* * *
“You’re awfully quiet,” Steve noted. They were very close to home now. The drive had lulled Stephanie to sleep, ending most of the conversation. “Are you tired?”
“No, I just don’t want to take a chance on waking Stephanie,” Becky answered. She turned in her seat to make sure that the girl was still sleeping.
“I think we could probably have an explosion go off and she wouldn’t wake up. All that fresh air got to her,” Steve explained. “Nothing like the great outdoors to make you sleep like a baby.”
Becky smiled, amused. “You’d better not let Stephanie hear you make that baby reference.”
“She knows that I don’t mean to imply she’s a baby,” Steve answered.
But Becky wasn’t nearly as sure about that as he was. “Better to err on the side of caution,” she told him.
He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess it’s a good thing I have you around to keep me straight. By the way, thanks for all this.”
Becky shrugged, dismissing his thanks. “You’re the one who drove us out here. I didn’t really do anything,” she protested.
“The hell you didn’t,” he contradicted. “If it wasn’t for you, Stephanie and I would still be totally alienated.” His mouth curved fondly. “And I wouldn’t be able to call her Stevi again.”
“Only in private,” Becky reminded him, as they pulled up in the driveway.
“Hey, better than nothing,” Steve said. “A lot better than nothing.”
After getting out, he made his way around to the rear passenger seat. He opened the door and gently drew his daughter into his arms. Since she was still sound asleep, he didn’t attempt to wake her, but began to carry her toward the house.
“I’ll get the door open,” Becky volunteered.
“Take the keys.” He still had them in his hand, even though he was holding Stephanie in his arms, and turned so that Becky could take them from him.
“Thanks.” She hurried to open the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Moving quickly, Becky went up the stairs just ahead of Stephanie’s father so she could open the girl’s bedroom door. Going in, she pulled back the covers on her bed so Stephanie could be tucked in.
“Do you think I should get her out of her clothes?” she asked Steve as she looked at the sleeping girl.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “She slept in them while she was out camping. One more night’s not going to hurt.” He smiled as he gazed at his daughter.
When Becky thought about it, she did tend to agree with Steve, but it was hard to shake off the teachings of her childhood.
“My mother was always very big on following all the rules.” She spread just the sheet over Stephanie and backed out of the room. “I think that was probably her way of trying to maintain some kind of control over me, since the rest of the time, I had the feeling that she felt I was way out of her league.”
It wasn’t that Becky felt superior to her mother; she just viewed things differently and was able to grasp so much more than her mother did.
At times she was certain that her mother felt they came from two very different worlds.
“Doesn’t sound like you had a very easy childhood,” Steve observed as he slipped out of his daughter’s room and closed the door.
“It had its moments. And don’t get me wrong, my mother did try.” Becky changed the subject to something lighter. “Well, you have an early day tomorrow, so I’ll let you get to bed. Thank you for including me.”
She was surprised when she heard him laugh in response. “I had the feeling that you came under duress.”
She couldn’t tell him that he was imagining things, because he wasn’t. “I have to admit that the thought of going camping wasn’t exactly appealing to me at first. But it got better,” she said quickly. “To be honest, I even wound up liking it.” And then she looked at him ruefully. “Everything but the bug bites.”
“I noticed you were scratching,” Steve admitted, his mouth curving in a smile. “You do realize that the more you scratch, the itchier those bites feel.”
Becky exhaled loudly in frustration. “I know, I know,” she cried. “But they’re driving me crazy.”
He made a quick decision. “Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. “I think I’ve got something in my medicine cabinet that’ll help. A friend of mine concocted this salve. It’s a homemade remedy,” he explained. “It’s not overly pretty, but it really does work.”
Becky followed him to the master bathroom, feeling a little uneasy. This could all be very innocent, and yet it might not be.
She debated for a moment, then finally said, “All right, I’m putting my fate in your hands.”
He nodded, acknowledging that he understood. “Then I promise to be gentle. Where are the bites?”
“Mostly on my back,” she told him. Hesitating, she finally turned around to let him see.
It took everything for him not to release a low whistle. Rather than a bite or two, her back looked as if it was a veritable feasting area for mosquitoes.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” he marveled.
She let go of a breath, doing her best not to reach behind her and scratch. “That bad, huh?”
Rather than answer, he told her, “Stay there for a minute.” He opened the medicine cabinet and quickly scanned its contents. Finding what he was looking for, he took out a jar and placed it on the counter, then turned the faucets on and washed his hands. “I’m going to put this on you,” he told her as he dried them.
“Will it sting?” Becky asked. Then, so Steve wouldn’t think she was afraid of incurring a little discomfort, she said, “I just want to know what to expect.”
“It’s a little cold,” he told her. “I guess it feels like having a mixture of whipping cream and honey spread on your skin.”
She laughed drily. “Sounds like you’re turning me into a dessert.”
Now, there’s a thought, Steve thought, smiling to himself. He was grateful that Becky had her back to him and couldn’t read his expression.
“Ready?” he asked.
Becky braced herself. The urge to scratch was becoming really difficult for her to resist. Anything had to feel better than this.
“I guess,” she replied.
She drew in her breath as Steve began to slowly spread the homemade salve across the red welts that had formed on her back the more she scratched.
He frowned as he looked at them. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
“I thought I could grin and bear it,” she told him. “I’ve had mosquito bites before, just not en masse like this.”
Right now, the bites were exceptionally itchy, but beyond that, she could feel Steve’s strong, capable fingers slowly spreading the homemade paste across her skin. She could feel herself growing progressively warmer.
It was crazy, but she could swear that his fingers gliding along her back—despite the welts and the paste—were creating a feeling within her that she couldn’t seem to block.
One of deep, aroused longing. Becky did her best to struggle against it.
“This should do the trick,” she heard Steve telling her.
That depends on the kind of trick you’re looking for, Becky couldn’t help thinking.
And then she heard him ask, “How does it feel?”
Like heaven.
She cleared her throat, as if that would keep him from reading her mind. “Less itchy,” she reported.
“That’s good,” he said, satisfied. “I can leave this with you in case you find more bites.” He put the jar down and washed off his fingers. “You know, sometimes insects are just drawn to one person more than to another. It makes no sense, but that would explain why you were bitten and Stevi and I weren’t.”
“Wonderful,” Becky murmured, turning around to face him. “I’m a bug magnet.”
Steve laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly put it that way.” He dried his hands and nodded toward the jar. “I hope that helps a little.”
“Actually,” Becky said, as she paused to take stock of the situation, “it does.” She looked at him in wonder. “I’m not itchy anymore.”
“Told you,” Steve said, as pleased as she was that his remedy had worked.
She was more than just pleased; she was relieved. Very relieved.
“Thank you,” Becky cried, feeling so grateful that she threw her arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him.
And then opened her eyes wide in horror as she realized what she’d just impulsively done.
Her arms dropped to her sides. “Oh, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m so sorry,” she declared, feeling totally chagrined.
The expression on her face got to him. “Don’t be,” he told her. “I’m not.”
To be honest, she’d stirred something within him and he was really, really tempted to kiss her back. It had been so long since he’d kissed any woman other than his wife. For one brief moment, he realized that he missed the human contact, the warm feeling of connecting with a woman in that very distinct, special way that only a man and woman could.
“You’re not?” Becky whispered.
Something in her eyes drew him in, seemed to guide him through the next steps. Before he knew it, he was framing her face with his hands and bringing his mouth down to hers.
* * *
Heat exploded within Becky’s chest.
The kiss was everything she’d known it would be and more. It was beyond exquisite.
This despite the fact that she had nothing to compare it to. Most of the men she’d dealt with in her life had either treated her as if she was some sort of an anomaly or were intimidated by her, even though she had never once knowingly tried to make anyone feel inferior to her.
That was something they were responsible for doing to themselves. But whatever the cause, Becky found herself suffering from the resulting fallout whether or not it was deemed intentional. Consequently, when she was working in aerospace, men shied away from her despite her looks.
And after she had changed her vocation and gone to work for Celia, there was never an occasion for her to actually meet men unless they were the husbands of women whose homes she cleaned. There was no future in that and Becky wasn’t the type to go out with a married man even if there had been the opportunity.
The bachelors whose homes she occasionally cleaned were few and far between. Most of the time they weren’t home, and anyway, Celia was the one who dealt with them whenever matters needed attending to.
Because she wasn’t the type to turn to an internet dating service, Becky had resigned herself to leading a solitary existence.
This, however, was a very unique situation. A delicious, unique situation, and she could feel her whole body wildly celebrating as she lost herself in Steve’s kiss.
* * *
Steve could feel his pulse racing. He felt things stirring within him that had remained dormant for so long, he was convinced that they had died and that he wasn’t capable of feeling anymore. Not in that way.
But this was beyond the small tingle that had caught his attention whenever he’d taken note of Becky, or felt attracted to her.
This was something a great deal more intense than that.
The next moment, the wave of emotion he was experiencing ushered in a sense of guilt. It hit him hard, making him pull away.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, practically stuttering as he backed away from her. Conflicting feelings were butting heads within him. He needed distance. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he told her stiffly.
She held up the jar he had given her. “Thank you for the...whatever this is,” she finally said.
“Don’t mention it.” And then he disappeared back into his room, closing the door.
For a moment, Becky wasn’t sure what to do.
The kiss had been pure heaven. She could still feel her lips throbbing from the feel of his against them. But kissing her had been an obviously impulsive, spur-of-the-moment thing. Anyone could see that he was feeling extremely guilty over it, perhaps because he had stepped over some imaginary employee-employer boundary—or maybe it was something else, she suddenly thought.
Maybe Steve felt guilty kissing her because he thought that it somehow made him disloyal to the memory of his wife. She wasn’t trying to take the woman’s place, but if she said as much, it would sound as if she was just making empty denials.
This was all too complicated for her to attempt to untangle tonight. She was way too exhausted to even think straight and make sense out of all this.
What she needed, she told herself, was to go to bed, and tomorrow, unless some magnificent idea occurred to her, she was just going to pretend that nothing had happened between them tonight. That way he could stop being embarrassed and continue as if it was business as usual.
Even though it really wasn’t.
* * *
Steve went through the motions of getting ready the next morning, all the while searching for the right approach to take with Becky.
He had no idea what had come over him. Granted, he hadn’t gone out with a woman since he’d lost Cindy, but he definitely had been in contact with them, for heaven’s sake. There were a few women who worked in his department and he found himself interacting with them all the time. He’d never been tempted to kiss any of them.
What had come over him last night? This wasn’t like him.
Okay, he didn’t date, but he wasn’t exactly a hermit. He’d just never felt the inclination to interact with any of those women socially, never wanted to move on to a higher plateau with any of them.
So why now?
And how was he supposed to conduct himself?
Well, he couldn’t just hide in his room until she went out, Steve thought, upbraiding himself. For one thing, he needed to be at work early if he hoped to make good on his promise to Stevi of a repeat camping trip next week.
Coming out of his room, Steve glanced downstairs. The house was quiet, which was understandable, given how early it was. With luck, he could get out the door without running into Becky. In all probability, she was still in bed.
With each step he took as he made his way down the stairs, he felt a little closer to victory. The door was in his sight when, suddenly, Becky seemed to appear out of nowhere.
And she was blocking his way.
“I thought you’d be up early,” she said cheerfully. “I have your breakfast all ready.”
His heart sank, right along with his stomach. Still, he tried to dissuade her. “I was just going to get some coffee at a drive-through.”
Her expression told him what she thought of that idea. “Well, ‘drive’ yourself right this way,” she urged. “No need to go out of your way to buy coffee that you can probably use to repave the driveway.” Her smile was inviting. “Breakfast is waiting. Come. I promise it’ll be painless.”
He dutifully followed her to the kitchen and slid into his seat. The tempting aromas swirled around him. “That smells good,” he had to agree.
Her eyes crinkled in a grin. “Tastes even better,” she told him. “Now eat your breakfast so you can get to work.”
He still couldn’t get over the feeling that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it was becoming a little less probable.
Steve looked around. “Where’s Stevi?”
Becky poured him a glass of orange juice, then placed it next to his plate. “She’s still asleep. It is six thirty, you know.”
“Oh. Right.” He looked at her suspiciously. “What are you doing up?”
“Making you breakfast,” she answered simply. “I
had a feeling that you’d be leaving super early, and with all the work you’re going to be putting in, I felt you needed to have a good breakfast in your stomach.”
It all sounded logical, but he was still uneasy about the situation. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Maybe not,” Becky allowed. She took a sip of her own orange juice. “But I wanted to.”
Steve took a few more bites of his scrambled eggs and toast. And then, unable to put up with the way he felt about his actions last night, he cleared his throat and tried to apologize.
“Um, about last night, Becky...”
“Last night?” she repeated, looking at him with wide eyes and a confused expression on her face. “Nothing happened last night.”
He eyed her uncertainly. “Don’t you remember?”
“Remember?” she echoed. Since he was finished, she cleared away his plate and put it into the sink, then ran water over it. “Remember what?” she asked him innocently. “I don’t remember anything.”
“But—”
“If you don’t get on the road soon, you’re going to find yourself stuck in Monday morning traffic and you know how bad that can be. Getting a late start negates the whole idea of getting ready so early. Why don’t you get going now?” she suggested. “And we’ll talk later tonight—if you still feel you need to.”
He paused for a moment, just watching her. He knew what she was doing—deliberately washing away his guilt. Somehow, she’d figured it out, realized that he had suddenly found himself dealing with a sense of remorse over behaving like a normal male, because in his heart he was still married to Stevi’s mother. Apparently, Becky had not only figured it out, but had decided to absolve him of it.
“Thank you,” he told her.
“Nothing to thank me for,” she replied. “Making breakfast is part of my job description. Now please get going. You know what Mondays are like.”
Adding Up to Family Page 13
