Caroline’s eyes glittered in the morning sun, and he knew there was a depth of emotion behind her blinking and stillness. “You did? I hated that hospital.”
He nodded. “Can’t blame you. Not a pleasant place.”
“Was that before or after I came back?”
“Before.”
“Why didn’t she tell me about you? She could have—”
“She talked about you, but I never told her we’d already met. I just acted ... ” He shrugged because he wasn’t sure what to say. Carol had been pretty out of it at the time and showed him a pile of pictures Caroline sent home. Good pictures. Sad ones, too. It made his work seem trivial. She was snapping death, war, and all sorts of violence. He was snapping lights, fences, faces, and abstract nothings.
Caroline lifted her head, closed her eyes, and held still as the sun beamed upon her still silhouette. Seconds ticked by, but Roger dared not interrupt her thoughts because they seemed a tribute to her mother. Her shoulders rose and lowered as she drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Thank you for being there.”
“I just talked to her a few times. I wasn’t really around much, and then you were home. I thought you’d be upset, so I stopped.”
“Did she take the pictures she planned? Have you seen them?”
He wasn’t sure she’d like the answer. “Yes.”
“Can I see them?”
“I don’t have them. Talk to your father. All I’ve seen are the ones he submitted for the fundraiser.”
She blinked, clearly confused. “She had pictures at the fundraiser, too? Really?”
He nodded. “That’s why I took you.”
Caroline cursed. “I was so upset that I missed them.”
It was probably better that way, considering the pictures weren’t just snapshots her mother had taken of random people or things. Carol’s photographs were a tribute in some way to her daughter’s work, her husband’s work, and—death. They haunted him sometimes.
“Ask your dad then.” Roger’s phone chirped in his pocket, and he felt a surge of relief for the interruption. He lifted the device to his ear and spoke.
Relief turned to a stiff pinch in his neck, which he rubbed fervently as his sister railed on him about their father’s new family. Hell. “I can’t talk right now, Rhi. Can I call you back later?”
Caroline lifted a brow.
He ignored her questioning glance as his sister spoke. “Oh, you’re busy.”
“Yep, I’ll call you later, okay?” He snapped the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that.”
His phone sprang into action again. He yanked it from the depths of his pants. Same number. “What?” Could she hear the aggravation in the tone?
“They’re at the hospital, in case you wanted to know. Something about complications with the pregnancy. They’re running tests.”
Shit. “Oh, sorry. Okay, I’ll go. Are you there?”
“Uh-uh. I’m working. I can’t.”
“Is Mom there?”
A snort burned his ear. “Are you kidding?”
She was right—it was a dumb question. “Why should I go?”
Another snort. “Because someone has to. He would want you.”
Roger growled. “What if I don’t—”
“Just go.” The phone clicked and went silent. Fine.
“I have to go to the hospital. My dad’s wife has something going on. She’s pregnant.”
“Why you and not him?”
Roger gathered the photography equipment. “Oh, he’s there already. Apparently he just wants company. She’s having complications or something. I don’t know.”
Caroline pulled one of the bags from his grasp and lifted it over her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
He strode to the vehicle and stowed the equipment then started after her to get the door. “The whole thing is screwed up.”
She squinted up at him. “Aren’t we all?”
“In some ways, yes. Not like this though. Your family had issues, but they were out of your control. Out of their control. This is different. At least your parents continued to love each other.”
She slid into the seat and pulled the door closed. “It wasn’t really in your control either, was it? People choose to love or not love.”
Good point. But it had been in his father’s control, and that was the problem. That was what burned his ass. The question blasted through his head for the ten millionth time. What kind of grown man chooses to ditch a wife with four kids?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Walking into another hospital was as attractive as swimming with sharks, but somehow Caroline was padding along behind Roger as he approached the nurse’s station. In the maternity ward was an overpowering smell of baby powder—a nice alternative to the antiseptic smells she’d encountered when visiting her mother.
The doctor approached with a smile—not a pasted-on look that inferred bad news, but a genuinely pleasant smile. He liked his job. “You’re with the Freemans? They’re at the end on the right.”
Roger nodded and trudged toward the room. He turned. “Wait. Is everything okay? You know, with the kid?”
The doctor snickered. “It’s not really a kid yet, but yes. He’ll be fine. She’s just a little anemic. We’ll keep an eye on her, but nothing looks out of place.”
Caroline noticed Roger’s jaw twitch. “He? It’s a boy?”
The doctor winked. “Oops. Don’t tell them. They didn’t want to know.”
Roger’s face softened. “Wow, a brother. What d’ya know. Poor little sucker. He’s doomed.”
Caroline punched his arm. “Aren’t you happy for them?” A sibling would have been her dream ... a gift, actually.
He shrugged. “I guess. As long as no one asks me to babysit or change his shorts. I don’t do diapers—or babies.”
She thought about that for a second. She could see him with kids. Hell, he was a kid half the time. She patted his arm. “You’ll be great. I can just see you with a baby-blue diaper bag over one shoulder and your camera stuff over the other. It’ll be a new subject for those photos of yours.”
He turned and frowned. “It? Don’t you mean he?”
She shrugged and followed him into the room. “Whatever. Just make sure you don’t spill the beans and ruin it for them.”
Inside, the room instantly felt chilly. One could cut the strain between Roger and his father with a knife. Caroline rolled her shoulders and watched Roger talk with the older version of himself. When he was satisfied that he’d performed his duty as an attentive son, they left.
“I take it you two aren’t on best of terms?” she asked as they took the elevator down to the first floor.
“Why’d you ask?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the clipped two-sentence conversations. “Yes, sir. No, sir. Glad you’re okay. I’ve never seen you so formal. So ... rude. Why’d you visit if you don’t like her?”
Roger leveled a cold stare on Caroline, and she shivered. He’d never looked at her in such a sterile way before. “I don’t care one way or the other about her. But think about it, Caro. If your father had left your mother for someone almost half his age, leaving you to raise the rest of your siblings because he suddenly decided he needed freedom—would you be okay with that?”
Her stomach tightened. While her father hadn’t left for another woman, he might as well have. He’d still gone away when she was a child. He’d still deserted her, deserted them. So, while she didn’t completely feel the same, she certainly understood the hurt and frustration.
He pulled his keys from a pocket and pressed the unlock button. The vehicle beeped twice. “What difference does it make? You don’t get it. He left. Not just my mother ... all of us. Do you—”
She jogged to his side and grabbed his arm. “Hey. Stop for a minute.”
He turned, his brown eyes deep and brooding. “What? Are you going to tell me to forgive him? To get over it and be happy for them? If you are, go to hell. I don’t need you to tell
me how to handle my family, Caroline. I don’t need your advice.”
If he’d said that years ago, she’d have lit into him and ranted. But things change, and her temper had dampened. She knew his resentment; she’d felt it herself. “No, I do get it. I mean, my father may not have left for a woman, but he did leave. He left for his job. He wasn’t even here the first time my mother was ill, and I barely remembered him as a kid. He’d come back with gifts, like that was supposed to make it okay. It didn’t because he’d just leave again. So, I just wanted to say ... I don’t really know exactly how you feel, but I do get it. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
He blinked. He blinked again. Was he unsure what to stay? Had she baffled him?
“Thank you.”
The stone in her stomach dislodged a little. She couldn’t miss the opportunity to tease. “You’re welcome—big brother.” She grinned.
“Don’t push it.” Roger slipped an arm around her waist. He tugged her close, and Caroline thudded against his chest. Her chin met his breastplate. “Oops, sorry. That was a bit rough.”
She shrugged. “I can do rough.”
He lifted a brow and peered down into her gaze. “I like the sound of that.”
Caroline smiled then tiptoed her fingers around the back of his neck and yanked his mouth to hers. With their lips crushed together, she mumbled, “I thought you would.”
He slid his other hand around her and splayed it across the small of her back, then walked her backward until he’d captured her against the hood of his vehicle. Caroline’s back arched as he bent over her, his mouth exploring hers. The warmth of his breath tickled her neck as he trailed kisses down the curve of her chin, then along her throat and even lower. “You smell delicious.”
She heard giggles as a couple of hospital staff trekked past them to a vehicle. “Anything smells good after being in a hospital. You make me sound like dessert.”
“You are.” Roger lifted his head and looked through lidded eyes as the passersby climbed into a car and left. His cell sounded off in his pocket, breaking the moment. “I should take you to work now, I guess.”
Bummer. She wasn’t ready to go. Not with his arms encasing her in the coziest of hugs and his mouth exploring parts of her that needed further review. Of course, they were in a parking lot—in full view. “Okay.”
Apparently he wasn’t ready to go either because he dropped back into a super-hot and wet kiss that curled her toes and made little somersaults deep in her gut. Fifteen minutes later, Caroline was sure she hadn’t a stitch of lipstick left on her mouth, and though her hair might not be spiky, it had to be standing on end. Those kisses were too wild to leave any part of her flat.
Roger cleared his throat. “Well, okay then. I guess we leave now.”
He opened the door for her, and she melted into the seat of his SUV. When he slid in beside her, he jumbled his keys and dropped them. Was he as rattled as she was? He retrieved the keys and met her bewildered gaze. “Sorry, I just guess I’m a little surprised.”
Surprise wasn’t the word she’d have used, but okay. “Why?”
He flashed the dimples for a second. “I had forgotten the wildness of you. I ... missed that.”
Wildness? They drove the few miles to her store, and he pulled to the curve, shut the car off, and circled to open her door. She stepped out and began to protest. “I never thought of myself as wild, per se. I was never—”
He looked up at the sky. “Don’t read anything into the words, Caroline. I don’t mean crazy or like a party animal. I just mean ... passionate.” He hooked an index finger from her to him. “This wasn’t the way I thought it would be.”
“What exactly did you think, then?”
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He turned her toward the shop door and gave her a slight shove. “Go to work.”
So, he apparently thought her passionate and apparently that was a bad thing? Why? Because he wanted her gone as quickly as possible? She shook her head. Confusing. She opened her mouth to speak, and three words came to mind—kiss my ass. Not passionate. Not even close.
“I’m cooking spaghetti tonight in case, you know, you get hungry after work,” Roger said.
The angry embers in her gut dampened. “I don’t get off work until eight. I’m closing.”
He jingled his keys and dimpled up. “Funny, I usually don’t eat until eight thirty or nine at night. I work out after I leave the office.”
Hmmm. Interesting. “I like pasta.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Caroline donned a black cap before she left for his house. It wasn’t cold, but the cap helped cover her growing fringed bangs. Roger yanked open the door, sending a cloud of steam and garlic to greet her. She drew in the scent and smiled. A man who cooked. Where had he been all her life? She followed into his kitchen and took a seat at a bar stool against the counter. He’d been right here—less than an hour from the place they’d met years ago. She was the one who had disappeared, not him. She had to go find herself—that’s what she’d told him.
The weight of that decision haunted her. Why? Because the answer was no closer all these years later than when she’d made her escape. “It must be wonderful.”
His eyes met hers. “It’s just spaghetti. I doubt it’s all that wonderful.”
A big bulk of a dog lumbered to her side and nuzzled against her legs. She looked down into velvety-brown eyes. “Oh my God, is that Conan?”
He nodded.
She ran a hand over his head, and his tail thumped the wall beside them. “Look at you, buddy. You’re getting a little gray here and there, but you’re still kicking. Way to go, big guy.”
The dog yawned a funny nasal response. “He’s half-blind and his legs tend to give out once in a while, but I don’t have the heart to put him down.”
Caroline frowned. “Don’t you dare! See, this is what I meant by wonderful—you’ve always known exactly what you wanted and where you’d be. You’ve always known who you are. Look at you, you’re still—”
“Predictable?”
“That wasn’t where I was going. Strong, supportive, maybe even driven. You’ve accomplished something with your life. Unlike me.”
He pulled a pan from the stove and poured the contents over a colander. A cloud of puffy steam filled the air. He reared back to keep from singeing his face. “Yeah, I live in a fifty-year-old house with an ancient dog whose best talent is hogging the couch. Plus don’t forget my exciting job that’s not so exciting. Big accomplishment.”
“At least you know who you are and who you want to be.”
He dumped the pasta into a bowl and lowered the pan into the sink. The aluminum bottom sizzled against the water underneath. He leaned over and pulled the felt cap from her head and tousled her hair. “You changed your hair. Why?”
Hell if she knew. “I can’t seem to find a style that jazzes me and speaks to my inner being.”
“I didn’t know hair had a voice.” He thrust his fingers into her bangs and pushed them away from her forehead. “It jazzes me though. Funny, I would have never pictured you this way back then. You always had it up in some headband or tied back. I hadn’t imagined it cut short, but it suits you.”
She blinked and moved her eyes to the window. “Yeah, I cut it off on a whim when I was in Teslehad. There was an uprising there that got a little ugly. I hid out for a few days hoping it would calm down, and there were these kids. They all had cut theirs off—you couldn’t tell who was female and who wasn’t. I looked around and quickly realized if I was going to blend into the background and report about what those people faced, I’d better blend in. So, I cut it off.”
“The girls cut their hair to look like boys?”
Caroline nodded and watched the thick red sauce bubble and pop as he added more garlic then tossed in some green spices. A flash of red popped over the edge of the pan to the floor. That would leave a mess. “It was safer.”
His lips pursed as he stirred the sauce with
a wooden spoon. That bothered him? Was he angry? She watched his movements in silence, unsure what to say next. His hands were thick and strong. Watching him soothed her. Roger reached to a cabinet and pulled out two stemmed glasses. “Wine okay with you?”
“Definitely okay.”
The ruby liquid gurgled defiantly as it flowed from its bottled home into the glasses. He smiled as his eyes met her. Caroline cringed. It wasn’t the normal dimpled warmth that promised an undertone of wicked sensuality. It was threaded with kindness and understanding, the type of smile one gives a person who’s gone through significant loss. She didn’t want that smile. He held out the glass for her to take.
“Don’t give me that look.” She pulled the wine from his grasp and took a long sip.
“What look? I wasn’t—”
“It’s filled with sympathy. I don’t need sympathy.” She cast a glance down at her body, holding her arms up for view. “I’m still here with all my body parts. There’s nothing wrong with me, so don’t look at me like I belong in a psych ward or need PTSD counseling.”
He pulled a sip from his glass and narrowed his eyes. When he finally put the glass down, she could have cut the silence with a butter knife. He opened a cabinet, pulled out some dishes, and placed one in front of her. “If you got all that from one look, then I suck at body language. Drink your wine, Caro, and don’t read anything into my words—or lack of words. Just loosen up and be here, right here with me.”
She bit her lip and stared at the pasta. He was right: she’d taken one look and jumped to conclusions. Like she often did around people who knew where she’d been and the mess she’d made of her life. He wasn’t one of those people though—she’d never told him. They’d stopped speaking long before she’d made the trek to Teslehad. “I’m sorry.”
Caroline poked her fork into the plate of steaming tomato sauce and twisted the noodles around the prongs. Her appetite was gone. The enticing aroma of garlic and parmesan was overshadowed by the chill that ran across her shoulder blades.
“No need. Listen, I have no idea what you’ve been through or why you think I’d have that look. I just—”
Need Me Page 15
