“What happened?” he demanded. Tommy was holding up one hand, sobbing wildly.
“It sorta got smashed,” Lee said.
“Under what?” He dropped to the floor and took the little hand in his, realizing with relief that there was no blood.
“Well, we needed one of those logs—”
“The railroad ties? One of the railroad ties dropped on his hand?”
“On my thumb,” wailed Tommy.
Ronan inspected the thumb. Sure enough, it was looking a little purple, and he suspected that the nail would be black in a few days. Rising, he took an ice pack from the freezer, wrapped it in a clean dish towel and picked up the crying child with quick, economical motions, settling into the rocking chair near the fireplace.
“Let’s get some ice on that,” he said, rubbing the little boy’s back. “I bet that hurts, but I don’t think you broke anything.” He cuddled the child, enjoying the feel of the sturdy little body in his arms as Tommy’s sobs died away to occasional sniffles.
“So we don’t hafta go to the hospital?” Lee sounded almost disappointed.
“Don’t think so,” Ronan said. “Unless you want me to clobber you for destroying your mother’s flower bed for that railroad tie.”
Lee gave him a sheepish grin. “Nope.” Then he brightened, casting Ronan a sly glance from under his lashes. “I think we can fix it after supper. If you can lift the railroad log.”
A sound made Ronan glance up, and he realized he’d forgotten all about Deirdre’s friends. Frannie stood in the hallway door. She had a small smile on her face, and as her eyes met his, he realized there was approval in their depths. “Dee’s napping,” she informed him. “We’re leaving now... Daddy.”
Two weeks came and went. For the first week she did little but sleep, and eat the meals Ronan and the boys brought to her room. As she’d expected, simply getting enough rest helped her body to resist the nausea she experienced every time she was pregnant. She decided she hated women who breezed through their pregnancies without one single, solitary day of queasiness.
During the second week she began to chafe at the restrictions, but Ronan wouldn’t even agree to her coming downstairs until after the doctor gave her permission to do so. He did, finally, gather a list of items from her workshop and bring them to her so that she could do a little bit of work by hand, although he watched her like a hawk, reminding her to nap practically every fifteen minutes.
He took her back to the doctor the following Thursday. She’d dressed and was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting for him to help her downstairs. She could have done it herself, but the grief he would give her just wasn’t worth it. And, though she’d lie naked on an anthill before she’d admit it to him, taking a shower and dressing for the appointment had tired her out.
She heard him coming up the steps, and when he entered the room, she rose, wondering what he was thinking as he looked at her. When she had looked in the bathroom mirror earlier—practically the only place she could be alone without Ronan checking up on her—the face that met her eyes had lost its gaunt pallor, and she thought she was starting to resemble herself again.
And Ronan...Ronan looked as good to her as he always did. His dark hair was slicked down with water from the shower she’d heard him taking earlier, and his face and arms were more deeply tanned than before—probably from chasing Lee and Tommy all over the farm. He was wearing khaki-colored pants and an ivory shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he looked so casually elegant she wondered how she ever had thought he was a down-and-out journalist struggling to make ends meet.
He came toward her, unsmiling, his golden eyes intent, and she knew he was assessing her, a habit he’d acquired in the past few weeks that drove her crazy. She hated feeling like an invalid who needed to be watched over.
“I’m ready,” she said as he stopped before her. He was close, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him. A mistake. He was standing so near she was afraid he would think she was inviting his kiss. But he didn’t betray any such thoughts, if they’d even entered his head.
“All right. Let’s go,” was all he said. But he didn’t offer her his arm. Instead, he bent and caught her behind the knees and the shoulders, lifting her up into his arms.
“Ronan!” She clutched at his shoulders. “Put me down. I told you yesterday I can walk. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I won’t hurt myself, and you’re not walking anywhere until you get the doc’s say-so,” he told her in a firm voice as he started out of the room.
The heat of his body all along the side that was against him felt so good that she couldn’t bring herself to argue anymore. Too good. This is a man who lied to you, she reminded herself, a man who didn’t trust you enough to share the truth about his life. A man whose chief concern now is the baby you’re carrying.
A man who doesn’t love you.
But as much as she hated it, the simple truth was that she still wanted him, still cared...still loved him, even though his duplicity still seared her heart with pain every time she thought about it.
He smelled of some wonderful cologne. The scent seemed concentrated at the base of his throat, where a few curling hairs peeped from the neck of the shirt, and with a heavy sigh that released the angst warring within her, she laid her head against his shoulder in surrender, breathing deeply of him.
Her fingers wanted to play with the hair brushing his collar, and she had to force herself not to touch as he carried her down the steps. His jaw was just above eye level, and she drank in the sight of the smooth, tanned skin, freshly shaved, that stretched over the strong bones. Warmth skittered through her abdomen, and her chest felt tight. Why, of all the men in the world, did he have whatever it was that made her literally forget everything and long to lie down beneath him? It was a good thing that she didn’t react this way to every man that came along. She just wished she had a little more control around this one.
At the bottom of the steps he paused and looked down at her. His eyes darkened to the deep amber of awareness, and beneath her hands, she felt the strong muscles of his shoulders tense. Time slowed, braked to a gentle halt around them. His gaze drifted down to her mouth, and she felt the pull, as if he were willing her mouth to his. She took a deep breath, unable to take her eyes from his face.
“I don’t want to kiss you.” His voice was a deep rumble that vibrated through her.
Shock widened her eyes, and before she could catch it, snatch back the hurt in her voice, she said, “Why not?”
“Because.” He was still looking at her mouth as he spoke, and she couldn’t fathom how that single small thing could make her whole body quiver with sexual excitement. “I can’t kiss you without losing track of every ounce of common sense I have.”
A warmth spread through her, even though his words had nothing to do with feeling, only with his physical preoccupation with her body. “I thought maybe it was just me.”
“Nope.” Her mouth was practically tingling where his gaze touched her. She tightened her arms the merest fraction, tilting her head up even more, and with a long, slow exhalation of breath he took her lips.
It wasn’t the ravaging invasion, the frantic, devouring need that had always been between them, but a softer, sweeter meeting that offered her passion while promising a light hand, a gentle touch. His tongue curled around hers, then drew away to outline her lips, explore the contours of her mouth, and she slid both hands up the warm, firm flesh of his throat to cradle his cheeks in her palms as he kissed her, kissed her and kissed her again. Her entire body was shaking in his arms when he finally lifted his mouth and released hers.
“We have to talk.” His eyes searched hers at close range. “Later.”
“Yes,” she whispered. At the very least they needed to discuss arrangements for the baby. Beyond that...beyond that, she couldn’t think. She loved him. Even knowing he didn’t love her, was only pampering her for the sake of the child she carried, she loved him so much she ached with i
t. Her world would collapse in on itself if he left, she knew.
But she also knew that unless she could unlock the door within her that had slammed shut the day she’d stood listening to that answering machine, she couldn’t keep on the way things were. Oh, God, she was so confused.
The doctor was pleased with her. She’d gained weight, and the nausea was far less threatening now that she was getting enough rest. To her relief, she was given permission to be on her feet again, as long as she rested three times a day and didn’t begin to throw up again.
That evening, after Ronan brought her home from the doctor, she begged him to let her stay downstairs. As she’d anticipated, he balked, telling her she needed to rest after the trip to town. Reduced to begging, she told him she was so tired of floral wallpaper and the matching bedspread she could scream, and he relented, letting her recline on the couch in her living room.
While he went into the kitchen to start some spaghetti for dinner, she eyed the door to her workroom at the front of the house, wondering if she could sneak in there for a few minutes. She’d been away from everything but the little handwork she’d been able to do in bed, and she was dying to get back to work. Fortunately, she’d been well ahead of schedule, due to all those miserable, sleepless nights, but soon she needed to wrap up a few orders and get them out, or the money wouldn’t come in, and that was going to be crucial in the next few months.
“Don’t even think about it.”
She turned from her contemplation to see Ronan standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His lips were pressed firmly together, his hair was disheveled and his eyes drilled into her with a deep intensity that made her flush as if she were guilty of something.
“Think of what?”
“You’re not going into that workroom until tomorrow at the earliest,” he said. “And then only for very short periods of time. I’ll be glad to bring you anything you want to work on.”
“I’ve finished all the handwork I can do right now,” she said in frustration. “I need to get back to my machine. My customers are going to start wondering what’s going on if I don’t get a few of the outstanding orders done soon.”
“I’ll explain to your customers what’s going on if anybody asks,” he said calmly. “You’re having a rough pregnancy and have been unable to work.”
“You mean I wasn’t allowed to work.”
“Stop sulking.” He walked to the edge of the sofa where she lay and eased down to sit beside her. His body warmed her hip where they were pressed together, and she was all too aware of the compelling beauty of his chiseled features as he leaned over her. “You heard the doctor as clearly as I did.”
“Yes, but it’s not as if I have to climb in and out of a car and work on my feet for eight hours a day. Even an hour here or there would help.” She paused. What the heck—why was she worrying about what he thought at this point? “I need the money.”
Ronan hesitated. It was rare to see him unsure, so rare that it caught her off guard. She should have seized the opportunity to press her case, but she was caught in the depths of his eyes, drawn into a wordless exchange that had nothing to do with work.
“Stop worrying about money,” he said finally. “I’ll take care of anything that comes up.”
“I don’t want you to. It’s important to me that I take care of my family myself. I already owe you more than I can hope to repay unless I win the lottery.” She heard the bitterness in her voice, but darn it, she felt bitter about the way she’d been so blind.
“In case it’s escaped you, we’re going to be sharing a family soon.” He smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “You’re making this money thing a bigger deal than it has to be.”
With very little provocation, she could turn her head and take off a few of his fingers. Shaking off his hand, she said through her teeth, “I will never be dependent on a man again.”
“It’s not dependency!” His voice rose. “You’re the polar opposite of my damned ex-wife, do you know that? She was more than happy to be dependent on my money.” He laughed harshly. “She was even happier once she was independent again with my money.”
Deirdre’s dark brows drew together, and her green eyes were stormy. “I can be independent without your money, so thanks but no thanks for the noble gesture.”
“It wasn’t a gesture,” he shouted. “I meant it! Men and women have been forming partnerships for centuries—what’s so wrong with us doing the same?”
“We aren’t a partnership.” Her voice grew as loud as his. “We’re one person who trusted another, and one person who couldn’t be bothered to share his real life with her!”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” He flung his hands in the air as he propelled himself off the couch.
Her heart hurt. “How can I, when I can’t forget it myself?” she whispered.
“If I could live this summer over again, I can think of about a million things I’d do differently.” He turned from where he’d stopped on the other side of the room and a shadow passed across his face. “I meant to tell you about my work. But the opportunity kept slipping away. I was going to tell you the day we went to the Harbor....” His eyes met hers, and in an instant she was catapulted back in time, swamped in the sensual haze of that lazy day, when sex filled the air like a water-laden towel and she learned what it truly meant to have a man worship your body. She swallowed, and he went on. “After that, you know there wasn’t really a good time.”
And she had to admit he was right. Once the nightmare with the boys had begun, there was no time for personal concerns. And the next day...the next day, she’d taken those stupid cookies over to his apartment.
“Deirdre, I don’t want to hide my life from you.”
She swallowed. “Your life isn’t really any of my business, Ronan. Except in terms of how you plan to fit into this baby’s life.”
His lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched and sagged between them and she knew he was regretting this whole mess. What for him had been a few casual encounters had been far more to her. And now they were linked forever by the life they’d made together.
He stood, pushing away from the couch. “I have to get that spaghetti sauce before it burns.” But he made no move to go. “After dinner, after the boys are in bed, I’m taking you over to see my apartment. That way you can’t imagine all the things you think I’m hiding.”
“We can’t leave the boys,” she protested.
“The boys will be fine for the few minutes we’ll be gone,” he said. “I’ll put Murphy in the hallway between their rooms and you can carry the intercom monitor along so that if they wake up, we’ll hear them.”
He had it all worked out. And she could see from the expression on his face that further protests would fall on deaf ears. She certainly hoped this baby didn’t inherit its father’s stubbornness.
Nine
Deirdre wouldn’t let him carry her to his apartment later in the evening, and he figured he was pushing his luck just to get her over there at all. He was anxious to show it to her, not only the apartment improvements he’d made, but his work. The work station he’d set up. The galleys on his desk, the cover flats...he wanted her to understand his life.
As she slowly mounted the stairs, he hovered behind her, ready to grab for her if she seemed unwell. Finally she turned and thrust out her arm, palm against his shoulder, holding him back. “Stop crowding me,” she said. “I feel fine as long as I don’t rush or overdo it.”
He grinned reluctantly. “You know, when I first met you, you seemed like such a sweet little thing. But you have a stubborn streak a mile wide. I hope this baby doesn’t have it, too.”
They’d reached the landing at the top of the steps and he inserted his key in the lock.
“I’m stubborn? Look who’s talking.” She cast him a disdainful glance. “We’re standing here because you wouldn’t take no for an answer, buddy. So don’t talk to me about stubborn!”
Slowly, like one stepping into a lake of dark water without knowing the depth, she moved forward. One step, then two.
He closed the door and stepped up to her side, surveying the room through her eyes. He’d done a hell of a fine redecorating job, if he did say so himself. “Well, what do you think?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze swept from one side to the other, seeing the expensive equipment, the paneling and carpet, the lighting and the nice little porcelain sink with its gleaming brass fixtures in the kitchenette.
“So. Do you like it?” He was anxious for her reaction, and that bothered him. Never before had he needed another person’s stamp of approval to validate his decisions. Even in his writing he’d never compromised, simply wrote what pleased him and left his agent to worry about how and where—and if—it would sell.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “You’ve done a lovely job.” But there was a flat, distant quality to her voice. “You have to tell me how much the improvements cost, and I’ll set up a payment schedule to reimburse you.”
“Didn’t we just have this conversation?” He struggled for a light tone. “I didn’t expect you to pay for this when I did it. In fact, you agreed to let me do whatever I wanted to the place, as I recall.”
“Yes, but—”
“And this is what I wanted.”
“You’re missing the point. On purpose.”
“I know.” Maybe he could charm her out of her pique. “Come over here. I want to show you my setup. It doesn’t look like much, but I have everything I need for my writing all right here. Separate lines for fax, phone and e-mail, a computer that’s not hooked up to the internet where I do my actual writing.”
Dedicated to Deirdre Page 15
