s a problem? Where can Mrs. Kaplan reach us?”
His spirits lifted at her concern—a good sign. Felicia would have waltzed out the door without a backward glance. He patted his shirt pocket. “Mrs. Kaplan has my cell phone number. Ready to go?”
At the curb, he grasped her elbow as she climbed into the pickup. The smoothness of her skin, the subtle fragrance of her perfume, her tiny waist he could span with two hands and the grace of her long legs as she stepped into the cab sent his senses whirling.
While he circled the truck to the driver’s side, he drew a deep breath to clear her tantalizing scent from his nostrils and the desire to make love to her right there on the sidewalk from his heart.
After settling behind the wheel and starting the engine, he grabbed the steering wheel and gave silent thanks for the covered picnic basket on the seat between them that forced him to keep his distance. Before he’d ever consider loving her, he had to know more about Devon Clarke, had to convince himself she wanted the same things he did—that home and family would always come before her career, before anything else. So far he had no proof of anything but the opposite.
“What’s that heavenly aroma?” she asked. “It’s making my mouth water.”
Bringing Up Baby Page 12
