by Rebecca Deel
He said nothing for long seconds, simply looked at the picture in his hand. “May I keep this for a while? I promise to return it.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” Micah rose. At the doorway, he paused, glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on things through the night. Sleep well, Sophie. No one will hurt you.”
“You don’t need to stay awake on my account, Micah. No one followed me. Trust me, I would have noticed headlights in the mirror, especially since I had to backtrack a couple of times.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
Sophie stared at the closed door, listened to the halting footsteps trod toward the living room. Much as she wanted to think about their situation, fatigue made her limbs feel leaden. After another trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth, she dragged on her pajamas and crawled between the sheets.
#
Micah laid on the leather sofa, ultrasound picture in his hand. A son. He traced the boy’s face, memorizing features. His heart turned over while his gut clenched. Micah had to find a way to protect Sophie and his son from her enemies and his.
CHAPTER THREE
“Morning.”
Sophie moved further into the kitchen, on bare feet. The overhead light glimmered on Micah’s wet hair as he sat at the kitchen table. She spotted a nearly full pot of coffee, the aroma mouth-watering. “Decaf?”
Micah snorted. “No point drinking decaf.”
Two more months. Sophie sighed. She hated no-octane coffee. Too much caffeine, however, made the football player in her abdomen kick goals from the fifty-yard line. “Herbal tea?”
He grimaced.
“Didn’t think so.”
“I have orange juice.” He reached for his cane.
“I’ll get it. How are the roads?” She grabbed the juice carton from the refrigerator.
“Glasses are in the cabinet to the right of the sink. In a hurry to leave?”
Sophie darted a look over her shoulder and resumed pouring the juice. “Nothing’s changed. You don’t want me here.”
“Didn’t answer my question.”
“Have you eaten already?”
“Sophie.”
“What do you want me to say?” She swiveled his direction. “I know you prefer me gone. I’ll complicate your life.”
Micah climbed to his feet and limped to stand in front of her. “We can’t change what is. You’re carrying my son. No matter what else happens, you will always be in my life. Tell me the truth. Are you afraid of me?”
Sophie’s gaze locked with his. “Cops, federal or local, aren’t my favorite people.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I can change your mind about me.”
Goose bumps surged over her body. His laughter sounded rusty, as if he was out of practice. Not much to laugh about in recent months. First, losing his brother, then the injury which landed him in this cabin with only a cane and television for company.
“Been thinking about what happened last night.”
“I can’t think about that on an empty stomach. If you haven’t eaten, I’ll make breakfast.”
His brows rose. “Thought you didn’t like me.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be civil plus I need to feed the baby. Skipping meals makes him unhappy. Scrambled eggs and toast sound good?”
“Like a miracle. Need help?”
“Nope. Sit.” Sophie rummaged in the fridge, and pulled out eggs, milk, and shredded cheese. “How did you injure your leg?” A second trip to the refrigerator netted bread and butter. A quick perusal of the remaining contents told her she’d have to forget jam this morning. She couldn’t stomach strawberry preserves.
“Walked in on a convenience store robbery. Left with a bullet in my thigh.”
Sophie crushed a fragile shell in her hand. A robbery? Talk about irony. The man worked for the Secret Service, but was hurt while off duty.
Raw egg oozed between her fingers, dripping on the counter and floor. She grabbed paper towels, cleaned up the mess on the counter. More paper towels in hand, she turned to wipe the floor and plowed into Micah. He’d moved without making a sound. He would have made a great cat burglar.
“I’ll get it.” He took the paper towels from her hand.
“I’m not helpless.”
He wiped up the egg residue and dropped the mess in the trash. “Didn’t say you were. You are, however, pregnant and I can bend over easier.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She blamed a short night, lack of caffeine, low blood sugar, and pregnancy hormones for her grumpiness. Micah didn’t deserve the snippy attitude, though. “Give me another month.” Sophie finished cracking the eggs without further mishap and added milk, salt, pepper, and a little cheddar.
Micah produced a cast-iron skillet and dropped some butter onto the surface. “When is the baby due?”
“March 31.” Sophie shot him a glance as she whipped the egg mixture with a fork, noted the rock-hard jaw and wondered if the tension came from her question about his leg or the baby information. “Did the shooter leave in an ambulance too?”
“Body bag.”
She nodded, turned on the burner and scooted the skillet into position.
“Does it bother you that I killed a man?”
“Get real. You’re a cop. It’s an everyday hazard of your job.” Sophie nodded at his leg. “He tried to kill you. Lucky for you he was a bad shot.”
“No sympathy for a fellow criminal gunned down by the law?”
The taunt stung. “My family never shot anyone. Sure, they’re con artists and thieves, but they don’t carry weapons.” And why was she defending them? All her relatives were criminals though non-violent ones. She’d spent the last fourteen years distancing herself from the Valero clan.
Silence filled the kitchen. Finally satisfied the skillet was hot enough, Sophie poured in the egg mixture. She focused on the eggs instead of the man filling the four-slot toaster.
“When will you return to work?”
Micah carried a platter of buttered toast to the table and sat. “I’m still in rehab.”
She took the plated eggs to the table and seated herself across from him. An evasive answer. Maybe the doctor hadn’t told him when he could return to work. Maybe he just didn’t want to tell her. It’s not like they had a relationship yet. She sighed. In a few weeks, they would be parents.
Micah grabbed a remote and turned on a television mounted under a cabinet. The Nashville news focused on the six inches of snow which fell overnight and the dangerous road conditions.
“Do you have to go to work today?” Micah asked.
“I’d like to give Adam and Kelsey a lunch break, but they can handle the store if I can’t make it in.” Her gaze drifted back to the traffic report. Red dots decorated the interstate maps, reminding her of the lights she’d strung on her Christmas tree. Not a good sign for the morning commute, though. It could take hours. “Do you think the roads will clear by then?”
“We need a plan before we drive in.”
“You’re coming with me?”
“Do you want to return to your home alone?”
Good point. Wouldn’t hurt to have Micah check the dark places. Might even let him check under the beds, someplace she hadn’t seen in months. She doubted the thug from last night had come back, but a shiver of dread still raced through her. “Let me clean the kitchen and we’ll talk.”
“You cooked. I’ll clean up. Besides, shouldn’t you sit down or something?”
“I’ve been sitting. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”
“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to be insulting.”
“Well, try a little harder, Winter. Look, pour another cup of coffee and relax while I take care of this skillet. Do you have any olive oil?”
He shrugged. “My mother and sister come in every couple weeks and stock my pantry and refrigerator. Beats me what’s squirreled away in here.”
She located olive oil spray and decided it would work. She half listened to reporte
rs drone on about treacherous road conditions while she scrubbed the pan and popped it into the oven to bake out moisture.
Sophie loaded the remaining dishes into the dishwasher. Hand wet, she lifted her juice glass to place it in as well, but it slipped from her grasp and shattered on the hardwood floor near her feet.
“Don’t move.” Micah lurched from his seat. “You’ll cut your feet.”
Before she guessed his intention, Micah lifted her in his arms and swung her free of the glass shards. He settled her on the chair he’d vacated and knelt beside her.
Sophie tried to pull her foot from his firm grasp. “I can take care of myself.”
“Let me do this.” He tugged her foot back into position on his injured thigh and ran his fingers over the top, searching for glass slivers.
His gentle quest sent a cascade of shivers up her leg. Good grief. Sophie hoped he didn’t notice her embarrassing physical reaction to the innocent touch. How could she respond so quickly to a man whose opinion of her rated near the basement?
Micah released her foot, lifted the other into position. “Am I hurting you?”
“No.” The hot federal cop missed nothing. Great in his line of work, annoying in personal dealings with him. And what was with the husky voice coming from her throat? Criminals didn’t find cops attractive.
His gaze locked with hers, heat flaring in the chocolate depths before his attention dropped to her mouth. She fought the instinct to lick her dry lips. Warm air in the cabin? No.
Maybe normal criminals didn’t respond to hot cops, but this reformed cat burglar thought of a certain Secret Service agent as catnip. She leaned closer to him before she caught herself and put some distance between them.
A smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Stay while I clean up the glass.”
Micah was all efficiency, grace. Well, mostly graceful considering he bobbled the broom a few times and banged into the stove twice, muttered a few things under his breath as he limped to the trash and dumped the refuse in a shower of glass. “Get your shoes and we’ll talk in the living room.”
“Can we have a fire? I miss the smell of wood burning. My house came with gas logs and I haven’t bothered to change it.” Sophie clamped a hand over her mouth. She needed to shut up before she embarrassed herself further. “Sorry,” she mumbled behind her hand.
Micah’s amused glance propelled her toward the guest room and her shoes at full speed.
#
A soft chuckle escaped as Micah stoked the fire to life. The beautiful cat burglar was nervous. He grinned. The attraction that blindsided him seemed to have sideswiped her as well. Better than the alternative since Sophie and their son would be part of his life from this point forward.
The muscle in his leg throbbed in rhythm with his pulse. He rose, clenched his jaw against the groan threatening to spill from his lips, and limped to the couch.
Soft footsteps drew his attention to the woman who had occupied his thoughts most of the night. “Sit. We need a plan.”
Sophie’s charcoal brows rose. “Suggestions?”
“What was Sierra into before she and David died?”
“She spent long hours in her studio getting ready for an art show.” Sophie frowned. “I know she took commission work to pay for the in vitro treatments and doctor visits. David planned to cover pregnancy and delivery expenses.”
Another financial hit Sophie had absorbed. Micah made a mental note to call the Secret Service’s human resources division. He doubted anything could be done on his end since he and Sophie weren’t married. Perhaps he could pay medical expenses not covered by Sophie’s insurance.
“Who commissioned portraits?”
Sophie shrugged, hair falling over her shoulder. Micah longed to run his fingers through the black tresses. Would it feel like silk? “Any way to find out? Did she keep a list anywhere, maybe a checkbook with names, a folder of receipts, invoices?”
“The checkbook’s at my home. It doesn’t contain much.” A wry smile settled on her lips. “Sierra loved her Visa. I paid her balance two weeks after the funeral. David’s card, too.”
“Out of your own account?” Their estate couldn’t have been settled that soon.
“The bills came in faster than money from their estate. Between running the store and boxing up their possessions, there was no time to wait while lawyers pushed paperwork through the court system. The bill collectors wanted their money.”
“Why didn’t you ask for help?”
“From who? I didn’t want to burden your parents with anything more. Plus, they’re retired. Where would they come up with the money? Your sister has a family with young children. You left the country the morning after the funeral.”
“The Secret Service would have gotten me a message, Sophie. Mom and Dad had contact numbers for my supervisor. I would have helped you.”
“From a foreign country? After what you said to me at the funeral, why would I ask you for money? I didn’t plan to contact you for anything, especially money. If I wasn’t afraid for baby’s safety, I wouldn’t be here.”
She had a point. He hadn’t been kind to her beside David’s casket. A twinge of guilt surfaced which he shuffled to the back of his mind. He’d been harsh, but Micah stood by his accusation. Sophie’s run-in with the thug last night supported his belief that David would still be alive if he’d never become involved with Sierra Valero. He regretted causing Sophie financial hardship and hurt.
“Did the estate pay enough to cover their bills?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Sophie’s gaze shifted to the fireplace.
“Sophie?” When she didn’t answer, Micah cupped her chin in his hand and gently turned her face toward his. “Tell me.”
“They had a lot of bills.”
“How much did you cover on your own?”
“It’s finished.”
“Not by a long shot, sweetheart. How much?”
She pulled her chin away from his grasp, her expression mutinous. “About $50,000.”
The longer Micah stared at her profile, the more her face reddened. What had David been thinking? The Winter children were raised to pay cash for everything except in emergencies. He wondered if the credit cards belonged to David or Sierra. Didn’t matter. It was poor money management on both their parts. From Micah’s viewpoint, they were both guilty of gross mismanagement.
“Did you have the money on hand?”
Sophie shot him another scowl.
“I’ll take that as a no. How did you raise the money? Don’t tell me it’s none of my business. I’ll find out, but it will better for both of us if you tell me instead of making me use other resources.”
“You’re annoying, Micah.”
“So they tell me. Spill it, sweetheart.”
“A second mortgage on my house.”
“Why didn’t you take it out of the insurance payout? You should never have risked the roof over your head, Sophie.”
“That money is for the baby. I never expected money or support from the Winter family.”
“You didn’t plan to tell Mom and Dad about the baby, did you?”
“I planned to take him to see your parents as soon as I could travel. I wanted to give them a chance to heal. I thought holding David’s son after he was born might help.” Her hand rested on his forearm. “Micah, your parents did a great job with their children. Why would I try to keep them from their grandson?”
“What happened to the woman in the kitchen who mouthed off something about not liking me?”
“I still don’t, but that’s on you, not your parents. I didn’t want them to feel obliged to reimburse me. I can handle the payments.”
Micah grabbed his cell phone from the holder attached to his belt. “You aren’t handling them any longer. What’s the name of your bank? I can find it without your help, but I won’t be nearly as nice.”
“This is you being nice?”
He stared, finger poised on his dial pad. A sigh, then she spouted
off the name of a local bank. Within minutes, Micah sent instructions to his investment manager to transfer money from his portfolio to Sophie’s account.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said as he replaced his phone. “I’ve been fine, would continue to be fine without your help.”
“Look, Sophie, you might as well get used to accepting help from me. We’re going to be in this together from now on.”
“I don’t need you.”
“That baby says otherwise. He’s my responsibility, too. I will be part of his life. I’m not abandoning you or him.”
“You didn’t plan on being a parent. Neither one of us did.”
He stilled. Did she regret her decision to keep the baby? Micah thought about the picture he carried in the shirt pocket next to his heart. Did Sophie plan on letting someone adopt him? The thought of his son being raised by strangers made his gut churn. Never. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to have this baby. A child might not have been in his plans, but he wouldn’t abandon him now that he was growing inside Sophie. He’d sue for custody despite the danger his son was doomed to live under.
Micah would make sure the boy was protected while he worked. Which led to another hitch in his planned return to the Secret Service. He couldn’t raise a son while on assignments for weeks at a time and the child couldn’t go with him. “You don’t want him?”
She looked as if he’d struck her. “Of course I want him.” Her hands cradled her stomach, as if protecting the life inside. “This baby is mine, has been since the doctor told me I was pregnant. I didn’t have a problem carrying David’s baby.”
“And now you know he’s mine?”
“He’s mine, Micah. End of discussion. I’m not giving him up, not to you or anyone else.”
“He will have a father.”
“An absentee one. No, thanks.”
“You won’t let me see him?”
“Do you want to?”
“He’s my son, Sophie,” he replied, his soft voice at odds with the tight muscle twitching at the side of his neck. “I might not have wanted the responsibility, but I’m not abandoning him. And if you try to keep him from me or my family, I will spend every penny I have suing for full custody.”
