He’d run from the painful recollection of his nightmares.
It had taken him the entire night to work that through his head, and he’d only examined his actions because it had felt wrong to leave Amy. He’d always been able to blithely extricate himself from personal responsibility, but this time, he’d felt like a bloody heel.
Amy had been in grave distress last night, and like her poor excuse for an ex-husband, Zack had wimped out. He was pretty certain that was the expression the teenagers used. He’d flipped hamburgers, talked music with Flint’s sons, and left Amy to deal with bloody knees and sobbing angels.
He had always prided himself on his courage, but a child’s tears left him helpless. At least he’d stayed until Flint and Joella had returned. Evan had stormed out after a loud and furious argument they could hear from the backyard.
Having parked the Bentley in the upper lot, empty stomach churning, Zack walked down an early-Sunday-morning Main Street with his arms loaded with grocery bags. The sun was just a pale orange promise on the horizon, but he knew the path through the shadows. Even the café lights weren’t on yet.
He’d dug out his oldest shirt, the one with the frayed collar and cuffs he couldn’t bear to throw out because he’d worn it the day he’d won the bid for his first job. It was his lucky shirt. He’d meant to wear it the day he’d won the mill bid, but he’d had Amy on his mind and had forgotten. And he’d still won. So maybe the shirt didn’t have much to do with his success.
He had Amy on his mind a lot these days. He hoped it was just because he was in desperate need of sex, because their lifestyles would never suit them for anything else. In any other circumstances, he would have backed off to regroup with a partying woman, away from the marrying kind.
But today, he felt the need to prove that he wasn’t a coward. It mattered that Amy didn’t think of him as one.
He almost tripped over his feet. Amy mattered. How in hell had that happened?
If he had any sense at all, he’d run the other way before he’d committed himself to more than the mill. What else was he liable to commit to while under the influence of Amy?
More than he could handle.
Never. He never backed down.
He’d been small as a boy and had learned martial arts to prove to the bullies in boarding school that size didn’t matter against courage. As a pampered only child, he hadn’t been allowed by his parents to compete in the rougher contact sports like soccer. In retaliation, he had excelled at fencing, artillery, and equestrian athletics.
He had a history of standing up to naysayers, of tackling impossible projects and overcoming overwhelming odds.
He’d spent these last ten years rebuilding his shattered life to an image of his own choosing. He’d even dared to let Amy’s charming children get close to him, without sliding into a blue funk. He hadn’t fallen into an abyss of despair or terror after the Porsche accident.
But he’d run away because of a bloody knee and a little vomit? Impossible. If his nightmares had returned, they were now one more fear he must conquer.
He climbed the loft stairs and heard the cries of “Mommy!” that indicated the household was awake. Light streamed from the apartment’s second-story window overlooking the mountain. He assumed Amy had been up for a while, maybe longer, if he correctly remembered nights with a sick child.
He’d had grand plans for this day, but he understood that Amy would never leave an unwell Louisa to come out and play with him. He had an immense amount of work he could be doing instead of coming here. He usually used this time of day to review e-mails and return phone calls to his European projects.
But this was Sunday. He was entitled to a day off.
Balancing the plastic bags on both arms and in his hands, he rapped on the door. A tousle-haired Josh, still in his pajamas, opened it.
“Good morning, Josh. How’s that knee today?” Not waiting for an invitation, Zack shouldered the door wider and strode past the wide-eyed little boy. “Good morning, Amy,” he called over the sound of rushing water from the apartment’s small bathroom.
He smiled broadly at a chirp of surprise from the bathroom. The water suddenly shut off while he placed his bags on the galley kitchen counter.
He lifted Josh to the counter so the boy could show him his colorful bandage. Zack’s heart stuttered painfully at the towhead’s eagerness to display his hurt and declare himself too big to cry.
Zack nodded gravely as he emptied a bag. “How would you like to try my favorite breakfast, Sir Josh of the Brave Knee?”
“I like Cocoa Puffs,” Josh declared.
“You can have Cocoa Puffs anytime,” Zack scoffed. “Only today can you have Zack’s Amazing Raspberry Scrumptious Cheese Crepes.”
Sensing Amy’s presence, Zack took a deep breath to steady his nerves before he turned around.
“Crepes?” she asked. Layered curls falling over her forehead, she expressed suspicion and surprise in a deliciously sleepy combination.
Her unfettered curves looked wondrously sexy even in striped seersucker boxer pajamas, and he had to rein in his sudden rush of lust with concern.
“Coffee first,” Zack affirmed, examining the dark circles beneath her eyes. “Do you prefer Hawaiian or Peruvian?” He produced both kinds to show her.
Holding a pale cherub against her shoulder, she rubbed her eyes and stared as if he were a mirage. “I prefer tea, I think. What are you doing here?” A puzzled frown marred her brow.
“Did we not have a date for today?” Wiggling his eyebrows mockingly, he returned to rummaging in the sacks, producing several cellophane-wrapped boxes. “I could only find a supermarket open last night. Their tea choices leave much to be desired. Do any of these appeal?”
She stared back and forth from the stack of tea boxes to him until he feared she was about to heave him out upon his presumptuous ass. He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally replied.
“Are you a hallucination? Or have you been up drinking all night and your fuddled mind thought this would be fun?”
“You wound me, Amy. You forgot we had a date.” He found her teakettle and filled it at the faucet, and then began looking for a mixing bowl and spoon. “Sir Josh, if you will look in that bag beside you, you will find plates with which to set the table. Can you do that?”
Josh tilted the Wal-Mart bag and removed the child-sized plastic plates. “Oh, boy, X-Men!” Generously, he held up a second plate for his sister to inspect. “Look, Lou, Dora!”
Louisa brightened and held out a chubby hand for the pink plate. “Dora!” she confirmed.
“They have to be washed first,” Amy warned, setting her daughter down, then lifting Josh from the counter.
Zack tried very hard not to watch as the child’s weight dragged the pajama top down her breasts, but he was a man, and she was very much a woman, and her lovely curves made him sigh in gratitude.
“I like your hair that way,” he murmured once the children grabbed their prizes and ran off — apparently to wash them in the tub. “It is all sexy and curly, as if you just rose from your pillow.”
She ran her fingers through the rumpled layers, and from her expression, he assumed she was deciding whether to bark, bite, or bait him. Holding the discovered bowl and spoon, he leaned over to kiss her nose before she could do any of them.
“I have not done this in a long time,” he whispered. “Let me see if I remember how.”
She blinked in surprise and warily stepped out of reach. “Why are you doing this now? And what exactly is it that you are doing?”
“Always the practical American.” He waved his spoon in despair, then added flour to his bowl. “A European woman, now, would smile mysteriously, kiss my cheek, and wiggle sexily toward the bedroom, where she would change into something both frothy and erotic before returning with an ice cold bottle of champagne for us to share.”
A broad smile reluctantly transformed her face. “European women keep chilled champagne in their bedrooms?
”
When he reached into the apparently bottomless grocery bag to produce the champagne, she burst into laughter. “You are insane! I am employed by a madman. Perfect, absolutely perfect. I think I’ll go find something ‘frothy’ to put on. That way, when Louisa throws up again, I’ll be dressed for it.”
Trailing gales of laughter — or hysteria, depending on how sleep-deprived she was — Amy ran up the stairs to her loft bedroom.
Zack straightened his shoulders and attacked the crepe batter. He thought that had gone rather well. She hadn’t thrown him out, and he hadn’t run in panic at the heart-wrenching sight of mother and children in Sunday morning dishabille.
* * *
“I promised to come get them,” Jo reminded Amy over the phone line. “If Louisa isn’t running a fever, she should be fine. You’re entitled to some time off, and it sounds like Zack is working hard for his reward.”
Amy could hear her sister’s grin. Instead of laughing, though, Amy was freaking out.
She wasn’t used to having a man in her kitchen — much less one who could produce devastatingly delicious raspberry cheese crepes, then clean up after himself.
She wasn’t used to a man who had a gleam in his eye when he looked at her, to match the glitter in his earring when he tilted his head to listen to a child’s prattle. Zack was wearing an old frayed dress shirt and jeans, and he still looked like a modern pirate. His looks stole her breath, but his gentleness with her children was in danger of stealing her heart, and she simply couldn’t afford the loss.
She’d had a brief moment of hope when Louisa had turned pale over breakfast and declared she was about to throw up again. Zack had turned equally pale and froze in the middle of a silly song involving geese and unfriendly ducklings. She’d thought he’d excuse himself and flee when she hastily hauled Louisa to the commode.
Instead, he’d arrived minutes later carrying a warm washcloth and had taken Louisa into his strong arms, relieving Amy’s aching ones.
She’d wanted to cry with the realization that real men were amazingly masculine when they did gentle things with their big competent hands. Real men didn’t have to bully and intimidate to be macho. That’s when panic had set in.
“Another time, Jo,” she told her sister. “I don’t want you exposing the boys if she has a bug, and you have to guard your voice if you’re going to Nashville next weekend.”
After finally talking Jo out of babysitting, Amy hung up the phone to find Zack holding Louisa and watching Amy curiously.
“Did you wish to take them to church this morning?” he asked without inflection. “She really didn’t throw up. She’s just frightened she will.”
Amy didn’t hear condemnation in his voice for her having turned down this opportunity she’d given him every right to expect, and after he’d been so wonderful and understanding, too.
She’d made no promises. She didn’t have to apologize or explain. She knew that if she went to bed with this man, he’d have her heart in his hands. She simply wasn’t modern enough to have sex without a relationship, so she might as well establish the parameters now. She had to think of her children first.
Elise had reminded her that no man was ever this wonderful once he had what he wanted. Yet the longer she knew Zack, the more she wanted to be with him — at the mill, at home…in bed. She was on rocky ground here.
For the sake of the children, she had to resist Zack’s appeal. It wasn’t as if he’d made any pretense that he intended to hang around for the long term, and not only did the kids not deserve that kind of heartbreak again, they didn’t need to see their mother fall apart at the seams just when she was getting her act together.
She shook her head regretfully. “No, I think Louisa needs to stay home and be quiet for a while,” she murmured. He really was the kind of man she’d love to love, had there been any chance that he wanted what she did. But he didn’t. “You can go, if you like. I really appreciate breakfast. I was exhausted.”
He nodded as if he understood. “It is harder to see them ill than it is to go without sleep. It is not something I am eager to repeat soon. You are a very brave, strong woman.”
Repeat? Amy brushed her hair out of her eyes and shook her head at this over-the-top flattery. At least he was honest about not wanting to be around sick children, although she had to wonder where he’d gained his experience. He’d said he wasn’t married, and he’d mentioned no children — but something in his regretful look said otherwise.
That was what dating was about — getting to know each other. Except she knew in her bones that getting to know this man would be a dangerous step in the wrong direction.
“She ate too many green apples,” she said, giving him time to offer answers before she had to ask the questions popping to mind. “It was hardly a life threatening situation. Parents get used to it.”
“Not all parents,” he murmured, returning Louisa to her. “And you can never know for certain that it is just green apples. We would have lost Danielle to meningitis if the doctor had not finally realized it was more than a cold bug. Any illness can be life threatening at that age.”
Danielle? The name opened a door to an intimacy that she’d tried to avoid, shattering her shield of denial. Zack fit the image of carefree bachelor so easily. Only — except for his reaction last night — he had acted like a parent from the moment he’d seen Louisa. Amy’s soft heart responded instantly, wondering if he’d suffered a disastrous divorce, if he missed his daughter, or worse yet….
She hugged a sleepy Louisa tighter and studied the pain in his dark eyes. She knew at once that he’d lost a child. Had that been why he’d withdrawn last night? It broke her heart just imagining a father’s anguish at losing a child. Had his wife taken their daughter away?
“But she survived the illness, didn’t she?” she asked, dropping all her sorry defenses in a need to reach out to him.
Zack’s smile disappeared and his eyes wrinkled in weariness. “Yes, with proper treatment, I got to keep her for another year.”
She knew she shouldn’t ask. She knew exchanging private thoughts would break down any barrier remaining. Zack obviously wasn’t one to talk of losses, but that kind of pain shouldn’t be pent up and buried beneath a layer so fragile as smiles and charm. Like a festering boil, it needed to be lanced and drained if he was to heal. It wasn’t her duty to heal him, but she couldn’t bear to watch him suffer. “What happened?” she whispered.
He shrugged carelessly. “I married too young. Gabrielle was even less mature, and I indulged her too much. And then, when it was not expedient to indulge her, I expected her to grow up. That was very stupid and arrogant of me.” His voice broke, and a corner of his mouth slanted upward in a self-deprecating smile.
That explained nothing. She wanted to smack him for his evasiveness, but men despised letting people see their pain.
Just knowing he’d been married before, knowing his wife’s name, was difficult. She should back off now, let him throw up the charming barrier he used to prevent anyone from getting close. If she started removing the barrier, brick by brick.… She hesitated, knowing she teetered on a dangerous brink.
Elise would tell her to back off, to not get mixed up in his problems, but she wasn’t Elise. She needed to see the man behind the charm. She abruptly realized this was why she couldn’t relate intimately with this fascinating man — he was holding her to the same distance as she held him.
If she pushed for more now, it would be admitting that she wanted the distance eliminated.
“How old were you?” she asked, throwing him an easy question that didn’t commit either of them. Yet.
She thought he wouldn’t reply. He strolled into her crowded living room and gazed out the enormous windows to the street below.
But instead of retreating behind his usual cheerfulness, he stuffed his hands into his back pockets and, not looking at her, began to speak. “I was old enough, but I should have given Gabrielle more time to experience life.
One does not consider these things when a woman carries your child. We married in college and were deliriously happy. Danielle was the love of our lives.”
She could hear the adoration behind the pain. Tears lined her eyes. She had known this man hid layers of depth she’d barely glimpsed. She could hear the passion and devotion crying out from the bottom of a deep well where he’d buried them. He must have suffered horribly to bury a character as strong as his. And she could no longer resist removing the next brick in the wall.
“Children change us,” she whispered in agreement.
He nodded and finally turned to look at her. Grief carved lines beside his eyes, but his chiseled lips tilted in self-mockery as he studied Louisa’s golden curls on her shoulder.
“Our daughter did not change me enough. I have always been too ambitious, too centered on my own concerns. It was our anniversary. We were to have a lovely vacation in the Italian Alps. We were in Florence, an amazing city. You must see it sometime.”
Amy would give half her teeth to see Italy. She merely nodded agreement.
“I was just starting my software business. I had an important prospect who was running late. He asked me to wait until the next day to meet with him. Gabrielle had spent the day packing and was all excited. She loved the Alps. Danielle looked adorable in her new ski suit.”
His anguish revealed the ghost of a man whose life had been destroyed. Amy suspected he never let anyone see this man who knew what it was to lose everything. She wanted to take him in her arms and tell him…. What? There was nothing she could say that he hadn’t already heard. Her heart ached for him.
He managed a short careless shrug that no longer rang true. She understood better than she had that he wasn’t a careless man, nor a thoughtless one.
Sweet Home Carolina Page 21