by Cat Schield
“It’s what I want.”
Two
The ranch house where Lark and Skye had grown up was a sprawling single-story structure with a cathedral ceiling over the enormous, open great room. Lark’s father was an avid hunter, and the walls between the windows and ceiling were covered with trophies of white-tailed deer and bobwhite quail.
Above the dining table hung a chandelier made of antlers. A second one hung above the living room seating area composed of a brown leather couch and love seat. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Set into a sixteen-by-fourteen foot wall and surrounded by large river rock, it took up a corner of the room. As usual the television was on. Lark could tell her father wasn’t home because it wasn’t tuned to a sports program. Instead her mother had on the shopping channel.
Lark’s rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the tile as she went across the room, shrugged out of her wool coat and draped it over one of the dining chairs. Her mother was in the open kitchen. Lark tried to gauge her mother’s mood as she drew near.
“Oh, Lark. Must you wear those scrubs? They do nothing for your figure. And you really should do something about those dark circles under your eyes. They’re not attractive.”
Having just come from a double shift at the hospital because Marsha had called in sick again, Lark couldn’t summon the energy to explain why she looked so tired. “Is that a new lipstick?” she asked. It made her mother happy to talk about herself, and Lark needed her in a good mood.
Vera Taylor smiled, obviously pleased that her daughter had noticed. “Passion’s Promise.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a tube. “It might be a good shade for you. Come closer and let me see.”
Fighting down impatience, Lark let her mother apply the vivid red, knowing it would look ridiculous on her. She rarely wore make-up at all, much less something as eye-catching as ruby lipstick.
“And a little concealer.” Her daughter’s docility had prompted Vera to pull a bag of make-up out of her purse. It was a rare mother-daughter bonding moment. Skye had been the pretty one, the one Vera could relate to. “Some color in your cheeks.”
Vera stepped back and regarded her daughter with something akin to satisfaction. Lark’s chest constricted. No matter how much she loved her mother, Lark had never been completely sure her mother felt the same way about her. Vera’s childhood in San Antonio had been composed of a string of beauty pageants starting when she was one. She’d grown up praised for her beauty and style. Lark was sure it had broken her heart to give birth to a child of average prettiness and no interest in fashion.
Her mother must have thanked heaven when Skye came along. Beautiful and personable, with an abundance of talent. A mini Vera. A doll for her to dress and mold into the perfect pageant princess.
“See, that took me no more than a minute and a half and you look so much better. Imagine what would happen if we did a little mascara and eye shadow. You really should take more care with your appearance. What will people think?”
Considering that her patients in the ICU were unconscious and their family members too distressed to notice anything but their loved ones, Lark doubted that it mattered what she looked like. “I’ll make more of an effort.”
Knowing it would make her mother happy, Lark went into the small bathroom off the entry and checked her appearance. To her amazement, her mother was right. The little bit of makeup had transformed her. She was pretty. Not beautiful like Skye or their mother, but maybe attractive enough to make Keaton give her a second look?
The instant the thought entered her head, Lark banished it. Depending on how her mother responded to Lark’s request to babysit Grace, she might just be stuck dealing with Keaton on a much more regular basis. If that happened, the last thing she needed was to start wondering if she appealed to him.
First of all, there was the hundred and some years of fighting between their families.
Then there was the little problem of whether or not she could trust him. Skye had put her faith in Jake and look what had happened. He’d vanished when she needed him most.
Last, but certainly not least, Keaton’s brusque manner and ruggedness were a little overwhelming. Granted, he’d handled Grace with an acceptable amount of gentleness, but he’d obviously been on his best behavior. Would he be as careful with her?
And would she want him to be?
Swept away by the thought of his large hands skimming over her body, pulling her tight against him as his mouth claimed hers in a vigorous kiss, Lark shuddered in delight. Her skin warmed as the fantasy heated her blood. She could almost feel the scrape of his rough chin against her neck. Desire lanced through her like an electric shock, leaving her knees oddly unsteady.
“Mom,” she called, emerging from the bathroom. “I have a favor to ask you.”
Vera frowned. “I’m not sure this is a good time. Your father is very distressed about the loss of the tree farm and the damage done to the irrigation pipes.”
Lark recognized this tactic. Her mother was always using Tyrone as an excuse to avoid doing things she deemed too great a burden. Ignoring her mother’s broad hint, Lark muscled on.
“Grace gets to leave the hospital in a couple days.”
“So soon?”
“It’s been three months.”
And as far as Lark knew, Vera had only stopped by once. Lark thought about Keaton’s mom, visiting both a child she didn’t fully believe was her granddaughter and the woman who’d been instrumental in taking her son away. Gloria had just as much reason to take her anger out on Skye and the baby, but she’d chosen a path of forgiveness instead.
“Things have been so bad around here, I haven’t noticed how much time has passed.”
“I was wondering if you could help me out with her.”
“I don’t know how I can find the time. There’s so much to do here.”
Lark braced herself to beg. Her parents had always made it hard for her to ask for anything. “Please, Mom. Can’t you help me out until Skye gets better?”
“Are you sure you’re the best one to be taking care of your sister’s baby, Lark?”
“If not me, who else?”
“There’s the father.” Vera arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Has he shown up yet?”
“If you mean Jake...” She didn’t dare defend a Holt to her mother. “I don’t know where he is. His brother hasn’t had any luck locating him.”
“Does that surprise you? None of those people can be trusted.”
“Grace is a Taylor, Mom.” Lark wasn’t comfortable misleading her mother, but she hoped that maybe Vera would be more inclined to help if the conflict with the Holts wasn’t part of the equation. “None of us had heard from Skye in four years. We don’t even know if she and Jake were still together.”
Vera considered this and for a brief second, Lark thought her mother might have forgiven how badly Skye hurt them when she’d run off with a Holt. But then Vera shook her head.
“I heard that brother of his is doing a DNA test. We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”
“Grace is so beautiful, Mom,” Lark said, hoping if she appealed to what her mother valued most that Vera might be persuaded to put aside her hurt and embrace her granddaughter. “She looks exactly like Skye.” Which wasn’t completely true, but hopefully Vera would be so thrilled to have a mini Skye to smother with love that she wouldn’t notice the Holt eyes and bone structure.
“I’m sure she’s quite lovely.” Vera could have been speaking of a stranger’s child for all the warmth she showed. “I can see that you are quiet passionate about taking on the responsibility of your sister’s baby. I just don’t think you realize how challenging it will be with you working full-time. A normal baby is exhausting and she’s bound to have special needs. I’ll speak with your father about helping you out with the child care costs.”
And Lark knew her last hope was gone. Her mother wasn’t ready to forgive Skye for turning her back on her family and would resist warming up to Grace.
>
“I don’t want a stranger taking care of her,” she told her mother, letting her disappointment show. It was looking pretty certain that her options had dwindled to Keaton.
“She’s had strangers taking care of her for the last three months,” Vera retorted a touch impatiently. “I don’t see the difference.”
The difference was Grace had needed medical attention and the nurses in the NICU were experts in the care of preemies. “I appreciate your offer of financial help, but I really think we owe it to Skye to do the best we can for Grace, and that means having her family take care of her.”
A layer of frost coated Vera’s features at Lark’s mild reproof. Almost immediately she wished she could take back her criticism. No purpose would be served by alienating her mother, but along with regret, Lark noticed a tiny buzz of triumph for having stood up to her mother.
Unfortunately, Lark’s confidence quickly faded as the reality of her situation engulfed her, and she drove home in such a state of disappointment that she didn’t remember Keaton had invited himself on her shopping trip for the baby until she noticed the four-door pickup parked in front of her house.
The clock on her dashboard said quarter after two. She was fifteen minutes late. Lark settled her car in the garage and headed down the driveway to meet up with Keaton.
“I forgot we were getting together today.”
“You look different.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed her.
When his gaze settled on her lips, Lark remembered the makeup her mother had applied. “I went to ask my mother for help with Grace. She thought I looked tired so she put makeup on me.”
“You look very nice.”
“Thank you.”
Nice wasn’t beautiful, but it was better than tired and drawn. And there was something new about the way he stared at her. Something intense and interested that made her pay attention to the flutters in her stomach and the slow heat building in her core.
“Are you heading back to work?” He indicated her scrubs.
Lark shook her head. The slight breeze cooled her skin. “One of my coworkers called in sick and we’re shorthanded as it is. I pulled a double shift.” A sharp wind cut off any further explanation she might have made. “Do you want to come inside?”
“I picked up a few things this morning. I’ll go get them.”
“You did?” Lark wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or dismayed. He was really determined to take care of Grace.
From the backseat of the pickup he unloaded two enormous bags printed with the logo of the local baby store. Lark hastened to open her front door so he could carry his bundles inside.
“What is all this?”
“Bedding, clothes.” Keaton followed Lark into her living room and deposited everything on her couch. He glanced around. “I know you said you hadn’t bought a crib yet. I thought that was something we could do together.”
Curiosity drove her to investigate what he’d chosen. Rather than an ultra-feminine pastel-pink ensemble, he’d chosen pale yellow sheets, bumper, dust ruffle and comforter with fun jungle animals. Lark spied pajamas, bodysuits and pants, tiny socks, bibs and a towel.
“You look surprised,” Keaton said.
“I am. You did a great job. How did you know what to buy?”
“I went online and found a list for what to have on hand when bringing home a baby.”
“She’ll need some diapers. I can get those later today.”
“I already contacted a diaper service.”
“I figured we would just use disposables.”
“Cloth is better for the environment.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with keeping dirty diapers around until they could be picked up.” And the unpleasantness that went along with doing that.
“The person I spoke with said they have a hamper that keeps the smell contained.”
“Sounds like you’ve done your research.”
“I always do.”
Lark was surprised at the resentment brewing in her gut. Why was she annoyed with Keaton for being helpful? After she’d worked back-to-back shifts, she should be relieved that some of the preparations for Grace’s homecoming were done. So what if she wasn’t the smartest person in the room?
Thinking of her double shift reminded Lark just how tired she was. Before she could contain it, an enormous yawn broke free.
“Sorry.”
“You’re tired.”
“Back-to-back shifts are brutal.”
“I can take care of the shopping and get the crib. I’m sure you have a list of everything you still need to do before Grace leaves the hospital.”
While she realized he was only trying to lend a hand, Lark rebelled at the thought of him taking over the preparations. Grace was her responsibility. If she was too tired to shop for her, how was she going to cope once her niece came home?
“No.” Lark gave her head a vehement shake. “I want to pick out the crib and finish up the shopping. It won’t take long. And you’re right. I have a list of what I need.”
She should be annoyed that he’d presumed things about her habits when he knew nothing about her, but she found herself flattered by his accurate read. Few people noticed her much less paid attention to her practices.
A glow bloomed in her chest, banishing her tiredness. She recognized Keaton as the source of her abrupt sense of well-being. His proximity had a disturbing effect on her world. Long ago she’d learned that asking for help was likely to end up in a rebuff. So she’d grown used to muddling along without anyone noticing she needed help much less offering to pitch in. Now she had Keaton insisting on lightening her load and was more than a little afraid to trust what he was offering.
Dropping her gaze to the floor, she said, “I’ll be okay on my own.”
* * *
Stubborn, Keaton noted, just like her father. She was determined to make things more difficult for herself rather than let him help. Pushing down his irritation, he said, “Why don’t I put this stuff away while you change?”
“I’ll take care of it.” She drew near and reached out for the bags. “I’m going to put the crib in my room. The master suite is on the opposite side of the house from the other two bedrooms, and I don’t want her so far away.”
Keaton surrendered the purchases and watched her retreat. As soon as she was out of sight he surveyed his surroundings. The house was a split-floor plan, just as she’d described, with bedrooms on opposite sides of an expansive great room/dining room/kitchen combination. The design was modern; the open flow of the place made it nice for entertaining.
The rooms reflected exactly what he’d expected her style to be. Like him, she preferred furniture that was comfortable rather than stylish. She’d always struck him as practical, but she’d chosen dreamy Texas landscapes for her walls.
Books overflowed the shelves that flanked the fireplace, leaving no room for knickknacks. Or family photos. More books were stacked on the coffee table and each of the side tables. Which wasn’t surprising: his every memory of her had a book in it.
One of the most telling aspects of her décor, and where their taste was drastically different, was the lack of electronics of any kind. That included a television, stereo and video equipment. As rustic as his cabin was, one of the first purchases he’d made before moving in was a forty-inch TV. How could she stand not having such an important connection to the outside world?
“Is something wrong?”
Keaton turned his head and spied her coming his way. She’d traded baggy scrubs for snug jeans that hugged her curves and a dark green sweater with a scoop neck that showed a hint of cleavage.
Knowing he was staring at her in mouthwatering fascination, but unable to help himself, Keaton answered her question. “You don’t have a television.”
“No.” She knotted a scarf around her neck, slipped into her coat and gathered up her purse and keys.
“Any particular reason?” With the most seducti
ve aspects of her form hidden from view, Keaton was able to wrestle his thoughts back into line.
“What’s the point?”
“It’s television.”
She focused a sharp gaze on him. “Mindless entertainment. I prefer to read or bake. I like feeling productive.”
“Not everything on TV is mindless. There are educational programs.” After gesturing her to go first through the doorway, Keaton stepped aside so she could lock the front door. “Some interesting stuff.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she murmured, looking completely unconvinced as he opened the passenger door for her.
His pulse kicked up as she whisked past him. Was his attraction for her going to cause problems? She was already as skittish as a feral cat. If she got any inkling that he craved a taste of her lips, it might ruin the fragile cease-fire they’d established.
Keaton slid behind the wheel. Although he wasn’t much for small talk, he thought engaging Lark in casual conversation would be a good way to build rapport. “You have quite a collection of books. What do you like to read?”
“I alternate between classics and contemporary fiction.”
Hearing her answer, he sighed in frustration. Their taste in books wasn’t going to keep the dialogue flowing easily. “I like biographies and nonfiction.”
She nodded and subsided into silence. Keaton shot her a sideways glance and noticed that she was gripping her purse as if it was a lifeline. He wanted her to relax in his company. If she decided he wasn’t the villain her father made him out to be, he would have an easier time staking his own claim on Grace.
Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Keaton tried again. “I downloaded a couple books on preemies to my e-reader in an attempt to figure out what to expect with Grace.”
“At this point her gestational age is that of a newborn. She’s still tiny compared to most, but her need for specialized care is done.”
“I realize that I missed being around for her early days, but the books talked about kangaroo care where the baby is held against her mother’s skin to help with her development.”
