Kip was content to let that sentence hang there for however long she let it. Her hesitation, her obvious reluctance, shouldn’t matter so much, and as soon as he got acclimated, was in his element, it wouldn’t matter. For tonight, he was glad she was glad.
“It’s dangerous, Kip.”
He couldn’t tell why she was whispering. “How so?” he asked.
“It’s—I don’t know…intimate.”
“Living together is intimate.”
“We aren’t living together. We’re sharing a house.”
He didn’t see the distinction. “You’re beginning to make me feel as though I don’t belong here.” He didn’t like the feeling one bit.
“Oh, no!” She set the wineglass down next to his empty bottle. Leaned toward him. “You do! I…it was the right decision. I really see that. It’s just…”
There it was again. That hanging sentence. He was fairly certain he’d rather she left it hanging there indefinitely.
“I…” She licked her lips, stared down at her lap. “I’m afraid we might end up doing something that would…ruin everything.”
Understanding brought a mixed bag of emotions, probably made more confusing by his fatigue. He would’ve preferred to leave the topic for another night—another century. One look at the suddenly tight expression on her face and he knew he had to take part in whatever was coming before he’d be able to sleep.
“You’re afraid we might become sexually involved.” Perverse of him, maybe, to simply lay it out there when everything about her indicated that she wanted to skirt right around this one. Nevertheless, he thought plain speaking would help.
“No!” Her horrified expression shocked him. “I mean…maybe.” She’d turned red, picked up her wine, took a gulp.
What the hell was going on?
“If it happens, it happens.” He wouldn’t mind. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d been around in a long time.
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “It can’t happen.”
“Then it won’t.”
That got her to look up at him. “You don’t know that.”
“I know me. If you don’t want anything to happen between us, it won’t.”
He didn’t like the smirk on her face. “You’re a guy, Kip.”
“And your point is?”
“Guys, you know, get carried away, forget to think….”
What the hell kind of men had she been running with? “Some do,” he acknowledged. “Decent men don’t.” He watched her, waiting to make sure he had her complete attention. “I don’t.”
“Well…”
“Besides,” he interrupted, “are you insinuating that women don’t get carried away by the moment sometimes?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No…I realize they do.”
Okay. He was kind of liking this conversation now. “And that’s part of the problem?”
Taking her goblet, Leslie jumped up and hurried to the window, pulling aside the closed drape to peer into the night. She lived on over an acre of natural desert, across from a mountain, so he didn’t figure there was much she could see out in that blackness.
Instinct told him to go to her, to take her into his arms and promise her that everything would be okay. Instead he sat and lamented the fact that he didn’t have a cold beer in his hand.
Eventually, about the time Kip was ready to say to hell with caution and go to her, she turned.
“I…I…I’m usually pretty articulate…”
Under other circumstances Kip would have grinned. He rubbed his neck. It ached with tension.
Wineglass held inches from her mouth, she started to speak again, then cringed. Kip wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.
“I don’t find you unattractive.” She let out a huge breath with the last word.
Kip wondered why the admission was so difficult. “Okay.”
“But…I can’t do it, Kip. I can’t have casual sex.”
“Who says it would be casual?”
“And what would happen if it ended? How would we continue living together? What about the kids?”
“More borrowing trouble from the future, Les?”
She watched him for a long moment before she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
He did.
“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be better to have an understanding now, before anything gets out of hand? Then if…something comes up, the decision’s already made.”
If they’d been discussing what kind of discipline to mete out to the kids, he’d agree with her. “I think decisions of a sexual nature often get changed as the moment warrants.”
“I…” Leslie’s glass hit the coffee table so hard he was surprised it didn’t break. She fell into the armchair he’d vacated, her head in her hands.
“Les? What is it?” He was too tired to be doing this.
She glanced up at him, though she didn’t raise her head much. “I like you.”
Kip couldn’t help grinning as relief replaced some of the tension that had been holding him hostage. Was that what this was all about?
“I like you, too.”
“I want to keep liking you.”
“And what makes you think you won’t?”
She stood. Moved to the couch. Sat. Then looked him straight in the eye. “Okay. Here it is,” she said.
Thank God for that. He hoped.
“What happens if, say, you get the idea one day that I want to be kissed—”
“Then I kiss you.”
“No, let me finish….” She frowned at his interruption.
So much for trying to introduce a little levity. Had the woman never heard that sex could be fun? Even in the talking stages? Especially the talking stages?
“Say that happens, which it won’t, and it’s good…”
So far he wasn’t hearing anything that could become a problem.
“…so naturally, you want to take things further,” she continued.
Kip nodded.
“And I don’t.”
He shrugged. “Then we stop.”
“Just like that?” Her eyes her wide. How could that have shocked her?
“Of course just like that.”
“I say no, at the most inopportune moment, and you just stop.” It was a statement, but clearly one she doubted.
“Yes.” He wanted there to be no doubt at all.
“And then you lose respect for me, or liking for me, or find me too difficult to be around….”
He wondered again, with a little more emotion attached, what kind of men she’d been with. “No.”
“No?” She didn’t believe him.
“No.” Kip leaned forward until their noses were only inches apart, staring straight at her. “No,” he said again. “I’m not some insecure piece of manhood, Les. I can take rejection just fine. In fact, I’d much rather have an honest rejection between us than a pretense of anything else.”
“You would.” Another statement, but not quite such a disbelieving tone.
“I would.”
She thought for several minutes, nodding several times. Then she looked over at him. “Okay.”
He was almost too tired to believe his luck. “Okay?”
“For now. I won’t borrow trouble from the future on this one.”
The relief was heady. Headier than the effects of the beer he’d consumed.
“Does this mean we can go to bed now?” He was grinning as he glanced over at her.
“Bed! Oh my gosh! I forgot! I haven’t made up your suite yet…”
Kip put a hand on her arm as she began to jump up. “I already did it,” he said. “I figured out pretty easily which room was yours, and which one was Kayla’s. So determining that my suite was the master at the other end of the house didn’t take long. I found sheets in the linen closet in the bathroom, then Jonathan and I made a game out of bed-making.”
“Jonathan’s room is ready.”
“I know.”
<
br /> Her smile almost had him wishing she’d ask for that kiss. “Are you as tired as I am?” she asked.
Kip nodded, planning to stand. As soon as he found the energy.
“Did Kayla give you any trouble going down?”
Kayla. Shit. Kip sat up. He’d forgotten.
“Um, she’s not really down yet.” He hated to tell her she had more work to do before she could go to bed.
Leslie stood, frowning at him. “What do you mean? She’s awake?” She moved toward the hall. “I haven’t heard her. Where is she?”
If he’d had any doubt that she already loved this child with all her heart, she’d just allayed it. “She’s asleep,” he said, joining her in the hall. “In her bed.” They were almost at the door of Kayla’s room. “She’s still dressed,” he continued, lowering his voice to a near whisper, though they were going to be waking the child, anyway, so his care seemed unnecessary.
Would she cry when they woke her?
Thank goodness Jonathan’s room was on the other side of the house with his.
As soon as she’d checked the sleeping child, Leslie glanced over her shoulder at him, grinning. “You afraid to tackle the bath?” she asked him.
She’d told him about her nightly ritual—every night when he’d called. By the third night, the first thing he’d asked when she’d answered the phone was how Kayla’s bath had gone.
“I wasn’t even going to try that,” he told her. “But I was planning to figure out how to change her diaper and get her into pajamas.”
“You haven’t changed her diaper?” Leslie looked as though he’d served the children mud for dinner. “Since four o’clock this afternoon?”
“I…”
“She’ll get diaper rash, Kip!” She uncovered the little girl gently. “You should’ve told me you didn’t know how. I would’ve shown you. Or made other arrangements.”
“Les.” He stopped her before she slid her arms beneath Kayla’s shoulders, turning her toward him. “I didn’t not change her because I didn’t know how. Although that’s true, too. I don’t know how, but I would’ve figured it out. I didn’t change her because Jonathan refused to allow it.”
“What?” She frowned at him. “Why not?”
“He said that Cal told him boys never look at naked little girls. He claims Cal never changed her, either.”
She paled. “He said that?”
Kip nodded. Maybe she’d have some idea how to convince Jonathan that he’d misunderstood, that of course fathers tended to their daughters’ needs. That it was perfectly right for them to do so.
Leslie turned back to Kayla. “Come on, pumpkin,” she said softly, gently pulling at the snaps in the legs of Kayla’s overalls. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”
Kayla didn’t seem to mind the cooler air on her skin, sleeping on as Leslie tended to her.
“Would you bring me a diaper?” she asked Kip. “They’re in that white thing hanging on the closet door.”
He hurried over.
“And a wet wipe, too?” she asked. “They’re in the top dresser drawer.”
Kip had no trouble with that, either. “You want some of this powder and lotion stuff?” he asked, studying the other containers in the drawer.
“Better bring some powder,” she said. “I think that helps prevent diaper rash.” Then… “Maybe not. Would you mind getting the book on the nightstand in my room?” she asked as, sopping wet diaper removed, she was using a wet wipe on the littlest bottom he’d ever seen. “Look up diaper rash?”
Kip would’ve liked a chance to glance more thoroughly around Leslie’s room, but went straight for the medical book on top of a stack on Leslie’s nightstand, turning to the index as he made his way back across the hall.
She had the clean diaper situated under Kayla, but hadn’t closed it.
“It says here that diaper rash is skin irritation caused by a diaper that’s on too tight, or that rubs, or is left on too long…”
Kip looked up from the book. “Damn, my first night and I’ve already screwed up. I’m sorry, Les.”
“Would you stop?” she said softly. “She doesn’t show signs of diaper rash yet. What do we do to prevent it?”
“Wash the area thoroughly.”
“Done.”
He read on. “It says to let her dry naturally before you cover her up again.”
Leslie looked back at the child. “I think she’s had time for that,” she said after a moment.
Kip trusted her on that one.
“It also says to use an ointment with zinc oxide.” He named the brand the book suggested. “Do we have any of that?”
Leslie nodded. “In the drawer. It comes in a white tube.”
He found it. Removed the lid. And stared at the thick white toothpaste-like stuff.
“I think it’s spoiled.” Not only did it look questionable, it stank.
“It’s not spoiled,” Leslie took it from him. “I just bought it.”
Didn’t mean it wasn’t spoiled, but Kip deferred to her greater knowledge. What he knew about babies was the few sentences he’d just read in her book. She’d had a whole week of this stuff.
Kip watched as she squeezed the ointment on to her fingers and then smeared it over the toddler’s diaper area. And hoped that little Kayla didn’t need this treatment often. It looked…uncomfortable.
Kayla turned her head and Kip held his breath, watching the tiny face for signs of waking. If she did wake, if she couldn’t get back to sleep, he’d have to stay up with her.
The whole thing was his fault to begin with.
She turned her head again, eyes still closed, as Leslie secured the diaper with two easy swipes of pre-attached tape. That was all it took to put on a diaper?
He could do that.
CHAPTER NINE
“SO HOW WAS THE FIRST WEEK?”
Leslie, back in Juliet’s office the following Friday, gave a little tug to the pale-pink turtleneck sweater she had on beneath her gray tweed suit.
“Fine,” she said. And when Juliet gave her that look, added, “Good.”
Only a few years older than Leslie, with long blond hair and a bohemian wardrobe, Juliet was the only human being Leslie had ever trusted completely. And there were still things she kept to herself. Important things…
The other woman smiled from the old armchair she’d bought for comfort, not style. “So what aren’t you telling me?”
“You told me it’s healthy to withhold certain…information. Of my own choosing. You said I should know I always have the right to private thoughts.”
It was that right that had allowed her to come to Juliet in the beginning, to tell her about the past, without disclosing the one thing she’d never told another soul. And promised herself she never would.
“Uh, huh,” Juliet said, her expression patient. Compassionate. Knowing. “So we’re just going to sit here for an hour and look at each other?”
The woman saw too damn much. Which was part of the reason Leslie trusted her so much.
“My mother’s due in next weekend. She’s been working with a local Realtor. Kip and I went to look at a house for her in my community and she bought it last night.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Leslie smiled. An easy question with an easy answer. “Really good.”
“Why?”
“It’ll be great to have help with the kids.”
“Do you feel as though you’re in the middle of the lake without a life preserver and you never learned to swim?”
“No.”
Juliet nodded. And Leslie hated that. She always felt that nod meant she should be gaining some insight about herself.
“So, you’re just holding on until your mother, with her greater experience and wisdom can save the day?”
“No.”
Was she supposed to be doing that?
“I mean, we seem to have had more rough moments than easy ones this week, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it?
” she asked. Or was she just barreling ahead, possibly hurting the kids in her inability to see that she needed guidance?
“What kind of rough moments?”
“Well…” She tried to come up with the worst, trusting Juliet not only to keep whatever she said confidential, but to let her know if she was making a mess of things without realizing it.
“One night at dinner, I’d made squash, which Jonathan hated, and Kip told him he had to eat it because it was good for him. Jonathan started to cry. Which upset Kayla. She began throwing all the food on her high chair tray.”
Leslie paused at Juliet’s humorous expression. “What?”
“Sounds like a typical family moment to me.”
She hadn’t gotten to the really horrible part yet. “I’d had a particularly nonstop day at the office and saw my house being trashed and Kip sitting there looking completely out of his element, and I just lost it,” she confessed. “I hollered at Jonathan to knock it off, and grabbed Kayla’s arm and wouldn’t let her throw any more food.”
“And what happened?”
“Jonathan stopped crying. Kayla put the food in her hand in to her mouth.”
Juliet’s expression grew pensive. Leslie waited, hardly daring to allow herself another thought until she heard the verdict.
“So, why else are you glad your mother’s moving here?”
What? Where did that come from?
Still…if Juliet really wanted to know…
“The one thing I’ve hated about the past ten years is not seeing my mother much.” She glanced around the room, at the flowers, the books, the magazines on a side table by the door, the ever-present water cooler. “I love my mother a lot,” she said, looking straight at Juliet. “Not just because she’s my mother, but because she’s savvy and smart, and in her own way, emotionally strong.”
Juliet sat silently, an invitation for Leslie to ramble.
“We never went through that stage where I felt sure I was smarter than she was and argued with everything she said and hated her control over me.”
“Why do you think that was?”
She shrugged. She hadn’t come here to talk about her mother. “I didn’t have to fight for my freedom. She just gave it to me.”
The Promise of Christmas Page 9
