by Jane Toombs
“You must be getting better,” he said. “We’re having our first argument.”
“I am better. Stronger. You must have noticed I don’t sleep all the time now.” As he started to speak, she put up a hand. “And don’t start in on how I should rate the only bed in the house. We’ve already agreed that it’s better for me to stay on the couch and you to sleep in the loft.”
“What I was going to say has nothing to do with the bed in the loft.” Dan said. Which was the truth. When they’d first discussed the matter, he’d refrained from pointing out it was a double bed, big enough for two, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about Fay sharing his bed with him. Which, of course, was an impossibility. “I was going to ask you if you felt up to going out to dinner on Friday. That’s when the Black Bear Lodge serves a mean fish-fry, and it has the best view from its picture window. It’s not far from town, so we could leave the baby with Megan for an hour or two.”
She blinked at him. “I, um, don’t know. We’ve never left Da—Marie with anyone before.”
“You told me you were thinking about going back to work part-time once you got home. You’ll have to find someone to look after her then.”
“I know, but I hadn’t yet gotten around to totting up the logistics of going back to work. It’s not that I don’t trust Megan, but, well, what if the baby gets hungry while we’re gone?”
“Give the breast pump a try and leave a bottle for Marie.” Never in his life had Dan believed he would be telling a woman who was no relation to use a breast pump. Delivering a baby and then living with mother and baby for several weeks induced a level of intimacy he hadn’t so far experienced with anyone else, not even Jean.
Bruce must think he was some kind of clod, warning him Fay was in no shape to have sex and wouldn’t be for the length of time she stayed with him. He hoped to hell his brother hadn’t thought sex was the reason he’d offered to have Fay stay at the cabin until she was strong enough to go home. Any man with a few brain cells wouldn’t try seducing a woman who’d recently given birth. Which didn’t mean he was never tempted.
Well, okay, so he was getting more tempted all the time, finding himself wanting to touch Fay. He’d touched her the night they saw the wolves, just a friendly arm over her shoulders. And what had that led to? He’d come damn close to kissing her.
“You’re right,” Fay said after a long silence. “I should at least test the breast pump. And I admit I’d enjoy getting out for a bit. It’s a date.”
“Our first night on the town.”
She laughed. “It seems like ages since I was taken out to dinner, let alone a fish-fry. My dad used to take us to a lot of fish-frys when I was a kid. I can remember my mother muttering that broiling fish, like she did, was preferable. He always agreed, but we went anyway.”
“Sounds like your folks had a good marriage.”
“Oh, they did. While Mom was alive, my father wasn’t such an old curmudgeon.”
Dan couldn’t help wondering once again, as all his siblings had, why their mother had left their dad without a word to any of them. He and Will had been in college by then, but it was still a shock. Somehow it made all his happy childhood memories seem false.
“Going back to our Friday night ‘date,’” she said, “what was that about a picture window at the lodge?”
“It’s a surprise for newcomers. You’ll have to wait.”
“I hate delayed surprises.”
He grinned at her. “Tough.”
That evening, as Dan was writing another list of supplies to pick up in town, Fay prowled around the cabin.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you what this old oak piece in the alcove is,” she said.
He looked up. “An old wind-up phonograph.”
“Good heavens, I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never seen one.”
“Guess you’re not an antique shopper then.”
“No, not me. I like modern. How does it work?”
Dan crossed to where she stood beside his grandfather’s—or maybe his great-grandfather’s—phonograph. He opened the cabinet doors and showed her the albums of records stacked inside. Sliding one out at random, he lifted the lid and fit the record over the turntable. Then he spun the wind-up crank on the right side of the machine. When it felt tight, he placed the needle onto the record and turned the start lever.
“Paul Whiteman and his Cliquot Club Eskimos,” he said as the music began to play.
Fay stared, fascinated, at the record spinning around. “It sounds so different.” She bent and slid out another record. “These are heavy. Stiff, too. The song on this one is ‘Sunny’.”
“They’re 78. State of the art at the time.” He plucked the record from her fingers, set it aside and held out his hand. “Ms. Merriweather, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
“You may, sir.” She placed her hand in his.
After a moment he figured out the beat and, holding her lightly, danced across the cabin floor, passing the cradle where the baby slept, undisturbed by the music.
“What fun,” Fay said. “I haven’t danced for so long I’m surprised I can still remember how.” When the record reached the end, she sighed. “They don’t last long, do they?”
While he sorted through some of the stored records, she wound up the phonograph. “How about a waltz?” he asked.
“Smashing. That sounds like something they’d say in the old days. Or, maybe, the cat’s pajamas.”
He eased “The Blue Danube” onto the turntable and started the machine. As he put his arms around Fay, a fragment of memory surfaced. His mother was dancing with him as a teenager, saying, “Your father never would learn, but I intend to make sure all my sons know how to dance.”
Then he forgot everything else but Fay. The music, even with the tinny sound of the orchestra on a phonograph from the old days, filled the room. Meanwhile her scent—clean, with a slight smell of roses—filled his head. Without thinking about it, he held her closer, whirling her about the room, the feel of her body against his warming him, heating him.
“A waltz is so romantic,” Fay murmured. “Imagine that we’re in a ballroom in Vienna in the old days. Instead of jeans, I’m wearing a beautiful gown and you’re in one of those striking Austrian uniforms.”
He glanced down at her face, nestled near his shoulder. She’d closed her eyes and he felt as though he could never let her go.
All too soon, the waltz ended. Before he could bring himself to release her, she opened her eyes, looked up at him and before he understood what he meant to do, he bent his head and kissed her.
Her lips were warm and responsive, inviting him to hold her closer, to deepen the kiss, but he struggled against the urge. This wasn’t the time. When she finally pulled back, he reluctantly let her go and they stood for a moment gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Is that the way a waltz is supposed to end?” she murmured.
“Certainly. After all, we were in old Vienna.” It took effort to keep his tone light.
“But now we’re back in today,” she said, turning away and going to stand by the cradle with her back to him.
He knew she’d welcomed the kiss. Perhaps like him, she even wanted more. Which they both knew was impossible under the circumstances.
“I’d like to see you in a beautiful ball gown,” he told her.
She turned toward him. “You’ve certainly never seen me at my best.” She lifted a strand of her hair and let it fall. “Actually, you’ve never even seen me looking normal.”
He told her the truth. “I like the way you look.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I really can’t believe you. My hair is limp and badly needs styling, I may not be quite as pale as a ghost anymore, but I’m not really rosy-cheeked either. Besides, I can’t even fit into my ordinary clothes yet.”
Hearing the quiver in her voice on the last few words, he tried to think of something comforting to say, but all he could come up with was, “Will you b
elieve me if I say I like you?”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I guess I can go that far. I like you, too, Dan Sorenson.”
“Glad to hear it.” He crossed to her and held out his hand. “Being friends in today’s world is a pretty good deal. Right?”
They shook hands. Though she had a firm grip, her hand still felt fragile in his.
The baby began to fuss and Fay picked her up. Without looking at him, she said, “Vienna was a fun place to visit, though.”
As he watched Fay get ready to nurse Marie, he suddenly realized he didn’t want to be an onlooker. The kiss had changed everything for him and he couldn’t look at Fay’s bared breast as she nursed the baby in the same way he had up until now. Damn, he hadn’t counted on lust settling into the cabin with them, an unwelcome guest.
No more kisses, Sorenson, no more trips to old Vienna. We’ve got at least another week to get through together here. She’s a friend. A woman who just delivered a baby and is nursing it. Lust is not the name of the game. Keep that in mind.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Fay woke to discover Dan wasn’t in the cabin. Just as well, she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to see him after what had happened last night. If only she hadn’t responded to that kiss. She decided to get dressed so she’d be fully armed for the first meeting of the day and headed for the bathroom.
He still wasn’t inside when she entered the kitchen, so she fixed herself a bowl of cereal and ate it. After checking that Danny Marie was still sleeping, she grabbed a jacket and stepped into the cool May morning. She heard the faint sound of gunshots. Okay, so he was target-practicing.
Another of her father’s proclamations popped into her head. “Never get between a man and his gun.” Okay, she’d stay put. She settled into one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch and waited for the gunshots to cease.
After a time she caught a flicker of red from the corner of her eye, turned her head and saw Dan emerging from the woods at the side of the cabin. He didn’t look her way, so she got up and followed him around to the back, wanting to get this first post-kiss meeting over with.
He turned and saw her. “Eyes in the back of your head?” she called.
“A good cop always knows when he’s being stalked,” he called back.
“So now I’m stalking you?”
“Isn’t that every man’s wish? To be stalked by a beautiful woman?”
Even at her best, she wasn’t sure “beautiful” applied to her, so she decided to ignore that. “Admit it, you heard me.”
“Ears like a fox,” he agreed.
“A fox?”
“Sure. They can hear mice run under the snow in the winter. That’s how they catch their dinner.”
“You’re full of wilderness trivia. How’s your marksmanship?”
“A bit off. Lack of practice’ll do it every time.”
Fay found herself unable to keep the conversation going. As an up-front type, she usually tried to bring up issues and resolve them, in relationships as well as business. But this wasn’t exactly an issue—it was more that the relationship had taken a shift she hadn’t anticipated. And she found she didn’t want to confront that right now. Still, she’d managed this first meeting after last night without showing her unease. Or had she? Dan was eyeing her speculatively.
Though she wasn’t cold, she hugged herself. “Cool morning, think I’ll go in.”
He fell into step beside her. “Peanut okay?”
“Sleeping.” It occurred to her that he seemed a bit on edge, too.
He didn’t say anything more. Silence is fine, she told herself. Silence is golden. But it increased her unease.
“You needn’t think you can win every game,” she found herself saying.
He frowned, making her realize her words had come out of nowhere.
Finally he grinned at her. “We’re talking cards here?”
“Close, but no bulls-eye.”
“Has to be Scrabble then,” he said as they entered the cabin. “I suppose you expect to beat me?”
“What else?” And she would. In any case talking about playing a board game was a lot safer than bringing up what had happened last night, just as Scrabble was a lot safer than dancing.
In the afternoon, they took a walk in the woods again, Marie in her sling strapped to Dan. They walked, for the most part, in silence, until Dan suddenly halted. “Look,” he whispered. About three feet ahead, a doe stood between two pines, ears twitching, staring at them. Finally, she whirled about and white tail high, bounded from sight.
Fay let her breath out in a sigh, feeling privileged to have gotten so close to a deer. “She was beautiful.”
“Been a good year for the herd. Lots of forage so they all look healthy.”
“But they had to weather that awful storm with no shelter. It makes me shudder to think of it.”
“Deer are pretty well designed to survive any weather.”
After that, their conversation died away again, and Fay wondered why. Usually they had lots to say to each other. Had the kiss they’d shared last night changed things between them that much? Maybe they were merely responding to the quiet under the trees, but she didn’t think so.
No wonder in the 1800s mothers worried about their young daughters learning to waltz. There was something about the music and being in a man’s arms that led to unintended kisses.
Yet Dan’s kiss had certainly been intentional. As had her response. She’d wanted to kiss him. She shook her head. Here she was exaggerating what had simply been a spontaneous act. After all, Dan was an appealing man, no denying it, and the two of them were alone together in this isolated cabin except for Danny Marie. Unfortunately, a little baby made a poor chaperone. For heaven’s sake, they didn’t need a chaperone. She might be physically attracted to Dan, what healthy woman wouldn’t be? And men tended to get the hots for any fairly suitable woman they spent much time alone with. But they both knew she wasn’t capable of consummating anything right now. Fay sighed. It would be nice to be held and cuddled, though. Something most men usually didn’t have a clue about. Ken had been particularly dense about that. Touching had meant sex to him. Period.
And now poor Ken was gone and she felt guilty because she didn’t mourn him more, and she was already attracted to another man.
Enough. She half smiled, reminded of how the kids in her high school Spanish class had taken up the word for enough, going around shouting “Basta!” at each other. Well, basta it was. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Dan and said, “How long is this great weather going to last?”
He glanced up through the branches at the sky. “Starting to cloud over. Could rain. If I’d remembered batteries for the radio, we’d know.”
Yes, he thought, and if I’d remembered the blasted batteries, the radio would’ve been working last night and we’d never have turned on the phonograph. Which would have avoided that damn kiss. It changed everything.
Fay wasn’t her usual talkative self and what she did say sounded strained—like she was trying too hard to be casual.
Hell, he probably was making too much of what happened. It could be she was just tired. She hadn’t been napping much lately.
“Let’s head back to the cabin,” he said.
“Already?”
“You need to rest.”
She scowled at him. “I think I’m the best person to decide whether or not I need to sleep or not.”
“We’re heading back,” he said in the no-argument voice he used when making arrests.
She muttered something under her breath, then didn’t say another word to him all the way back.
“Look,” he said, once they were back in the cabin. “I told you not long after we met you were safe with me. That hasn’t changed. Won’t change.”
“I’m not worried about that,” she snapped.
“Then what the hell is wrong?” Despite himself, his voice raised.
Before she answered, from inside the pouch he s
till wore, the baby began to whimper.
Dan scooped her up, cradled her in his arms and said softly, “Sorry, baby, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I guess that means we can’t have the knockdown, drag-out fight I’m spoiling for,” Fay said.
He heard the humor in her tone and gave her a reluctant grin. “Nope. Doesn’t do to scare the kidlings.”
“Kidlings? Where did you dig up that word?”
“When we were little we always knew we’d gone too far when Grandma said, ‘Now, now, kidlings.’ She never called us that unless she was really annoyed.”
Fay held out her arms and Dan handed over the baby, who immediately began looking for a nipple. They settled on the couch and Dan busied himself elsewhere.
Later, when he figured she was through nursing, he checked on them and found Fay had fallen asleep, the baby held in the crook of her arm that was next to the couch back. As gently as he could, Dan extracted Marie and hoisted her onto his shoulder in case she hadn’t burped. Fay didn’t rouse. Her shirt was open, revealing the breast where the baby had nursed. He didn’t try to tackle the bra, but, for his own peace of mind, he needed to conceal her breast from his sight. As he reached down and draped the shirt over her breast, Fay’s eyelids fluttered.
She didn’t rouse and he eased away, carrying Marie with him until she rewarded him with a burp. Then he changed her diaper, wrapped her in a blanket and brought her outside with him. Settling into one of the old wooden chairs on the porch, he propped her on his knees so she could look up at him and began to talk softly to her, mostly nonsense.
“You look at me with those big blue eyes like you understand every word I’m saying,” he told her.
She gurgled and the corners of her lips curled up into a smile. His heart turned to mush.
Soon her eyes drooped shut and he rocked her very gently up and down. It took him a few minutes to realize what he was half-crooning, half-singing to her: “Bye baby bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting…”
It was the lullaby he remembered his mother singing to Megan when she was a baby.
He stopped abruptly. Lifting Marie into his arms, he carried her inside and laid her in the cradle. He hadn’t let himself think about his mother in years, not until after he’d met Fay. His mother was better left tucked into a corner of his mind. And he was better off not singing lullabies to Marie where he called himself Daddy. He wasn’t her father. In a matter of weeks, she and her mother would be out of his life for good.