by Day Leclaire
"A definite improvement." Smart move, Salvatore. Just what she needed, to dwell on her nightmares because he was too stupid to keep his mouth shut. "So... Where do you find the supplies to make your stick figures?"
"My sister and I used to go into the woods and gather bits and pieces of trees and plants for the various designs. Some I brought with me and others are native to the area around here. I managed to collect them before the storm hit."
Alessandro finished stripping a surprisingly cooperative Nick, grinning when the boy's chubby legs began to pump with a surplus of energy. "Like being naked, do you, buddy?"
Lauren chuckled as she watched. "You'll find out how much he likes it when you try puttin' his clothes on. He can be downright ornery on the subject of getting dressed, so prepare yourself for a tussle."
"As you said, how much trouble can one little kid be?" Alessandro scoffed. "Besides, we have an understanding."
"Sure you do. And you'll find out what that understanding is the minute you try stickin’ a diaper on his backside."
He buried a grin. "So what are they made from? Your reindeer, I mean. Sticks?"
"Sometimes, if they're pliable enough. Mostly we use cane, vines and bark. Twigs. Pinecones and pine needles make a nice touch. So do berries. I've found nature has an abundant warehouse to choose from." She pulled socks and a T-shirt from the drawer, followed by a pair of corduroy pants and a long-sleeved shirt with snaps along the shoulder. "Tonight I'll work on Santa and his sleigh. Or maybe I’ll string popcorn and cranberries for the tree.”
"You like all this Christmas stuff, don't you?"
"Darned right." She hugged Nick's clothes to her chest and turned to check on his progress. "I gather you don't?"
"Not even a little. That's why I come up here and use the cab— Damn!" Moving with impressive speed, he ducked out of harm's way. "Seems your nephew's sprung a leak."
"Oh? Didn't I warn you about that?" she asked a little too innocently. "I've found a warm washrag does prompt surprising results. Good thing you have such excellent reflexes."
He shot her a quelling glance over his shoulder. Lauren fought to maintain a straight face, not that she fooled him. She found his predicament funny as hell. "Keep it up, lady, and I'll teach him how to improve his aim. Then we'll see how successful you are at staying dry while you change a diaper."
"I'll take you up on that offer when it's time to potty train him." The words hung between them, words he knew Lauren would have taken back if she could. She stared at him, stricken. "Alessandro—"
"Potty training sons is definitely a father's job,” he replied in an even voice. "If Nick's still around then, I’ll be happy to take care of it."
Without another word Lauren crossed to the bed and curled up on the quilt. She'd placed the lightly furled crocuses he'd bought her in a spot of honor on the nightstand table, and she reached out to run a ringer along the rim of the flowerpot. It took several seconds of effort to steel herself enough to look at him. But once she had, her gaze met his with familiar directness. "I apologize, Alessandro. It wasn't my intention to keep on at you about the subject.”
"Forget it. I realize it wasn't deliberate."
"That's kind of you to say so." She shoved her fingers through her hair, adding to its slightly rumpled appearance. "I have to tell you, the sooner those test results are in, the happier I'll be."
"That makes two of us." He tickled Nick's tummy. "Three if you count this guy."
Resuming his attention to the task at hand, Alessandro wrestled with Nick's diaper. He managed to wrap it around the boy's plump, squirming hips, but only after a prolonged struggle. A string of baby babble gave vent to Nick's disapproval of the process, along with the rapid-fire hammer of small, painfully accurate feet. Corralling the boy with a firm hand, Alessandro looked at Lauren and inclined his head toward the quilt spread beneath her.
"Your sister made that, didn't she?"
The words dropped between them, taking on growing significance with each passing moment. The flowerpot rattled against the table and Lauren jerked her hand away. She stared at him, her emotional turbulence changing her eyes to a deeper, more vivid shade of blue. "You know!”
"Just answer the question. Did your sister make the quilt?"
There was the briefest of hesitations before Lauren nodded. "Meg made it, yes. But how did you—"
"If you'll finish dressing this little guy, I'll get breakfast started." Alessandro picked up Nick and carried him to the bed. It was time for that discussion. Past time, if he were honest. He wanted to tell Lauren the truth. Needed to. The dreams he'd been having provoked too many questions. With luck, she might be able to answer one or two of them. “I can explain while we eat."
A short while later, Lauren entered the kitchen, her expression more strained than when she'd first arrived. Alessandro turned off the burner beneath the griddle, cursing himself for a fool. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt before leaving. He should have taken an extra few moments to reassure her. No doubt her imagination had been running riot the entire ten minutes it had taken her to join him. "Relax, Lauren. It's nothing bad." He took Nick from her and installed him in the high chair. "Just something I should have told you before."
She didn't appear convinced. Without a word, she slipped into the seat opposite his. He heaped a steaming stack of pancakes on a platter and placed it in the middle of the table along with a jug of maple syrup. "Is there any reason Nick can't have some?" he addressed her bent head.
"He loves pancakes," she murmured. "Cornbread too."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Pouring two cups of coffee, he added a generous spoonful of sugar to Lauren's for her sweet tooth, along with a shot of cream. "I've been having these strange dreams for a long time,” he began without preamble.
Accepting the coffee, she slanted him a surprised look. "Dreams?"
His mouth curved in a humorless smile as he joined her at the table. "You're not the only one who isn't sleeping well. Although I can't categorize these dreams as nightmares, they're...unsettling.”
She took a moment to digest that. "Go on,” she urged, taking a hasty sip of coffee. “What do you dream about?"
"In every one, it's springtime." He cut up a pancake for Nick, dabbed it with syrup and let the boy have at it. Piling a plate high, he passed it to Lauren. "But even though it's spring, there's snow on the ground. There are also crocuses, strangely enough."
"Purple ones, right?" she interrupted eagerly. "Like the ones you bought yesterday.”
He nodded in confirmation, voicing the suspicion that had been troubling him for the past several days. "That's one of the things that happened in North Carolina, isn't it? Meg and I found crocuses in the snow.”
"Yes."
"She used to call them spring's ambassadors. While you nicknamed them ‘little cups of hope’. That's what I was remembering in the restaurant yesterday."
"Yes!"
"And we had a picnic." Now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop, the words torn from him. "In the woods."
"You spread the quilt beneath a huge oak," she encouraged. "The quilt in my bedroom. The one you remembered Meg had sewn. What other things do you dream about?"
He shrugged. "Playing hide-and-seek in the woods. Making love. The picnic on the quilt. We ate bread and cheese and drank wine."
"Those are all things you did with Meg." Excitement quivered in her voice. ""What else?"
"Her voice. Laughter."
She closed her eyes, concealing her thoughts from him. He didn't have any difficulty guessing what they were. The slight tremble of the coffee cup in her hands was a dead giveaway. She set it carefully on the table. "You remember," she whispered. "You remember! Why didn't you say anything before?"
"Because these aren't memories, Lauren. They're dreams."
She rejected his assertion with a wave of her hand. "I don't see much difference."
He leaned across the table toward her. "I'll tell you the differ
ence. I don't trust dreams to accurately reflect reality. For all I know it could be my subconscious playing games as a result of my accident." Polishing off the last of his pancakes, he gestured for her to do the same. "You're not eating any better than you're sleeping. You can't keep going the way you are without eventually paying a price for it."
He half expected an argument. But other than an irritated shrug, she obediently tackled the pancakes. "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" she asked after a few minutes.
"I thought the woman in the dreams was my ex-wife, so I didn't see any point in mentioning it."
She considered that for the length of time it took her to consume another pancake. "Just how long have you been havin' these dreams?”
"Close to a year."
Lauren gave him an odd look. "A year this next March?" she guessed shrewdly. "Exactly a year from the date of your accident?"
He gave her full marks for perception. "I don't know about exactly. But they started sometime this past spring, yes."
Pushing her plate aside, she took a swallow of coffee, regarding him through the steam coming off her cup. "And these dreams were about Rhonda?"
She knew his ex-wife's name, and yet, Alessandro knew for a fact he'd never identified Rhonda by name to Lauren. It was one more bit of proof that his life had been entwined with the Williams family at some point. “No. I thought I was dreaming about my ex. At least, she was the woman occupying center stage until recently. That all changed when you showed up."
Lauren returned her mug to the table with a clatter, the coffee sloshing over the rim. "I don't understand."
"Ever since you arrived the woman has changed until now she looks remarkably like the picture you showed me," he confessed. "But that could be my imagination playing tricks on me. The power of suggestion."
Nick chose that moment to indicate he'd finished his breakfast. Throwing his uneaten pieces of pancake onto the floor, he leaned over the high chair and eyed the messy results with satisfaction. Then he held out arms toward Lauren. "Ma-ma," he said in a clear, piping voice.
"Interesting." Alessandro looked at Lauren and cocked an eyebrow. "Something you'd like to tell me, sweetheart?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, there is." Lauren lifted Nick from his high chair and clasped him close, sticky fingers and all. "Consider yourself blessed. You just heard your son speak his first word. I wish my sister had lived long enough to do the same."
With that, she swept from the room, leaving Alessandro invoking every Italian curse he could remember, along with a few he invented on the spot. "One of these days I'll learn to keep my damned mouth shut,” he muttered. “Too bad it couldn't have been five minutes ago."
Alessandro made a firm vow to avoid raising any more controversial issues. He even took the time to write it down, in case he made the fatal mistake of forgetting again. Lauren spent the afternoon creating additional stick figures and stringing popcorn interspersed with cranberries, while Nick did his level best to wreak havoc every step of the way. Deciding to play it smart for once, Alessandro didn't utter a single complaint about the decorations. Worse, he found himself making excuses to wander through the room as each new "critter", as he'd privately dubbed Lauren's creations, made an appearance. He straightened one of the reindeer that once again sat askew on the mantel and tried to analyze their appeal. They added a festive warmth and charm to the room, he decided, a warmth and charm that held serious appeal.
In the middle of the afternoon, he found her out for the count on the couch. Nick played nearby, yawning sleepily. Scooping him up, Alessandro carried the boy into Lauren's bedroom and wrestled a clean pair of diapers onto his uncooperative backside, relieved to discover that when he'd finished they were taped on the right way. Finally, he tucked Nick into his crib, and watched in amazement as the little guy popped a thumb in his mouth and went straight to sleep.
Alessandro left the room feeling disgustingly pleased with himself. Now why had his brothers taken such delight in regaling each other with the horrors of baby care? This daddy stuff was a snap. There could only be one explanation. Using logic and reason rather than blind emotion must offer hidden benefits. He'd make a note to mention it to the others.
With time on his hands to spare, he closeted himself in his study and placed a call to his brother, Luc. "I've been wondering when you'd break down and phone,” the oldest of the Salvatore boys growled.
"You have some explaining to do."
"Not that it's any of your business," Alessandro retorted dryly.
Luc snorted. "Yeah, right. A slip of a woman shows up at Salvatores with a baby in arms, asking for you and it's none of my business. Let me tell you, I had a nasty moment of déjà vu there."
Alessandro didn't doubt it. Their brother, Pietro, had gone through a similar experience, only in his case the baby had been dumped in Luc's arms while Pietro had set out to find his former lover and convince her to marry him. The incident had almost ended in disaster, especially when child welfare had become involved. It had also led to Luc marrying his secretary, Grace, an outcome that had delighted all the Salvatores.
"Do you have any idea how hard it's been keeping the news from Dom?" Luc continued. "Pietro's almost slipped up twice. He says welcome to the club, by the way."
"Tell Pietro to go to hell." Alessandro straightened in his chair as Luc's initial comment sank in. "Dad doesn't know, does he?"
"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time. Come on, little brother. Spill. What's going on? Or do I have to beat the answers out of you?"
"Let me repeat. It's none of your business." Alessandro relented, aware he didn't have much choice. "But since you've asked so nicely, I'll tell you. I don't know whether Nick's mine. I can't remember the incident in question, the woman in question, or how she could have talked me out of using any form of birth control. And before you ask, yes, we're doing a paternity test. The results will be in before the end of the month."
"Nick? That's the kid?"
Alessandro released his breath in a long sigh. "Nick. As in short for Dominic."
"Damn."
"My thoughts exactly."
They both fell silent for a moment. And then Luc spoke up again. "How the hell can you forget fathering a baby? Or perhaps the better question is... How can you forget the woman you fathered him with? She looked pretty memorable to me."
"It happened in North Carolina. And Lauren's not the mother, she's Nick's aunt."
Luc groaned. "Let me guess. Your missing few weeks just turned up."
"Or so Lauren claims."
"Convenient, if you ask me."
For some reason, Alessandro found himself jumping to Lauren's defense. "I believe her, Luc. She's positive Nick is mine."
"You don't think it's a scam?"
"I thought so at first."
"But not any longer?" Luc persisted.
"Not on Lauren's part, no." Not for one little minute. "How truthful the sister was is another question altogether. Once the test results are in we'll know for sure."
"What was this sister's name?"
"Meg. She died a couple months ago. Lauren's been taking care of Nick ever since."
To Alessandro's surprise, Luc responded in Italian, the word he used short and explicit and very crude. "Listen, little brother," he began uneasily. "There's something I might have forgotten to tell you about those days you were in the hospital. This might be a good time to mention it."
A sense of inevitability slid over Alessandro. "What did you forget?"
"You called out a woman's name."
"I don't suppose it was Meg?" he asked dryly.
Luc cleared his throat. "Now that you mention it. Meg does have a familiar ring to it."
"I thought it might."
Silence reigned. Then Luc asked, "What are you going to do?"
What could he do? "I'm going to take it one step at a time."
"And if Nick is yours?"
Alessandro remembered what Lauren had said the night he'd
first kissed her, her words as much a warning as a promise. "Christmas is a'comin’. It's the season for miracles, and whether you want a miracle or not, it'll be here soon.”
"Then Lauren will be right," he replied softly. "Christmas will be a season for miracles, whether I want it or not."
But somehow he suspected he wanted this particular one, wanted it with a surprising desperation.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Two days before Christmas...
SHE came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. They'd finished the bottle of wine, eaten bread and cheese until they were replete and fed the remaining scraps to a curious gray squirrel and an eager flock of robins. Stretching sleepily, she sprawled on top of a patchwork quilt, the colors an appealing splash of springtime pastels against the gold of her hair. It was chilly beneath the shade of the oak and Alessandro wrapped his arms around her to keep the cold at bay.
With a teasing smile, she slipped her icy hands beneath his shirt to warm them. He sucked in a pained breath and took it like a man. "Better?” he managed to ask.
"Much." Her fingers began a tantalizing exploration. Eventually they encountered the chain and ring he wore around his neck and she tugged at it. “What's this?"
Removing the chain, he handed it to her. "The ring belonged to my mother. She died when I was ten.”
The light dimmed in her dark eyes. "I'm so sorry."
He shrugged. “Don't be. It was a long time ago. I barely remember.
“"Don't bother lyin’ to me, Alessandro. You wouldn't still be wearing her ring after all these years unless it meant something to you.”
"Habit." The word sounded abrupt even to his ears.
"Can't you tell me what happened?" she asked gently. "Does it still hurt so much?"
He couldn't begin to guess how she knew. "My father put that chain around my neck the day we buried my mother. It was just after Christmas."