Tender Loving Care

by Jennifer Greene

  And Dr. Thornby’s examining room barely held two, much less four. Zoe took the only chair, with Aaron on her lap. Rafe stood beside her, his hands crammed in his pockets, while the young doctor bent over an irritable Parker. Rafe had taken one look at Thornby and decided he didn’t like the town’s only pediatrician.

  “He’s too damn young,” Rafe mouthed to Zoe.

  “For heaven’s sake, would you give him a chance?” she mouthed back.

  “If you put that stick in my mouth, I’m going to throw up all over you,” Parker warned the doctor. “I hate doctors, and so does my brother.”

  “See, the kids don’t even like him,” Rafe mouthed to Zoe. “I think he’s a quack.”

  “Rafe.” This time Zoe spoke aloud. She stood up, still holding Aaron, and handed him to Rafe. “Sit,” she ordered him firmly, received a look of shocked surprise and wandered over to Parker.

  “Listen, lovebug,” she told the boy, “I know you don’t feel good, but in this family we don’t talk about hating anyone. Ever. If we’re scared, we say we’re scared. Okay, monkey?”

  The doctor shot her a wink. “Believe me, I’ve been through this before. Not to worry.” A few minutes later, he adjusted his stethoscope around his neck and said quietly to Zoe, “He has a little cold and a very mild ear infection-”

  “Mild!” Rafe snorted from the corner.

  “-which I can treat with an antibiotic. It’ll clear up in a few days. I’ll give you a prescription for a nonaspirin fever reducer, too. Bring Parker back in a week for a checkup. He should be perfectly healthy by then. In fact, it’s my best guess he’ll be stomping around in three days.” He leaned over to pat Parker’s knee and then smiled at Zoe. “For the father, I prescribe two straight shots before dinner and an early bedtime.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Hasn’t he ever seen the child with a little cold before?”

  Parker peered around the adult bodies to level fever-glazed eyes on his brother. “Did you hear that? Uncle Rafe has to have the shots.”

  It was an hour before they were back home, because they had to stop at a drugstore for the prescriptions. By then, Zoe had high hopes Rafe would turn back into Rafe. Instead, she was ready to ship him off to the nearest asylum by the kids’ bedtime. She was as concerned as he was, but pacing around the house like a caged tiger was not helping. And trying to reason with a four-year-old about why he had to swallow terrible-tasting medicine was all very nice, but it went on for thirty minutes until Zoe tipped the tablespoon in Parker’s mouth and held his lips closed until he swallowed.

  “That,” Rafe said heavily, “was cruel.”

  Zoe set a shot glass in front of him and went into the other room to get the kids into their pajamas. Aaron closed his eyes the minute his head hit the pillow, but Parker wasn’t about to sleep. “My ear hurts, and I can’t breathe when I lie down,” he complained.

  “We’ll fix it so you don’t have to lie down,” she whispered back. Bringing in the rocker from the living room, she swaddled Parker in a light blanket and rocked him. When his cheek cuddled sleepily on her shoulder, she closed her eyes and felt love ache through her like a surprise.

  She’d known feelings were growing inside her for the twins, but not like this. For three years, every time she’d seen a child, she’d thought of the children she couldn’t have. For three years, she’d held her chin high and told the whole damn world she didn’t care. She cared. She’d always cared, but the wonder was holding and loving Parker and not having an ounce of emotional baggage intrude on that. Parker was himself, not the children she couldn’t have, not other children, not the source of something that had cut up her life. He was just…Parker. A little boy who needed someone to love him.

  A little boy she loved very much.

  Barely a half hour passed before Rafe appeared in the doorway. On stocking feet, he edged toward the bed. Aaron never moved when Rafe adjusted his blanket, or even when he sat down at the foot of the bed near the rocker.

  “Is he asleep?” he whispered, nodding at Parker.

  “Yes.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing, love.” The endearment slipped out.

  His voice was as heavy as lead. “Zoe, it’s entirely my fault that he’s sick.” He leaned forward. In the darkness, his features were blurred and indistinct except for the dark orbs of his eyes. “I told you I took them to the park a few days ago. But I didn’t tell you it started to rain.”

  “If you don’t stop this,” Zoe whispered patiently, “I’m going to call the doctor to get you a knock-out drug. Dammit, Rafe, can’t you remember getting a few sore throats and colds as a kid? And I’ve heard Janet say that Parker was prone to minor ear infections. The doctor said it was common and nothing to worry about. Getting wet never hurt anybody.”

  He said nothing for a while, and then, “Do you want me to rock him?”

  “I’m afraid to move him for fear he’ll wake up again.”

  He nodded, then carefully eased himself down on the bed next to Aaron. Finally, he admitted in a whisper, “I can’t stand it, you know. Never could.”

  “What?”

  “Feeling helpless.”

  At eleven she tried putting Parker back to bed, but he immediately woke and started whimpering. Rafe insisted on taking his turn in the rocker, and it was Zoe’s turn to lie down on the bed. Parker was asleep within seconds, and not long after that so was Rafe, his chin nestled on top of the child’s head.

  Zoe couldn’t seem to move away from her three males, any more than she could go to sleep. She studied Rafe’s moonlit profile, loving him-maybe more so after today. Even a rock had the right to crumble sometimes. If she’d ever wondered what his Achilles’ heel was, she certainly knew now.

  Rafe had no tolerance for feeling helpless, for not being able to help those he cared about. It seemed to Zoe the most endearing and human of weaknesses, but it disturbed her as well. It was the first clue she’d had as to why he didn’t want the responsibility of raising the children. Being a parent meant having to watch little ones stumble and fall, make mistakes and learn from them, suffer growing pains and colds.

  Maybe day in, day out caretaking had taken its toll on Rafe. Instead of bringing him closer to the boys, perhaps the constant contact had sealed his feelings in the other direction. He had a fascinating job, an independent lifestyle that included travel and freedom. He valued privacy. Now, instead of enjoying stolen moments of lovemaking, he was faced with the prospect of wiping an urchin’s runny nose all night…How could she blame him for not wanting to make that kind of change in his life?

  Parker woke three times in the night. She and Rafe took turns rocking him. In the morning, his fever was down; he ate two bowls of Corn Flakes and picked three fights with his brother. Rafe kept studying him in disbelief. Finally, he poured coffee and shook his head as he whispered to Zoe, “I don’t care what he looks like. I never want to go through another night like that one!”

  She took a sip of the steaming brew, but it settled in her stomach like despair.

  Chapter Nine

  “Aaron? Parker? Rafe?”

  The apartment might as well have been a tomb. Parker was long past well and deserved a treat. Zoe had left the institute early, hoping to talk the group into an early Friday-night movie and dinner. Only there was no group.

  Poking her head into the kitchen, she noted gleaming counters and clean dishes. Such perfection might have aroused shock and even alarm if she hadn’t heard a muffled thump from the bedroom. Someone was alive and well. Unbuttoning her jacket, she traveled the hallway to her bedroom door, where she took a long, amazed breath.

  Two suitcases were propped on her bed. Neither of them was hers, although one was rapidly being filled with her clothes. Rafe was frowning in total masculine puzzlement over the difficulties of neatly folding a pink silk half-slip. Giving up, he tossed it on top, where it promptly slithered into a reasonably neat little heap.

  The suitcases more than earned her surpris
e, but Rafe was the shocker. Used to seeing him in jeans and sweatshirts, Zoe noted the sharply creased tan cords, the calfskin vest, the gleam of a gold watch she hadn’t seen before. His chin was so smooth that his shave couldn’t have been an hour old, and a whiff of English Leather drifted toward her nostrils, distinctly and traditionally masculine. She had reason to know he was a handsome man, even when he was fresh out of bed, but spiffed up, he was darn close to kill-for material.

  She delicately cleared her throat, which earned her a fast swivel of a man’s head and blue eyes that reflected dismay, surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, guilt.

  “You seem to have misplaced two children,” she mentioned.

  “You’re home early!” He glanced swiftly back to the suitcases. “I can explain…”

  “Good, because for a minute I thought I’d had wine for lunch. I never have wine for lunch, but for some reason those look like my clothes being packed.”

  “Yes.” A wisp of a masculine grin. “Now, let’s not panic, Zoe. This is a good surprise, not a bad one-although I admit I’d have been a lot happier if you hadn’t shown up until five. There’s one awkward detail…”

  “Just one?”

  “Yes, but it’s a big one. Remember, Zoe, I’ve only got one week left of my leave of absence. So next week we have to sit down quietly and discuss what we’ve both been avoiding talking about: what to do with our urchins.”

  Her heart promptly pitter-pattered in both hope and despair. From Rafe’s expression, she couldn’t tell which emotion was more appropriate. If she hadn’t brought up the subject, it was only because she couldn’t face listening to what she didn’t want to hear. If an ending was coming, she wanted to postpone it as long as possible.

  “But not this weekend, Zoe. This weekend I specifically don’t want to talk about children. I think it’ll do us both good to get away from them for two days. I want you alone. I need you alone.” He glanced up from the shirt he was folding and went totally still. His gaze intimately searched her face. “And I counted on you wanting to come with me,” he said quietly.

  She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. “Yes.” The word was soft and simple. For a moment, the word seemed the only thing that mattered, but of course it wasn’t. “But-”

  “But,” he echoed, as he turned back to his packing, “I had to find a sitter for the kids if we were going to escape for two days. Good sitters aren’t exactly flying around free. I had to find someone who could handle scoundrel-age boys. Someone you would trust implicitly. Someone I would take to like weeds take to water.”

  The strangest expression crossed his face. He cleared his throat, and his voice had a sudden boyish gruffness. “Look, Zoe. Choices weren’t exactly popping out of the woodwork. If I wanted to be alone with you, I had to find an answer. It was that simple. I don’t want you to be embarrassed, but when push came down to shove, there was really only one person I could ask.”

  “For heaven’s sake, would you just tell me who you’re talking about?”

  “His mother.” Tall and lanky, with a no-nonsense hairstyle and a smile that radiated warmth, Marjorie Kirkland stood in the doorway for only seconds before swiftly moving forward. “And you have to be Zoe. My son appears to be thoroughly embarrassed that there could be an occasion in a grown man’s life when a mother would still come in handy. I hope to heaven you’re not. I’m absolutely delighted to be here. The boys and I have been getting on like a house afire.”

  The drone of the Piper’s engines blocked out any potential for conversation. Beyond his seat, her seat and two suitcases, there was barely enough room for the controls in front of Rafe. It was nearly sunset when they flew over the Columbia River, which marked the boundary between Washington and Oregon.

  Zoe, silent, cocked her head toward Rafe bemusedly. She knew they were headed toward southern Oregon, but she hadn’t the faintest idea how he’d managed to rent a plane…or that he had two brothers, a fact she’d learned from his mother, or that he knew how to fly. The questions would wait. At the moment, she was busy absorbing the knowledge that she had Rafe to herself for two whole days. Her heart sang the bittersweet refrain that these two days might be all she’d ever have.

  An hour with his mother had been enough to convince Zoe that Marjorie was an angel, and an angel who was more than familiar with little boys. She had a gift for making people comfortable. Initially, the situation had struck Zoe as impossibly awkward. What could Marge possibly think of a woman who would casually take off for a fun-filled weekend, leaving two kids in her wake?

  Only Marge, as it happened, was an enthusiastic proponent of fun-filled weekends. She had two other sons who regularly called her to babysit so they could enjoy weekends of a similar nature with their wives. Marge figured such things saved marriages. In the case of her one bachelor son, she hoped it would make a marriage. “Rafe gave me a very serious song and dance about how you two needed some private time to discuss the children,” Marge told her frankly. “I admire both of you for taking on Aaron and Parker, but I knew the minute I saw my son’s face that kids were the last thing on his mind. I’ve never heard so much throat-clearing in my entire life. Good heavens, you’d think by now he’d realize I know a little about life.”

  Marjorie Kirkland was a blend of frankness and subtlety, humor and common sense. She also knew the difference in action figures between Magneto and Cyclops, and the boys had been so absorbed in playing with her that a kiss and a quick squeeze at the door had been all they could spare for Zoe and Rafe.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  She turned her head with a smile. “No.”

  Rafe glanced at a dial in front of him and then shot her an easy grin. “Well, it’s got mine. I’m terrified I won’t remember how to have an adult conversation. I don’t think either of us has had the chance to finish a sentence in the last five weeks.” He hesitated. “You’re not worried about them?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all.”

  “Good. Relax, Zoe. It’s past time the two of us shared a very different world.”

  Like the slow seep of a sunset, Zoe felt that different world gradually take hold of her senses. The cool cockpit and steady engine drone ended in the total stillness and silence of a hideaway landing strip tucked in among mountains. A rental car was waiting for them. Rafe seemed totally familiar with where they were and where they were going, but Zoe had no idea and increasingly didn’t want to know. Magic was stealing up on her like a secret.

  Each minute took her farther from her work, the children, her apartment. The night was crisp, and midnight was creeping closer. Simple weariness slowed her blood to a languid pace, yet her heart kept beating with anticipation. She was alone with him. In all this time, she really hadn’t been alone with him.

  Especially during the past few days, the future had yawned ahead of her like a chasm without a bridge to span it. Even arranging this weekend struck Zoe as further proof that Rafe missed the privacy and freedom and choices that a life with children made impossible. Decisions waited like the dread of a toothache, yet perhaps that added to her growing excitement, desperation, recklessness. She had now. She had Rafe. There was a time when she hadn’t believed in living for the moment, but this was different. If one only had minutes, the seconds were precious. These two days with him were hers-they had to be.

  Neither lights nor road signs marked the gravel path where he finally turned in. Moments later, Zoe stepped out of the car, mesmerized. The thunder and roar of the sea were unmistakable. Jagged rock cliffs and the glistening sheen of moonlight. This place was a blend of her world and his, mountain and ocean, and nestled in a cradle of rock was a cabin, dark and wind-weathered, its windows overlooking the sea.

  Rafe stood for a minute, watching her with a small smile on his lips. “Like it, Zoe?” he asked softly, but he knew. From the ease of her smile to the helpless gesture she made with her hands…she didn’t have to say anything.

  He carried the suitcases inside, and by the tim
e she wandered through the door, he had a fire started in the corner hearth. Flames were already starting to lick the dry cedar logs. A kerosene lantern sat on the only table.

  “Yours, Rafe?” she asked idly.

  “It was. I sold it to a friend two years ago, but he rarely uses it except in the summer. He didn’t mind lending it to us for a weekend.”

  She nodded, arms loosely folded around her chest as she explored. The cabin was as small as it was unexpectedly luxurious. Thick rust carpeting complemented the rich teak paneling. The double bed in one corner had a feather comforter and a mountain of down pillows. The kitchen ell was tiny, but stocked with everything from wok to microwave. Two oversized chairs flanked the fireplace, on both sides of a long couch in rust velvet.

  A bath and a long storage room opened off from the main cabin. The bathroom ceiling was a skylight; the fixtures were brass and the towels pamper-thick.

  Everywhere, she could hear the sea. Everywhere, she was conscious of isolation and privacy, of the romance implicit in the situation for two people who’d craved being alone for weeks, of Rafe watching her explore, waiting for her in total silence.

  He still said nothing when she finally knelt beside him on the carpet by the hearth, but his gaze settled on her like an intimate touch. She suddenly registered the hammer-beating of her heart, her not-quite-dry palms, the texture of fragile feminine nerves. Her pulse throbbed with inordinate sensitivity; she wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. She’d always been natural with Rafe-she’d never had any choice but to be natural with Rafe-but these circumstances were different. Before, she’d always known that two children could interrupt them at any minute. Her heightened awareness of Rafe was a measure of her knowledge that no one would interrupt them now, any more than anyone could save her from a man who suddenly seemed part stranger, vibrantly sexual, and inescapably male.

  She didn’t want to be saved. She just wished she could find something reasonably intelligent to say.

  His jacket was gone, and so were his shoes. Clamped between his knees was a long green bottle, so recently uncorked that vapor still rose in wisps from its neck. He poured the sparkling wine into two stemmed glasses that gleamed like crystal in the firelight. The man’s eyes had a far more purposeful gleam when he handed her a glass. “I figured it was about time I found out if you could handle your wine, Zoe.”