“Okay, big guy, you ready for lights off?” Mike asked.
“You gonna leave one on?”
“Sure.” He glanced at Kristin. “Can you switch on the desk lamp for me?”
Remembering her own fear of the dark, she did as he asked.
As easily as if he’d been parenting Randy all of the boy’s life, Mike bent down and placed a kiss on the child’s forehead. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
Randy giggled. “I won’t.”
Kristin’s heart squeezed tight at the sweet exchange. Mike would make a wonderful father—if he believed in commitment.
“Remember,” Mike added, “you and me are going to visit the fire station tomorrow, and I’ll let you wear my helmet again.”
“I ’member.”
As Mike stepped away from the boy, Kristin asked, “Would you mind if I kissed you good night, too?”
With a noncommittal shrug, Randy said, “I guess it’s okay.”
“Trust me, son, when a pretty lady offers you a good night kiss, accept it.”
She shot Mike a quelling look—which didn’t faze him—then bent down to kiss the boy. Scrubbed clean, he smelled of soap and his cheeks were flushed a healthy pink. “Good night, honey. Sweet dreams.” Her stomach dipped on her own dream that she’d lost six years ago. Bobby had had dark hair, too, and she’d wished him sweet dreams every night of his all-too-brief life. She still prayed his dreams were good.
Exiting the room, Kristin felt Mike’s hand settle at the small of her back in a warm, possessive gesture. Unfairly intimate. Unfairly welcome.
She edged out of his reach. “I noticed you have a pen pal overseas.” One with lovely, flowing handwriting.
“Huh?”
“The letters on your desk. Foreign postmark.”
“Oh, yeah, those are from Mexhite Zogaj in Kosovo.”
Kristin came to a halt at the top of the stairs. “Kosovo?” The man really got around with his amorous adventures.
Taking her arm, he urged her down the steps. “My army reserve unit was called up during the crisis over there and assigned to keep the peace in a tiny village near the border. The people had practically nothing, but they shared what they did have, especially at Christmas. Which was pretty special considering they were all Muslims.”
“And you hit it off with this Mexhite person?”
“She was the only one in the village who spoke English. She’s my contact for the fire truck I’m trying to get donated to the village. Her husband’s going to organize a volunteer fire crew.”
Embarrassed by the faulty conclusion she’d leaped to, Kristin’s face flamed as she followed him into the kitchen. “You’re donating a fire engine?”
He rinsed her dinner plate and put it in the dishwasher. “Not me personally. I was trying to get some town in Greece to give one of their old ones, but then they lost a lot of their own equipment in the earthquakes they had a while back. So now I’m back to square one trying to locate one in the States and get it shipped.”
“You’re incredible.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you finally recognized that.”
She punched him on the arm. “I mean it. You act as though you don’t have a care in the world, you’ve got every woman in the world falling at your feet—”
“Not every woman.”
“—then you switch directions, taking in a boy and his dog no one else wants. And all the while you’re trying to get a fire truck for some village in Kosovo no one’s ever heard of. I think that’s quite amazing.”
His lips curved into a slow, seductive smile. “Maybe it’s all part of my plan to get you to fall at my feet.”
She eyed him skeptically. “That’s a helluva lot of work just to impress a woman.”
“Maybe some women are worth it.” He had her trapped between his rock-solid body and the tile counter behind her. “Tell me about the baby you lost, princess.” His voice caressed her, lower and more intimately than his hand had touched her upstairs.
This time there was no place to move away. “I’m not a princess.”
“You should be. Diamonds and emeralds would look good on you. Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t talk about my son.”
“No one knows?”
“My family. They know. But it’s not something any of us discuss.”
“Why not?”
She folded her arms across her chest as if she had the power to hold herself together. “Because it hurts us all too much. My mother was devastated. Dad, too. Even my brothers took it hard. So we don’t talk about it, okay?”
“I’m no psychologist, but I don’t think that’s healthy. Maybe they figure you’re all done with your grieving, but you’re not, are you?”
Her eyelids fluttered closed against the pain that seared her, and tears seeped out at the corners. “No.” She’d never get over the grief. It wasn’t possible. Not in the six years since Bobby died; not in sixty years. “He died of SIDS. Two months old. He had a runny nose and then suddenly—” The words were like razor blades in her throat.
Framing her face between his big, rough hands, he wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “You got a picture of him?”
Her eyes flew open and were snared by the sincerity in his. The caring and understanding. There was more depth to him than his playboy image implied. Or maybe that was only a facade he wore to protect himself from the feelings of abandonment he’d surely experienced as a child. Whatever might be the truth, she wanted him to see the picture of her son.
“In my purse,” she whispered.
“He look like you?”
“More like his father, I think.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “That’s a crying shame. Is he still in the picture?”
“Never has been really. Lyle panicked at the thought of marriage and parenting. He dropped by my house one evening, handed me a hundred dollars and left town the next morning. I haven’t seen him since.”
“So you were on your own.”
“My family supported me.” She’d had to put her college plans on hold but had done that willingly. And then, in a heartbeat, Bobby was gone.
A muscle flexed in Mike’s jaw. “If it had been me, I never would have left you. Or the baby.”
The intensity of his gaze was so sharp, so fully focused on her, she couldn’t imagine Mike Gables would ever walk out on a woman in trouble. He might prefer his bachelor’s lifestyle, but his own experiences as a foster child would guarantee he’d take responsibility for a child he’d fathered. “I know you wouldn’t.”
He stepped back, freeing her from his sensual imprisonment, and she went into the living room to find her purse. Her throat felt achy, her knees a little weak. How many years had it been since she’d shown anyone Bobby’s picture or even mentioned she’d had a son? Her family didn’t talk about him. She’d gotten on with her life, or so they believed. Kristin knew otherwise, although she hated to admit it.
The snapshot was hidden between her library and membership-store cards. Her fingers trembled as she pulled it out.
Mike took the photo from her. “Hey, he’s a cutey. I think he’s got your eyes.”
“Squinty?”
“Naw, they sparkle with those diamonds I was talking about.”
Oh, damn, he was going to make her cry again. “He’d begun to laugh when I tickled him. He loved me blowing raspberries on his tummy.”
“What else did he like?”
“Elton John. I think he liked the beat. I’d dance to ‘Crocodile Rock’ with Bobby in my arms.” She ran her thumb over the photo, remembering the softness of his skin and the sweet scent of baby powder. Talking about Bobby made him seem more real, not simply a memory that everyone else had forgotten. “He didn’t much like taking baths.”
“Something tells me that’s a guy thing.”
She looked up, and what she saw in his eyes this time was desire. A responding need curled through her midsection, hot and demanding. Her
mouth went dry, her lips parting in anticipation as he leaned toward her.
“I can think of something else that’s a guy thing,” he murmured, his lips only inches from hers, his breath coffee-sweet.
“What’s that?” She licked her lips.
His dark eyes followed the movement of her tongue. “Wanting to kiss a pretty lady.”
A part of her wanted to step back, but she was mired in the reckless desire to taste his lips. To feel their warmth. To give herself over to the feelings that had been warring in her since she had first met Mike at the hospital. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. Maybe he wasn’t quite the inveterate playboy Addy had portrayed.
With a sigh of surrender, she lowered her eyelids and waited for the first brush of his lips on hers.
The knock on the front door was like the crack of a rifle shot.
Kristin jumped back.
Mike cursed. “I’m not going to answer it.”
“Of course you are.” Her heart had nearly galloped out of her chest. “Your lights are on. They know you’re here.” And Kristin should be somewhere else.
He touched her lips with the tip of his finger. “Hold that thought and don’t go away. I’ll be right back.”
As he walked to the door, Kristin retrieved her purse and stuffed Bobby’s picture back in her wallet. She’d come close to making a serious mistake. She didn’t dare get emotionally involved with Mike, and in the bright light of reason, she knew one kiss would never be enough. She didn’t want to risk her heart again. Compromising her position with Children’s Services by getting involved with either a foster parent or a child could be disastrous.
She recognized all that, and still she couldn’t stop the sense of regret that settled heavily in her chest.
Mike opened the front door.
“Hi,” came a female voice. “Have you got that darling little boy all tucked into bed?”
“Look, Tammilee, I’m sorta busy right now.”
Kristin marched toward the door, regret suddenly rising like green bile in her throat. “No, you’re not. I was just leaving.”
She arrowed between Mike and his neighborly flight attendant—dark hair, buxom and a smile that must have cost her parents a fortune—and went out the door.
“Wait, Kristin!”
She kept on walking. Behind her, she heard his footsteps on the walkway. She picked up her pace, determined to escape her ugly feelings of jealousy and reestablish her cool, professional demeanor.
He caught up with her at the car. “You didn’t have to run away.”
“I didn’t run anywhere. It’s time for me to go home.”
“Look, Kristin—”
“Good night, Mr. Gables. I’ll keep you apprised of my progress in finding Randy a permanent placement. Thank you for dinner.”
He let her open the car door but blocked her entrance. “Come with us to the fire station tomorrow. I’ll show you around.”
“Unlike flight attendants, some of us have to work every day.”
“Then come and meet the guys. There are a lot of family men at the station. Maybe one of them would consider being a foster parent.”
Damn but he knew how to push her buttons. “I can’t. I have too much to do.”
“Then come at lunchtime. The guys on B-shift usually order out beef dip sandwiches from the Smoke Eaters Bar and Grill around the corner. I’ll have ’em order a couple of extras.”
“I don’t know…”
“You have to eat, don’t you?”
“Actually, I sometimes skip lunch.”
“That’s not good for you, princess. You gotta keep up your strength.”
The man was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let go of the idea. “I’ll see how my day goes, okay? That’s the most I can promise.”
With a victorious smile, he edged back from her car just enough to let her by. But before she was able to settle in her seat and close the door, he bent down, brushing a quick kiss to her lips.
She gasped in surprise.
“That’s only a taste of what you missed, but I promise to make it up to you. Later.”
He had the nerve to jog off then—back to his sexy stewardess, no doubt—leaving Kristin trembling with a combination of fury and unfulfilled desire.
Darn him for doing that to her!
ONE-THIRTY and she hadn’t shown up yet.
Mike had scared her last night. But hell, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d wanted that kiss more than he’d wanted to breathe. If Tammilee hadn’t shown up when she did, he would have gotten more than a kiss, too. He’d seen the desire in Kristin’s eyes, in the quick rise and fall of her breasts.
He’d nearly lost it when she’d licked her lips.
Everything she did was sensual, but he didn’t think she realized how she affected him. That made her all the more intriguing. More desirable.
And more unattainable.
If Randy hadn’t been climbing all over the fire truck beside him, Mike would have let out a string of swear words unsuitable for young ears to hear.
“Come on, big guy,” he said to the boy. “Time to head out.”
“Ah, gee…” Randy was perched on top of the truck, sitting on the looped array of hoses. “Can I go down the pole first?”
“No, you can’t. You’d break your neck.”
His lower lip stuck out in a pout. “Uh-uh.”
He reached up to snare the boy, and that was when he spotted Kristin walking into the station through the bay doors. He nearly fell off the bumper at the back of the truck in surprise.
“Hey, there,” he said, hopping down. She was wearing a burgundy business suit and heels, her hair down around her shoulders just the way he liked it. “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”
“I had to remove two children from their home this morning because of abuse and place them in an emergency shelter. There wasn’t anywhere else to take them.” She lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. “You said some of the firefighters had families? Maybe they’d consider—”
“We can ask, okay?” He hooked his arm through hers. She felt fragile. Feminine. And he wanted to do more than simply hold her arm. “You have lunch yet?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You sure? They saved you a beef dip.”
“Seeing innocent children whose own parents—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t do much for my appetite.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would,” he agreed grimly. He waved to Randy. “Come on, kid. Ms. McCoy wants a tour of the place. You can show her where I stash my stuff when I’m on duty.”
The boy brightened, got a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and squirmed around to scramble off the truck.
“But no going down the pole,” Mike warned.
“I know.” The kid was off like a shot toward the doorway that led upstairs.
“I think we need to keep an eye on him,” Mike mumbled, escorting Kristin in the same direction.
Exhausted from the emotions of the morning, Kristin allowed herself to be propelled along. She’d never visited a fire station before. This one, the main station in Paseo del Real, had two fire trucks and a ladder truck plus a paramedic unit all parked in an oversized garage. The floor was as spotless as her kitchen on its best day. Outside, the small lawn and flower beds were well tended.
The men and women who worked here were certainly domesticated.
In the hallway they met a woman coming out of an office marked Dispatch. She was wearing so much silver jewelry, she jingled as she walked.
She gave Kristin a warm smile. “You must be that sweet little boy’s mother. He’s quite a pistol, isn’t he? I thought you’d be dropping by.”
Kristin started to correct the assumption, but Mike spoke up first.
“Wrong again, Emma Jean.”
The woman looked surprised. “Really? Her maternal vibes are so strong, I thought—”
“I’m Randy’s social worker, Kristin McCoy.”
With a puzzl
ed shake of her head, Emma Jean said, “No, I’m quite sure you’re more than that to the boy. I’m getting a very clear image of—”
“Gotta keep an eye on the kid,” Mike insisted, urging Kristin toward the stairs again.
“Come back later, Ms. McCoy and I’ll read your palm,” Emma Jean called after them. “I’m a Gypsy fortune-teller, you know.”
Halfway up the stairs, Kristin asked, “Is that woman all right?”
“Oh, sure. She thinks she’s psychic, but she hasn’t gotten anything right yet. With a couple of small exceptions,” Mike said under his breath.
Kristin raised her brows at that comment, but Mike didn’t appear willing to elaborate.
“Emma Jean also tells me the trust fund the newspaper started for Randy keeps growing. With some sound investing, he’ll be all set for college.”
“That’s wonderful. I wish all foster kids had the same chance.”
“Yeah, that’s why I joined the army right out of high school. Best place I could find to get training as a firefighter.”
In spite of herself, Kristin was impressed that Mike had found a way to achieve his goals even without the support of a family.
They reached the third floor, which housed the living quarters, including a dining room and recreation area. A dozen recliners faced a big-screen TV, but at mid-afternoon, all of them were empty, the set dark.
“Hey, Diaz,” Mike said to a man who was getting Randy a canned drink out of one of three large refrigerators in the kitchen. “Where is everybody?”
“Working on the training tower. I’ve got a tender ankle so I’m giving it a rest.”
Randy scampered over to the TV with his drink and turned on the set, the volume a little too loud.
Mike turned to introduce Kristin, telling Diaz she was a social worker. “Say, you’re a family man, aren’t you?”
“Sure. Four kids and another on the way.”
“You suppose you and your wife would consider taking in a foster kid? Kristin’s having a hard time finding families.”
Diaz barked a laugh. “You crazy, man? With this last pregnancy, Juanita said I gotta have a vasectomy or she’s gonna do it herself—with a fire ax.”
“Ouch!” Mike muttered.
Kristin stifled a laugh. “I think maybe you and your wife aren’t real good candidates for foster parents.”
With Valor and Devotion Page 8
