Afterward, he would have liked to fall asleep, but she refused to let him.
“He only woke up once last night,” she told Will.
“And that wasn’t until nearly three. Maybe if we keep him awake now he’ll sleep through the night. I talked to Charlotte yesterday, and she says Emily did before she was six weeks old.”
Caleb let out a frustrated cry.
“Mommy doesn’t really mean that,” Will told him, holding his son up to look into his eyes. “She’d miss that middle-of-the-night feeding. She told me how much she loves getting up with you. Snuggling you when the house is all quiet and dark. She’s grumpy tonight, that’s all.” He blew a raspberry on Caleb’s plump cheek. “Don’t listen to her.”
“You know,” Moira said, “I’ve been thinking about pumping some breast milk so he could start getting used to taking a bottle. If I did that, you could get up and snuggle him in the middle of the night. Just think. It could become your special time.”
He laughed and bounced an increasingly disgruntled Caleb against his shoulder. “Now Mommy is getting nasty.”
“Goo ga.”
“Hey!” Face alight with pleasure, Will looked at her.
“Did you hear that? He’s talking.”
“That was a new sound.” Wow. The dumbest things could make her teary-eyed. It wouldn’t be that long before Caleb was saying Mama or Dada.
“What a smart boy,” his father crooned, sounding as besotted as she was.
Oh, she had a million doubts, but never that he loved Caleb. Watching Will Becker, big and kind and sexy, walk in circles around the living room with their baby cradled in his arms, all she could think was, But what about me? Can’t he love me, too?
After she put Caleb to bed, Moira returned to the living room. She was in such turmoil, her chest felt crowded inside, as if she was stuffing too many emotions, too many doubts, into it. Say something, she ordered herself. Don’t be a coward.
Will was texting someone on his phone when she came back to the living room. “Jack,” he murmured, finishing and setting the phone aside.
“Last night,” Moira said. Too abruptly, probably too loudly. “I know you’re spending a lot of time online. Do you…do you look at stuff about Africa a lot?” His jaw tightened. “I’m still interested. I do a little browsing.”
A little? she thought incredulously, remembering the list of sites he’d visited.
Feeling incoherent, she began, “It’s just…” Swallowed. “Maybe we should talk about it.”
“Moira, the fact that I read someone’s blog or look at pretty pictures of Africa has nothing to do with you and me.” His voice was tighter than usual. Was it temper ruffling his usual calm? “For God’s sake, don’t read something into nothing.”
What could she do but nod? She wasn’t sure the lump in her throat would have let her speak anyway. Nothing? The very fact that he was defensive told her nothing was definitely something.
But she was a coward after all. Enough of one that she wouldn’t light that stick of dynamite, that she would keep taking whatever he would give and pretend she didn’t guess how deep his regret ran. And she would hope that he meant it when he said he liked her freckles and her hair and her curves; that he did, at least, want her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TUESDAY EVENING, WILL SAID, “Why don’t we try Caleb in his crib tonight. Since he’s made it through the night a couple of times now.”
Call him prudish, but he didn’t think he’d be able to enjoy making love with Moira when Caleb was right there, only a few feet away. Will knew it was dumb; it’s not as though Caleb would know what his parents were doing, and that was assuming he even woke up. And it took a heck of a lot to wake him up. Will had seen Moira vacuum right around his bassinet while he snoozed on without a twitch. Whatever Caleb did, he concentrated.
Not surprising, since Will knew he was known and occasionally reviled for the force of his determination and single-mindedness. And he’d seen Moira lost in her work, oblivious to ringing telephones or conversations around her.
Moira’s gaze found and shied from his. “Um…that’s probably a good idea. Let’s see if we can keep him up another half an hour.”
“Good idea.” He sat on the far end of the couch from her, stockinged feet on the coffee table. He’d spent a lot of time looking at her tonight. Tormenting himself. “Your doctor appointment still on for tomorrow?”
She murmured agreement and played “This little piggy went to market” with Caleb’s toes. He might be getting sleepy, but he smiled with delight nonetheless. She moved on to his other foot. Will might have believed she wasn’t thinking about anything else, but her pink cheeks betrayed her self-consciousness.
This last week had been a strain. For both of them, he suspected. It was partly that near-argument about his continuing interest in Africa. The tension between them had never dissipated. His fault, maybe—he’d continued to stay up long after she went to bed, feeling bloody-minded but doing it anyway. Making a point. Marriage didn’t mean giving up all privacy, all outside interests. It was unreasonable of her to imply—even if only by one stricken look—that he should. The fact that he’d had no interest since in reading about Africa was irrelevant; if he wanted to, he could.
Guilt still ate at him, and that still pissed him off. But he had also been forced to do some thinking, which was probably a good thing. Truth was, he’d been drifting. Taking this job for Clay just to have something to do. He had a new life now, and he had to make it matter or he was going to end up unhappy.
So he’d actually spent some pretty productive time on the internet, leading to a meeting today that had him excited. He’d been looking forward all afternoon to telling Moira about it.
Truth was, he wouldn’t have had the self-discipline to go to bed at the same time as she did, anyway. Sharing a bed as if they were nothing but friends had become an impossibility. If he cuddled with her, she’d notice he had a raging hard-on. It was bad enough climbing into bed beside her once she was asleep. He still stayed on his side, careful not to touch her. Every muscle in his body would be rigid with restraint, when all he wanted to do was reach out for her. He’d relived their one and only lovemaking a thousand times. The feel of her under him, the sounds she made, the tightness of her body when he pushed inside her. Sleep did not come easily. It was worse when she had to get up to nurse Caleb and would slip back into bed beside Will. Knowing she was awake, wondering if she was thinking about him, remembering his touch, too, was enough to make him feel like fire ants were crawling over his skin. Torture.
They’d never actually talked about whether they’d make love, but the knowledge that soon they could had become part of the very air they both breathed. Every time Will looked at her, it was on his mind. The fact that Moira had gotten shyer made him pretty sure she was thinking the same. Wanting the same. Please, God, she wanted the same.
Will had hardly took his eyes off her all evening. Usually, when she nursed Caleb, he made no pretence that he wasn’t watching. He was fascinated by the voluptuous swell of her breasts, the moist dark peak of her nipple when Caleb let go of it. In a different way, Will loved the sight of their baby nursing. That small, perfect hand often seemed to pat his mommy’s breast, as if in appreciation. The two of them together, mother and child, made his heart swell until it filled his chest.
He changed Caleb’s diaper and brought him to her to nurse, as usual. Sat down, watched as she lifted her shirt and reached for the catch that would free one breast, then shot to his feet. He couldn’t take it tonight.
Voice hoarse, he said, “I’m going for a walk.”
“Oh.” Her color heightened. “Okay.”
She was tiptoeing down the hall when Will came in, shaking the water from his hair like a wet dog. He took his coat off and said unnecessarily, “It’s raining.” he recognized her unusual caution. “You put him in his crib?”
Moira nodded. “He was already asleep.”
“Will he noti
ce when he wakes up?”
“What do you think?” she scoffed.
He grinned. “Of course he will,” he said. “Caleb’s a smart boy.”
“And he’s going to be a mad boy.”
“Can I go look?”
She narrowed her eyes. “If you wake him up, on your head be it.”
Another grin, and he slipped silently down the hall. The ceramic nightlight shaped like a mouse cast a faint, golden glow that allowed him to make out Caleb, a tiny lump under his comforter, his face slack and peaceful. When Will just as quietly stepped back out of the room, Moira was hovering at the other end of the hall.
Will waited until he’d reached her. “He’s cute.”
“Yes, he is. And I’m going to bed, too.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something first,” he said.
Moira studied him. She must have heard that he was serious, because she looked apprehensive when she said, “Sure.”
She sat on her usual end of the couch, bare feet tucked beneath her, Will in the big easy chair across from her.
“I’ve been thinking about the future,” he said.
Her face stayed unnaturally still, but he saw the way she squeezed her hands together, the fear in her eyes.
“Work,” he clarified, before she could do more than stare at him.
Air escaped her with a force that was audible.
Will raised his eyebrows, but when she didn’t say anything, he went on, “I’m bored with what I’m doing. No, more than that—dissatisfied. We build solid, Becker Construction doesn’t cut corners, but…this kind of job I’m doing, the best you can say is it’s workmanlike.” He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that, but I think I’d like to build something that might endure. Even be admired fifty years from now, a hundred years from now.”
“Which means building for clients with money. Lots of money.”
He grimaced. “Yeah. The opposite of what I was striving for in Africa. I do realize that.”
“So what have you decided?”
“I guess I have two sets of ideals. One pushes me to do something for people who genuinely need help. The other is to build real quality.” He leaned forward, letting her see passion he most often kept disguised. It was one of those pieces of himself that he had to share if they were to have any hope. “I think I can do both,” he said. “I might start a small construction firm. Build one house at a time. Focus on the details, connect with the real craftsmen in our area who do fine stonework or cabinetry or wrought-iron railings. Do work I can be proud of.”
Moira nodded. “That’s part of the reason Gray and I struck out on our own.”
Will nodded in acknowledgment, unsurprised by her understanding. “The other part of what I’m thinking is that I’ll provide my services free or at minimal cost for projects I believe in.” He paused. “I’ve already found the first one.”
“Really?” She was leaning forward slightly, too, as though he’d captured her by his intensity.
“I found an organization looking to build an apartment house for women with children who are trying to make a new start. Most of the women served were in abusive relationships. Bright Futures works to provide counseling, help find jobs, whatever the clientele needs. They’d like to be able to offer housing, too, for up to a year while the women get their feet under them. The idea is that the women can turn to each other, that the apartment building will give the residents a community, too.”
“Is the funding in place?”
“They’ve got property in Stanwood, but they thought they were a year or more away from starting. No plans yet, for one thing. If I don’t charge for my work as contractor, and I get deals where I can find them for materials, we might be able to break ground this spring.”
Moira didn’t even hesitate. “I can draw the plans free.”
He smiled. “I thought you might say that.”
“I’ve been suckered?”
“Yeah, you have.”
He could all but see her brain racing. “There should be a community room. Not only the separate apartments, but a space for the women to get together. Maybe even for some communal child care. How many apartments?”
“Six or eight.”
“I’m ashamed that it never occurred to me to volunteer my skill for something like this.”
“Don’t be.” He made his voice low, husky, intimate. “I thought maybe it was something we could do together.”
That was one of the things he’d realized this past week, when he’d sat here long after she’d gone to bed. He’d hated the gulf that had opened between them. He wouldn’t let himself be disappointed if she didn’t want to be involved in whatever project he took on, but…he’d liked the idea of sharing it with her. He’d liked that a lot.
“Yes.” Her face was alive with the same excitement he felt. “This is great timing, Will. I could get started any time. As soon as you can set it up for me to meet with whoever will be overseeing us.”
“I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” he promised. He sat back in his chair, looking at her with pleasure. This had gone even better than he’d hoped. “Now you’d better get to bed. Thank you for listening to me.”
Moira stood then, in a flurry, came to him and kissed his cheek. He felt his evening beard rasp under her soft lips. “I like your ideas,” she said, her voice a little husky. “Both of them.”
“Good.” He made no move to touch her or pull her down for a deeper kiss although, damn, he wanted to. He had no doubt his expression was rueful. “I think I’d better read for a while. My self-restraint is flagging.”
“Oh.” Heat bloomed in her cheeks again. “Okay.”
All he could do was sit there trying not to hear the muted sounds of her getting ready for bed—water running, the toilet flushing, the glide of the closet door—and try to figure out how he could kill an hour or two, when all he wanted to do was make love to his wife.
WEDNESDAY HAD TO BE THE LONGEST damn day of his entire life. Will considered himself a patient man, but he’d used up all his patience these past few months.
Why hadn’t he tried to seduce Moira before she had the baby? She’d probably convinced herself that, as big as she’d gotten, he didn’t want her. Truth was, he’d been half-aroused most of the time since their wedding. She’d been carrying his baby and was round and ripe and bursting with fertility. What was sexier than that?
But he’d told himself it was too soon, that she needed to get to know him, decide she could trust him. Will had given serious thought to trying to coax her after he’d made the move into her bed, but her bleeding episode had scared him. He wouldn’t do anything that might threaten their child. And…she had gradually relaxed with him, so his original plan had been working. What he hadn’t thought about was how torturously long the six weeks until Moira got the all-clear from her doctor would turn out to be. Ten months, one week exactly since he’d made love to her. Hell, since he’d had sex. He didn’t know how he’d survived.
He got home at five-thirty to a flustered wife and a cranky baby. Caleb had not enjoyed his first night in his own bedroom. He’d woken up every couple of hours all night long and sobbed. Moira and Will took turns going in and rocking him back to sleep. They were all three heavy-eyed this morning. Under other circumstances, Will might have been thinking about nothing but hitting the sack.
Taking Caleb into his arms and enjoying Moira’s pink cheeks and green eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his, Will hid his grin. He was thinking about nothing but bed, all right, although sleep didn’t have anything to do with it. And it was pretty clear that Moira had her mind on the same thing.
He kissed Caleb’s chubby cheek and strolled as far as the kitchen doorway in pursuit of his wife, who’d skittered away the instant she handed off their kid. “Smells good,” he said amiably. “What are you cooking?”
“Meatloaf and baked potatoes.”
He spotted a pie cooling on the counter. “And you baked.”
“Cherry,” she said
tersely, keeping her back to him as she fussed unnecessarily over whatever vegetable she had steaming in a saucepan on the stove.
“À la mode?” he said hopefully.
Mouth prim, she shot him a look. “For those who can afford the calories.”
“You’re determined to stick to your diet, aren’t you?”
“I will never be fat again,” she said in a steely voice.
“Can’t you splurge sometimes?”
She rolled her eyes, looking for a moment like a disgusted teenager. “Why do you think I put on almost forty pounds while I was pregnant? Remember the French fries? The milkshakes?”
“I suppose it’s natural I eat more than you do,” he realized.
“Ya think?”
Amused, he let it go. “Did Caleb sleep all day?”
There was more steel in her voice. “I didn’t let him. My sympathy was at a low ebb today, I can tell you.”
“Yeah, I almost crawled into my pickup for a nap.” Will surprised himself with a jaw-popping yawn. “Damn. Well, let’s hope he’s resigned himself tonight to his crib.”
Moira yawned, too. “Oh, don’t get me started.”
Very casually, he asked, “How’d the doctor visit go?”
“Fine.” She kept her back to him. “Great. She said I’m fine. Everything’s…”
Fine.
Under other circumstances, he’d have grinned. As it was, his blood pooled in his groin. “Good,” he said after a moment, his voice rusty. “I’m glad you’re—” not fine. Anything but fine “—recovered,” he finished firmly.
She nodded, still without looking at him. Will retreated to the living room.
While he entertained Caleb, Moira dished up dinner. They settled him in a reclining baby seat while they ate. Moira cheered up when Will told her that someone from Bright Futures, the nonprofit organization that wanted to build the apartment house, would be calling her the next day.
The Baby Agenda Page 19