by Billie Green
"Has it really been years since I've kissed you?" he asked hoarsely against her throat. "Or only months?"
"Centuries . . . eons," she murmured.
"I think—" He stopped to clear his throat and looked down at her. "I think it's bedtime."
She ran trembling fingers down the length of his jaw. "I think maybe I'd better go change. This dress isn't exactly built to sleep in."
He nodded, never taking his gaze from her face. "You're right—too many buttons."
Standing reluctantly she glanced down at him. "Save my place?"
"I guess I could do that," he said, leaning back against the pillow. "But I warn you, I'll only hold it forever."
She laughed softly, then left the room, taking a candle with her. Even just in the hall outside the living room the cold struck her sharply. Her bedroom was like a cold-storage vault. She shivered uncontrollably as she quickly changed into her flannel pajamas.
She wanted to get back to Charlie's arms. She wanted to get back to the need he had built in her, but now that she was away from him, that same need worried her. Where would it end? How could they continue the way they were? Making love with him brought an ever-growing desperation. The more she got, the more she wanted.
"I love you, Charlie," she said to the empty room. "I love you so much, it hurts."
Her breath was visible in the candlelight, making the words seem impossibly lonely. She closed her eyes for an instant, then picked up the candle and left the room.
When she reentered the living room, Charlie was on his knees, leaning over the baby. She slowed, then stopped, when she realized he was speaking. The words were soft and low, but they reached her clearly.
"Trudy Lee," he whispered. "What a funny name for a catalyst. And what a funny sort of catalyst you are, so small and helpless." He stroked the baby's cheek with one finger. "How could you know that you're just what we've been needing, that I've been praying for something just like you? Only I never dreamed it would turn up at the back door in the middle of a blizzard. But funny or not, blizzard or not, I've got a feeling you're going to take us to the next step."
Sara frowned. What did he mean? Charlie sounded more serious than she had heard him since the night he had found her with Ted. But it wasn't the same as that night. Now there was a strange new quality to his seriousness, something vital and exciting.
He wasn't supposed to sound that way, she told herself. He was supposed to be good-time Charlie, the man who was made just for the fun of it.
Chapter 9
Sara opened her eyes and stared for a moment at the dark ceiling, wondering why she was awake. She could feel Charlie's warmth beside her, and smiled. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the flickering of the fire and remembered the storm. And the baby.
At that moment she heard a whimper from inside the drawer. That must have been what had awakened her. She touched Charlie's shoulder gently. When he didn't move she started to shake him, then glanced around and saw that the fire was burning steadily. Poor Charlie, she thought. He must have been up and down all night, keeping it going.
The baby began to cry anew, a little more loudly now. Biting her lip, Sara looked from Charlie to the drawer, then back at Charlie. It wasn't fair to make him get up again, she told herself reluctantly. He was probably exhuasted. But what was she going to do with the baby?
She edged her way out of the safety of the sleeping bag and scooted over to the bureau drawer. She looked down warily at the baby.
"Shhh," she whispered when it whimpered again. Reaching out she patted it hesitantly. "Hush, baby. You'll wake Charlie."
It looked up at her, its face puckered in what seemed to be annoyance, and let out a sharp yell.
"All right," Sara muttered, awkwardly pulling the infant from the wooden bed. "But I want you to know I think you're bad-mannered and inconsiderate."
Holding the sniffling, snuggling bundle against her shoulder, Sara rocked back and forth on her knees. The baby quieted almost immediately. After a while the movement became automatic, natural.
Slowly, against her will, she felt a kind of peace come over her. This can't happen, she thought, trying to deny the emotions tugging at her. J can't let her get to me. She had left herself wide open to pain in her relationship with Charlie. She simply couldn't let it happen again. Too much depended on her strength.
But it was no use. No matter how she fought it, Sara had to admit that she felt a strange new emotion, something entirely foreign to her. It was deep and strong and warm, and was taking hold as she rocked the baby in her arms. Glancing down, she really looked at the child for the first time. Trudy was beautiful. The tiny, smooth features seemed too perfect to be natural.
As Sara stared at the small creature on her shoulder, she finally admitted to herself that the indefinable feeling she was experiencing just might be something maternal. But the admission didn't keep her from resenting the emotion. She hadn't asked for it, and she didn't want it.
"Don't you see?" she whispered to the baby. "It took everything I've got, every bit of fight I have in me, to leave security behind and start my business. I need to put in longer and harder hours than anyone else just to keep up. And that's only business."
She sighed, resting her chin lightly on the baby's head. "Of course you don't see. I don't even understand it myself. I only know I'm barely making it in business. How much more would I have to give to marriage, to motherhood? I'm not a superwoman, like some women. I would end up giving too little to everything."
She remembered all those years as a legal secretary. Little Miss Nobody, who kept the office going. It was different now. She owned her own business. No one, not even Charlie—especially not Charlie— knew what those words meant to her and how often she repeated them to herself because she still couldn't believe it. For the first time in her life she had succeeded at something, and she would never give it up.
For her, a career wasn't a stopgap until she could have a family and get on with the rest of her life. It was her life. She had made it so because she needed the reassurance of success. It somehow made her equal to other people.
If she got greedy and demanded more, she might just lose it all. A family had no place in her life, she told herself firmly. And unless she could find a man like Ted, a man who merely wanted her in his own life occasionally, even a husband had no place in her life.
"No place," she murmured.
Burying her face in the baby's soft curls, she held Trudy tightly for just a moment. Then slowly she laid the sleeping child back in the drawer.
All her life she had had to work harder than anyone else just to keep up with everyone. It didn't seem fair. She shook her head when she felt self-pity overwhelming her. That wouldn't get her anywhere. She had accepted her own limitations years ago. The problem was that the rest of the world expected so much. Charlie expected her to be the best; even this baby expected something more than she had to give.
Trudy Lee, she thought as she stared down at the pink face. The baby sighed; then her eyes rolled to the top of her head and a silly grin twisted the tiny rosebud mouth. Sara felt a sharp pain in her chest.
It was a trap, she thought. They get you with the silly grin and then you're stuck.
She glanced at Charlie. It was the same thing. He had gotten her with the silly grin and now she was sruck. She couldn't even think of what it would be like when he found someone to take her place.
It would happen eventually, she told herself, unwilling to cling to illusions. And when it did she would accept it, because she coudn't bear to lose his friendship. But the anticipated pain ripped at her.
Moving slowly she added another log to the fire, then crawled back into the sleeping bag. Charlie turned in his sleep, wrapping his arms around her almost as though he had subconsciously missed her.
She lay very still, her eyes open wide as the ghosts that haunted her nights plagued her. It was a long time before she fell asleep again.
When Sara woke up the ne
xt morning the first thing she noticed was that Charlie was no longer beside her. He was squatting before the fire, poking at the logs. The second thing she noticed was the howling and blowing outside. The blizzard w^s still in full force.
"Come back to bed," she murmured sleepily. "It's too cold to get up."
He bent over her and kissed her firmly, enthusiastically. "Rise and shine, gorgeous."
"You rise; you shine. I'm cold."
"I wish I had time to warm you up," he said wistfully. "But since our company is beginning to stir, you'll have to make do with a roaring fire."
"Trudy?" she said, pulling herself up to a sitting position so that she could see the baby. Tiny fists were waving in the air. Sara smiled. "She certainly wakes up raring to go, doesn't she?"
Charlie stopped poking at the fire to turn and look at Sara, a strange expression on his face. "Yes," he said slowly. Then he grinned. "Yes, she does. But I guess if I woke up with a damp bottom, I'd be raring to go too. Pitch me one of those tea towels."
"You go ahead and fix the fire," Sara said, her gaze on Trudy. "I'll change her."
Charlie raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You'll change her into what?"
"Very funny." She slid out of the sleeping bag and crawled on her knees to the bureau drawer. "I simply decided that it's not fair to expect you to do everything. We're both adults; we should both take care of her."
"That sounds fair to me," he said, his voice serious though his eyes were sparkling. "I mean, since we're both adults, and everything."
"Tend your fire," she said, sternly. Charlie was laughing at her again, but somehow, this morning it didn't bother her at all.
He turned back to the fire with only one small chuckle. When Trudy was dry, Sara went to her room to change. She hopped around in the cold room, pulling on thick tights, jeans, and three sweaters. They all felt as stiff with cold as she did.
She caught herself whistling as she pulled on a pair of Charlie's heavy wool socks. There was a blizzard outside, she reminded herself, trying to sober up. Nothing to whistle about. Then she grinned as she looked down at her feet. The socks she had stolen from Charlie were neon orange. That was enough to warm up any room.
When she returned to the living room she found Charlie bending over a pan that was lying on the legs in the fireplace. "What's that?" she asked suspiciously.
"Oatmeal," he said, glancing up. "This reminds me of my youthful days at camp."
"I detest oatmeal, but this morning anything hot sounds wonderful." She squatted beside the drawer. "Doesn't it, Trudy? We just couldn't face a day with a cold mashed banana in our tummy."
Charlie dished some of the hot cereal into a bowl. "As soon as this cools, we'll get this epicurean delight into her tummy," he said.
"I've been thinking, Charlie," Sara said, crawling toward him and the oatmeal.
"That sounds dangerous. What have you been thinking?"
She sat down and rubbed her knees. "I've been thinking I'm too old to walk around on my knees," she said dryly. When he laughed she added, "No, actually I've been thinking that if I hold one of Trudy's arms between her body and mine and the other one in my hand, that will leave me one hand to feed her with. That way it won't take two of us to do it and you can get dressed, or whatever."
"Very ingenious," he said, his tone admiring. "But I'm already dressed."
She glanced at his worn sweat suit. "Don't you have anything without holes?"
"Sure," he said cheerfully. "I can put on my aviator cap and leather jacket."
She rolled her eyes, then picked up the oatmeal to blow on it. When Charlie left the room to change his clothes, Sara glanced toward the bureau drawer and smiled. Trudy's hands were still punching the air, and she sounded as though she were talking to herself.
"It's almost ready," Sara said.
She didn't want to analyze what had happened to her the night before. She only knew that suddenly she liked being here with Charlie and Trudy. Later, much later, she would worry about why.
When Charlie came back into the living room, Sara was holding Trudy. Just as she had described, one of the baby's chubby arms was caught beneath Sara's breast, the other was held in her hand, and Sara was feeding Trudy the last of the oatmeal.
Charlie stared at the two of them for a moment. "It looks like a good system . . . but, if it's not too personal, why is there a streak of oatmeal in your hair? And in hers?" he added, touching Trudy's matted hair.
Sara grinned. "She escaped. Clever little darling, aren't you?" She kissed the baby's ruffled, oatmeal-coated hair. "Charlie, it's really weird . . . and more than a little scary. She trusts me completely."
"Babies have a way of doing that," he said, his eyes gentle as he stared down at her. "They trust and love without question."
"A person could get hooked on that kind of thing," Sara murmured as she stood up. Charlie gave her a look that she noticed but did not understand.
The rest of the morning was busy for both of them. They decided it was warm enough in front of the fire to give Trudy a sponge bath, but it took them a while to find clothes to put on her after her bath. Finally Sara discovered an old short-sleeved, skinny-ribbed sweater that she hadn't worn in years. It would hang loosely on the baby, but at least it would keep her warm.
Bathing a baby was a whole new adventure for both of them. And somehow it made Sara feel even closer to Trudy.
"Whew," Charlie said as he put Trudy back in the drawer for her nap. "How can anything so small put up such a giant struggle?" He flopped down on top of the sleeping bag. "She's worn me out."
"That's because you're old," Sara said loftily. "You'll be thirty-four in a couple of months. I'm surprised there's no gray in your hair yet. Maybe you'd better leave the strenuous stuff to those of us who can take it."
He grabbed her arm and jerked sharply, and suddenly she was lying on top of him. "Old, am I? If I remember correctly, you'll hit the big three-oh with the coming year."
"Age is relative."
He laughed. "Your face is flushed and your hair is sticking out all over the place. You look as if you just escaped from an institution. She wore you out too."
She relaxed against him with a moan. "Where does she get her energy?" She started to laugh. "It was so funny when she kicked you in the face."
He slapped her sharply on the bottom. "You were supposed to be holding her legs."
"I couldn't help it. She was slippery."
Wrapping his arms around her waist he said, "Trudy Lee's not the only one round here who's slippery. I've been trying to get a kiss all morning. I think my lips are shriveling up from lack of use."
She raised her head and stared down at him sternly. "Whining is not an attractive quality in a man, Charlie." When he pinched her, she said, "Oh, all right. If you're going to pout." She framed his face with her hands. "Pucker up and I'll lay one on you."
He pushed his lips out at her obediently. "Like this?" he asked.
"That's gross," she said, giggling. "They look like a chicken's behind."
"A chicken's behind is probably very attractive . . . to a rooster." He puckered up again. "Come on, you said you would lay one on me."
"Not when you look like that." She pressed his lips back to their normal shape, then, with her index finger, parted them slightly. "That's better," she murmured, finding the exercise very sensual. "Now, where's your tongue?"
"Hmmm?" he said, his eyes half closed. "It was in there last time I looked."
"Well, I won't kiss you until we find it. Your tongue is a very important part of this."
Placing his hand behind her head, he pulled her toward him. "If you'll come closer," he whispered huskily, "I bet we can find it together."
She touched her lips to his, then, with a sigh, deepened the kiss. Long moments later she pulled back slightly. "I think—" She cleared her throat. "I think I may have found the little devil, but I can't be sure."
"You mean we have to do the whole thing again?" he asked. When she bit his
lip he chuckled and rolled with her until she was lying beneath him.
"I've always said thorough research is the only way to find the truth."
"I wasn't looking for the truth," she murmured, "just your tongue."
With his help she found it . . . and a lot more as they lay before the fire. She had never experienced this kind of slow, sensual lovemaking with him before, the kind that only comes on a day with no deadlines. Before they found completion in each other she felt as though she had made every part of Charlie her own and had given every part of herself in return.
Later in the day Charlie dug up an old portable radio and some new batteries, and they listened to the weather forecast. According to the weatherman, the storm was likely to last at least one more day, and maybe longer.
But Sara didn't mind. In a way she felt as though she had sneaked into a warm cubbyhole of life. There was no pressure from business, no worry about what would happen in the future. There were only hours spent before a warm fire, playing with Trudy, loving Charlie.
"I hope you realize," Charlie said, "that if this lasts for another couple of days we'll have to start burning the furniture."
It was late afternoon, and he had his head in her lap while Trudy took a nap. Sara shrugged in complete indifference as she played with a stray curl on his forehead. "Who cares?" she said lazily. "I've got a few things I wouldn't mind seeing go up in flames." She bent down to kiss him fleetingly.
"Charlie, I've been thinking about Trudy's parents," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Why do you suppose they left her here?"
"We won't know that until we find them."
She shifted uneasily. "What will happen to her when the police take her? Where will they put her?"
He sat up. "I don't know any of that, Sara. But they know what they're doing. They'll put her where she'll be safe and well taken care of."
"In an orphanage," she said, frowning. "Or a foster home. They won't know anything about her. She'd be just as well off staying here."
