Some Kind of Wonderful

by Barbara Freethy

  "We?" she asked pointedly. "I don't think it's our problem, I think it's your problem."

  "If you want to split hairs," he said with a shrug.

  "I'm hardly splitting hairs. She's your niece."

  Before he could reply, Emily let out a glass-breaking shriek from inside the apartment.

  "See," Matt said. "She's awake and mad. I think she needs a woman's touch, something soft and gentle. Like you."

  Matt looked into her eyes, and Caitlyn felt the breath flee her chest again. He was really, really good at getting past her defenses, and he didn't even know it. So intent was he on securing some help that he had no idea he was affecting her in a basic man/woman way that reminded her this situation was dangerous on many different levels.

  Before Caitlyn could offer up another protest, Matt pulled her into his apartment. Emily sat in her car seat on the floor by the couch. And it was her tiny, puckered, angry face that drew Caitlyn to her side. Undoing the straps, Caitlyn picked Emily up and cradled her instinctively against her chest.

  Emily's tiny mouth turned immediately toward Caitlyn's breast, seeking nourishment, love, nothing that Caitlyn could give her, and that tiny gesture almost broke Caitlyn's heart.

  "Get me a bottle," she ordered Matt. "Do it now."

  Matt stared at her, then moved into the kitchen, where she heard him running water and hitting the buttons on the microwave.

  "It's okay, baby," she whispered. "Your food is coming."

  Emily whimpered and squirmed and grabbed Caitlyn's hair. Her little fingers tugged at the strands so tightly tears came into Caitlyn's eyes. But at least this pain was real and not the phantom that haunted her dreams.

  "Here you go," Matt said, returning to the room with a bottle.

  She put the nipple into Emily's mouth and the baby sucked greedily. Caitlyn sat down on the couch so she could make Emily more comfortable.

  "Are you crying, Caitlyn?" Matt asked.

  She shrugged off his question as she blinked the telltale moisture out of her eyes. The man saw too much. "Emily pulled my hair. It's nothing."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Look at me."

  She didn't want to; she really didn't want to. But the silence between them lengthened and she found herself lifting her head and gazing into his eyes. They were perceptive eyes, shrewd, seeing right into her, and she didn't like it one little bit. "You must be a good reporter," she murmured.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I find myself wanting to confess, and you don't even have a light bulb over my head."

  "Confess what?"

  "Nothing," she said hastily. "I said I had the urge to confess, not that I had something to confess."

  "But you do."

  "No, I don't. You're the one with the secrets." She hoped to turn his attention away from her.

  "And you're trying to redirect. I applaud your technique."

  "Did you find out anything about your sister?" she asked, ignoring his perceptive comment. She had to keep her distance, and sharing secrets with him wouldn't accomplish that.

  "Nothing yet. I wish I had more to go on, a description, a picture of what she might look like now."

  "Maybe like you?"

  "More like my mother than me probably. I took after my father. Sarah's hair was darker than mine, black as ink. She used to wear it so long she could sit on it. And her eyes were black, too. They always seemed big for her face. Or maybe it just looked that way because her skin was so white. She bruised easily. One touch and she'd have a purple mark for a week." He paused, obviously caught up in his thoughts. "Sarah was a scrawny kid, her ribs always poking through her shirt. I knew she needed more to eat, but I couldn't always get it."

  "And your mother wasn't around?"

  "Not much. She was a mess most of the time. Hell, why am I telling you all this?"

  "Maybe it's easier to tell a stranger."

  "I was hoping you'd stay a stranger," he said bluntly. "I'm not much for nosy neighbors."

  "Have I acted like a nosy neighbor?"

  "Well, not until about five minutes ago, when you started giving me the third degree."

  "Because you pulled me into your apartment," she reminded him.

  "You're right." He sat down in the chair across from her, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched Emily suck on her bottle. "A neighbor used to call the cops on us. Mrs. Malkovich. She was a mean old woman, used to chain-smoke in the hallway until you couldn't see past your nose. I'd have to lie, make up some story about where my mother was, and hope she'd come back before they did. It worked, too, until the fire, until we had nowhere to go. Then Mrs. Malkovich got even by telling everyone that our mother was never coming back. The next thing I knew we were put into separate foster homes. They wouldn't even let us stay together."

  "How old were you?"

  "Sixteen. And Sarah was nine."

  "Did your mother ever come back?"

  "No." Matt stood up and paced around the apartment. "I have to find Sarah. I've looked a hundred times over the years, but the records were sealed, locked away for our own protection, or so they said. As if I needed to be protected from the only person who ever gave a shit about me."

  "I'm sorry, Matt. That's so horribly unfair."

  He shrugged. "Whoever told you life was fair?"

  "What happened to you after they split you up?"

  "I went to a foster home for a few months, then another and another. I was mad at the world. No one wanted a part of me. On my eighteenth birthday I was told to get out and move on."

  "What did you do then?"

  "You're certainly full of questions."

  "Just passing the time, unless you'd like me to leave you with Emily?" she asked pointedly.

  "No, you just sit there and relax," he told her hastily. "I hung around San Francisco for a while, picked up odd jobs, eventually moved around the country, got into the newspaper business."

  She waited for him to embellish, but he remained frustratingly silent. "Just out of curiosity, do you write in more depth than you speak?"

  His mouth curved into a reluctant smile. "When I'm not talking about myself, I can be quite articulate."

  "Thank heavens." She glanced down at the baby in her arms. 'Tell me more about Sarah."

  "It was so long ago."

  "You must remember something."

  Matt thought for a moment. "Angels. She used to see them dancing on her ceiling at night. I didn't want to tell her it was just the streetlight throwing shadows." He paused, lost in thought. "People always say you can't miss what you don't have, but I think Sarah always missed it. She'd get this yearning look on her face, as if she were trying to see something that wasn't there. She kept wanting to light candles to make things brighter. She was a sad little girl. That's what I remember about her most. I remember her being sad." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "I have a feeling she's still sad."

  Caitlyn nodded, her own emotions stirred by the pain in his words. It didn't sound like Sarah had had much to smile about in her life, Matt either, at least not during their childhood. "What was your dad like? Was he as bad as your mother?"

  "No. He was a pretty good guy," Matt replied, a rough edge in his voice. "He kept my mother sane, I think. He was a cook at a restaurant on Fisherman's Wharf, and even after a long day he'd come home and cook for us. When he died, my mother fell apart. Sarah was just a baby, but that wasn't enough to pull my mother together. She took sleeping pills and pain pills and God knows what other kind of pills and drank 'em down with a shot of whiskey." He paused, looking Caitlyn in the eye. "I kept thinking she'd change, get better, but it never happened. I was a fool."

  "You were a child," Caitlyn replied.

  "It doesn't matter anyway. What really worries me now is Sarah," he continued. "What if she turned out like my mother? What if she's cut and run on her kid the way my mother did to us?"

  "She said she'd be back."

  "I've heard that
before. I've learned to take promises with a grain of salt."

  "That's sad."

  He shrugged. "I think it's practical."

  "What if Sarah doesn't come back? What will you do with Emily?" The question slipped out before Caitlyn could stop it. It was none of her business what Matt did with this baby. In fact, she was supposed to be pulling away, not digging in deeper, but despite his bluntness, or maybe it was because of his bluntness, he was easy to talk to and different from most of the men she'd met in her life, men like Brian, who always spoke from some elite intellectual plane.

  "I don't know," he answered. "I hope it doesn't come to that. I'm not exactly a family man. I work long hours. I travel..." His voice drifted away as he seemed to consider her question even further. "I'm not sure I'd be a good father. I screwed up with Sarah."

  "You weren't her father. You were a sixteen-year-old boy."

  "Yeah, well, hopefully Sarah will come back and it will be a moot question."

  "I think you'd be a good father, Matt. You've done pretty well so far."

  "Why do you say that? Because she's still breathing?" He smiled. "That might just be luck. And you've been pretty helpful."

  "That's true. But Emily is just a little baby. She doesn't need much more than something to eat and someone to love her." Caitlyn looked around the barely furnished apartment. "Which is probably a good thing in your case."

  "I haven't had time to get settled yet."

  "Do you ever get settled? Or do you just move on?"

  "Most of the time I move on," he said with a small nod at her perceptive statement. "I've always traveled light. It's easier that way."

  From what she'd heard of his past she could understand his thinking. But there was something about the way Matt was looking at Emily that told Caitlyn he might have just found a very good reason to acquire some baggage. Because she couldn't believe that a man who cared so much about his missing sister would abandon his niece to strangers no matter what he said.

  "Hey, are you hungry?" he asked. "Because I'm starving. Do you want to share a pizza?"

  "That sounds a little too neighborly for me."

  He flung her a grin. "Yeah, I know. But since you're feeding Emily, the least I can do is feed you."

  Caitlyn hesitated. It was tempting, too tempting, because she wasn't just liking Emily, she was starting to like Matt, too, and that was even more dangerous.

  "I don't think so," she said firmly. "In fact, you should take Emily now and finish this feeding." She stood up and handed Emily to Matt, bottle and all.

  He reluctantly took Emily, adjusting the bottle in her mouth as she started to squirm. "Was it something I said?"

  "I have things to do."

  "Well, this certainly isn't your problem. I can't blame you for wanting to get on with your life."

  Exactly. Only when he said it like that, Caitlyn felt guilty. She hated to let anyone down, an unfortunate trait ingrained in her by her mother and father, who had always expected and demanded so much from her.

  "I'm not going to feel bad," she said out loud.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Did I say you should?"

  "You're very good at the subtle implication."

  He laughed at that. "No one has ever called me subtle."

  She couldn't help but respond to the sexy grin that spread across his face. On the surface he was such a dark man, in features and in expression. But when the smile broke out, his whole face changed, softened, and was incredibly appealing. He wasn't for her, she told herself firmly. And she wasn't right for him. He was a man who needed love and family in his future to make up for all he'd missed out on in his past, and she was concentrating on her work now, leaving love behind and everything that went with it.

  "I'm leaving now," she said.

  "You said that before, but you haven't quite reached the door."

  Caitlyn deliberately walked over to the door and opened it. "Better?"

  "No." His dark gaze held hers in a connection that was far too strong. He wasn't touching her, but he was pulling her in all the same, something in him calling out to something in her. It was more than attraction, more than simple desire, more like a deep aching need, and it scared her. How could she suddenly feel so much for someone she had just met? Someone who was completely wrong for her in so many ways? Was it just chemistry? Hormones? Or something more? She'd been touched by his story. Maybe that was it. She felt sorry for him.

  But no, that didn't ring true either; Matt wasn't a man to feel sorry for. He'd pulled himself up out of the gutter and made something wonderful. He was smart, handsome, funny, sexy. No, she didn't feel pity, not one little bit. She only wished she did. That would be a much easier emotion to deal with.

  "Caitlyn?" His voice held the same question.

  "I have to go," she said softly. "Let me."

  His gaze didn't waver for a long, searching moment. "Sure, go. I'll see you around sometime."

  She grabbed on to his casual note as if it were a lifeline. "Yeah, I'll see you around."

  As she opened the door and stepped into the hallway she saw a man get off the elevator. Her first instinct was to hide, and she dashed back into Matt's apartment just as her name rang through the hall.

  Dear Lord, it couldn't be Brian, not now, not at this moment, when she was already feeling confused. But she could hear his steps moving impatiently down the hall. That was Brian, impatient, purposeful, and apparently back in town.

  "What's going on?" Matt asked.

  Caitlyn couldn't answer. She wasn't ready to see Brian. She'd sent him away eighteen months ago, but now it seemed like only a minute had passed. "I -- I..." She turned her head as Brian called her name once again. Obviously he'd seen her dash into Matt's apartment. Darn.

  "I think someone is looking for you," Matt said. When she didn't move, he walked over and opened the door.

  Brian stood in the hallway looking confused.

  "Caitlyn?"

  Both men said her name at exactly the same time. Caitlyn was caught between them, foolishly wishing Emily might cry and distract Matt at least, but the baby was still cradled in Matt's arms, blissfully sucking on her bottle.

  "Hello, Brian," she said, finally looking into the face of the man she had once hoped to marry. He hadn't changed at all, still tall and lean, sandy brown hair cut just above his collar, and a neat beard to match. He wore tan trousers and a cream-colored sweater vest over a knit shirt, looking very much like the intellectual he was.

  "Caitlyn," he said again. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

  "You might have called first."

  "I did call." He cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly. "When you didn't call me back, I thought I'd come over. Your mother said you'd made some changes in your life."

  "I -- I have," she replied.

  Brian's gaze drifted to Matt, who was unabashedly listening to their conversation. Suddenly, he turned pale, a disbelieving light coming into his eyes as he looked back to her. "My God, Cait, is he the change your mother was talking about? And is that -- is that your baby?"

  Chapter Five

  Brian's question knocked the breath right out of Caitlyn's chest. How could he think that she could have gone from him to another man so quickly and had a baby... it was unbelievable, unthinkable.

  "How could you even ask me that?" she demanded. "Do you remember what I looked like when you left? Do you?"

  Brian stared back at her for a long minute. "Sorry," he muttered, pressing a hand to his temple as if he had a throbbing headache. "I don't usually jump to conclusions. I just don't know what to think."

  "This is my neighbor, Matt Winters," she said tightly. "And his niece, Emily. This is Brian Hastings."

  Matt looked at them both with a speculative gleam in his eyes. His reporter instincts obviously sensed a story, but Caitlyn had no intention of sharing this one with him.

  "Nice to meet you," Brian said.

  "Yeah," Matt replied.

  "Can we talk, Caitlyn?" Brian asked. "
In private?"

  Oh, how she'd love to say no, that she was too busy right now, that it would have to wait until tomorrow or next week or next year, because she still didn't know what to say. Unfortunately, she didn't think she could put him off. He had that look in his eyes, the one he wore when he was determined to find the correct answer.

  "All right." She walked across the hall and opened the door to her apartment. As Brian walked inside, she glanced back at Matt. "I can see why you don't like nosy neighbors."

  "Who is that guy?"

  "None of your business."

  "Do you want me to stick around?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Are you sure? A minute ago you looked like you wanted to find a dark hole to hide in."

  "I'm okay." And with that, she took a deep breath and shut the door, leaving her with one problem instead of two.

  Brian stood in the middle of her apartment, looking dazed by the feminine surroundings and bridal accessories. "Well," he said. "It's different."

  "I've been swamped with alterations," she explained. "This is the big wedding season. Everyone wants to be a June bride." She cleared her throat, wondering why she was talking about weddings with her former fiancé.

  "Why didn't you stay with your parents? I thought it was easier for you to concentrate on business when you lived there."

  "I'm twenty-eight, a little old to be living with my parents." She could have told him that after the accident it wasn't just physical space she had craved, but emotional space as well. But that would only open up the can of worms called their past that much sooner.

  Brian didn't seem to know what to say.

  During the ensuing quiet, Caitlyn looked at him, really looked at him for the first time, and saw the familiar features, the errant curl by his ear, the shoulders upon which she had once rested her head, the arms that had held her so close. It was good to see him. It was disturbing, too. It had been far easier to keep her emotions at bay when he was living on the other side of the country.

  Brian looked back at her with the same curiosity in his eyes, but there was a wariness there as well, a cautiousness that she didn't remember being a part of his personality, at least not with her. He'd always been the take-charge one in their relationship, so smart about everything, so certain of what they should and shouldn't do that it had seemed natural to follow his lead. But that had been before the accident, and she'd changed in so many ways since then.