by Pamela Bauer
“But I don’t want to wait.” She sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. “Why do I have to go to school anyway?”
“So you can learn the three R’s—reading, writing and ’rithmetic,” his grandfather said with a grin.
“Faith can teach me numbers and she reads to me, too,” Megan told him.
Faith, who had been silent, spoke up. “That’s true, but school is where you learn to cooperate with others.”
Megan wrinkled her nose. “What’s cooperate?”
“To get along with other people. That’s why you need the other scholars so you can learn how to work together,” she answered.
“What’s a scholar?” Megan asked.
“I think Faith means a student, don’t you?” Adam glanced in her direction.
“Yes.”
He thought it unusual that she would refer to elementary school students as scholars and wondered if it wasn’t another indication that she wasn’t from the Twin Cities area. From the first day she’d spoken to him he’d noticed her language seemed a bit formal at times. There was also a hint of an accent that he’d been unsuccessful at identifying.
It wasn’t Faith, however, who did most of the talking at dinner, but Megan. She took great pleasure in entertaining her great-grandfather with stories of her hospital stay. Adam didn’t mind because it kept the conversation from dissolving into a discussion of his personal life—a subject dear to the old man’s heart.
He thought he was going to be spared comments about his love life, but then Faith served dessert. When she placed the apple dumpling in front of Robert Novak, his eyes lit up.
“You must be a mind reader,” he said with an ear-to-ear grin. “This is another favorite of mine. Faith, you are one special lady, and if this big feller here—” he jerked his head in Adam’s direction “—can’t see that, then he deserves to eat his food out of a box.”
Adam glanced at Megan who was engrossed with dipping her fingers in the whipped cream on her dumpling and wasn’t paying attention to what her great-grandfather was saying. Faith, he could see, understood the implication of his words, a mischievous light sparkling in her eyes.
“I believe he likes eating out of a box,” she said, giving Adam a look that said they shared a secret and it wasn’t about food.
“Ah, he won’t live long,” his grandfather said in between bites of his apple dumpling. “Single men don’t make it as long as the married ones. It’s why I’ve been thinking I should get back out there in the game.”
“What game?” Megan asked.
“The game of having fun,” Robert said with a wink.
Adam chose to remain silent, knowing that anything he might say would more than likely encourage his grandfather to talk about his single status—a subject he didn’t want to discuss in front of Faith or his daughter. Fortunately Megan’s thoughts were on her new baby cousin and they finished dinner without any further reference to his love life.
He knew, however, that sooner or later, his grandfather would want to give him his advice on women because his grandfather always gave him advice on women. That’s why Adam wasn’t surprised when after dinner his grandfather suggested the two of them have a brandy in the living room.
The first thing he said to Adam as he settled himself in one of the large leather chairs was “Take the advice of an old man who knows what’s important in life. That little lady in the kitchen is one heck of a gal. You let her get away and you’re going to have missed out on something special.”
“Grandpa, she’s an employee,” he told him, pouring brandy into two glasses.
Robert Novak brushed away Adam’s comment with a wave of his wrinkled hand. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. You always manage to find something wrong with every girl you date. I’m telling you. This one is special.”
“And you know all of this after only one hour of dinner conversation and one of her apple dumplings?” Adam teased.
“Go ahead and snicker all you want, but I’m telling you, she’s made of good stuff. You forget. I spent all day yesterday with Lori. I know more about that little lady in the kitchen than you think I do.”
Adam handed him a snifter of brandy. “Here. To another prosperous year at the factory.” He lifted his glass to his grandfather’s.
“I’ll second that.” After a sip he said, “Megan’s talking more.”
Adam nodded. “I think she’s feeling more comfortable here.” He swirled the brandy in his glass. “I’m thinking maybe I should bring her to the factory…you know, show her what we do there.”
“You started coming along with me when you were smaller than she is,” he reminded him.
“I know. She might not be interested—” he began, but his grandfather cut him off.
“Oh, she’ll be interested. And it’ll be good for her to see where you work.”
He smiled. “So I’ve been told.” He didn’t tell his grandfather that it was Faith who’d put the idea in his head. Although she’d suggested he show Megan work around the house, Adam wanted to show her the work he loved.
“Now tell me what you thought of that folding catamaran we saw at the boat show.”
If there was one subject that was dear to both of their hearts, it was boats, and they spent the rest of the evening talking about them. Adam discovered, however, that he couldn’t put Faith totally out of his mind. An occasional noise in the kitchen would remind him that she was out there in his shirt and pajama bottoms.
As much as he hated to admit it, all evening long he’d been thinking thoughts similar to his grandfather’s. She was one fine woman. So fine that not even the possibility that she could have a husband and kids waiting for her could keep him from wanting her.
When he’d invited her to stay the night he hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to have her only a couple of doors down the hallway from his bedroom. Even though he worked until after midnight, sleep eluded him when he went to bed. Every time he closed his eyes he imagined what she must look like lying in bed, her blond hair fanning across her cheek. He wondered if she was tossing and turning, trying not to think about him as he was trying not to think about her?
He eventually did fall asleep only to be awakened by the sound of a woman’s scream. He jumped out of bed and reached for his robe; only, it wasn’t behind the door. Wearing only a pair of silk pajama bottoms, he crossed the hall to the bedroom where Faith slept and knocked on the door.
“Faith, are you all right?” he called out in a voice that was just barely above a whisper.
It was several moments before he heard a muffled “yes.”
“Are you sure?” When she didn’t answer he was tempted to open the door, but she did it for him. Just as he was about to knock another time it flew open and she was there, wearing only the shirt he’d given her earlier in the evening. It was the first time he’d seen her legs bare and he saw how shapely they were. She stood trembling, her arms wrapped around her midsection.
“What happened?”
“I had a dream. I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” she said quietly.
“Was it about your past?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I hope it wasn’t.” She rubbed her arms, as if to ward off a chill. A lone tear rolled down her cheek and then another.
“Faith, why are you crying?” he asked, fighting the urge to take her in his arms.
“Because I’m tired of being alone,” she said, turning away from him.
He gently wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back toward him. “You’re not alone, Faith.”
“Yes, I am. I don’t fit in anywhere.” She quietly sobbed against his shoulder.
“You fit in with us…with me and Megan and Lori and Greg.” He stroked her hair, trying to comfort her.
“I don’t belong here,” she said between sobs, “but I don’t belong there, either.”
“Where is there, Faith?”
“It’s someplace awful.”
“Why do you say that? Is it
because of your dream?”
With her face pressed close to his shoulder, he could feel the warmth of her breath on his bare skin. When she didn’t answer him, he lifted her chin with his finger and forced her to look at him. “Talk to me, Faith. Tell me why you’re still trembling even though you’re awake.”
She straightened and he saw her blue eyes were glossy with tears and saw her pulse was throbbing at her temple. “The doctors say that sometimes memory loss can occur because a person doesn’t want to face the past.”
“Yes, and you’ve been through a trauma. You were assaulted and left on the roadside. It’s no wonder your mind doesn’t want to remember the details.” A wave of repulsion echoed through him at the thought of what someone had done to her.
She shook her head. “I’m not having dreams about that night.”
“What are you dreaming about?”
She bit down on her lower lip. “A place that’s dark, where there are angry voices.”
“Whose voices are they?”
“I don’t know. While I’m dreaming I see things so clearly, yet when I wake, all I have is this horrible feeling that I can never go back to wherever it was I came from.”
“It could be your fear of not finding your memories, Faith.”
“I don’t think so. It feels too real. The few words I do remember from those dreams are always the same. It’s a man’s voice saying, ‘Get out and don’t come back.’” She shuddered as she said them.
“I can’t imagine any man ever saying those words to you. You’re a good person, Faith. Anyone who spends even a few minutes with you can see that. You’re kind and compassionate. I can’t believe you would ever do anything that would warrant such words to be said to you.”
Again she turned away from him. “You don’t know me.”
“Yes, I do,” he argued. “I may not know your past, but I know what kind of person you are. You couldn’t hurt anyone.”
Her silence told him she wasn’t convinced of that. He wanted to pull her back into his arms, but he could see by the tightness of her shoulders she wouldn’t welcome his touch.
“You’re tired. Why don’t I get you some warm milk?” he suggested, wanting to take care of her.
“I can get it.”
“No. You wait here.” Seeing that she still trembled, he pulled the down comforter from the bed and gently draped it around her unsteady body.
“I’ll be right back,” he told her before hurrying downstairs where he heated a mug of milk in the microwave.
When he returned to her room she was sitting on the edge of the bed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. With her tousled hair and troubled eyes, she looked hauntingly beautiful. He handed her the mug and watched her take a sip.
“Thank you. I think I will be all right now,” she told him, avoiding his gaze.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She kept her eyes downcast. “You shouldn’t be in here. It’s not proper,” she stated primly.
“We’re not doing anything but talking,” he said, amused by her modesty. Usually when a woman told him he shouldn’t be in her bedroom it was to be provocative, not principled.
Silence stretched between them as she sipped the milk. When she’d finished, she looked up at him over the rim of the mug. “Thank you. That was gut.”
It was the second time he’d heard her use the German word for good. “Do you realize that you just said gut instead of good?”
She hadn’t. It was apparent by the look on her face. Nor did she seem to care that she’d used it. She was more interested in getting him out of her room. “You should go now. I’m fine.” She set the mug down on her nightstand and tightened the comforter around her, avoiding his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll go,” he conceded, although it was the last thing he wanted to do. “You sure you’re going to be all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Good.” He stood there staring at her, watching her eyes study the pattern on the comforter rather than look at him. He wanted to see those eyes. He put a finger beneath her chin, and when she looked up at him, he saw what she’d been trying to conceal. Desire.
He leaned over to brush his lips over hers. She tasted of warm milk. His intention was to give her a quick kiss then leave, but the soft warmth of her mouth was far too tempting. Their mouths met in a series of kisses that resembled two dancers learning to tango. Back and forth, touching and releasing, becoming more passionate as the music played on.
Only there was no music, just the beating of their hearts and the sounds of expectation and satisfaction. A sigh here, a moan there. When he slipped his hand inside the down comforter she pushed him away.
“We shouldn’t….” she said breathlessly.
Even though her words said one thing, the look on her face said another. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. It was there in her eyes.
“I’m sorry—” she began, but he silenced her.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said, dropping down onto the bed beside her.
“It’s just that I’m not sure this is right.”
He could have told her that her body had responded as if it was, but he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Instead he said, “We’re two adults, Faith.”
“I’m also a woman who has no idea who she is or what’s in her past,” she reminded him.
Which was her way of saying she didn’t know if she was free to pursue a relationship with him. “You’re worried there could be a man in your past?”
“It’s possible.”
He shrugged. “I can’t argue with that, but there’s also a chance that there isn’t one.”
He didn’t want to admit that the former was probably more likely than the latter. She was beautiful inside and out, possessing a tranquil attraction that made people want to be around her. How could there not be a man in her life? She was, as his grandfather had said, something special.
“But until I know…” She left the rest of her sentence unsaid.
Adam knew what it meant. Until she was certain she didn’t have someone waiting for her, she didn’t feel she had the right to get involved with him. “You don’t want to do anything that might hurt someone.”
She nodded.
“Then I’d better go,” he said, and rose to his feet.
THE AROMA of freshly brewed coffee greeted Adam when he walked into the kitchen the following morning. It wasn’t the only sign that Faith was already at work. A light glowed in the oven. When he glanced inside, he saw a coffee cake baking on the middle rack. Faith, however, was nowhere to be seen.
He knew she wasn’t in her room because he’d passed it on his way to the kitchen. He made a quick survey of the first floor but it was empty. Then he noticed a light in the stairway going down to the laundry room.
A few seconds later he heard footsteps on the stairs and Faith appeared. In place of his white shirt and pajama bottoms were the pink blouse and dark pants he’d seen her in yesterday except the stains from delivering Lori’s baby were gone. Hair that had swung loosely about her shoulders was pulled back and secured with a clip. Today she looked like Megan’s nanny rather than the woman who’d cried on his shoulder last night, and he felt a pang of regret.
When she saw him, she said good morning and blushed.
“It certainly is,” he said, thinking how nice it was to wake up and find her in his house.
“What would you like for breakfast? Pancakes? Eggs?”
She was all business and he wondered if that was to make sure he understood just what their relationship was.
“You don’t need to cook for me this morning,” he told her.
“Yes, I do. It’s my job.”
“Says who? Lori?”
“When she hired me she said I was to fill in for her. Coffee?” She reached for a mug from the shelf.
He took the mug from her hand. “What you’ve been doing here the past two days is not filling in for Lori.”
She mistook his comment as a criticism. “You’re not satisfied with my work?”
“Yes, I’m very satisfied, but you were hired to be Megan’s nanny, not the housekeeper.”
She shoved her hands to her hips. “You’re complaining because I’m doing too much work?”
“I’m not complaining exactly,” he argued, although he really was. It bothered him to see her doing chores around his house because he didn’t want her to be his housekeeper. He wanted her to be his girlfriend.
“It sounds to me like complaining.” She turned away from him to open a cupboard and pull out a pan. When she saw him eyeing the cooking utensil she said cheekily, “For Megan’s pancakes. You do allow nannies to cook for children, yes?”
There was an impish light in her eye which he found intriguing. He had seen hints of this side of her personality before, but the thought of discovering more was a tempting one. Before he could respond, however, Megan came bouncing into the kitchen in her nightgown. Her left hand supported her right elbow, her hand in the air. Around one of her fingers was a piece of plastic that looked as if it were some kind of bandage.
“What’s with your finger?” he asked her.
“Faith is getting rid of my sliver,” she answered. She thrust her hand in front of the two of them. “Do you think it’s done?”
“It should be,” Faith answered. “Bring it over to the sink and we’ll see.” Megan did as she was told, setting her hand on the counter for Faith’s appraisal. She watched as Faith unwrapped the plastic from her index finger revealing a sandy-colored soggy mass.
Adam grimaced. “What is that?”
“It’s bread and milk,” Megan answered as Faith carefully removed the wad and tossed it into the garbage. “Faith put it on last night before I went to bed.”
“You slept with that on your finger?”
“Uh-huh. I had to. It hurt real bad.”
Faith ran Megan’s finger under the faucet before holding it up to the morning sunlight streaming in through the window. “I think it’s gone,” she said as she examined it closely. “What do you think?”
Megan looked at her finger, gingerly pressing on the tip. Her eyes widened. “It is gone! It doesn’t hurt anymore! Thanks!”