The Marriage Maker

by Christie Ridgway

  The fresh diaper fastened, Cleo leaned down to kiss the baby’s tummy. Jonah kicked in delight, and Ethan thought about her lips on his body… Anywhere close to his stomach would do.

  She looked over at Ethan and he quickly schooled his features. “We should consider using cloth diapers for that very reason,” she said. “Do you have any objections?” With a few efficient movements she redressed the baby.

  “No objections at all, but I don’t want to make too much work for you,” he answered.

  Cleo lifted the baby off the changing table and against her shoulder again. “I’d like to raise him, even from the beginning, with a concern for the environment.”

  Ethan just nodded, his mind not going past “I’d like to raise him.” His pulse did that chug-a-chug again, but this time the heat was accompanied with a sweet feeling of relief. He’d found someone to raise Jonah. He’d feared all along that he didn’t have what it took to nurture a child to adulthood. No good example to follow, no notion of how to figure it all out.

  But Cleo. Cleo would know what to do.

  Even if he failed her, she wouldn’t fail Jonah.

  She was looking at him strangely, so he tried to put a smile on his face. “What about dinner? Are you ready?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Show me how I can help.”

  In the kitchen, she bustled around, finding plates and silverware to set the table. Ethan was nonplussed again. When he was caring for the baby, he never was quite sure what to do with him. Well, Cleo did everything with Jonah. She managed to accomplish her tasks with the baby sort of balanced on her hip, and Jonah appeared enthralled by all the movement and the constantly changing sights.

  For his part, Ethan felt pretty lame as all he did was fill their plates with what Jasmine had prepared. When everything was on the table, Cleo sat with Jonah still in her arms.

  “Let me take him,” Ethan said. “Or I can put him in his baby chair. He’s not much of a complainer.”

  Cleo shook her head. “Do you mind if I keep him close?”

  “How are you going to eat?”

  “I’ll manage.” She smiled. “It’s more important that Jonah gets used to me than I clean my plate.”

  Another wave of thankfulness rushed over Ethan. She was putting Jonah first. That was what the baby needed and deserved. If he just concentrated on that, maybe he could ignore the desire he felt for Cleo. The entanglements of sex and need might lead them straight to disaster. He wasn’t going to risk Jonah’s welfare for a few hot times in the sheets.

  He cleared his throat and toyed with his salad. “Jasmine said you told your family we’re getting married.” But Cleo’s sister hadn’t spilled a hint of what their reaction had been.

  Cleo’s expression didn’t give anything away, either. Despite Jonah, she’d managed a mouthful of Jasmine’s chicken and she nodded as she chewed.

  Ethan cleared his throat again. “So, um, what did they think?”

  Cleo shrugged. “They’re my family. They like you. They respect my decisions and will always be behind me.”

  Family was what he wanted for Jonah. And he felt certain that all of Cleo’s family would take the little boy to their hearts. “Is next week still okay for the wedding?” That was what they’d decided last night.

  Cleo’s cheeks flushed, but she nodded. “Just fine. Friday, right?”

  “Friday. And then I thought we could live here, at least for a few months. I have it leased through the summer. After that we can find something else.”

  Cleo looked down at Jonah and made funny faces at him. “This is really going to happen, isn’t it?” she said softly. “I’m going to have a son…and a husband.”

  “Cleo, look at me.” He waited for her gaze to meet his. “I’m not playing. Next Friday, if you’re sure, we’ll get married. It will really happen.”

  Her eyes were so in credibly violet and so wide that he would find it much too easy to be mesmerized by them. But he had promises to make before those wedding vows. “I want us to marry.” He really did, he realized.

  For Jonah’s sake.

  “And I’m going to do my damned best not to screw it up. I’ve got to be honest, I’ve never wanted to be married and I’ve never wanted to have a child. But that’s in the past. Now I’m committed to providing for you and Jonah. I work hard and I make good money. Better than good. And every dollar I have will be yours and Jonah’s.”

  Two worry lines appeared between Cleo’s brows. “This is not about money, Ethan.”

  “It’s what I have to offer, Cleo.” All he had to offer. “And speaking of business, don’t forget that Jonah and I have to head back to Houston tomorrow evening.”

  Those worry lines continued to mar the smooth skin of her forehead. “About that…I was wondering if you’d leave Jonah with me. I’m planning on going part-time at Bean sprouts for a few weeks and doing a lot of my administrative tasks from home. Jonah would work right into that.”

  Ethan frowned. “Oh, I don’t think so. The nanny in Houston said she’d be avail able.”

  “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “It’s not that, it’s—” It was that Ethan couldn’t imagine coming home at night to his Houston condo and finding it empty. “Let me think about it.”

  Jonah, tiring of sitting in one place, distracted their attention. Ethan welcomed the new focus, though it meant more opportunity to notice how very natural Cleo was with the baby—so much more natural than he had ever been. He turned on the stereo, having at least discovered that the baby enjoyed country music, and it made him feel…something he couldn’t quite name when he watched Cleo two-step around the kitchen with Jonah in her arms.

  “We should go dancing sometime,” Ethan said suddenly.

  Cleo’s feet stopped their cute little shuffle. She looked at him, all wide-eyed again, and Ethan wondered what it would be like to hold her curvy body against his chest and to have that remarkable hair tickling his chin. He remembered the sweet scent of it, and his blood chug-a-chug-chugged toward his groin.

  She licked her lips, and Ethan almost groaned. “I’d like that,” she said. “Very much.”

  Damn. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of her lips, her curves, or her scent. No embracing. No dancing. Because if he got too close to Cleo and their romantic relationship went sour, where would that leave Jonah?

  He turned away from her. “Yeah, well, sometime. Maybe,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Hers was carefully neutral. “Would you mind if I gave Jonah his bath?”

  “No problem. I’ll just finish the dishes.”

  Which only took a few minutes. Yet by the time he’d put them away and wandered toward Jonah’s bathroom, Cleo had the baby’s safety seat in the warm water and Jonah already in it. She was singing something about a spider as she gently washed him.

  The baby’s gaze was glued to her face. Ethan leaned against the doorjamb and watched the picture they made, feeling as if he’d wandered into someone else’s life. It all seemed so normal and natural, so much the way it should be, but so much what he didn’t know about.

  He wanted to reach out to stroke Cleo’s hair, and then Jonah’s pink, just-washed skin, but it was as if a glass wall had been erected between the door and the bathtub.

  “Are you okay?” Cleo looked over her shoulder at him, her face flushed from the warmth of the water.

  Ethan’s mind instantly conjured up an image of Cleo, pink and glistening from her bath. He imagined himself washing her, touching those beautiful breasts, his soapy hands running along the curves of her hips.

  Her nostrils flared. “Ethan?”

  He shook himself out of the fantasy, afraid she might read his thoughts. “Hmm?” Even his “hmm” sounded hoarse.

  “What were you thinking about?” Her voice sounded a little hoarse, too.

  He swallowed. “About tomorrow,” he lied. “I think it will be fine if Jonah stays with you while I’m on this trip to Houston.” There really had never been any doubt
. He wanted the baby to become accustomed to Cleo—the mother Ethan had brought into Jonah’s life.

  Of course there were no guarantees that Ethan himself would ever become accustomed to Cleo. And if the fantasies he’d been indulging in and the hardened state of his body were any indication, the resounding answer was no.

  It was one thing to say you were going to do something impractical for once, Cleo thought, and an entirely other thing to actually do it.

  In the kitchen at Ethan’s—no, their—house, she stared down at the brand-new platinum-and-diamond wedding band on her fourth finger. She’d married Ethan Redford three hours before. Jonah—her son—was asleep for the night in his bedroom. He’d gone down like a dream, wearing a teeny smile that she pretended was because he understood they’d created a family for him today.

  The one thing that had been easy about this whole situation was caring for Jonah. She’d fallen for him almost as quickly as she’d fallen for his uncle. At first it was because a motherless baby was a certain draw to her maternal heart.

  But then, quickly, it was for Jonah himself. Because he was a morning person, as she was. Because of the way he snuggled his head into the hollow of her shoulder. Because his smiles beamed at her now with a confidence and familiarity she was sure wasn’t there the week before, when she’d first started caring for him full-time.

  A light rap on the back door of the kitchen startled Cleo. She looked over to see Jasmine, illuminated by the small porch light, peeking through the curtains that swagged across the glassed upper half of the door. Cleo quickly crossed to turn the knob, but instead of stepping over the thresh old, Jasmine merely handed over a brown grocery bag that was mouth-wateringly fragrant.

  “Here,” she whispered. “Take this.”

  Cleo looked inside and spied Jasmine’s famous cashew chicken and steamed rice in clear-topped containers. “Yum, but—”

  “Shh.” Jasmine’s eyes widened and she kept her voice hushed. “It’s dinner. I thought you might need fortification or—” she giggled lightly “—inspiration.”

  Cleo’s cheeks went warm but she ignored her sister’s teasing. “Excuse me, but why exactly are we whispering?”

  “So you can tell Ethan you just whipped it up yourself. You said he hadn’t had a chance to eat any of your cooking yet, and I thought—”

  Cleo groaned. “Jasmine, sooner or later the man’s going to have to find out I’m cuisinely clueless.” She’d only been able to postpone the inevitable because Ethan had been out of town since the day after they’d last eaten one of Jasmine’s meals. Cleo had lived at the house with Jonah all week, but Ethan had only arrived back early that afternoon, just in time for their four o’clock wedding.

  She bit her lip. “He’s exhausted and I said I’d make us a light dinner. You don’t think I’ll mess up sandwiches and soup, do you?”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Just tell me this. Has the marriage been consummated yet?”

  “Jasmine!” Cleo’s face turned even hotter and she inspected a nearby pristine countertop. “I just put the baby to bed.”

  “Well, you better get yourself and Ethan there, as well—before you do any cooking.”

  “Jasmine,” Cleo muttered again.

  “Hey.” Jasmine grinned. “A sister has to tell it like it is. Get him in the sack before you give him any of your soup and sandwiches. Otherwise, go with the good stuff.” She nodded toward the bag. “’Bye!”

  “’Bye,” Cleo echoed faintly, but then her sister turned around. Cleo raised a brow. “What? More advice?”

  Jasmine smiled. “Just a thumbs-up. Ethan’s gorgeous. If you hadn’t seen him first…”

  Cleo shook her head. “Ethan’s too old for you, baby sister.”

  “Uh-uh.” Jasmine backed into the twilight. “The males my age are boys. I want a man like Ethan, and I want my man to look at me the way Ethan looks at you.” She turned and melted away into the darkness.

  Cleo frowned. Great. Gone before she could pin down exactly what that “way” was. She set the bag of food on the counter and rubbed her midsection. Just hearing the words “Ethan” and “bed” in the same sentence had her stomach hiccuping again.

  What way had he looked at her? Jasmine and Cleo’s mother, cousins, aunt and uncle had all been witnesses to their civil ceremony. To her eyes, Ethan had appeared preoccupied when not down right tired. The kiss he’d brushed across her lips at the conclusion of the ceremony had less emotion than the one Uncle Edward had pressed against her cheek.

  He’d seemed relieved that she’d told her family they’d save the celebrating for another day. Cleo had broken the news to them six days before, when Ethan told her he had to make an immediate and unscheduled trip to Japan, though he swore he’d make it home in time for the wedding ceremony.

  Tonight would be quiet, just the three of them. Well, two actually, with the baby already asleep.

  Leaving them to discuss the bed issue uninterrupted—the issue being that Cleo didn’t know which one to choose tonight.

  For the past week she’d been in the guest bedroom across from Jonah’s room. But there was the stately master suite just down the hall, with the echoes of Ethan’s spicy scent and the huge bed made for a man and a woman’s…uh, comfort.

  Her stomach hopped up and down again and Cleo closed her eyes. Ethan had said the physical side of their marriage would be up to her. Well, it was pretty stupid to pretend the idea of making love with him was something she even needed to consider.

  She wanted to make love to him.

  She wanted Ethan.

  But how to broach the subject? With a frown, she swung around to look out the window over the sink and caught sight of her reflection, clear against the night’s darkness. Dang, if every nervous, anxious, but aroused thought wasn’t written all over her face.

  Once he saw her, he’d know.

  With a deep breath Cleo started across the gleaming kitchen floor. Find Ethan, she thought. Then he’d take care of the rest.

  With cold fingers, she pushed through the swinging door. The faint sounds of country music came from the direction of Ethan’s office at the far end of the house. She smiled to herself, remembering he said they should go dancing sometime. Maybe tonight they could begin that way, a little slow dance in each other’s arms before a long, delicious night of lovemaking.

  “Ethan?” she called softly, but her voice was so squeaky she had to swallow and start over. “Ethan?”

  To give him fair warning she made her steps distinct and firm. “Ethan?” she said again.

  Still no answer.

  She peeked through the office doorway. His desk was in one corner of the room and a leather couch, its back to the entry, faced a small fire crack ling in the brick-and-stone fireplace. Clint Black sang softly to the empty room.

  Cleo shifted, anticipation building unmercilessly. At this rate, by the time she found him, one touch would shatter her into a zillion nervous pieces. Clint stopped singing, and there was a brief segue of silence before the next song on the CD began. That was when Cleo heard it.

  A sigh. No, a breath. Another one. Rhythmic breathing.

  With a sinking heart, she walked up to the couch and peered over its high back.

  Oh, there he was. Ethan. Tie loosened, ankles crossed, gold stubble starting to bristle along his square chin. Her bridegroom. So asleep, Cleo guessed a marching band wouldn’t wake him.

  A nervous bride certainly wouldn’t do it.

  Would she?

  She cleared her throat.

  She cleared it again. Loudly.

  Ethan didn’t stir.

  She stomped over to the fireplace and poked at the small fire until a satisfying shower of sparks hissed in the grate. Over her shoulder, Ethan continued to sleep soundly. She poked again. More sparks. More rhythmic breathing from the man on the couch.

  Sighing in defeat, she walked around the end of the couch and plucked an afghan off the plump bolster by his feet. She tossed it over him, and even w
hen the crocheted corner smacked him lightly in the nose, he didn’t move. Sighing louder, she folded the offending—and useless—corner back from his face.

  She slipped his loafers off his feet, letting them fall to the floor with noisy clunks. When he still didn’t rouse, she turned out the lights and turned off Clint Black.

  Standing in the firelit darkness, staring down at the man who she wanted naked and next to her more than anything else, she considered herself one of the most understanding—frustrated—women in the world.

  With Jonah perched on one hip, Cleo sipped a fresh mug of her sister’s awesome coffee. Jasmine stood nearby, chopping walnuts for the waffles she was serving that morning to the B and B guests. “What are we going to do about Mama?” Cleo asked her sister. Upon arriving at the bed-and-break fast earlier, she’d discovered Celeste had been up since 4:00 a.m., when another nightmare had woken her.

  Jasmine shrugged. “Until she tells us more about the darned dreams, or is at least willing to tell someone about them, what can we do?” She looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows. “And to tell the truth, I’m almost just as worried about you. Don’t you think you should be home with your husband the morning after your wedding?”

  Cleo turned her gaze on Jonah and gave him a big smacking kiss on his nose. He grinned. She grinned back. “Please. Mama already fussed at me. But Ethan’s exhausted from his overseas trip, and Jonah and I didn’t want to disturb him, okay?”

  Jasmine lips quirked up. “Exhausted, you say? That sounds promising.” Her eyes narrowed. “But shouldn’t you be exhausted then, too?”

  Cleo shook her head. “Shut up, Jasmine.”

  Jasmine’s gaze darted toward the dining room and she lowered her voice. “Seriously. I saw it on ‘Oprah.’ If you don’t know what I mean, there are manuals—”

  “Jasmine!” Cleo set her mug on the countertop and used her free hand to cover one of Jonah’s ears. “There are children present. And I don’t need any manuals, thank you very much.”

  Jasmine blinked. “Okay. But does Ethan?” she asked seriously.

  “Does Ethan what?” a new voice asked.