Husband for a Weekend

by Gina Wilkins

  * * *

  Every muscle in her body ached. Kim stretched slowly on the bed, trying to work out kinks that seemed to have set in permanently. She was still wearing her T-shirt and shorts—even her bra—none of which were particularly comfortable for sleeping. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face and her mouth felt as though it were filled with sand. She rolled to the side of the bed, groaned when the movement resulted in even more discomfort, and staggered to the bathroom.

  A few minutes later, she returned to the bedroom, still feeling terrible but somewhat more presentable. Peering blearily at the bedside clock, she was shocked to see that it was almost 5:00 a.m. Had she really just slept for ten solid hours?

  Daryn! She jerked open the door she knew she had left fully open the night before and hurried toward the nursery, only to stop short in the doorway. She could see at a glance that Daryn was still sleeping peacefully, but it was the man sprawled in the rocker who held her attention.

  Tate had kicked off his shoes and propped his feet on the footstool. He was sound asleep, his head resting against the back cushion of the padded chair, his arms lying loosely in his lap. He wore his usual work clothes of khakis and a polo shirt—maroon, this time—and there was a tiny hole in the toe of one of his khaki-colored socks. Maybe her illness weakened her to the point of finding that rather adorable.

  He couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He was going to be as sore as she was when he awoke. Should she rouse him now? He seemed to be sleeping so soundly.

  She swallowed, and her inflamed throat protested angrily. Lifting a hand to her throat, she bit her lip for a moment in indecision, looked at her daughter again, then turned away. Maybe she’d go back to bed and let everyone sleep undisturbed for a little while longer.

  Dressed more comfortably in yoga pants and a clean, looser T-shirt, she slipped beneath the top sheet on her bed and rested her aching head on the pillow. She really should contemplate the fact that Tate had spent the night babysitting. Or she should try to decide what to say to him when he woke. Instead, she closed her eyes and let her mind go blank—not a difficult task considering how lousy she felt.

  The next time she opened her eyes, another two hours had passed. She groaned.

  Her head still hurt, her throat was still sore, and her muscles still hated her, but she thought maybe she felt just a little better. Maybe she would survive this bug, after all.

  She needed to check on Daryn again. And she needed to face Tate, though she still had no clue what she was going to say to him. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about him being there. Annoyed? Grateful? Embarrassed? All of the above?

  The nursery was empty now. She headed for the front of the house, stunned that she had slept so soundly again that she hadn’t heard Daryn wake up. Daryn should have had her breakfast an hour ago. Maybe Tate had given her a bottle to hold her over.

  She stood in the living room doorway, taking in the scene there. Daryn sat on her play blanket on the floor, her prop pillow behind her to keep her from toppling backward as she played with the toys strewn in front of her. She wore a lavender romper and one of her stretchy headbands with a lavender bow. The bow was tipped a little far over one ear and her hair was combed rather oddly, but it was obvious that Tate had made an effort to dress her nicely.

  It was so darned annoying that he kept being so sweet.

  Speaking of Tate, he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Daryn, making the baby gurgle by dancing Mr. Jingles across the blanket. Along with the impromptu puppeteering, he sang a little song about monkeys dancing in the jungle…not a song she recognized. Apparently, he was making it up as he went along. Whatever its source, the song delighted Daryn—and it was causing a similar reaction in Kim, despite her resistance.

  She cleared her throat, which she immediately regretted. “Good morning.”

  Daryn squealed and kicked, almost tipping over despite the pillow. She caught herself at the last minute. Tate put down the monkey, looking a little sheepish as he climbed to his feet. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

  “Better.”

  He eyed her closely, then stepped forward to rest a hand against her forehead. “You’re still too warm. I’d say you still have a low-grade fever.”

  She drew back a little, not quite trusting herself to be touched by him without melting into a puddle. “Since when did you get a medical degree?”

  “Doesn’t take a medical degree to see that your cheeks are red, your eyes glassy and you’re swaying on your feet. Sit down, I’ll get you something to drink. You don’t want to dehydrate. Water or juice?”

  The litany of ways that she looked ill wasn’t particularly flattering, but she told herself that didn’t matter. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine now that I’ve had some rest.”

  “I’ll just hang around for a little while longer. I haven’t had breakfast yet. You wouldn’t send me out hungry, would you?”

  That was an excuse, of course, but she sighed and conceded, “Of course you’re welcome to have breakfast before you go.”

  After all, the least she could do in repayment for his selflessness last night was to feed him. “I could make some eggs or pancakes.”

  He grinned. “Um—thanks, but no thanks, Germ Lady. You sit down. I’ll cook.”

  Pouting a little, she sank to the couch. “So I’m a germ lady with a red face and glassy eyes. Lovely.”

  “Yes,” he said with a smile that made her toes curl. “You are lovely.”

  She gulped and said hastily, “Fine. You can make breakfast. I guess I don’t have to tell you to make yourself at home.”

  “I guess I have. By the way, I helped myself to a new toothbrush I found in your guest bath.” Handing Mr. Jingles to Daryn, he sauntered into the kitchen.

  What was wrong with her? Even his ambling looked sexy.

  “Mamamama.”

  Directing her attention quickly back to her daughter, she moved to pick her up and snuggle her. “I’m sorry I neglected you last night, sweetie. But it looks as though you were well cared for.”

  Daryn grinned and patted her cheek with a hand still damp from being in her mouth. Kim didn’t care about that. She was still feeling guilty about crashing the way she had. She wanted to believe she’d have been fine taking care of her daughter during the night even if Tate hadn’t shown up out of the blue to take over, but she knew she had needed the sleep.

  A short while later, Tate called her to the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready.”

  Carrying Daryn with her, Kim joined him. “Oatmeal?”

  He nodded, setting two steaming bowls on the table. “I thought you’d appreciate something soft and easy to swallow. Sounds as though your throat is still pretty sore.”

  “It is,” she conceded. “And this smells delicious.”

  “I added a little brown sugar and cinnamon. My mom always made this for me when I was sick.”

  She put Daryn in the high chair and handed her a wooden spoon to play with. “Actually, my mom did, too. She made oatmeal a lot on the ranch. It was Stan’s favorite breakfast. He liked it with raisins and walnuts sprinkled on top.”

  Adding a glass of orange juice at each place, Tate asked lightly, “You said you liked Stan?”

  “He was okay. A total mismatch for Mom, obviously. He didn’t have the patience for her shenanigans, as he called them. Has Daryn eaten?”

  Following the change of subject willingly enough, Tate nodded. “I fed her a jar of that baby cereal I found in the pantry and a sippy cup of milk. I assumed that would be suitable.”

  She blinked a few times as she sank into her seat. “Yes, that was fine. I have to admit I’m impressed that you managed to take care of everything while I was out of commission.”

  He settled into his own seat and reached for his
spoon. “Impressed or stunned?”

  She smiled wryly. “Both. You’re the one who said you know nothing about taking care of babies.”

  “I don’t,” he confessed. “But I’m a quick study. I watched you take care of her and just imitated what I saw. It helps that she’s an easygoing type of kid. Some would have pitched a fit at being cared for by an awkward greenhorn, but Daryn just went with it, for the most part.”

  “Well, it’s not like you’re a stranger to her. She knows you.”

  Tate winked at Daryn. “Yeah. I’m the monkey wrangler, right, Daryn?”

  Daryn beat a slow tattoo on the high chair tray with her spoon. Kim was reassured that her daughter, at least, was feeling better this morning, even if the child wasn’t quite back to her usual upbeat self.

  She let a spoonful of warm oatmeal slide down her raw throat, followed it with a sip of juice, then looked again at Tate. “You slept in the rocking chair.”

  When he lifted his eyebrows in question, she explained, “I got up before dawn to check on Daryn and I saw you there. I didn’t know whether to wake you.”

  “I meant to crash on the couch, but every time I woke to make sure Daryn was okay I fell asleep in the chair again,” he admitted.

  “You couldn’t have been comfortable.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve slept in less comfortable places.”

  Kim’s appetite faded before she finished the bowl of oatmeal. She took another couple of bites because he had gone to the trouble of preparing it for her, but then set down her spoon, unable to swallow any more.

  “I made coffee earlier. Should still be hot. Want a cup?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “How about some herbal tea? I saw several kinds in the cupboard. That would probably feel good on your throat.”

  “I’ll have some later. Seriously, Tate, you can leave anytime. I’m sure you’d like to go home and change. You probably have other plans for today. Daryn and I will be fine.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, a bit vaguely. “But first I’ll clean up the kitchen. Don’t want to leave you with dirty dishes when you aren’t feeling well.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  He merely gave her a look and started gathering dishes.

  Knowing when to concede, she took Daryn out of the high chair and carried her back into the living room. She would deal with Tate after she took something for her aching head, she promised herself.

  * * *

  Leaving Daryn on her tummy on the play blanket, Kim ducked into the bathroom to swallow two over-the-counter pain relievers with a handful of water from the tap. She rubbed her temples as she returned to the living room.

  “Head still hurting?”

  Seeing Tate on the couch, she dropped her hands. “That was some fast cleaning.”

  He shrugged. “I clean as I go. All I had to do was rinse the bowls and stick them in the dishwasher.”

  “I see. Then you can—”

  “You didn’t answer. Do you still have a headache?”

  “Yes, but I’ll be fine—”

  He patted the couch beside him. “Sit. Unless you want to go lie down again? The monkette and I will be fine in here.”

  “The monkette?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I called her that a few times last night and it always made her laugh. Not that I think she really understood me or anything, but something about the word struck her as funny. Right, monkette?”

  Daryn giggled.

  “See?”

  Kim looked from Tate to Daryn and back again. She wasn’t sure how she felt about him giving her daughter a cutesy nickname, making himself indispensable when they were sick, acting as though she could count on him to be there next time she needed him.

  “Really, Tate. You should go.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Well…because you should.”

  “That’s not much of an answer, Kim. And sit down, you’re looking wobbly again.”

  “I am not wobbly.” She pushed a hand through her hair, then had to take a quick sidestep when her head spun with the movement. “Not much, anyway,” she muttered.

  He stood, put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the couch. “I know you can handle anything life throws at you without asking for a thing, and I admire you enormously for your courage and self-sufficiency, but every once in a while it’s okay to let someone give you a hand, you know? I have nothing better to do today than to keep an eye on Daryn while you get over this bug. I even have a change of clothes in the car.”

  She frowned. Did that mean he made a habit of staying over at random places?

  Perhaps he read her thoughts on her face as he took a seat beside her. “I keep a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and some running shoes in the trunk in case someone suggests a game of pickup basketball or touch football after work. I don’t make a practice of spending the night out. You’re actually the only woman I’ve shared a bed with since we met that day in the Chinese restaurant. Five months and three weeks ago, not that I’m counting. I’m not sure if I’ve just lost some cool points by admitting that, but I thought you should know.”

  It was a good thing she was already sitting down, because her knees might have buckled then. Surely he wasn’t saying that she was the reason he hadn’t been with another woman in all that time? “You—uh—”

  “It’s strange, I know,” he continued conversationally, though his eyes were focused intently on her face. “All those months I kept telling myself I couldn’t ask you out because of your daughter, and because of your friendship with Lynette—but the minute an opportunity arose for me to spend time with you and Daryn, I jumped on it with both feet. Even though it was a pretty damned crazy idea.”

  She couldn’t smile in response to the description, even though he spoke teasingly. Unless she was mistaken—and she wasn’t—Tate was making a declaration here. And the spinning in her head had little to do now with whatever germ had been skipping around in her bloodstream.

  “Tate, we agreed. We’re friends, nothing more. I told you there can’t be anything more for me. Because of Daryn.”

  “Nice excuse. But I don’t buy it anymore.”

  She frowned. “I don’t—”

  “Let’s leave Daryn out of this for a minute. If you didn’t have her—if it was just you and me—would you be sending me away?”

  “I… That isn’t relevant. I can’t pretend my daughter doesn’t exist.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m asking if she wasn’t in the picture, would you be interested in me?”

  “I think you know the answer to that,” she said, the memory of their night together deepening her voice.

  He nodded in satisfaction. “You care about me.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “I…could,” she admitted grudgingly. “If things were different.”

  “You know what I think, Kim?” His voice was as gentle as his hands when he took both of hers in his. “I think you’re hiding behind Daryn to protect yourself.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re wrong about that. I can take care of myself. I can deal with disappointment and loss. I don’t want Daryn to have to learn how so early.”

  “You’re so sure there’s going to be disappointment and loss,” he said solemnly.

  “Because there always is,” she whispered.

  His fingers tightened around hers. “I’m not those men from your past, Kim. I’m not your father or your stepfathers or Daryn’s father. I come from a long line of men who create families and then stay with them for a lifetime. My grandparents have been married fifty-four years. My parents will celebrate their thirty-fourth anniversary in November. I had an uncle who divorced his wife once, but they rem
arried two years later and stayed together until he died. We stick, thick or thin.”

  His mouth tilted into a little smile. “When my dad had the talk with me—the one about always using protection?—he told me a real man doesn’t have kids he isn’t willing to raise. He told me not to make commitments if I wasn’t prepared to do whatever it took to fulfill them. He told me if I couldn’t offer everything I have—my heart, my loyalty, my entire future—then I shouldn’t be making any offers at all. I took those words to heart. I’ve had girlfriends, but they knew from the start that I wouldn’t be pressured into saying anything I didn’t mean or making promises I couldn’t keep. I’ve never told any woman I loved her. Until now.”

  Her hands jumped in his. “You—”

  “I love you,” he supplied when her voice faded. “I have for months. And I plan to stick around for however long it takes to convince you that you can count on me not to take off when the going gets rough.”

  “Tate, I—”

  “You’re sick. You’re feverish. I’m unshaven and grubby from a night in a rocking chair. I didn’t exactly choose the most romantic moment to spring this on you, did I?” he asked ruefully. “But maybe that helps make my point? Even after the night I just spent, I’m in no hurry to leave. And even when you’re sick and feverish and trying your best to chase me away, I want you so badly my teeth hurt.”

  Her pulse rate jumped. “I can’t—”

  “You aren’t ready. I understand. I just thought you should know how I feel. You keep saying you don’t want Daryn hurt, that you don’t want to be hurt yourself, but I’m telling you that if I leave now, it wouldn’t be because I don’t want to stay, but because you would be sending me away.”

  She found herself wanting so badly to believe him that she ached with it, an ache she didn’t even try to blame on her illness. Tate was in love with her? Or thought he was. But there was no way he could guarantee it would last a lifetime, despite his family history.