“We didn’t mean to wake you so early,” she said. “Jack’s an early riser.”
“It’s okay. We were just, uh, getting acquainted,” Robert said.
Jack squirmed in her arms, stretching his arms toward Robert. “Gah!”
Glancing at her son, Lily chuckled. “I think he likes you.”
Robert glanced at the squirming baby, relieved that she had a good grip on him. “I have that effect on babies.”
Pressing a quick kiss to a fat cheek, she hefted her son and turned toward the adjoining kitchen. At the door, she stopped and looked at Robert over her shoulder. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Whatever you’re having will be fine,” he said, careful to keep the threadbare blanket in his lap or else betray the state in which the dream had left him.
“Oatmeal okay?”
“Fine.”
One side of her mouth curved upward. “You have flour on your chin.”
He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Something smells good.”
“I’m making bread. An old Rebelian recipe with cinnamon and yeast.”
“Sounds good.”
“They are.”
“Mind if I use your shower?”
“Sure. Down the hall. On the right. I left a towel for you on the vanity. We’ve had electricity all morning, so there should be plenty of hot water.”
Robert watched her leave the room, all too aware that she still had one of the most shapely derrieres he’d ever laid eyes on. As he rose and headed toward the shower, he didn’t think he was going to make use of the hot water.
For the first time since moving into the cottage six months earlier, Lily wished it were bigger. She’d never felt that way before, when it had just been her and Jack. But Robert had a way of filling up a room. It seemed as if she couldn’t turn around without bumping into him, without touching him, without making eye contact. With the high-wire tension zinging between them like erratic electricity, she figured she’d be lucky to walk away from this encounter without getting burned.
She still couldn’t quite believe Robert was back, larger than life and full of questions she had absolutely no desire to answer. Worse, she couldn’t believe he was staying in her house. Of all the terrible things she could have faced in Rebelia, this was the one scenario she’d never anticipated.
She might still be attracted to him. She might even have feelings for him buried deep in the recesses of her heart. But there was no way she could ever give in to them. Letting him go all those months ago had been the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do. Hurting him had shattered her into a thousand pieces. Pieces she was still trying to put back together.
Lily told herself she hadn’t had a choice. Losing a giant piece of her heart had been a price she’d been willing to pay. A sacrifice she’d been willing to make. No matter how much she wanted to tell him the truth, she knew that was the one thing she could never do. To open her heart to him now would put him in grave danger, would put Jack in danger. She might have learned to live without Robert in the last months, but she would never be able to live with herself knowing his blood was on her hands.
She had Jack to think about now. Her son was all that mattered. They’d gotten along just fine without Robert up until now and would continue to do so long after he left.
After settling Jack into his homemade high chair, Lily started some water boiling on the stove, then turned to her son. “You have a piece of toast to finish, big guy.”
“Toh!” Jack squealed in delight.
“That’s right. Toast.” Smiling, she picked up the soggy bread and put it in a tiny outstretched hand. “Here you go.”
“Toh! Gah!” Little Jack kicked his chubby legs and clutched the flaccid toast with fat fingers.
“Okay, big bite,” she said and he chomped down on the bread with tiny, hit-or-miss teeth.
The kettle began to whistle. When Lily turned to pour water over oatmeal, she saw the toast sail across the small kitchen and smack into a lean, denim-clad leg. She looked up to see Robert standing in the doorway, felt her breath leave her lungs in a single, quick rush.
Oh, my, the man was something to look at.
“Kid has a hell of an arm. You ever consider putting him in little league?”
Horrified, she glanced at the jelly dribbling down his thigh. “Do you want me to get that?”
“You’ve got your hands full. If you’ll just point me in the direction of a towel.”
“There, by the sink.”
“Right.”
He walked to the sink, snagged the towel and began wiping at the jelly. His dark brown hair was still wet from a shower and combed straight back revealing thick, arched brows and a high forehead. The jeans he wore hugged lean hips and muscular thighs and…well, she wouldn’t think about the rest. The flannel shirt he’d been buttoning when he walked into the room had fallen open to reveal a dark thatch of hair and a lot more muscle than she remembered. For an instant, she could only stare and try not to remember what it had felt like to run her fingers over that muscled chest and those flat nipples.
When she looked up he was staring at her. The air between them shifted and thickened. Jack’s incessant baby talk faded to a pleasant hum. Lily knew she was staring, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Good Lord, she’d forgotten just how good Robert Davidson looked. And she’d definitely forgotten the effect he had on her.
Keenly aware of the blood suffusing her cheeks, she turned to the stove and twisted off the single burner to the off position. Behind her, she could hear Robert talking to Jack—something about the Cincinnati Reds—but she didn’t dare turn around. Not when her heart was pinging in her chest like beads in a baby’s rattle.
She couldn’t believe her composure had crumpled at the mere sight of him. She’d had nerves of steel when it came to dealing with Bruno DeBruzkya. But one look at Robert Davidson’s chest and those nerves melted like chocolate.
“Okay, slugger, whatcha got there?”
As much as she wanted to turn around and watch Robert with her son, Lily didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure what the sight of them together would do to her, what it would do to her heart.
For a full minute she stared straight ahead, listening, longing for something elusive, yet as vital as the air she breathed. When the curiosity got to be too much, she tilted her head slightly and stole a peek at man and baby. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack pounding his spoon against his high chair tray. Robert was squatting in front of him, making silly faces. He said something in a voice that sounded amazingly like Bugs Bunny, and Jack giggled.
The sound of her son’s laughter tore a hole clean through her heart. The pain was so sharp she had to close her eyes. Taking a deep, calming breath, she finished making the oatmeal and struggled to get herself under control. She couldn’t afford to let Robert know her feelings. One wrong word to him, and he would discover her secret. She knew he wasn’t the kind of man to let something like that go. He would want to do the honorable thing. Dear God, she couldn’t let that happen. Not when doing the honorable thing could end up getting him killed.
“Something smells good.”
“Oatmeal.” Realizing she was stirring the oatmeal into glue, she set the spoon aside and turned to face Robert. Amusement rippled through her when she found him and her son embroiled in a game of catch with the kitchen towel. Of course, Jack was now a lot more interested in the towel than his breakfast.
“He’s a pretty good catcher, too,” Robert said.
“Scouts will be out looking for him soon.” Smiling, she eased the towel from Jack’s chubby fingers. “But right now he needs to eat his breakfast.”
Robert turned a sympathetic look at Jack. “Sorry, pal.”
Jack squealed and reached for the towel. “Gah!”
“Yeah, I know, I know,” Robert said. “Oatmeal before that no-hitter.”
Lily watched them and swore she wasn’t going to let the moment get to her. “We don’t have any sugar h
ere in Rebelia, so I added a little cinnamon.”
“That’s fine.” Watching her carefully, he took the bowl from her and began to eat.
Shaken more than she wanted to admit, Lily started toward Jack. The mangled piece of toast sat on the counter, so she snagged the baby’s bottle of goat’s milk and set to work releasing him from the high chair.
“He’s already trying to talk,” Robert said.
Lily closed her eyes and told herself her son’s first word wasn’t something she’d fantasized about sharing with Robert. “He said ‘toast’ this morning.”
“Right before he chucked it across the room.”
“You should have seen the hard-boiled egg yesterday morning.”
“Line drive, huh?”
“Home run.”
Smiling in spite of herself, she pressed a kiss to Jack’s forehead, wishing her nerves would settle. She pulled him from the chair then held him close for a moment, taking in his sweet baby scent. For an instant she found herself wishing he would stay little forever so she could hold him just like this and keep him safe.
Aware that Robert was watching them, she carried Jack to the sink, wetted a fresh towel and wiped at the ring of jelly around his mouth.
“Whenever you can work in some time with me, I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
Her pulse spiked. “Robert—”
“About DeBruzkya,” he clarified.
“Oh.” She flushed, realizing she’d misunderstood and overreacted. “Let me put Jack down for a nap.”
Lily carried her son to her bedroom at the rear of the cottage and laid him in the crib. When he fussed, she offered him the bottle of milk. “Oh, you’re a fussy one this morning, aren’t you?”
She held the bottle while he suckled. For several long minutes he watched her with innocent blue eyes. When his lids grew heavy, she propped the bottle on a pillow and began to gently rock his crib. Humming an old Rebelian lullaby, she lost herself in the beauty of watching her son sleep. Such a small moment in time and yet so profound. The sight of him safe and warm in his crib touched her as nothing else in the world could. And she loved him so much it hurt just to look at him.
“Sleep tight, sweet baby,” she whispered.
Bending, she pulled the blankets up to his pudgy chin, then set the bottle on the dresser. Taking a deep breath, she left the bedroom, leaving the door open so she would hear him if he woke. She found Robert standing at the window in the living area, staring out at the winter-dead forest. The earlier sunshine had given way to clouds, and the cottage had grown chilly. He looked at her when she entered the room, but he didn’t smile. Lily felt the rise of tension like a physical touch.
“It was getting colder, so I closed the window in the kitchen,” he said.
“Thank you. It was nice this morning, but it looks like rain for this afternoon.”
“I’d forgotten how late spring comes to Rebelia,” he said.
“It still freezes at night sometimes. Two weeks ago we had snow.” She hadn’t meant to mention snow. It had been snowing that last night….
For an instant, he looked like he wanted to say more, but the moment passed and he remained silent. “What do you know about Bruno DeBruzkya?”
She walked to the hearth and put another log on the fire. “Why are you so interested in DeBruzkya?” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I can’t tell you that.” He shot her a sober look.
Mystified by his cryptic answer, she tried to read his expression, realized she couldn’t, even though at one time she’d been very good at it.
“I think you know me well enough to know I’m one of the good guys,” he added.
That was the one thing she knew with utter certainty.
Aware that her pulse was racing, that her thoughts were keeping perfect time, Lily walked into the kitchen and knelt in the corner near the stove. Pulling up a corner of the stained linoleum, she peeled it back, revealing a secret door set into the wooden planks beneath. She extracted a small lockbox, then replaced the trap door and linoleum. “The soldiers have never been here, but I have to be prepared if they show up.”
“What’s in the box?”
“All of my notes on the freedom movement. Copies of the Rebellion. Information I’ve accumulated on DeBruzkya. Documentation on some of the things he’s done. Some of the data is handwritten. Some of it is on disk, some on videotape. I’ve even taken some photographs.”
“Stuff he wouldn’t want anyone getting their hands on,” Robert commented.
“Proof that he’s killing people and has been systematically destroying this beautiful country for nearly two years.”
“Lily, you’re playing a dangerous game.”
All she could think was that this hadn’t been a game to her for a very long time. She crossed to the hearth, set the lockbox on the floor and opened it. She handed Robert the latest copy of the Rebellion then busied herself booting up her laptop and arranging some of her handwritten notes.
“This is written in Rebelian,” he said.
“You know Rebelian.”
“Yeah, but I’m rusty.” He looked sheepish. “I don’t want to miss anything important. Do you think you could hit on some of the highlights for me?”
For a moment she wanted to tell him no. She didn’t want to work too closely with him. The less time she spent with him the better off she and Jack would be. The better off Robert would be.
She nodded. “All right.”
He skimmed the newsletter-style paper in his hand. “Do you trust the people you work with not to sell you out?”
“I’m very selective about who I deal with.”
“I’m sure DeBruzkya would pay a nice bounty for the head of the editor of an underground newspaper.”
She repressed a shiver. “None of the people I work with would sell me out.”
“Lily—” Robert’s voice was softer than before “—the cause is a good one but you’re taking a huge risk.”
She thought of everything she’d seen in the years she’d been in Rebelia. Everything that had been done to her, to the people she’d known and cared for, the children no one cared about. She shook her head. “There’s a lot at stake. An entire country. Her people, her children—”
“At what cost to you?”
That was a question she couldn’t answer. “Jack and I are fine. Nobody knows we’re here. I mean, even you were blindfolded when Jacques brought you here. We’re safe and happy—”
“If DeBruzkya captured Jacques and shoved spikes under his fingernails, he’d sell you out.”
“Stop it,” she snapped. “You’re trying to frighten me.”
“I’m trying to save your life.”
His quick anger surprised her, and for a moment she didn’t know how to respond. Her own temper stirred when she realized his anger had little to do with her newspaper and everything to do with the way they’d left things twenty-one months ago. Why couldn’t he just let the past go? He didn’t know what had happened to her. He didn’t know what could happen if she told him too much. If she let herself feel too much.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said.
“Good, because your staying here with that child is a little beyond my realm of understanding.”
“Don’t lecture me about Jack.”
“How does his father feel about your keeping him in the same house where you run an underground newspaper? In your fervor to save the children and keep the freedom movement alive have you even bothered to think about the safety of your own son?”
Fury swept over her with such force that the words tangled on her tongue. “How dare you imply that I’m endangering my son.”
“What would you call it?”
“I’d call it an impossible situation that I’m dealing with the best way I can.”
Rising abruptly, he paced to the window and stared again at the forest. “It didn’t take you very long to find someone else, did it, Lily?” he asked without lookin
g at her.
The words struck her like a breath-stealing punch, and for several seconds she could do nothing but concentrate on getting oxygen into her lungs. “I can’t talk about that.”
“You can’t talk about it, or you won’t?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything.”
“Of course not,” he said nastily. “I was only your lover.”
She felt the words like a bullet, piercing flesh and bone and slamming into her heart to shatter it like a piece of crystal. “Stop it, Robert. What happened between us…was a long time ago. A lifetime ago. A lot has happened since then.”
“Like what?”
When she didn’t answer, he turned to her, struck her with a look cold enough to freeze hell. “Who’s Jack’s father, Lily?”
Her heart pinged hard against her ribs, then began to race.
“Did you know him when you were seeing me? Were you seeing him behind my back? Is that why you refused to leave?”
She stared at him, speechless and hurting and on the verge of panic. “That’s a petty and hateful thing to say.”
“I want to know. I deserve an answer.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Ask for the truth?” He crossed the room but stopped two feet away from her, as if he didn’t trust himself not to strike out at her if he got too close. “Is it Jacques?”
“Jacques?” If she hadn’t been so shaken she might have laughed. But she didn’t because the moment was breaking her heart. Instead, she said nothing more, and watched as the realization entered his expression. And it killed her inside to let him believe a lie.
Face dark with anger, he turned and stalked to the window. Lily looked at the lockbox, at all the information she’d accumulated on a man she’d dedicated her life to destroying, and for the first time since this nightmare had begun wondered if that goal was worth the sacrifices.
The Phoenix Encounter Page 7