When they arrived back at the cabin, she carried Elmer and his car seat inside while Max began unloading the groceries. He set the bags on the counter in the kitchenette and began shelving the food.
She settled Elmer on the bed to take a nap, and he whimpered softly. Hoping that with his tummy full, he’d drift to sleep, she walked over to help unpack groceries. The first thing her hand hit in the bag was a small box that rattled slightly as she pulled it out.
“What’s this?”
Max glanced over. “Rifle cartridges. I didn’t have time to bring any from my house.”
“Planning on shooting something?” She widened her eyes in dismay as she stared at him. “Max?”
“I have to be prepared. You saw what the Rialtos did at my house. They could show up here for a repeat performance.”
Slapping the box down on the counter, she huffed. “This is ludicrous.”
“I agree,” he said drily.
“Why would any sane person use violence to try to take custody of a baby? What kind of environment is that to raise a child in?”
The look Max pinned on her drilled straight to the marrow. “Exactly.”
She shivered. “Are you saying that shoot-out at your house was standard operating procedure for these Rialtos?”
“The baby’s crying.” Max tipped his head toward the bed.
“Max, are the Rialtos part of the Mafia or something?” Her mouth grew dry at the prospect.
“I have no proof of any link to organized crime, but their M.O. speaks for itself.” He clenched his teeth, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “Are you going to get the baby or should I?”
Laura stared at him, numbed by the idea of Elmer falling in the hands of mobsters.
Max blew a deep breath through his teeth and marched over to the bed. Scooping Elmer up, he cradled the back of his nephew’s head with a wide, strong hand, the way she’d taught him. He looked down at Elmer’s face and furrowed his brow.
“Shh. Easy, fella. I’ve got you,” he cooed under his breath.
Laura watched, her heart in her throat, as he placed butterfly kisses on Elmer’s head, still murmuring gently to the whimpering infant. He glanced up at her briefly, and her thoughts took a new horrifying direction.
“You said the Rialtos were Emily’s in-laws.”
Max gave a tight nod. “Yeah.”
“Is she one of them? Part of some organized crime ring?” She swallowed hard. “Are you?”
Max squared his shoulders, leveled a stony stare. “No. Absolutely not.”
Seeing the fire in his eyes, hearing the dark conviction in his assertion peeled back the layers of doubt. She believed Max.
The pressure in her chest eased.
He sighed heavily. “Emily had no idea what she was marrying into. And if I’d known the truth back then, I’d have hog-tied her and sent her to Canada to keep her away from the Rialtos if I’d had to.”
He looked down at the tiny life in his hands, and his expression shifted, softened—subtly, but the change flooded her soul with a tender ache. Max gazed at the baby with such love and concern, she thought her heart would split open from the bittersweet pain filling it.
Dear God, how she wanted her own baby to love. And how she wished Max would look at her with the same warmth and melting affection.
Fat chance of either happening.
Angry with herself for her wishful thinking, she started shelving groceries again. “Do you have a plan? What are we supposed to do next?”
“We wait here for now. We’re safe in the cabin. Secluded.” He walked away, gently rocking his upper body to soothe Elmer.
“Wait for what? How long will we be here?”
He sighed tiredly. “I don’t know. Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how long it takes Emily to get back on her feet. Just leave the planning to me, okay? You’re here to take care of the baby.”
“Seems to me you’re doing all right with the baby for yourself.”
Max looked startled by her comment, as if it hadn’t occurred to him he was doing well mastering the fine touch of baby care.
Although he still cried, Elmer’s whines were more subdued. When he glanced back down at Elmer, Max’s expression was endearingly hopeful.
Until Elmer threw up on him.
Max groaned. Grimaced. “Laura!”
“Chill out. It’s not toxic.”
“Just the same. I’ll let you burp him from now on. That’s the job you signed on to do, remember?”
She took a cloth diaper from the bed to wipe Elmer’s face then stepped over to take the baby from Max. While Max changed his shirt, she carried Elmer over to the rocking chair and finished cleaning his chin.
When she met the baby’s dark blue gaze, his sweet expression stole her breath. Her job, as Max had reminded her, was to take care of the baby. Perhaps the best way to earn Max’s faith back, after she’d ditched him on the highway, was to do her job in spades, to prove her devotion to Elmer. That would be easy enough. The newborn had managed to wrap her around his tiny finger. She’d do anything for the little tyke.
But she could do her job with Elmer without getting any more tangled up with Max. On that point, she had to draw the line.
“I’ll get started on the generator now.” Max strode to the door and glanced back at her.
She nodded.
His gaze stayed locked on hers a second longer than was comfortable. The intensity in his eyes reminded her of a thundercloud, full of power and dark promise. The crackle in the air was unmistakable.
Intuitively, she knew the spark between them was a recipe for disaster in more ways than one. Thankfully he’d understood this, too, and he’d agreed that their careless indulgence that morning had been a mistake. Their mutual hands-off policy would make it easier to keep her emotions in line.
She hoped.
Max had the generator started within a few minutes, and Laura had Elmer asleep soon after. Each having completed their tasks, they were left staring at each other with time on their hands.
When she thought about it, Laura realized how much idle time they were likely to have…alone…together. Two words came to mind. Oh. No.
Chapter 11
The French maid fantasy finally did it. He had to get out of the cabin and clear his head.
Max grabbed his jacket and headed into the woods for a long walk, hoping the brisk mountain air would cool his lust-heated blood.
Laura had busied herself dusting the furniture and washing the cabin windows, presumably to occupy herself since there was nothing else to do. After she’d rocked Elmer to sleep, they’d found themselves painfully short of things to do. No TV. No radio. Little reading material.
He’d watched her flit around the room, dusting and scrubbing for all she was worth, even wiping the new cans of food in the cabinet. And while she cleaned, he studied the easy, graceful movement of her slim body, thought of their morning kiss and imagined himself occupying her idle hands in other ways.
Ways that involved getting naked. Ways that included getting sweaty. Ways that left his body thrumming with sexual energy.
Hell! Get a grip, Caldwell!
Max stomped noisily through the dried oak and maple leaves, allowing the chill air to nip his cheeks. He tried to focus on the orange and red fall foliage and the majesty of the mist-shrouded mountain range. But images of Laura stretching to reach the top shelves, her clothes pulling tight across her breasts and derriere, replayed in his mind.
Along with the picture of her in a frilly French maid outfit. Of himself removing that frilly maid uniform and filling his hands with her….
Max huffed his frustration, and his breath clouded in the cold air. He braced a hand on the nearest tree and bent at the waist to suck in a restorative breath. The bite of the crisp fall air stung his lungs, and slowly he reclaimed his control.
He decided his best defense was to stay busy himself. He’d find useful ways to keep his hands and his min
d occupied. Wood for the fireplace was a good place to start. The cabin most likely needed some sort of minor maintenance repairs after the summer. Anything, as long as it kept his mind off sex. Better yet, he’d plan his strategy concerning Elmer and the Rialtos.
Do you have a plan?
He couldn’t tell her he had no plan, that so far he’d been thinking on his feet, taking the hits as they came. He only intended to have Elmer until Emily recovered enough to care for her son. Once it was clear to the Rialtos that Emily wasn’t going to die, they’d see they had no case for assuming custody. Right?
He scoffed at his preposterous assumption. The Rialtos weren’t going away. They’d fight Emily for the baby, threaten her, possibly have her killed. They didn’t play fair.
The hard truth was Emily would need to go underground. He’d keep Elmer safe in the mountains until she was released from the hospital, then he’d take her and the baby to the FBI or DEA or whoever would listen to them about the Rialtos. Maybe he could get Emily into the Witness Security Program.
His mind set and refocused, he headed back to the cabin—in time to catch a glimpse through the front window as Laura yanked her sweatshirt over her head. Her lacy bra, the living-color version of the woman in his daydream, put the French maid fantasy to shame.
She reached for a T-shirt lying on the bed and pulled it on, and he gulped in a deep breath and averted his gaze. Pressing his back to the rough, unfinished wood siding of the cabin, he dragged a hand down his face.
He was in deep trouble. How was he going to keep his promise not to touch her? How were they supposed to share this small living space without him losing it?
His wife. Mrs. Parson’s assumption twisted inside him. He knew that the three of them gave the impression of a family. He couldn’t blame the store owner for her conclusion. Yet the irony of his position chafed.
He’d bungled his attempt at marriage and family, but here he was playing house with Laura.
Hell.
In reality, he had no right to claim either the woman or the baby in the cabin. That truth raked through him with sharp tines. The scenario had been specially designed to torture him, he was certain.
He crossed to the door with intentionally heavy steps, his loud approach on the wooden porch serving to warn her of his return.
“Shh,” she hushed him, putting a finger to her pursed lips as he came through the door. “You’ll wake Elmer.”
He avoided her gaze, tried not to look at her as he hunted through the kitchen drawers for the key to the outside storage room. “I’m going to split some wood so we can make a fire tonight.”
A cozy, romantic fire in an isolated cabin…damn! He pushed that image aside and plucked the silver key out of the drawer.
“Need help?”
“No!” he said quickly. Probably too quickly.
“Oh.”
He didn’t miss the note of disappointment in her voice. She wanted to help split wood. She was bored out of her skull, too.
Max cleared his throat. “Sorry. Maybe you could…fix something for lunch?”
“I promise you, I don’t need to be in a kitchen, and you wouldn’t want anything I cooked.”
“I’m not picky. A sandwich would be fine.”
Laura nodded. “A sandwich I can manage.”
When he turned to leave, she added, “Oh, I was wondering if there was a washing machine up here. I’m down to my last clean outfit, and I know Elmer’s helped you dirty several shirts….”
The maid thing again. Frilly, low-cut, black….
Gritting his teeth, he spun toward the door, squeezing the storage room key so hard it dug into his palm. “There’s a Laundromat just down from Parson’s. We can wash a load tomorrow when I head down the mountain to call Emily again.”
“Tomorrow. Right.” She heaved a disappointed sigh and cast a glance around the freshly tidied cabin. “You’re sure you don’t need help chopping—”
“I’m sure. I can do it alone,” he said, lifting a hand to cut her off as he backed out the door. He knew she just wanted something to do, a way to kill time. But the hazard of mixing a blond distraction with a sharp ax was a mistake he wouldn’t make.
Crossing to the cabin window, Laura watched Max take an ax out of the storage room and approach the pile of logs needing to be split. He positioned the first log, raised the ax…and winced.
Setting the ax down, he grabbed his injured shoulder.
Without hesitating, Laura rushed outside. “Max! Are you all right?”
He cut a glance toward her and picked up the ax again. “I’m fine. I just have to work out the stiffness first.”
“I can help with the—”
“I said I’m fine. Go on inside. I can do this.” Clenching his teeth, he raised the ax again and slammed it down into the waiting log, grunting at the effort it took.
Darn the stubborn man! What was he trying to prove?
She could help him. She wanted to help him, needed something to do….
Instead, she stepped back and watched him swing the ax again while grimacing in pain. The muscles just under his soft flannel shirt rippled and strained. The first beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead.
He made an incredibly hot lumberjack.
She studied the tense lines in his rugged jaw and the determined fire in his eyes. Like the heat in his gaze when he’d kissed her this morning.
She swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her stomach as it flip-flopped inside her. If she was going to spend the next several days cooped up with this sexy man and still keep her sanity, she didn’t need to spend her time ogling him while he chopped wood.
Laura turned on her heel and tramped back to the house, removing herself from the tempting sight of his muscles toiling, the disconcerting knowledge of the pain he worked through and a better understanding of why he’d bolted from the cabin that morning for “fresh air.”
She marched into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He’d be hungry when he came in, and she had to find something to feed him. It was the least she could do.
That night when Max lit the fire in the fireplace, the crackling flames weren’t the only source of warmth. Knowing the effort and pain he’d endured to provide them with heat stirred a special glow deep inside her.
She had no doubt this man would move the Smokies to take care of her and Elmer, to keep them safe and comfortable. For years, she’d forced herself to be self-reliant, to be independent and to count on no one but herself. Knowing that she could depend on Max gave her an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach.
She squelched the funny niggling. Knowing he could provide for them didn’t mean she had to rely on him or put herself in his hands. Just that she could. If she wanted to. Which she didn’t.
Max dusted off his hands as he rose from the fireplace, and he glanced her way. Seeking her approval?
A grin tugged the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”
He straightened. “For what?”
“The fire. It feels good.”
His gaze lingered as if assessing her. Then his countenance eased, and his posture relaxed. His eyes took on the dark intensity with which she was quickly becoming familiar. “You’re welcome.”
He took a seat, dropping wearily on the old couch, and they passed the rest of the evening with quiet conversation.
As conversations went, theirs was awkward, strained, even forced at times. But their discussion of mundane things passed the time. And they built the first bonds of an affable partnership.
It was a step in the right direction.
“Hey, look what I found.”
Max glanced up from the stick he’d spent the last two hours whittling down to a worthless nub.
Laura held out the deck of cards she’d removed from a drawer in the nightstand.
Ordinarily, he wouldn’t consider a deck of playing cards any reason to get excited. But after four tedious days with little to occupy himself, except a concentrated effort to keep h
is hands off Laura, the deck of cards promised relief from the nerve-racking boredom. That, and a distraction from his disconcerting preoccupation with Laura.
He’d tried avoidance. Walks in the woods helped break the monotony, but he hated leaving the cabin for long, in case of trouble.
They made daily trips down the twisty mountain road to the pay phone by Parson’s General Store so that he could call the hospital and check on Emily. His sister had finally begun to make slow progress, but even that little bit of improvement gave him hope.
Otherwise, he’d chopped enough firewood to last through a nuclear winter. And he’d discovered after hours of whittling that all he could carve was a pile of shavings.
What he had made, using a laundry basket and a firm cushion from the sofa, was a makeshift cradle for Elmer. With Elmer in his cradle and him on the couch, Laura now slept alone in the queen-sized bed. She hadn’t complained about sharing the bed with Elmer, but the project had given him something to do.
For about ten minutes.
Then he’d gone back to whittling piles of shavings. All the while, Laura skirted his thoughts.
By day, if she so much as walked by him, the fruity scent of her shampoo teased his senses. He easily conjured fantasies of her lathering her hair in the shower, water streaming down her naked skin.
By night, he lay on the lumpy couch, memorizing the knots in the wood beams of the roof, sensitized to every creak from the bed. In his mind, he replayed the night they’d arrived at the cabin, the feel of her body against his, the gentle sough of her breath as she slept.
After four days, lack of sleep and repressed lust made him edgy.
“Wanna play hearts?” she asked, glancing into Elmer’s cradle to check on him before sitting down at the opposite end of the couch.
“Real men don’t play games called hearts.” He reached for the deck in her hand, and his fingers brushed her wrist as he took the cards from her. High-energy sparks raced across his nerves, shooting straight to his groin.
Her blue-green eyes darted up to meet his, and he jerked his hand away, dropping the cards and scattering them in the process.
In Protective Custody Page 13
