Without a word he gathered her close, one big hand guiding her head to his shoulder. She closed her eyes and held on, her fingers digging into his back. He was warm and solid, a bulwark against the terrible fear.
"It's okay, honey," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple. "Go ahead and bawl your eyes out if you want. Might even do you some good."
She swallowed, tasted tears. "No, it's not good for Tory. I read that babies are as sensitive to their mom's mood as they are to physical stimuli."
"Then maybe we should see about changing yours." Boyd tilted her head up, his hand warm on her cheek. She let her eyes drift open and found him watching her. His eyes were dark. Kind. She started to thank him, only to have his mouth brush hers.
"Let me take care of you," he whispered gruffly. "Take care of both of you, until you're strong enough to handle things on your own." His mouth brushed hers again. Softly. Gently.
She tasted compassion, felt long-buried desires stir inside her. It seemed like forever that her world had been bounded by Len's madness on one side and the demands she'd made on herself to remain strong for the baby's sake and her own. It felt so good to be held in arms that were stronger than hers, if only for a few minutes out of a truly lousy day.
Boyd felt her melt against him and schooled himself to maintain a careful distance, even as he sensed something slipping deep inside himself. She was vulnerable and afraid. Still in a kind of emotional shock. She needed comfort and support, not a sexual come-on from a horny bastard who'd just spent twenty minutes lecturing himself under an icy shower about honor and decency.
He'd been damn near blue from hypothermia by the time he'd gotten his unruly libido tamed. As long as Stacy was under his roof, she was off-limits. No matter how warm and giving her body felt against his. No matter how sweet her lips might taste.
It didn't matter that he couldn't seem to breathe properly when she was in the same room, or that she had only to look at him with those golden eyes for him to want her. She was still recovering from trauma and she had nearly lost her baby. If she let him help, he intended to watch over her like a damn mother cat. Even if he felt more like a mangy torn on the prowl.
Fighting a need that just skirted the edge of savage, he rested his cheek against her hair and stroked her back with fingers that weren't as steady as he wished.
"Feeling better?" he asked when he was sure he had control of his voice.
Smiling, bemused, she drew back, her stomach still nestling lightly against his corded belly. Hesitantly she brought her hand to his face, her fingers skimming the hard planes, the pleasantly rough beard.
"Oh, Boyd, how can I ever thank you enough?" she whispered. "What would I have done without you these last few days?"
"You've thanked me enough for two lifetimes, so cut it out, hear?"
"But—"
"Trust me, Stacy. I need you more than you need me."
She doubted that very much and said so.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You haven't seen the mess on my desk," he said, arcing backward just enough to bring them eye to eye. And thigh to thigh, hard contours of muscle against soft flesh. Her mind made a quick detour into thoughts of opening her thighs to him, and she felt her face warming. An estrogen rush, she reminded herself. Mother Nature's way of prodding an expectant female to bond with a protective male. Evidently her body considered Boyd MacAuley a prime candidate.
"Maybe I should hold out for a higher wage." She attempted to ease backward, out of his embrace, but his arms refused to yield.
"Take it or leave it, Ms. Patterson." Laughter rumbled beneath the stern tone of his voice, and she felt the corners of her mouth lifting. Right now, this instant, she felt young again. Able to leap tall buildings with a single bound and catch bullets in her teeth. When she was in Boyd's arms, the future didn't seem quite so grim.
"I guess I'll take it." She drew a quick breath before adding, "But only if we get one thing straight. I'm not sleeping in your bed."
Frowning, he cut a glance toward the rumpled sheets. "If you're worried about some kind of sleazy proposition, forget it." This time he was the one who stepped back, and she felt chilled by the absence of his body heat.
"That wasn't what I meant at all," she assured him. Her headache was coming back, and she was feeling strangely detached from her body. "I know that you … that I … what I meant to say was that I'll only stay if I'm not putting you out." She frowned. "Of your bed."
"Does that mean you're inviting me to share?"
"No, of course not."
"Even if I promise not to hog the covers or tickle your feet?" His tone was teasing, his eyes nearly smiling. He was so close she could see that his thick eyelashes were tipped in gold and that his gray eyes were shot through with jagged shards of sea green.
She took a breath and started over. "I mean, I'm sure I'll be perfectly comfortable on the sofa," she said firmly.
He shook his head. "Too narrow for the two of you. Most likely end up on the floor before the night is over."
He shifted his gaze to her belly. Perversely, or perhaps because the baby agreed with him, Tory gave a hard kick. Stacy winced, then sighed and lifted a hand to massage the now-tender spot on her abdomen. "Okay, I get the message."
"Gave you a kick, did she?"
Stacy smiled. "A good one. I'm beginning to think she just might end up to be the first female placekicker in the history of the NFL." She felt another kick and laughed softly. "She's also, I'm sorry to say, a definite night person. Tends to sleep all day and then wants to party all night. I've spoken severely to her several times, but she doesn't pay the least bit of attention."
"Sounds like a challenge." His voice had a hollow quality, as though he were still trapped somewhere between the present and the nightmare past he'd just revisited. Hadn't Prudy told her that the child he'd lost had been a little girl?
"Would … would you like to feel for yourself?" she blurted. Before he could answer, she took his hand and pressed it to the spot where Tory's tiny foot still rested. Little imp that she was, Tory responded to the slight pressure by giving another healthy kick, squarely in the middle of Boyd's broad palm.
A look of terrible sadness passed over his face. He closed his eyes for an instant and bowed his head. And then his face changed. Hardened. Even before he stepped back and let his arms fall to his sides, she realized she'd crossed some kind of line. Like walking from the warmth of a summer day into a frigid, barren room.
"Boyd, I'm sorry," she murmured quickly, before he could turn away. "I should have realized—"
"It's late. You need sleep, and I need a drink." A heartbeat later, he'd grabbed his keys and wallet from the dresser and was on his way out.
Away from his own house.
Away from her and her bungling attempts to comfort him.
Stacy woke up at 4:00 a.m. on the dot. For the past month, ever since Tory had started taking up most of the room in her mama's abdomen, Stacy hadn't been able to go more than three hours between visits to the bathroom. One of the lesser joys of pregnancy, she reminded herself peevishly as she padded into the hall. The bathroom was the first door to her right. Farther along the short hall another door was firmly closed.
Boyd's office? she wondered as she slipped into the john and shut the door behind her. A few minutes later she retraced her steps, still blinking from the glare of the bathroom light.
She was about to slip back into bed when she heard a guttural cry coming from the direction of the living room, followed by the low rumble of Boyd's voice, rasping out strident snatches of words. Curses. Bits of unconnected sentences. Nothing that made sense except to tell her he was suffering. Battling demons from his past he'd unleashed in an effort to help her, she suspected. Shivering in the sudden chill, she rounded the bed and hurried toward the sound.
The living room was shrouded in darkness, relieved only by the faint glow from the streetlighting shining through the front window. Hand extended, she picked her way th
rough a maze of dark shapes and lighter upholstery, heading toward the sofa where Boyd was lying on his back, one arm resting on his chest, the other dangling to the floor. Once again he'd stripped to the running shorts, which had slipped below his navel.
She was a few feet away when she stumbled over something. Glancing down, she saw a jumble of sofa cushions, the ones forming the cushy backrest she'd appreciated earlier tossed aside, she assumed, to make room for his large body. Clearly, from the look of his awkward position, not enough room.
Her heart went out to him and thudded a few heavy beats before she hauled it back. Boyd MacAuley not only didn't want her sympathy; he would damn sure throw it back in her face if she so much as tried to sneak it past that stiff guard of his.
That decided, she bent closer and murmured his name. When he didn't respond, she called louder, straining to force a lilt into her voice. He muttered something, protesting, then cried out. At the same time he opened his eyes, as though the sound of his own voice had jerked him from the tumble of bad dreams.
"What's wrong?" he said, uncoiling instantly to loom above her. "Are you in pain again?"
Stacy couldn't remember ever being so touched before. Here he was, his eyes still dark and tormented from the nightmare she'd interrupted, worried that she was in trouble. It took her a couple of swallows before she trusted her voice not to betray her feelings.
"Actually, I, um, was having trouble sleeping and thought some of that herbal tea you mentioned might do the trick."
He swiped a hand through his hair and stared at her.
"Tea?"
She nodded. "I apologize for waking you, but I didn't want to be banging pans around in your kitchen without your permission."
He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at her face. She managed a smile, which slipped a little when he clamped two large hands on her shoulders. "I'll get it. You head on back to bed where it's warm."
Warm? It had to be close to eighty, even with the windows open. She was about to protest when she noticed the hard set of his jaw. Pick your battles, her crusading journalist father had always counseled. And since her goal had been to extricate Boyd from the nightmare images plaguing him, she silently let him turn her toward the bedroom.
"Scoot," he ordered gruffly, as though she were four years old and making a nuisance of herself. Which, she decided was exactly what she was doing. But at least the black despair that had been in his eyes when he'd opened them was gone. It wasn't much of a gift to give him, but, at the moment, it was all she had, so it would have to do.
"Two sugars," she called over her shoulder as she padded toward his bedroom and a nest of pale blue sheets that smelled like the man who usually slept there. If she had to drink herbal tea, which she'd always hated, at least it would be sweet.
* * *
Nine
« ^ »
Stacy was having a lovely dream of a springtime picnic and a man's hard body pressing hers to soft, sweet grass when she was jolted awake by a muffled thud, followed by a terse masculine curse.
Boyd's wife had been right. He was built more for strength than grace, but as he edged out of the closet with his heavy work boots in one hand, a worn leather belt in the other and a khaki work shirt slung over his shoulder, he was trying his best to be quiet.
Obviously in the middle of dressing for work, he was wearing an old-fashioned ribbed undershirt that clung to his corded belly like a second skin before stretching thin over the heavy muscles of his chest. As always, he was wearing jeans, all but one of the metal buttons undone.
Seeing that she was awake, he scowled, creasing his forehead into well-worn grooves. "Sorry," he muttered. "Damn boot just slipped."
Smiling, she lay still, her dream still lingering like the scent of spring flowers, its sunshine filling the bedroom. "Not a problem," she slurred, rubbing her cheek against the pillow.
Her dream had been sex and skin and sunshine, and his big hands had been caressing the swollen contours of her belly, his fingers sure and steady and his eyes dark with desire instead of the hard-edged worry she was beginning to associate with him. With a heavy sigh, she forced her eyes to sharper focus.
"At least I got the sunshine right," she muttered, reluctant to let go of the delicious sensations she'd been experiencing only a few oblivious moments earlier. With a sigh, she pushed her hair away from her face then went about the cumbersome task of sitting up. Never again would she take a waistline for granted, she decided, stifling a yawn. For as long as she could remember, she'd had a tendency to dawdle in the twilight warmth between sleep and waking for as long as possible before reluctantly rousing herself to full consciousness. Since her accident, however, and the concussion, she'd had even more trouble.
"I figured you'd need some things from the market so I'll swing by around noon and take you shopping." Boyd dropped his boots by the chair before shrugging into his shirt.
"I'll be fine, really."
Boyd buttoned a couple of buttons before shoving his shirttails into the jeans. "You'll need milk and fresh vegetables," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Juice."
"Boyd, don't fuss."
He spared her an impatient look before threading his belt through the loops with those clever hands she'd dreamed of feeling on her breasts. "Last I heard, Prudy was working days so she won't be around, and there's no phone where I'm working, so if you need … anything, call 911. Got that?"
Stacy had an urge to snap off a salute, but made herself nod solemnly instead. "Got it."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Boyd heard a subtle note of amused exasperation in her tone and made himself back off, even as he mentally added the purchase of a cellular phone to his shopping list. Jaw tight, he cinched his belt and shoved his feet into his boots, conscious that Stacy had drawn her knees to her belly and was resting her chin on them, watching him with that mixture of curiosity and admiration that had his blood surging every time he was within shouting distance.
It was bad enough that he'd sweated, sworn and paced his way through the rest of a sleepless night, trying to figure ways to help her without smashing himself bloody against that blasted pride of hers. By sunup, he'd chewed his way through enough stupid ideas to give himself a giant bellyache. Long about the time he'd hauled himself into the kitchen to make coffee, he'd suddenly remembered he hadn't thought to grab clean clothes when he'd delivered her 4:00 a.m. tea. Which meant that unless he intended to face the owners of the Victorian in a wrinkled shirt smelling of sweat and spilled beer from his halfhearted binge of the night before, he would have to sneak into his own bedroom for another one.
He'd told himself it was no big deal. Hell, he'd seen women sleeping before. Too many times to count, in fact. Young, old. Beautiful, plain. Oblivious to his presence. Patients, a handful of lovers in the years before he'd met Karen. Even Prudy, who had a tendency to fall asleep in midsentence after a particularly hard grind in the ER.
Stacy was different. Special. She'd lost her husband to a madness that would have destroyed her, too, if she hadn't had the guts to walk away. Lost him again in a split second of grinding metal. And yet, she'd been able to come back, if not completely whole, close enough to face another set of problems. Like an empty wallet, no place to live and a baby on the way. And still, she teased and laughed and generally lit up his house in a way that scared him to the bone.
Damn, but he admired her. More than anything, he wanted to keep her safe from the kind of sadness he knew was waiting if she lost that baby she loved so much. Once made, he was determined to act on that decision.
His body, however, was determined to act on another. The one that had his blood steaming and his hunger simmering.
Watching her as she'd slept had honed the blunted edges of his control until his need for her was sharp enough to slice steel. His conscience was already clawing at him for a long list of sins stretching back to the age of five when he took his first pull on his old man's whiskey bottle. But this lates
t one was pitiful, even for him.
But damn, he wanted her. Hot and sweet, buried to the hilt inside her. Pouring out his loneliness and grief and pain in one violent rush. His body ached with it, even as he told himself he deserved to burn in the worst fires of hell.
Even now, in the bright light of day with her eyes still filled with weariness and her face far too pale, he wanted to slip beneath the sheet covering her and pull her close.
He felt his body stir and knew he was only a whisper away from doing just that. Scowling, he shot to his feet and headed for the door.
"I made tea," he all but growled over his shoulder. "I'll get you a cup before I head out."
Boyd tossed aside the ancient issue of National Geographic without finishing the article on a newly discovered Inca burial site he'd been grimly plowing through for the past ten minutes, and checked his watch one more time.
Daddy by Accident Page 10
