And she’d never forgive herself for not telling him—or his family, when she’d thought he was gone forever—and letting his mother die without ever knowing she had a granddaughter.
Even if he’d been dead, as she’d assumed, she should have gone to his parents. She knew it, and she knew it was part of the anger that leaped in his eyes each time he dropped the carefully friendly facade.
She shivered as she assembled ingredients for biscuit dough and got out broccoli. He would never forgive her for that. Never.
The kid was a ball of fire. He sat on the floor of his daughter’s bedroom later that evening, listening to the sounds of her bath progressing. He wondered who was wetter, Phoebe or the kid. Bridget made noise nonstop, giggling, squealing and occasionally shouting. In the background, intermittent splashing indicated that the bath wasn’t quite over yet.
A few moments later, he heard Phoebe’s footsteps in the hallway. She stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, the baby in her arms.
Bridget was wrapped in some kind of white towel with a hood, and she sent him a cheery smile that showed her two front teeth. Phoebe set her down beside him, and her diaper made a funny plastic hiss when she plopped down on the carpet. She immediately began waving her little arms, opening and closing her fingers, her babbling beginning to escalate in pitch until Phoebe snatched up a book and thrust it into her hands. Bridget squealed, a sound so high-pitched that it made him wince.
Yep, definitely a ball of fire.
And he meant that almost literally, Wade decided, eyeing the brilliant curls, still damp from her bath, that peeped out from beneath the edges of the white terry cloth on her head.
“Time to get you into your pajamas, little miss.” Phoebe came over and sank down beside them holding a set of pink pajamas. “Here,” she said to Wade. “If you want to keep her next week, you’d better start practicing how to get baby clothes on and off. Sometimes I think the manufacturers sit around and brainstorm ways to confuse parents. Hey, c’mere, you.” She deftly snagged the baby, who had begun to roll out of reach. “Oh, no you don’t. It’s bedtime.”
Bedtime.
If someone had told him he’d be sleeping under the same roof with Phoebe two days after he’d flown east, he’d have figured they were nuts.
Bedtime. Phoebe.
How the hell was he going to sleep knowing she was right in the next room?
His daughter screeched as Phoebe set her in front of him again. “Go for it,” she said, smiling.
“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled. “I had to learn by doing, so it’s only fair that you have the same experience.”
“Thanks.” He picked up the pajamas. There were snaps in places he didn’t even know snaps could be sewn. And his hands were about twice the size of the little piece of clothing. This was going to be interesting. To his relief, Phoebe returned to the dresser from which the pajamas had come and began putting away items from a clothes basket set atop it.
Twenty minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief. “There. I think that’s it.”
She came over and knelt beside him to look, then raised her gaze to his and nodded. “You got it. You pass Clothing the Baby 101.”
He snorted. “What’s 102?”
“Well, 102,” she said, “is the class where you learn the Murphy’s Laws of Childrearing. Like, ‘a child does not have to go to the potty until after you have completely zipped, buttoned and snapped every loose fastener on a snowsuit.’”
“Sounds like you already know them.”
“Teaching,” she said, “has taught me at least as much as I’ve taught my students. Which reminds me, no school tomorrow. It’s Saturday,” Phoebe said. “Bridget’s not much for sleeping in so we’ll be up anytime after six or so.”
“Six! You’re kidding. I’m on leave.”
She shook her head. “No such thing when you’re a parent.”
“I’ll get up with her if you’d like to sleep in.”
Phoebe looked at him as if he’d spoken another language. “You’d do that?”
“Well, sure. It must be tough being the one on call every minute of every day.”
“It’s not so bad.” Her tone was stiff, as if he’d offended her. “You’re welcome to get up with us,” she said, “but until you learn your way around the kitchen and our morning routine, it’s probably best if I get up.”
“Phoebe.” He rose and stopped her with a hand on her arm as she moved by him. “I am not trying to take your role in her life away, and I wasn’t trying to slam you again for—I just want to learn everything there is to know about her.”
She nodded, although she wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry for getting prickly.” The air of tension left and her shoulders sagged. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
That it was. He watched as she bent over and picked up a discarded shoe and sock. She’d changed from the neat skirt and blouse she’d worn to school that day into a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, although she’d neatly tucked the shirt in and added a belt. Probably her version of hanging-around slob clothes.
Her backside was slim and rounded beneath the jeans. Damn, but he was annoyed with himself. He had a lot more important things than sex to think about tonight, and yet every time he looked at Phoebe all rational thought fled and he became one big walking male hormone.
Bridget let out a squeal and he came back to earth abruptly. Phoebe scooped the baby into her arms. “What are you fussing about, you silly girl?” she asked. “Would you like your daddy to read you a story?”
The kid couldn’t exactly answer yes, but Phoebe motioned him over to the big maple rocker and set Bridget in his lap anyway. She came to him as if she’d known him all her short life, settling easily into his lap, then popping her thumb in her mouth. He read the story but after just a few minutes, her little head nodded against his chest and the thumb fell from her slack lips. Glancing down, he realized she’d fallen asleep.
His throat was tight and his chest ached; she was so precious! It was almost too much to believe, that this beautiful child was his.
He wanted to snuggle her against him but he was afraid if he moved she’d wake up. And so he sat with Bridget in his lap until Phoebe stuck her head around the corner of the door frame. “Is she asleep?” she asked in a hushed tone.
He nodded.
She came into the room and knelt at his side, lifting the baby into her arms. As she transferred Bridget’s weight, the underside of her breast pressed against his arm for a moment, and her warm, intoxicating, feminine fragrance teased his senses. Instantly, awareness rose, and with it arousal. He wanted to kiss her again. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than that. He watched silently as she rose to her feet with his child in her arms, and the knowledge that they had made this precious little person together was, oddly, a whole new kind of aphrodisiac. Their daughter had been conceived that day in the hunting cabin, and it didn’t take much effort at all to recall the sweet, sizzling passion that had bound them together in far more than just a physical way.
Then Bridget’s tiny arms hung limp and her head fell onto Phoebe’s shoulder as Phoebe lifted her into her crib. She brushed a kiss across the fiery red curls as she laid the child down, and he swallowed hard, another emotion joining the riot of sensations rushing through him.
How was it possible to go from not even knowing his child existed to loving her more than he loved his own life in less than a day? He didn’t even know her, really. And yet…he did. And he would. Another shock jolted him as he realized he could imagine her five years from now—because he’d known her mother at that age as well.
Phoebe turned and left the room on nearly silent feet, and he slowly pushed himself upright. He walked to the crib and gazed down at his daughter for a long moment. I promise to be the best daddy I can be, he vowed silently.
Then he followed his child’s mother out of the room. They needed to talk about the changes that w
ere about to occur in their lives.
Five
Phoebe was already at the table in her small dining room when he came down the stairs after unpacking his duffel, removing papers from her satchel and making neat piles carefully spaced on the table. She glanced up and sent him an impersonal smile. “Time to grade math tests.”
He walked through the living room to her side, looking down at the work she was spreading out before her. “You do this often?”
“Just about every night.” She smiled wryly. “The kids complain when I give them assignments, but I really should be the one whining. Every assignment they hand in multiplies my work by twenty-four students.” She shrugged her shoulders as she pulled out her chair and took a seat. “It’s going to get even more interesting when I start my next class. I’m taking a children’s lit class that begins in January.”
“I thought you already had a degree.”
“Yes.” She pulled out an ink pad and a stamp with a smiley face on it. “But in order to keep my teaching certificate I have to do continuing education every so often or work toward my master’s degree. The specifics vary from state to state, but the general concept is the same. You probably have to do the same thing—keep your skills current, I mean.”
“Yeah. Except now, if I were to stay in the Army, I’d be stuck behind a desk. My ability to hit a target dead center fifty times in a row isn’t quite so critical anymore.”
She bit her lip and he could see the moment when she realized that she’d reminded him of his forced change of career. Still, she continued to stare up at him, concern in her face. “Will you tell me what happened to you?”
He felt the muscles of his face tightening with the effort to keep a casual expression in place. “I have a piece of shrapnel in my leg. It’s too risky to remove.” He tried to smile. “Plays hell with airport security.”
She didn’t return the smile. “I meant how it happened.”
He turned away, heading for the living room where he’d laid his book and reading glasses down. “One of my buddies stepped on a mine.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her flinch. “Did you see it?”
He nodded. A lump rose into his throat and refused to ease.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He managed a nod. “Yeah, me, too.”
“You always wanted to be a soldier, didn’t you?” A fleeting smile crossed her face. “I remember when Mel and I were about eight, you and the Paylen boys from down the street recruited us to be the enemy.”
The lump in his throat dissolved as memory came flooding back, and with it came an irresistible urge to laugh. “Only that didn’t last very long once my dad found out we were launching rocks at you out of that homemade catapult.” He shook his head ruefully. “He always did have eyes in the back of his head.”
Phoebe snorted. “He did not. Melanie ran and told on you.”
“That twerp.” His tone was fond. “I should have known. She ran and left you there alone. You were picking up the rocks and throwing them back. I never knew a girl could throw that hard, especially one your size.”
She smiled smugly. “That’s what the other softball players used to say when I was in high school.”
Memories of Phoebe as a child, of himself during those same carefree years before the world had demanded its pound of flesh, came flooding back and he returned her grin. “We’re lucky, aren’t we, to have such good memories? I’d love to go back and be that age again.”
To his surprise, her smile vanished. “I don’t. You could not offer me anything to live my childhood over again.” There was a grim, flat note that he’d never heard before in her voice that told him he’d struck some nerve.
His interest sharpened immediately. “That surprises me,” he said.
“Growing up without a father in the picture wasn’t always easy.”
Now that he thought about it, he could recall occasional unkind comments about the twins’ illegitimate birth. But… “You and Mel seemed pretty happy to me.”
Her face softened, the line of her mouth relaxing as her lips curved up the tiniest bit. “We were,” she said softly.
He chuckled, determined to get her to relax her guard again. “Happiest when you were tormenting the poor boys in the neighborhood who were all fighting over you.”
“You’re confusing me with my sister now. I never tormented anybody. All the boys I knew had the hots for Melanie.”
“Not all.” He said it quietly, but the instant he spoke, the atmosphere changed. Electric awareness sparked and crackled as her gaze flew to his.
But she looked away again immediately. “You, too,” she said, and in her face he saw her determination to keep things light between them. “When she and I were seniors, she chased you until you caught her, remember?”
He smiled wryly. “I remember. Are you going to hold it against me forever? I was a teenage boy. And God knows boys that age are helpless against an attractive female who’s as determined as Melanie was.”
To his surprise, she chuckled. “She was determined, too. All she talked about that summer was you. What to wear so that you noticed her, where to stand so that she just happened to be where you were headed. You told her once that she looked good in pink so we shopped for pink for the next three months. Have you ever tried to find a good shade of pink for a redhead to wear?” She shook her head, still smiling. “You didn’t stand a chance.”
He didn’t stand a chance now, either. Did she know how desirable she looked? Her eyes were soft and faraway, her body relaxed where she’d angled herself toward him. Her lips looked so soft and inviting as they curved with happy memories….
They were soft and inviting. His entire body revved for action as the memory of the afternoon’s kiss leaped into the forefront of his mind again. All he’d wanted to do was sink into her sweetness, live the dream he’d kept in his head during terrifying moments of hiding when he’d been sure he would be discovered any minute. Make love to her for real, not just in his imagination while he lay in an American military hospital in Germany. He’d wanted her so badly he’d nearly forgotten the child playing on the floor mere feet away.
And when he’d remembered, it had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed to look away and focus his attention on his daughter.
“Is it really that bad an idea?”
Her unusually timid tone dragged him out of his introspection. “What?”
She was regarding him with thinly veiled curiosity. “A penny for those thoughts. I said you’re welcome to invite your father to visit for a few weeks if you like. He might enjoy the chance to get to know Bridget.”
“What?” he asked again.
“I said—”
“I know what you said! I guess I’m just…surprised at the offer. Are you sure you want my father underfoot?”
She smiled. “I always liked your father. Unless he becomes a werewolf at the full moon, or has some really weird habits I don’t know about, it would be fine with me.”
“Or we could take Bridget to California to visit him. He’s not a young man anymore, and he’s never been on a plane in his life.”
A fleeting expression crossed her face so quickly he wasn’t even sure if he’d seen it or imagined it. Had it been panic? Dismay? “You could fly home and then come back with him,” she said. “You know, so he wouldn’t have to fly alone.”
“I could.” He spoke slowly, watching as she twisted her slender fingers together in a sure sign of nerves. But what the hell was it that was making her so uptight? “Don’t you want to come home? See the old neighborhood? You could manage one long weekend, couldn’t you?”
Her fingers were practically tied in knots. “I…I guess so.” Although, she sounded so reluctant he nearly let it drop. But his curiosity was aroused. She didn’t seem to care if she ever went back. Why not? She’d grown up there; her family was buried there. “We can visit Melanie’s and your mom’s graves, and I can show you where my mother’s buried
.”
“All right.” Her voice was quiet. “Let me check the calendar and see when we could go.”
Had she really agreed to go back to California with Wade? Phoebe wanted to slap herself silly. He’d been in her life again for just two days and already he was turning her world upside down. She should boot him out.
But she knew she never would. Keeping Bridget’s existence a secret had been more than a mistake, it had practically been criminal. And she deserved his anger. She’d really been like that overused cliché—an ostrich with its head in the sand. But at the time, it had been so much easier simply to cut her ties with her old life.
If only she had told his parents about Bridget when she first realized she was pregnant. Or…even after she’d thought he was dead.
But other people would have found out eventually. She could hear them now.
Just like her mother.
At least she knows who the father is. She and her poor sister didn’t even have that.
Oh, yes. She knew how small towns could be. At least, the small town where she had grown up. Vicious gossips. Not everyone, of course. She’d known many sweet, wonderful people in her hometown. But she’d known more than she liked of the kind who didn’t want to let their daughters come over to play with Phoebe and Melanie.
As if illegitimacy was catching.
If she was thankful for anything, it was for the fact that the world had changed since her own childhood. There were families of every kind out there today, and a child without a father wasn’t treated any different than a child with two mothers, or a child who shuttled back and forth between her mother’s and father’s homes in the middle of the week.
She sighed as she looked at her calendar. She had two days off in October, and if she took off another day, they could go to California for a long weekend and make it back without being so pressed for time that it wasn’t even worth the flight. She wasn’t sure her courage was up to the task of introducing Wade’s father to a grandchild he didn’t even know existed, but she could tell that Wade wasn’t taking no for an answer.
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