by Anna Adams
“Good.” She hoped being a grandmother was a more instinctive response for her mom than motherhood had been.
“Good? That’s all you have for me?” Nita twisted her mouth in a little-girl pout. “I thought you’d be glad I wanted to make up for my shortcomings.”
At a thump overhead, Sophie concentrated on not glancing at the ceiling. “I don’t dwell on shortcomings.” Not entirely the truth, but she did try not to worry about the kind of maternal instincts she’d inherited. “I’m grateful for the car seat. You chose the safest brand.” She covered her belly with both hands. Her marriage so far had been based on the baby. Tonight, her mind was on her husband. “But I’m thinking of Ian right now. He’s leaving tomorrow. He didn’t expect my family to spend the night.” And neither had she. She’d anticipated a different kind of farewell.
“If you don’t want me…” Nita let the rest of her sentence tail off into silence while she shrugged out of her jacket. Finally she said briskly, “I’ll get a knife from the kitchen so we can open this box.”
And that settled that. Sophie opened a beer for her, and they both admired the new seat. Sophie ignored both the thudding upstairs and her mother’s repeated questioning glances.
At last Ian came down, his expression calm but his jacket missing, his dark tie loose in the open collar of an equally dark shirt. He stopped to gaze at the car seat box, his hands on his lean hips.
Sophie didn’t care what had taken him so long. She simply wanted to complete the undressing process he’d started in his rush to move things.
“Where’ve you been?” Nita asked. “We almost forgot you. Would you mind bringing the rest of my things in from the car?”
Sophie laughed nervously. “Mom,” she said, “I think you should stay at the B and B tonight. You can come back tomorrow morning.”
“It’s all right,” Ian said.
Sophie gaped at him. Nita here tonight was anything but all right. His dark-blue eyes sent her a message. Frustrated, she assumed he’d managed to stuff enough of their belongings into the guest room to make their marriage more convincing, but she still didn’t want her mother under her roof tonight.
“It’s all right,” he said again. “A little messy, Nita, but you’re welcome to use the guest room. I put some sheets and pillowcases on the bed in there. You’ll have to navigate the packing boxes.”
“Still haven’t unpacked, Sophie?” Nita stepped around her own contribution to the box population in their cabin. “Well, you’ll find time eventually. My daughter will gladly get you a beer, Ian, after all your hard work. You didn’t have to tidy up for me.”
“I know where the beer is.” He paused at Sophie’s side to rub her shoulders. “You’re tense. Go on up. Nita,” he said, “the remotes for the television are on that table at your elbow. I still have to pack for my trip tomorrow. Sophie’s exhausted, and I’m driving to Knoxville at about five in the morning.” His rueful glance at Sophie acknowledged that she wouldn’t be coming along now. “I’ll bring in your bags, but then I think we’re calling it a day.”
“I’m sure I can entertain myself.” Her voice was pitched a little high as she fumbled with the remotes. “Two? Could you show me how these work?”
“Sure. We both want you to feel at home. Soph? You going up?”
Sophie stood as if in a trance. She spun slowly on her heel, rocking a bit unsteadily. The full weight of what her mother’s staying in the guest room meant hit her. Ian would have to sleep in her room. With her.
She climbed the stairs and opened the door to find Ian’s bedding and clothing strewn across her floor, his scent hanging in the room. She carried his shampoo and deodorant, and all the other personal items he’d dropped in a towel on the floor, to the bathroom.
Then she picked up his clothing and began to fold, grateful to perform even so small a task in return for his keeping their secret from her mom.
WITH HIS MIND on his wife, Ian settled his mother-in-law on the living room couch with instructions for all the electronic equipment she might use. She dialed up a retro movie on the satellite he and Ethan had installed, and he thanked her again for the car seat.
Nita patted the remote, looking perfectly comfortable in her tight silver skirt and blouse, her hand wrapped around the beer bottle. “I’m fine for the night. I’ll find my way to bed later. Don’t you bother with me.”
Her smile actually flirted, but Ian assumed it was a reflex action. Nodding, he headed where he wanted to be, upstairs with his wife. On the landing, he paused to knock at the door. No doubt Nita found a man knocking at his own bedroom door suspicious, but Sophie’s feelings mattered more, and she might appreciate warning.
She snatched the door open and grabbed his arm to drag him inside. “Don’t knock. She’ll hear you.”
“I was just thinking of you.” He stopped dead. She’d tidied all the stuff he’d tossed into the room and taken a shower. She was now wearing a Seattle Mariners T-shirt he’d thought he’d lost around Christmastime. “You stole my shirt.”
Sophie colored from the neck up, making him curious about what went on below the collar of his faded shirt. The last time he’d seen her in it, it had fit her differently. Did she need those striped flannel pant-things?
“I forgot.” She crossed her arms defensively beneath her breasts. “You know how we were back then.” She tried to sweep her hair off her face, but whenever she showered, it seemed to swell with curls and humidity, and it simply tumbled against her soft skin. “Every time I saw you might have been the last time. I was afraid…” She tugged at the shirt’s hem. “I took it because I wanted something of yours to remind me, just in case.”
He laughed, pulling her close. She came with resistance, but he sensed embarrassment rather than rejection. “I wasn’t complaining. I like knowing I mattered to you.” He kissed the top of her head, his heart hammering. Being close to his wife reduced him to a mass of physical responses he couldn’t control. “You didn’t have to put away my things.”
“What if my mom had barged in? She might have insisted on a tour.”
“I would have said no.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You have that option, too.”
“No means so much to my mother.” She put her arms around him. “You’ve lost weight, and I’m gaining.”
“You look gorgeous, and you feel even better.” He ran his hands down her back, knowing she must be aware how she aroused him. “I can’t get enough of holding you.”
His chest muffled her chuckle. She tilted back her head. “I missed you, too.”
After all that had passed between them he was tentative, brushing his lips against hers. That swift kiss outside, partly to claim her for Nita’s benefit, hadn’t satisfied a single desire. He needed time to taste Sophie, to remember the million different ways her body responded to his. To feel what it might be like to have everything he’d ever dreamed of—family, real love—forever—if he could make his marriage work.
Sophie opened her mouth and he groaned, need surging almost uncontrollably. Kissing her now, in the privacy of their room, simply because he wanted to make love to his wife, changed everything they’d ever been to each other.
He pushed his hands beneath her shirt, seeking warm skin. She muttered his name and arched against him, making him aware of the new curves that cradled their baby. Her waist, though thicker, begged for the caress of his hands. He claimed her, possessive as he held her and their child between them.
“Do you think I’ll ever feel him kick?”
“Her,” Sophie said with her usual assurance, smiling as she flattened his palms against her stomach. “I don’t know why she’s shy with you.” Sophie brushed her lips along his jawline, her touch featherlight yet so seductive he shook with longing and wrenched his hands out of her grasp to hold her again. “You’ll catch her anytime now,” Sophie said.
He couldn’t talk anymore. With his mouth, he sought the column of her throat, the curve of her earlobe, the pulse beneath her e
ar.
As she trembled, he laughed against her skin. “You taste good.” He cupped her heavy breasts. “Can we get rid of the shirt?”
She stepped back, but finished undoing his tie, instead. It hissed as it slid through his collar, then she tossed it over his shoulder and started on his shirt buttons.
“Not mine,” he said. “Yours.”
“They’re both yours.”
“The one you’re wearing.”
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. “You’re wearing more.”
He reached to unbuckle his belt, but she leaned over his hands to follow the thin line of hair down his breastbone with her tongue. His breath hissed in this time, and he tangled his fingers in her hair, cupping her face.
“Finish with the pants,” she said, her skin hot against his.
He could follow orders when they suited him. His pants and belt thudded to the floor. He followed them, wrapping his arms around her. On his knees, he tugged the flannel pajamas down her hips and helped her step out of them.
Her hips were still narrow. Her thighs trembled as he kissed the waistline of her silk panties.
“Wait, wait,” she said. “I’m ahead of you again.”
“Will you shut up and let me make love to you?”
Instead, she laughed, throwing back her head with the pure joy he’d sorely missed. He climbed to his feet and urged her onto the bed, following her to the mattress. With his knee between hers, he leaned on one elbow and shucked his shirt. Hers went next, joining his on the floor.
Her sweet gaze, trusting, intense and hungry, captured his. With one hand on the back of his head, she pulled him into a kiss that made him forget to be gentle. He pushed her underwear down her legs and helped her remove his boxers.
But then he stopped, his body arrowed above hers.
“What?” Her voice, thick and urgent, nearly pushed him over the edge.
“We’re going too fast. Shouldn’t I be more gentle with you?” He ran his hand down her side, eagerly learning the new shape of her body.
She shivered, pressing his fingers against herself. “No.”
He kissed the deep-blue vein that ran from her collarbone to the peak of her breast. Even her skin looked different, more translucent. Her nipples were rounder. He sucked gently, shuddering when she groaned. She offered her other breast, and he curved his hand around hers, tasting her until she whispered his name in a savage demand.
She reached for his hips and pulled him over her. He moved slowly, intent on the pleasure in her voice. It was different this time. He needed her as badly as ever. He wanted her more, but he also wanted more for her. They weren’t playing around. They were husband and wife, one in this room away from the rest of the world and her loving octopus-family.
Inside these four walls, in each other’s arms, they were the only family that mattered. She was all to him as she cried out his name, clenching her hands on his hips. Still, he held back.
What if this feeling, this joining, was all in his mind? What if she didn’t feel it? He lowered his head to her breast again, pushing one hand above her head so that he nearly controlled her movements. She arched, working against his control. With her free hand, she clasped his head, gasping his name.
Suddenly she broke free of his hold and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips. He pushed her, holding his own need at bay. He wanted this wedding night to be more real to her than any moment they’d ever spent together.
“Ian, please,” she said against his ear. “Please.”
The plea undid him. He barely remembered in time to hold his weight off her. Sophie. Sophie. Her name repeated in his head, in his mouth. He kissed her over and over, gentling as his heartbeat slowed little by little.
“I’m here,” she said against his mouth.
He couldn’t help smiling at a concern that wasn’t like her at all. Before they’d made love with very little thought or concern. She’d always assumed he’d be fine. He hadn’t considered what she’d remember.
“What’s funny right this minute?” She sounded slightly disgruntled, though her flushed face and brilliant eyes said otherwise.
“You were worried about me.” He took her mouth with a husband’s conviction.
She stilled, but only for a second. “I think you worried first,” she said, and kissed him back until he was willing to admit whatever she required.
WAY TOO EARLY IN THE MORNING, Sophie waved her husband goodbye and wished she was going with him on that shopping trip. Ian put his arm out the window and waved just as the mist swallowed him and his car. She’d decided she couldn’t shop as if her mother hadn’t come to visit.
Behind her, the door opened. She steeled herself for commentary, hoping they hadn’t been too noisy. “Morning, Mom.” Nita was perfectly turned out in today’s theme—gold. A gold band holding her hair off her face, gold threads in her cashmere sweater, gold pumps peeking beneath bone gabardine slacks.
“Good morning.” Nita held up a delicate china cup. Part of the gift from Gran that Ian had carried in the night before. “I made coffee.”
Sophie smoothed her T-shirt over her stomach. “I’m off the stuff for now. Thanks, anyway.”
“Off? Oh, yes, that caffeine stricture during your pregnancy.” She sipped from the cup. “I’ll drink an extra cup for you. What’s your plan for today?”
“I want to meet Grandpa for lunch.” Sophie consulted her watch. She had hours before Grandpa would show up at his usual lunch spot, the Train Depot Café in town. “I need some business advice, and I think he’ll be there. Do you mind if I call him?”
“Not at all. I have a date myself.” Nita looked pleased. “With your father.”
Sophie grabbed the rail that bordered the porch steps. “You could knock me over with a feather.”
“You’re just a little off balance, that’s all.”
Sophie smiled. “Cute, Mom. Tell me it’s not odd that you and Dad, who can barely stand breathing the same air, twenty-one years after you left, are sharing lunch today.”
“I insisted on meeting in public,” her mom said. “I’ve persuaded your aunt Eliza to make us lunch. Meeting in front of family will drive your father crazy, and the B and B’s dining room is much safer than his house. We won’t be tempted to bean each other with our plates.”
How could she argue? “Good plan.” Sophie hauled herself up the steps. “Come inside. I’ll make toast and juice. I need something to get me through a shock like this.”
“And you’re probably tired, too.”
Nita sounded knowing. Sophie blushed, but then she looked back over last night and went all mushy inside. She wasn’t usually the type to go mushy.
Last night had been different. As passionate as ever, maybe even more so. But those hours in Ian’s arms had been spiced with a new generosity of spirit. They were no longer just taking from each other. They were both learning to give.
SETH CALVERT HID a grin as his granddaughter eased into a green-vinyl-clad booth, which was a tighter squeeze than it used to be. He squeezed her hand. “I should have taken a table, but since you asked me not to tell your gran about our lunch, I’m keeping a low profile.”
“This is good.” She adjusted her jacket around her swollen tummy and glanced at the steady stream of customers. “I like the privacy.”
The Train Depot Café was what its name suggested, a café built in the no-longer-used depot that had housed the old Bardill’s Ridge train station. A long Formica counter served farmers perched on fat green stools. A chalkboard above the open cooking area displayed today’s specials. Seth passed Sophie one of the laminated menus that stood in a chrome rack on their table.
“What’ll you have?”
Her lips curled a little, in the way women had of showing their morning sickness.
“I’m not sure. I’m not feeling that well.”
“Your gran always said crackers did the trick.”
“I’m crackered out, Grandpa.”
> Their server, a boy who looked too young to have a steady job, came to the table. “What for you, Judge Calvert?”
“Coffee and something…let’s see, how about tuna on toast, Sophie?”
“Dry tuna, if it’s white with no oil.” She shut her menu. “Sorry to be so fussy.”
“That’s okay,” the teenager said. “You want that, too, Judge?” he asked, clearly unwilling to believe a man could choke down such a meal.
“Yes, and a glass of milk for my granddaughter.”
The kid nodded at Sophie and left them. Seth waited for her to start. She didn’t.
“What did you want to discuss?” he asked as she readjusted her silverware for the fourth time. “I know you said business, but your gran handles everything up at the baby farm.”
Sophie looked at him, surprised, but smiling. “She wouldn’t like to hear you calling it that.”
“She wouldn’t be that stunned. She’s never believed I respected her calling to work up there.”
Sophie narrowed her gaze, the same green eyes almost every Calvert was born with. “Are you being sarcastic when you say she has a calling, Grandpa?”
“A little.” He took a glass of milk and a glass of water from their server and passed them to her. She drank deeply of the water. “Are you all right, Sophie?”
“Fine.” She slipped her napkin from beneath her cutlery and spread it on her lap.
“I don’t interfere up at the resort.”
“I really wanted to ask your advice.” She lifted the water glass again and almost drained it.
“But you’re nervous?” He worked her problem out loud. “You don’t really want to talk to me, but you have to. This has something to do with Greta.”
She nodded. “That covers the harder parts. Ian and I were talking one night and he mentioned a clinic. Just as a joke, really.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “He may think I work too hard.”
“Let me welcome him to my club.”
Sophie sat back with a frown. “What?”
“Your gran works too hard, too. It’s time she let go up there, and I know she trusts you.” He and Greta had never aired their differences in front of their children or grandchildren, and Sophie was in no shape to be the first to hear of his discontent. “What about this clinic?”