Whisper of Love (The Bradens at Peaceful Harbor, Book Five)

by Melissa Foster

  He nodded, conflicting emotions evident in his trusting eyes and tense expression.

  “Let me do this,” she urged. “For both of you. Think about it, Nash. This will give you a taste of what it might be like when he goes to preschool. Pick up the chainsaw; see if it still speaks to you the way it once did.”

  He glanced over her shoulder again. “How can it be this hard? I trust you. I really do.”

  “Because that’s what love is.” She stepped back in case Phillip walked in. “You love him so much you don’t want him to stumble, but kids have to know they can figure things out and stand on their own two feet. He can’t do that without being given the chance. And he’s like your security blanket, too. It’s a big step for both of you.”

  Nash’s lips tipped up and he pulled her close again, giving her a chaste kiss. “You must have been a mom in a previous life.”

  “I have lots of younger siblings, and my parents were big on teaching us to be independent.”

  “Let’s ask Phillip, okay?” He took her hand and together they went out front. Phillip looked up from where he was playing, and Nash crouched, still holding Tempest’s hand, as he brought her down beside him.

  “Hey, buddy, would you like to go with Tempe to play music with other kids?”

  Phillip’s brows knitted. His eyes moved between the two of them, settling on Nash. A silent message she couldn’t read passed between them.

  “Just you and Tempe,” Nash explained. “I’ll stay here and work, and I’ll see you the minute you get back.” He squeezed Tempest’s hand so tight she knew he was channeling all his worries in an effort to sound positive, and it made her fall even harder for him.

  Phillip’s eyes found their joined hands and then skipped up to Tempest’s face, and he smiled. She felt like she’d been holding her breath waiting for an answer, and when he reached for her other hand, her heart nearly exploded.

  Nash walked them to the car and transferred Phillip’s car seat to her backseat. After strapping him in and kissing him a dozen times, he took Tempest’s hands with a loving look tinged with worry. “Thank you,” he said. “I think you’re right. This will be good for us. All three of us.”

  A swarm of butterflies let loose in her belly. “I hope so. I’ll make sure he’s fine. If he’s doing really well, I’ll text you. If you’re also doing well,” she said lightly, “I’ll take him out for a while longer so you have more time. Try to remember who Nash Morgan the man, the artist, the creative genius is, and let Nash Morgan the daddy take a break.”

  His chin dropped for a beat, a small smile lifting his lips. He looked at her from beneath the bill of his ball cap, giving her another trusting gaze. “I’m becoming more of the man I used to be every day, only better. Thanks to you.”

  THE FIRST FEW minutes in Nash’s sculpting studio were the hardest. He was flooded with excitement one minute and drowned in guilt the next. Was it wrong to be pumped about getting back to sculpting if it was at the expense of being separated from his son? What if Phillip wasn’t having a good time? What if he was clingy and making it difficult for Tempest to teach the class? That thought stopped him in his tracks, and his eyes hit the door. He’d been so worried about his son, he hadn’t weighed the reality of what Tempest’s offer had meant for her. He felt for his phone in his pocket, but she’d promised to text if there were any issues. You trust me, right? Yes, he definitely did.

  It had been so long since he’d cared about anyone other than family and even longer since he had wanted someone to care about him. Since she’d moved in, he’d greedily soaked up their closeness like a sponge. He wanted to watch the sun come up with her in his arms every morning, but he couldn’t risk Phillip finding them together like that. It had been especially hard to leave her the first night he’d told her about PJ, but when they’d finally gone to their separate bedrooms, with the burden of his secret lifted, he’d slept better than he had in years. She was good for both of them in so many ways.

  He pushed open the back doors to the barn, his gaze landing on his heavy leather tool belt hanging by the tool bench. There was a time when he’d worn it so often the leather had been soft and pliable, but now it was stiff. He didn’t wear it when he worked on furniture. But he wore it when he was sculpting larger pieces, after the bulk was removed and the piece was molded into form and he was refining his work. His eyes shifted to the unfinished sculpture of the boy looking up at the sky.

  Hope fluttered in his chest. Would there actually come a time when he might finish this sculpture? When I might make more? Guilt perched on his shoulders again. Tempest and Phillip had been gone for twenty minutes and were probably at the community center by now. Was he okay? Was Tempest regretting her decision? He pulled out his phone to check his messages and was mildly relieved to see there were none.

  Am I going to worry about you two every minute?

  Returning his attention to the reason Tempest had offered to take Phillip in the first place, he maneuvered the sculpture of the boy looking up toward the sky onto the dolly and rolled it outside. His pulse kicked up at the simple transition. A little while later, after donning gloves, headphones, and safety goggles, his body vibrating from the force of the chainsaw, Nash was completely absorbed in the project. Muscles he hadn’t used in forever twitched and burned as he maneuvered the edge of the blade to carve away the blocky wood. When his muscle memory kicked in, the light touch he’d spent years honing returned. He expertly maneuvered the blade, getting just the right depth on each cut as he carved the child’s elbows and knees, hips, and feet. Wood shavings flew around him like confetti, covering his clothing and puddling at his feet. The smell of gasoline and fresh-cut wood hung in the air. Heaven.

  A rush of adrenaline hit as the form took shape, and he swiftly moved from the chainsaw to the wood shaper and then to smaller tools, defining wrinkles in the denim around the boy’s knees and ankles and the creases around his fly. He took off his hat and brushed the wood shavings from it as he stepped back to admire his work. Grinning like a fool, he marveled at the piece he’d created. There was still a lot to do, but hell if it wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned when he’d first begun making it all those years ago. Sonofabitch. I’ve still got it.

  “DADDY!” PHILLIP RAN through the barn and bolted out the back doors toward Nash with a handful of colorful pipe cleaners.

  Shocked that they were back so soon, Nash scooped him up before he could get too close to his tools. “That was fast. Did you have fun?” He reached for Tempe and she took his hand. Feeling exhilarated, he tugged her closer, putting his arm around her waist.

  “We were gone three hours,” she said, taking his hand. “I texted to let you know we were going to get ice cream, and then we walked through some of the shops. Didn’t you get the message?”

  Three hours? He hadn’t spent three hours apart from Philip since his son was a baby. He must have been so into his work, thoughts of Phillip had slipped away completely. He didn’t know what that said about him. He didn’t have a chance to respond to Tempest because Phillip was talking as fast as he possibly could.

  “We played music with xylathings and tamberns and shaky sticks, and we had ice cweam. I made fwends. Know what else? Dad? Dad!”

  Nash’s jaw hung open as he listened to his boy say more in sixty seconds than he’d said in the last two days. “I’m listening, buddy. Tell me more.”

  “Look what Miss Hattie gived me!” Phillip shoved the pipe cleaners in Nash’s face. “Tempe’s going to help me make animals with ’em.” He wiggled out of his arms and pointed at the sculpture. “Who’s that?”

  “Don’t go near those tools, buddy.”

  Phillip stopped walking, and Nash put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s just a boy I made. Do you like him?” He kissed Tempest’s cheek and lowered his voice. “Who’s Miss Hattie?”

  “She owns the art boutique where I’m playing Friday afternoon. We stopped by so I could see the setup. She has the most incredible kids’ area.
Phillip loved it.” Tempest stepped closer to the sculpture with an awestruck expression. “You cannot keep making furniture when you have this inside you.”

  “What do you have inside you?” Phillip asked.

  Nash laughed, kissed Tempest’s cheek, and then bent down and kissed Phillip’s. “Just a lot of love, buddy, and probably a whole lot of sawdust.”

  After Nash cleaned up, they fed the animals and made pipe cleaner pets. Or rather, Tempest made them, because Nash wasn’t nearly as adept with pipe cleaners as he was with a chainsaw. Phillip told him all about his afternoon with Tempest again while they ate dinner. In one afternoon she’d managed to show both of them what they were capable of with a little trust.

  Later that night they sat around a bonfire singing “Five Little Monkeys.” He’d never seen his son giggle as much as he had when they sang about a monkey falling off the bed. It might have helped that Nash pretended to fall off the log he’d been sitting on each time he sang the line. Nash had done it as much to earn one of Tempest’s sweet laughs as he had for Phillip’s entertainment.

  Phillip leaned against Nash’s shoulder as Tempest sang one of the songs she’d written for a client. “They crossed their hearts, swore on stars. Promised to keep you safe, to love you through.” She hummed a few more bars and then she stopped playing and motioned for Phillip to come to her. “Let’s let Daddy play now.”

  She held her guitar out toward Nash, and Phillip climbed up on her lap. “Daddy doesn’t play guitar.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and whispered, “Daddy is so talented. There’s nothing he can’t do.”

  Their eyes met and he felt all the emotions he’d been holding back come tumbling forward. He’d wanted to take things slow because he was worried about Phillip, and if he were honest with himself, he was also a little scared. And now, as he watched her loving up his son, other emotions warred within him. He’d loved being back in the throes of carving today, but he was still struggling to figure out how Phillip could have escaped his mind during those three amazing hours.

  “Play, Dad,” Phillip said, bringing him back to the moment.

  “I haven’t played in years.”

  “You also hadn’t sculpted in years, and look what you did. It’s like riding a bike. You never really forget.” She kissed Phillip’s cheek. “Right, Phillip? You want to hear Daddy play music, don’t you?”

  Phillip nodded and yawned. He snuggled against Tempest as Nash’s fingers fell into place, and one of his favorite songs, the one that had kept him company for all those years on the road, came out. Guess it is like riding a bike. The words to “Something” by George Harrison came as if he’d been singing it every day of his life. As he sang about something in her eyes, and something in her smile, his brother’s words came back to him. When you meet a girl who rocks your world, this is the song you’ll play.

  Damn, bro, you were right.

  He played the whole song, and then he played another and another, feeling lighter than he had in years. But as his eyes fell on Tempest, his little boy fast asleep in her arms, there were no words for what he felt. He set the guitar down and reached for Phillip, but Tempest shook her head.

  “Do you mind if I carry him?”

  Never in a million years would he have thought he could feel what he did at that moment. “Sure.”

  With his hand on her back, they headed upstairs.

  “I love listening to you sing,” she said as he changed Phillip into his pajamas.

  “Then I’ll sing for you more often.” He tucked Phillip into bed and brushed a kiss over his forehead.

  “May I?” She motioned toward Phillip. Just when he didn’t think his heart could get any fuller, she whispered, “Good night, sweetheart. I was so proud of you today,” and kissed his little boy, proving him wrong.

  Chapter Thirteen

  NASH CLOSED THE door to Phillip’s bedroom and started down the hallway with Tempest, so overcome with emotion, it was a struggle not to take her in his arms and finally show her just how much he cared for her. But his loving thoughts were clouded by something he’d been grappling with all evening.

  “Tempe, about this afternoon.”

  “Thank you for letting me take him.” She stopped walking and smiled up at him. “He had such a good time, and he did really well with the other kids.”

  “I’m glad, but I have to tell you something. I haven’t had time away from Phillip since he was an infant, and then today I got so caught up in what I was doing, I didn’t think about him.” He shifted his eyes away, a stab of guilt piercing his chest. “At first I did, but once I got busy, I don’t know what happened. I just…didn’t. What does that say about me as a father?”

  She stopped walking and touched his hand. “It says you trusted me, and you trusted Phillip. You knew I’d call if there was an issue, and if there had been, and you didn’t answer the call, I would have brought him home. But that didn’t happen. We both had an amazing time. Actually, I think all three of us did. You needed that time, Nash. You’re a different man than you were before you had that time alone. I see it in your eyes, and I feel it in your touch, and even in the way you look at Phillip. He’s your baby, but he’s not a baby. He’s a smart, friendly, curious little boy who is loved beyond this world. You are an incredible dad, Nash. Let yourself be an incredible man, too.”

  She grabbed his shirt, tugging him closer and setting his body ablaze. “There is nothing bad about what happened today. Please don’t twist it into something it’s not.”

  When she flattened her hands against his chest and kissed the center of it, he angled her face up, needing to see her, to feel their connection even deeper. A stream of silent messages passed between them—I want you. I’m right here. I’m nervous. I’ve got you. She touched his cheek, caressing his jaw with a desperate look in her eyes. He was right there with her, and he was done trying to fight the pressure building inside him.

  “Tempest,” he whispered, and lowered his mouth to hers, intending to kiss her tenderly, to take things slow. But she tasted sweet and hot, and all of the emotions of the past two weeks surged forward, unshackling his inner savage.

  His mouth opened wider, and his tongue thrust deeper. He groped her ass, tightening his hold on her hair like a beast, tugging her head back and exposing her luscious neck for him to claim. He ground against her hips, spurred on by her heady pleas and the feel of her knee sliding up his thigh. He grabbed hold of it, rocking against her as he captured her mouth again, and when that wasn’t enough, he lifted her into his arms. Her legs circled his waist and he stumbled forward with the force of their kiss. Her back hit the wall with a thud, and they broke apart, both of them panting, eyes wide with alarm, listening for Phillip.

  After an interminable number of seconds, their mouths crashed together again. Their teeth clanked, tongues thrust in urgent, wet kisses so frigging good he got swept away, and her back thudded against the wall again. He reluctantly tore his mouth away. Her eyes widened, but a soft laugh escaped her swollen lips, and it did him in. He carried her into her bedroom, and she clung to him as he lowered her to the bed, her arms and legs wound tightly around his neck and waist, her gorgeous eyes appeared electric in the dimly lit room. His mouth swooped down and captured hers again as he came down over her. They both moaned as their bodies sank deeper into the mattress. Her hands played over the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He deepened the kiss, opening his eyes with the need to see her as she writhed beneath him. Her hair fanned out over the pillow, her eyes fluttered open, and he drew back, gazing deeply into them.

  “Tempe,” he whispered, wanting to say much more. But lost in a world of lust and need, he was incapable of forming another word.

  She pushed her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers, lifting her hips off the mattress, she moved against him in a slow, sensual rhythm. A raspy groan left his lungs as he met her efforts with a thrust of his hips. Emotions warred in his mind. He wanted to stay right the
re, drowning in her taste, reveling in her hungry mouth, but he also wanted to fast-forward, tear off every shred of her clothing, and bury himself so deep and hard they’d both lose their minds. A long, low moan vibrated up her chest and into their kiss, driving him out of his fucking mind. And then another thought crashed into him—Phillip.

  Fuck.

  He needed to close the door. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Tearing himself away was torture, and his mouth refused to obey, going back for more again and again before he finally found the strength to pull away.

  “Phillip,” he said hastily, and backed off the bed. His erection strained against his jeans as he closed her bedroom door.

  He tugged off his shirt and ran a hand nervously down his chest as he came down over her. Her cheeks glowed with the flush of arousal. Her lips were slick from their kisses. She looked delicate and feminine, and exquisitely tempting. He perched on his forearms, his heart beating so fast he was sure she could feel it pulsing in the air between them.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  She ran trembling fingers up his arms. “Hi,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

  He brushed his lips over hers. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  He kissed her then, with all the tenderness he’d meant to before, bracing himself with one arm so he could touch her face, stroke her cheek, and brush his fingers through her hair. She was so soft, and her skin was so warm. He wanted to feel all of her, to revel in every breath she took.

  “I couldn’t love kissing you more,” he whispered, and pressed his lips to the tender spot beside her ear.

  Her fingers curled around his arms, and he brought his mouth to hers again, more demanding and possessive, wanting to brand her as his. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, rocking and grinding as he moved lower, running his tongue over the frantic pulse at the base of her neck. Her breasts pressed against him with each anticipatory breath. He kissed a path down the center of her chest, feeling her breathing hitch as he tugged down the neckline of her dress and dragged his tongue across the swell of one beautiful breast.