Sure enough, she was wearing a purple sweatshirt with a bunch of wildflowers embossed on the front and paint-spattered jeans that hugged her fanny like a man's hand. One shoulder was wet, and talcum powder smudged her chin.
Francey, bundled in a soft flannel gown and sucking noisily on her fist, was nestled against the shoulder that was dry. Hazel looked every bit as harried and frayed as any new mother he'd ever encountered.
"Sorry I'm late."
Impatiently, she blew her bangs from her eyes, but they flopped back instantly, neatly obscuring her vision.
"It's okay this time. My meeting was a short one, so I was able to make it back before Mrs. Weller had to leave."
"I stopped at Cait's and picked up some more of Francey's things," he told her, gesturing with a curt nod toward the two bags at his feet.
"Fine. You know where they go."
As he passed her, Jess couldn't help catching a whiff of her scent, a blend of baby powder and something far more provocative. He recognized the first stirring of desire, but nothing showed on his face.
"I'll put on the coffee," she said to his back as he headed up the stairs.
"I take mine black," he tossed over his shoulder.
"Yes, I know," he heard her say. "I have an excellent memory."
Jess walked into the kitchen a few minutes later to find Hazel seated at the table, sipping coffee, with Francey sitting nearby in her padded infant seat, sound asleep.
Hazel glanced up when he entered. "Your daughter tried to stay awake, but…" She shrugged. "As you can see, she didn't quite manage."
"Is she okay?" Jess's voice was pitched low, somewhere between a growl and a whisper.
"As far as I can tell."
He gave her a look that she was sure he reserved for unfriendly witnesses. "Sleeps a lot, doesn't she?"
"The book I bought says that's normal," she said tersely. His gaze met hers, and she sensed surprise, quickly concealed. "I would have thought a kiddy shrink like you knew all there was to know about kids."
"No one knows that, Dante, just as I imagine there are things about the law you have, shall we say, yet to learn?"
Jess watched her lift her cup to her lips and drink the hot coffee with a certain gusto. She was furious with him, and he didn't blame her.
"What does the book say about an over-the-hill jerk who always seems to say the wrong thing when he's with a woman he admires?"
Her expression didn't change. "That particular book only covers the years up to eighteen."
"Then what?" he asked in his most persuasive tone. It didn't faze her.
"Then you're on your own. Behaviorally speaking, that is." Her tone consigned him to the fires of hell. Too bad she didn't know he'd put himself there sometime during the dark lonely hours of a sleepless night.
"Free to make stupid mistakes?" he asked.
She nodded. "And to learn from them."
His eyes lost none of their directness, but Hazel sensed a gathering of shadows in the depths. "How do you know for sure if the things you've learned are the right things?"
Hazel managed a careless shrug, but the sensual tug she felt whenever Jess came near was still there, still powerful. And just as dangerous.
"Perhaps by learning to trust your feelings more – if you haven't shoved them so far down you don't even know what, or where, they are."
He was very still, very focused, as though he were taking in her words with great care, leading her to marvel at his power of concentration.
"Maybe some feelings are easier to read than others."
"Undoubtedly. We all develop selective blindness as we get older."
"And wiser?"
"Not always."
Jess hesitated, then took the same seat he'd had the night before. His coffee was waiting, and he took a quick sip. It was strong and hot.
"No tea this evening?"
Instead of smiling, she simply shrugged. "I got the message the first time."
Jess stifled a sigh. His patience had just run out – along with the rope he'd planned to give her. "O'Connor—"
The kitchen phone rang, startling them both. Frowning, Hazel got up to answer it.
"Dr. O'Connor … oh, hi, Mrs. Weller. What did the doctor say?"
As she listened, Hazel's gaze suddenly filled with concern. "Of course you have to … certainly … yes, I understand perfectly … no, that's not a problem, really. And don't worry. Everything will be fine." She hung up after promising to call Mrs. Weller the next day.
"The doctor found an irregular heartbeat that has him worried enough to order her to go into the hospital tomorrow for tests," she said, returning slowly to the table. "She expects to be in two days, maybe three."
"Ah hell," Jess muttered with heartfelt frustration.
"My sentiments exactly."
* * *
Jess woke to find himself flat on his stomach with his arm dangling over the side of the bed. It was hot in the room, even with the window wide open, and he was sweating.
Still groggy, he rolled to his back, then realized that he'd worn his T-shirt to bed, something he did so seldom that he couldn't at first figure out why.
It was only when he started to reach for the aspirin he kept in a drawer by his bed that he remembered. He was in Hazel's guest room, trying with only limited success to get a decent night's sleep.
Slipping his hand under the pillow, he stared upward, listening to the sound of his own breathing in the darkness. He was used to sleeping alone. He was used to waking up alone. He'd done both for so long that he'd all but convinced himself he liked it best that way.
Now… He expelled a long, uneasy breath.
How old did a man have to get before he stopped making stupid mistakes? he wondered. Or maybe it wasn't possible for him to live that long.
This one was a real prizewinner, no doubt about it. Agreeing to spend the night in Hazel's house because he wasn't due in court tomorrow and she had early appointments. As though he couldn't get himself across town in plenty of time to handle the 6:00 a.m. feeding.
Gritting his teeth, Jess turned to his side and stared at the hazy outline of the door he'd closed firmly behind him a few minutes after he'd moved the portable crib from this room to Hazel's.
Since she'd volunteered to handle the middle-of-the-night feeding, it seemed logical that she have the baby close to her.
It hadn't occurred to him that he might want to check on Francey now and then, just to make sure she was all right. Or that he might find himself too restless to sleep and feel an urge to prowl.
Rolling onto his back, he kicked off the sheet and sat up. Maybe a cold beer would help. O'Connor had some in her refrigerator. He'd seen them when he'd helped her clean up after the supper she'd made them both following Mrs. Weller's call.
He slipped into his trousers quietly, then clicked open the door and walked barefoot into the hall. He was just closing the door behind him when he heard Francey wail.
It sounded exactly like a small animal caught in a trap. Without thinking he bolted down the hall and into the master bedroom.
Hazel was bending over the crib when he entered and looked up in alarm. "Jess! You scared the bejabbers out of me."
"What's wrong?" he said with a scowl.
"It's two o'clock. She's hungry."
She bent over again, and her pale blue nightie slipped up to mid-thigh, giving Jess a very nice view of her legs. This time desire didn't stir politely. It hit with the force of a spasm, making him very glad he'd pulled on his trousers over his shorts.
"Right on schedule, aren't you lamb?" Hazel cooed, then clucked her tongue. "And very, very messy for such a proper little lady."
Jess groaned. It was ridiculous to be embarrassed because he and O'Connor were in the same room with a naked baby. A female baby. And then he realized it would have been worse if Francey had been a boy.
"Since Daddy's up, let's give him a choice, okay with you, Francey?"
The baby screwed up her face, took in a lungful
of air and cried even harder. Hazel laughed softly and reached for the infant wipes. "You're right. Maybe it would be safer if I told him."
"Why do I think I'm not going to like this?" Jess muttered.
"Don't worry. The choices aren't that tough." Hazel glanced over her shoulder, her sleepy gaze finding his again. Her hair was tousled, and one cheek was pink where she'd slept on it. Without lipstick, her mouth was pale and far too tempting for a man balanced precariously on a very thin ledge.
"You can finish changing her, or you can fix her bottle," she said, her tone perfectly serious.
Jess raked back his hair with his hand and swore a silent oath never to barge into a woman's bedroom without knocking again, no matter what the provocation.
"I'll fix her bottle." He escaped before he was tempted to do something he would regret.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
Hazel was feeding the baby on the bed, propped up against the headboard with Francey snuggled in her arms. Jess was slouched in her chintz chair, his shirt a wide white swath against the patterned upholstery.
One leg was braced on the floor, the other stretched over the chair's padded arm, serving as a resting place for the beer bottle he'd propped against his thigh. His feet were bare.
"I can't believe she really likes that stuff." Taking a satisfying pull on the long-necked bottle, he watched Francey working equally hard on hers. Hazel found his casualness disarming. The subtle sexual signals he was unwittingly sending out were even more so.
"Maybe it's not as bad as it looks."
"It's worse than it looks," he declared, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Hazel indicated her skepticism with a slight smile. "How do you know? Did you ever taste it?"
"Yeah, I've tasted it." He was overcome by a yawn, before adding wryly, "How do you think I found out if it was too hot or not?"
She seemed to find that intriguing, or so the sudden spark in her eyes wanted him to believe. "I wondered how you had managed," she said, adjusting the angle of the baby's bottle before looking up again. "But I have to admit that was one, um, option I never considered."
"Care to share any of those other options you came up with?"
Hazel changed position so that the elbow supporting the baby's head was resting on the pile of pillows she'd constructed. "Oops, sorry, sweetie," she murmured, slipping the nipple back into the baby's greedy little mouth.
Francey opened and closed her tiny hands as she tried to hang on to the bottle. Hazel wondered how those little fingers would feel grasping her breast.
"First I thought you might be able to determine the temperature by pressing your wrist against the bottle," she continued belatedly and a bit hurriedly. "But that didn't seem like a real accurate measure."
"Not to mention painful."
"So then I tried to imagine what I would do and came up with my, um, best … guess."
His eyebrows rose slowly, giving his face a younger man's unbloodied innocence. "Which was?"
Hazel cleared her throat. "To use your belly."
His gaze dropped involuntarily to the fabric-covered washboard plane of his midriff.
"I'm not sure I'm following you, O'Connor."
"The skin of your belly," she said somewhat more tartly than she'd intended. "It's almost as sensitive as your wrist, and in your case more, um, accessible."
His mouth moved, pushing shallow indentations into his lean cheeks, but his tone was totally serious. "In my case it's also hairier."
"I wouldn't know."
Diligently, she checked the amount of formula remaining in the small bottle. It was nearly gone, and Francey's eyes were just about closed.
"Care to check it out?" Jess's voice was smooth as new cream and just as warm. "My belly, I mean."
"No thanks." She could picture him without his shirt far too readily. Hairy belly or not, his chest would be magnificently formed, with spare lines and hardened muscle.
Compensation, she reminded herself, but her thoughts kept straying toward an altogether different kind of dynamic.
"Maybe you're right," he said, his voice subtly changed from gruffly provocative to distinctly cool. "I'm hardly a beautiful woman's pinup."
Her head came up quickly. "And I'm hardly a beautiful woman," she returned, striving to mimic his coolness. At the same time Francey spat out the nipple and started to fuss.
By the time Hazel had the baby pressed against her shoulder for the burp that the uncomfortable little girl needed to get out, Jess was on his feet.
"If you're done with that, I'll take it down and wash it out," he said, indicating the nearly empty nursing bottle. "I'm going down to get another beer anyway."
"We're all done, aren't we, sweetie?" she murmured, rubbing Francey's back. The baby's head wobbled slightly, then rested against Hazel's shoulder in absolute trust.
"How about you?" he asked, holding up his empty beer bottle. "Want one?" The glint in his eyes told her that he expected her to refuse.
"Sure," she said with just a hit of a devilish grin. "I'd love a beer."
She was almost sure his eyes were smiling as he held the beer bottle with two fingers and scooped up the nursing bottle with the other three. Glass clinked against glass as he carried them out of the room.
Hazel waited until she heard the creaking of the stairs before she carefully slipped from the bed and carried Francey to the crib.
"Know what, Francey love? Your daddy's a very complicated man," she murmured to the little girl as she set about changing her again.
"He'd like everyone to think he's all muscle and brain and no heart, no … feelings. But to tell you the truth, I think he runs on his emotions even more than I do. Which is just one of the reasons why I'm afraid I just might be hopelessly in love with him."
Francey gurgled, then yawned hugely and closed her eyes. "Don't worry, I don't intend to let him know. Nothing could be more of a mistake with Jess Dante than that," Hazel crooned softly as she turned the baby to her tummy and pulled the light blanket over her.
Francey squirmed and wiggled until her diapered bottom was in the air and her cheek was resting against the soft sheet. Another big yawn and she was settled for another few hours, at least.
"Sleep well, my dearest," Hazel whispered, pressing a kiss to the baby's head. "I love you."
Fighting an unexpected rush of tears, she lifted her shoulders in a deep sigh, then headed for the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands.
She was drying them when she heard what sounded like a light rap of glass against wood. "I'm in here," she murmured, hastily throwing the towel over the bar.
Returning to the bedroom, she found Jess waiting politely by the door, two bottles of beer held securely in his fingers. Framed by the doorway, his hip cocked and his shoulders back, he looked like a very large, very sleepy male with an attitude problem.
"Why so formal?" she asked, taking one of the beers.
"It's your house, and your bedroom."
"That didn't stop you earlier." Turning, she walked slowly back to her bed and sat down.
"I heard the baby." He leaned his bad shoulder against the jamb and lifted the bottle to his mouth for a long swallow before adding, "I thought she needed help."
Was that how he showed his deepest feelings? she wondered. With actions instead of words? Was that the reason Garrett had so many reservations about his character? Because he kept those feelings so fiercely hidden?
"Since we're both awake, it might be a good time to discuss the arrangements for the weekend," she suggested, tasting the beer she hadn't really wanted.
"Fine with me." He contemplated the sweating bottle. "You're the expert. What do you suggest?"
Hazel took another quick sip and tried to remember the last time she'd had a beer in the middle of the night, then decided that there had never been a last time.
"First off, I don't think we should move her around too much, which means she should stay here until you
can make permanent arrangements for child care." She glanced up inquiringly.
"I was sort of counting on Mrs. Weller."
Jess stood where he was, deliberately too far away to see the dark circles of her nipples through the light-colored material of her gown, but his imagination was busy filling in the blanks.
He had a fair share of experience with women, a good imagination and an unlimited supply of nights spent alone, more than enough to have formed an impression of the size and shape of her breasts. Instantly his thoughts were graphically X-rated.
"So was I, but we won't know much before Monday at the earliest." Pausing, she frowned. "Poor dear. She was so worried that we would blame her. Kept saying that she hated to let us … you … down when it was plain you needed her."
"She's right about that."
He needed more than Mrs. Weller could begin to imagine. Starting with a swift kick in the butt for standing there like the village idiot, mooning over the prettiest girl in the county when he should be doing his darnedest to slip between those sexy, flowered sheets with her.
"Francey and I have an appointment with Ms. FitzGerald tomorrow at three," he said before grabbing another long swallow. The beer was perfectly chilled, just the way he liked it – on a hot day in summer, that is.
"I'm free after two, if you'd like to leave Francey here with me."
"Be cutting it pretty tight by the time you made it across town to here, and then I drove all the way back to FitzGerald's office."
"That's true, especially if the traffic is bad."
Lost in thought, Hazel raised the bottle slowly toward her lips. His own relaxed at the thought of kissing her again.
Like a driver testing a new ride, he would start slowly, letting her warm to the feel of his mouth on hers. And then, when he felt her anxieties easing, he would apply more pressure, just enough to get a sense of how she liked her kisses best.
Slow and dry, maybe. Or hard and moist. He wouldn't use his tongue, not right away. Not until he knew for sure that she would accept that kind of intimacy from him.
Suddenly Jess realized that the room had gotten considerably hotter and finished off the beer in two long swallows.
"I could meet you there, and then take Francey home with me," Hazel said, claiming his full attention.
ONCE UPON A WEDDING Page 16
