It was actually closer to one o'clock when Alex finished examining Chase, reviewing the X-rays she'd ordered taken of his leg, and released him to his big brother. Ryan assured her that he'd make sure her patient got in and settled and that he wouldn't overdo, but Ryan was also the person who'd taken her patient into a construction site in a wheelchair two days after major surgery, so she had about as much faith in him as she did in Chase. Especially when she heard them making plans to swing by an electronics store for a television, since the house no longer had one, before Ryan took Chase to his temporary home.
Ryan was saying something about dinner with Tanner and their families at Pizza Pete's when she gave them the same quelling look she used on Tyler when he did exactly what she'd just told him not to. But the threat of taking a time-out would be totally lost on grown men, so she ignored the way her heart smiled when Chase arched his eyebrow back at her and left to tend those who took her advice a little more seriously.
The man was free for the first time in nearly two weeks. With his brother as an accomplice, she doubted he'd even be home when she and the boys got to the house. She knew all about the Malones' pizza nights. Ever since Ryan's first wife had died, he and his children had met up with Tanner on a regular basis for a couple hours of family bonding. Their little circle had expanded as their lives had changed. It was only natural that they would want their newly discovered brother with them.
"He's really going to be here?"
Brent's voice cracked at the end of the sentence. Too awed by the prospect of meeting the man to care, he added another "Really?" as he walked backward through the kitchen doorway.
"Really. But you probably won't meet him until tomorrow." Setting the bag of groceries she carried down on the island, Alex smiled at the enthusiasm in the boy's gray eyes. Brent had opened up considerably in the week he'd been with her, his shyness rarely apparent at all.
"How about putting the milk in the fridge for me?" she asked as Tyler darted past her. "Did your therapy go well today?"
"I guess." His shoulders lifted in a laconic shrug, giving her as much as she suspected any teenager did when asked about his day. "I see him working his leg on the weight machine sometimes. In therapy I mean. He sure is big."
Yeah, she thought. He is that.
"Tyler?" she called, wanting to know what her little whirlwind had been in such a rush about. "What are you doing?"
"I'm gonna feed Tom," he hollered from around the corner.
"Can you manage the cat food?"
"Yeah, 'cept he's not here."
"I'm sure he is, honey. It's a big room," she said, referring to the utility room they'd left the cat to prowl around in all day. "Look up on the windowsills. Or, maybe he's behind the washer and the dryer. Don't even think about crawling on top to check," she warned. "I'll be there in a minute."
Draping the navy jacket that matched her sleeveless sheath over the back of a chair in the breakfast bay, she stepped out of her heels and headed for the sink.
"Dinner in fifteen minutes," she told Brent, who was ripping into a bag of chips. Smiling sweetly, she traded him for a bag of carrots. "I know you're starving, but I told your parents I'd take care of you."
"I hate rabbit food."
"Dip it in this." Tipping her head from side to side to relieve the tension in her neck, she dug a bottle of raspberry vinaigrette dressing from the sack. "But wash up first."
A martyr couldn't have looked more persecuted. Tucking the bag of carrots under his left arm with his left hand, he wrinkled his nose at the dressing she handed him and stuck it in the fridge. His right hand curved against his stomach, held there by the blue sling covering half of his white-and-purple Diamondbacks T-shirt. He still didn't have much of a grip in that hand, but he'd come up with some pretty inventive ways to help himself.
Sometimes.
"There isn't any soap."
"It's right here."
Popping the top on a container of liquid soap she took from the sack, she set in on the sink in front of him and turned to see what Tyler was up to.
Her little boy was right behind her, his corn-silk hair brushing his pale eyebrows and the hem of his black T-shirt nearly hitting the hem of his baggy shorts.
"Tom's not there," he pronounced, his button nose wrinkled with worry.
"You didn't climb up on the washer, did you?"
"Unh-uh. I got on the counter and looked over. But he's not there."
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Alex drew a deep breath. "Okay," she said, calmly. He hadn't disobeyed her. She hadn't said a word about the counter. "I closed him in there this morning." She was sure she had. "Tom can't open doors."
"I let him out."
The sound of that deep voice had three pairs of eyes darting past the long wall of cabinets and granite counters. Chase stood framed by the open glass doors in the tall archway, his crutches planted on the marble floor and his glance moving guardedly over the boys before settling on her.
"Gwen was showing me around the place." With his injured leg bent back at the knee, he swung the crutches forward. A white polo shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. Loose khaki cargo shorts covered most of the EFD, and he wore his boaters without socks.
"He shot out when I opened the door. Don't worry about it," he said, when Alex closed her eyes and the little boy's widened, "he's around here somewhere. Gwen made sure he didn't get outside when she left."
Chase's glance slid over the children. The smaller one had taken a step closer to his mom and stood with one arm looped around her thigh and his neck cranked back, looking up at the bruises and the healing cut on his face. The teenager simply stared, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His recent-looking buzz cut was a couple of shades darker than the little boy's longer hair and he was a shade taller than Alex. He also had a long way to go before he caught up to the size elevens on his feet.
"Hi," Chase said to him, since somebody needed to speak. He'd seen the kid in the therapy department before. He just hadn't realized he was the one Alex had taken in. "How's it going?"
"I've gotta wash up," Brent said, his voice cracking. The tips of his ears turned pink. Looking as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said, the rest of his face colored, too.
"'Scuze me," the boy muttered and bumped into the counter when he turned around, turned redder yet, and disappeared around the corner.
An unfamiliar twinge of sympathy tugged at Chase's chest. It had been years, but he could remember feeling that same awkwardness with his body, that same humiliation when he'd open his mouth wanting to impress and ended up looking foolish instead. Walter Harrington had always looked at him as if he couldn't believe how inept he was when it happened, which invariably was whenever the man was around.
Hating the thought, he closed it away. He needed to do what Alex had done and open himself to the idea of building on what fate had allowed him to discover. Since he was the uncle of a four-year-old he'd yet to meet, he let his glance fall to the three feet of towheaded innocence clinging to his mom.
A teenager he could relate to. He had no idea what went on in the minds of people as small as Alex's son. The child's attention had moved from the bruises to stare in morbid fascination at the gashes and insertion points for the EFD.
"How come you're hurt?"
"He was in a car accident, Tyler," Alex murmured.
"What kind of car?"
"Ah … a Jaguar," Chase replied, having to think for a second to remember what he'd rented. The kid's focus had changed with the speed of light.
The boy's eyes went bright. "Does it go fast?"
"I imagine it did."
"Can I see it?"
"Tyler," Alex said, her expression apologetic. "Let's not bug Mr. Harrington. You've already seen his car. It's the wrecked one we got the luggage from at the towing lot."
"For the man who gave you a headache?"
"Yes," she muttered, cupping his little chin and bending forward to see his face. "Now be quiet."
>
Chase bit back a smile. "You want to go find your cat?" he asked, torn between wanting to talk to Alex and wondering what else she'd said that she didn't want him to hear.
The little chatterbox tipped his head back farther. "Can I, Mom?"
"I'll do it. I don't want you getting into anything back there."
"I'll keep my hands in my pockets," he promised, showing her by pulling up his shirt and stuffing them into place. "Just like at the store. 'Cept when I have to crawl under something. Okay?"
Alex hesitated. Tyler wandering through expensively furnished and unfamiliar rooms probably couldn't cause any more damage than a cat who may or may not remember where she'd put his litterbox. "Stay out of Mr. Harrington's office and his room."
"How do I know which ones they are?"
"He's okay," Chase assured her, frowning a little as she tipped her head to stretch the muscles in her neck. He'd seen her do the same thing when she'd first come into the kitchen. She'd been working at those same muscles yesterday. "Just don't touch the computer. All right?"
Inquisitive gray eyes blinked up at him. "You have a computer? Do you have games?"
"The cat, Tyler. You can look for the cat," his mother patiently reminded him. "And take off your shoes. I don't want you wearing shoes on that carpet."
"How come?" he asked, dropping to his bottom and tugging off his new tennies.
"Because it's white. And keep your hands in your pockets."
"'Cept when I crawl."
"Except when you crawl," she agreed, bending to gather his shoes as he rolled to a sprinter's stance and bolted for the archway.
"No running!"
He skated to a stop, arms out to balance himself. Coming to a halt, he huffed out a breath, dutifully stuffed his hands out of sight and trudged off in search of the missing feline.
"If he's not back in three minutes, I'll go play search party."
Talking more to herself than to Chase, she dropped Tyler's shoes by hers, thinking she'd put them all away later, and headed back to the sink.
"They're … interesting," he observed. "Are little kids all that…?"
"Literal?" she offered, turning to see him staring after Tyler. "Curious? Energetic?"
"Yeah."
"Pretty much." The man looked confused. He also looked a little wary. She just wasn't sure if it was because he was obviously unfamiliar with small children or because he was reconsidering the idea of having one around.
"I thought you were with your brothers," she said, taking his focus from her son.
"What made you think that?"
"I heard you and Ryan talking when I left. It's pizza night."
Looking very much at ease in the expanse of high-ceilinged room, he leaned against the counter and picked up the blue-and-yellow box of macaroni and cheese. "I'm under doctor's orders to take it easy," he replied, cavalierly using her for an excuse to avoid the little gathering. "I told him that maybe I'd go next time." He held up the box. "You're eating this?"
"The boys wanted it." Having filled a brass pot with water, she carried it to the commercial-sized stove. "There's also salad and chicken. Can I get you anything?" she asked, searching out the right knob.
"I'm fine. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute." After a quick frown at the box, he set it back down. "Do you have to go anywhere, or are you in for the evening?"
"I'm in." And she would bless him forever for not having to start the apartment hunt tonight. "Why?"
"There's wine over there if you want some." He nodded to the glass door of the built-in wine cooler under the counter. "I had Gwen raid my cellar for a few bottles. There's a pretty decent Riesling there, and a nice chardonnay if you want something drier. I'd let the reds settle for a few days, though. She just brought them this afternoon."
Alex stopped dead in her tracks six feet from him. He had the same look about him that he'd had yesterday when he'd told her it would be a month before she could have her house back. He was trying to soften a blow. She was sure of it. He just wanted to numb her before he hit her with whatever it was. "Did you talk to the adjuster again?"
"I did. But that has nothing to do with why I offered you wine." His voice gentled. "You just look like you could stand to unwind a little."
Relief that nothing else had gone wrong almost canceled the odd twinge she felt at his thoughtfulness. Almost. The emptiness she felt was still there, clouded for the moment by demands. But it was getting harder all the time to keep that hollow feeling at bay.
He wasn't making it any easier.
Realizing she'd already stood there longer than she should have, she covered the growing ache with a little laugh.
"Heavenly as that sounds, I'll have to pass. I have children to feed and a case to review."
"Do I hafta take a bath tonight, Mom?"
"And a bath to supervise," she added at Tyler's disgruntled question when he walked back in carrying the scruffy ball of wiggling, variegated gray fur. "Wine relaxes me too much. I'd be putty and wouldn't get a thing done. Where was he, Tyler?"
"Under the bed in the room with the big TV. Can we go watch it? We don't got one." He looked hopeful, the exact opposite of how distressed he'd been when he'd first discovered the gaping hole in the family-room wall behind them where the cable line dangled.
"We don't have one," she corrected gently. "Remember what I told you in the car? That we have one end of the house and Mr. Harrington has the other? The TV's on his end."
"But he's on our end now," the child pointed out ever so reasonably.
Rather than try to explain why the man taking in their discussion didn't have to stick to her plan, she took Tyler by the shoulders and turned him around. "Close the door over there before you put Tom down so he doesn't get out again. Then, go get Brent so he can set the table while you wash up."
Giving him a gentle nudge, she looked up at the man curiously watching her son. "What did the adjuster say?" she asked, since that seemed to be why he was sticking around.
She took a bag of mixed lettuce and a box of croutons from the sack and, leaving them on the island, headed for the big refrigerator. Opening the door to get the bottle of dressing Brent had shoved in there, she felt her shoulders drop.
Chase's secretary, Gwen, had stocked the fridge. She'd stocked his wine. The woman had probably filled the pantry, too.
She wanted a Gwen of her own.
"You're going to have to pick out new carpeting," Chase said as she returned to the sack for the precooked chicken breasts she'd heat in the microwave. "I have the names of a couple of stores for you."
Picking up the box of croutons, he opened it for her and set it beside the lettuce. "They won't lay it for a while, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to choose what you want sooner rather than later in case they don't have enough of what you want in stock."
"I'll go Saturday, while I'm apartment hunting."
"Why don't I have them send someone out with samples instead? Give me a time and I'll have them bring them to your office or meet you here." He leaned a little more heavily on his crutches. "It's more efficient," he insisted, wincing slightly.
Alex had nothing against efficiency. At the moment, she didn't even have an objection to his tendency to counter her. The dull gloss of discomfort was visible in his eyes. She had no idea what all he'd done that afternoon. She just knew it had been far more than he should. Now, he was pushing himself because of her.
"Does your leg just ache, or is it throbbing?" She was sure it was doing one or the other. It was just a matter of which. "You've had it down too long," she concluded, when his silence indicated that it hurt more than he wanted her to know. "Go sit down and prop it up and I'll get you an ice pack. Have you eaten?"
"Yes. And you have enough to do. I'll take care of it."
"Brent says he's not hungry."
Wearily pushing her fingers through her hair, Alex pulled her glance from the determination carved in Chase's expression. "Of course he's hungry," she said, looking at Ty
ler; though she was really talking to herself. "Five minutes ago, he was starving."
"It's because of me." Maneuvering on his crutches, Chase started opening drawers in the island. "I'll get a bag of ice and get out of here."
"I'll get the ice and bring it to you."
"I said I'd do it," he muttered, snagging her arm when she moved beside him to take up the search for a zip-top bag to put the ice in. "You don't have to take care of me while you're here."
His fingers had closed completely around her biceps. Beneath his hand, she could feel his heat seeping through her bare skin, causing her breath to thin, her heart to hitch.
"And you don't have to take care of my house," she told him, amazed she could sound so calm with her insides jumping. "So let me help you and we'll consider ourselves even."
He said nothing about having his own words used against him. She didn't think he even considered that she might be feeling a little obligated herself. He just held her there with his deep, clear blue eyes darkening on hers before his gaze dropped to her mouth and the air left her lungs.
The instant her lips parted to draw a breath, his features went taut.
"Get the ice." He offered the concession quietly as his hand fell away. "But Tyler can bring it to me."
Hearing his name, the little boy stuck his head between them and looked up. "Then can I watch your TV?"
"Not tonight," Chase told him, saving Alex the trouble. "I'm kind of tired, so I'm going to bed, and you have to eat and take a bath."
He wasn't as tired as he could have been. He'd slept after Gwen had gone and hadn't gotten up again until he'd seen Alex's car pull up the drive. It just seemed necessary to get a little distance between him and the woman whose skin felt like cool satin and whose scent reminded him of a hot night, cold champagne and long, slow sex.
With her kid standing right there, the thought should have died as soon as it formed. With the confusion surrounding her, it shouldn't even have formed in the first place. But it had. The instant he'd heard her breath alter at his touch. And the thought remained.
DR. MOM AND THE MILLIONAIRE Page 13
