by Floyd, Jacie
But surely she’d learned to control herself better than that. All she had to do was think about NPD. She dug her keys out of her pocket and led the way up. “Let’s go on up.”
Inside the elevator, the three flights passed in strained silence. While she could feel Wyatt’s eyes on her, she kept hers trained straight ahead. Inside her miniscule apartment, she offered to make coffee as he perused the stark, bare-bones interior. She flipped on the light in the galley kitchen.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked while she inserted a K-cup into the coffeemaker.
“Three years.” She looked over her shoulder at him waiting for his comments. If Mr. Wyatt Everything-I-Own-Is-Perfect Maitland didn’t find her apartment up to his standards, well then, he should have stayed home. She wished he had.
She wished he’d stayed half a world away from her rather than come here and look all concerned while leaving his fingerprints all over Adam’s baby picture. His presence made her feel like a whacked-out shrew for being rightfully upset about the destruction of her family. And worse, made her feel guilty for not sharing news he had every right to know.
“It doesn’t have your stamp on it.”
Irrational annoyance ran up and down her spine because his expression flashed understanding. Couldn’t he be unreasonable for once?
She reached for a coffee mug and grappled for composure as she filled it. “I’ve never made it my home. I just take up space here. I existed, I mourned, and I hid from the people I cared about. I lived this way for three years, on purpose, because of National Package Delivery. Your family’s company.”
His lips tightened against anger or irritation. She didn't know which. “Is the house you’re renovating in Connecticut very different from this?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That’s because of me, too.” He stepped forward in the small space, caging her against the counter. She could move, if she wanted to, but she would have to touch him to do it. If she reached out and touched him now, she might not ever let him go.
“You did give me something very special,” she agreed, “but you took it away again.”
Overwhelmed by his nearness, Kara looked with longing toward the door, but he trapped her inside his arms, placing a hand on each side of her. Leaning into her space, he placed his face so close to hers that his breath whispered against her cheek. The heat of his body pressed against her. Kara braced herself for a kiss, but he didn’t attempt one. “I didn’t take anything from you, then or now, Kara. Admit it.”
“I won’t.” She used her resentment like a shield, the only one she had against her feelings for him. “I can’t.”
Muttering an oath, he swung away from her, returning to the couch in the living space where he’d left his briefcase on a small coffee table. He sipped his coffee while he powered up the sleek laptop then inserted the thumb drive. “Read this.” He angled the screen in her direction.
She eyed him and the laptop warily.
“It’s why I’m here.”
“You could have emailed it to me.” Glaring at him, she sat at the other end of the couch and pulled the laptop toward her. She recognized the National Package Delivery letterhead and pulled back her hand as if her fingers had been burned and jumped up.
He stood beside her. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he encouraged her to return to the couch. “Read it, Kara. It’s NPD’s official report on the accident.”
Reluctantly, she seated herself on the couch and began scanning the screen. She quickly read the lines of cold fact.
The document identified Charlie Watson as the driver. Thirty years old. Married with a six-month-old daughter. Employed by National for five years. Worked second shift. On February third, the day of the accident, Charlie met his brother at a bar for lunch. The brothers each ordered a beer with their meal. Charlie drank one then switched to Coke. He ate, played some pool, and left for work.
National’s monthly maintenance schedule for all vehicles gave Charlie’s truck a satisfactory rating only a few days before. He hadn’t been on his route more than an hour when Charlie received instructions to return to the terminal due to unfavorable weather conditions.
Coming up the exit ramp, the truck tires slid on an icy patch sending him into the barrier. The guardrail gave way, and the truck plunged into the bumper-to-bumper traffic below.
Unconscious at the time emergency vehicles reached him, he’d been cut out of the truck and taken by helicopter to St. Vincent’s hospital. After multiple surgeries and a lengthy rehabilitation on his legs from a spinal-cord injury, there were no guarantees that he would ever walk again.
The police officer at the scene ordered a blood-alcohol test that registered well below the legal limit. Jackson Wyatt prepared for a possible lawsuit from Mike Enderley’s widow. Sympathetic to the loss of life as well as heading off a prolonged legal battle, he offered a substantial settlement.
According to the investigation, the State of Indiana’s faulty roadside barrier and the hazardous weather condition had been responsible for the tragic accident, not any discoverable wrongdoing on the part of the driver, NPD, or their delivery truck.
Just reviewing the impersonal account made Kara’s blood run cold. The bone-chilling numbness of that day seeped through her. Not only for her own loss, but for the driver as well. She hadn’t known he’d been paralyzed. Why hadn’t she thought to find out?
She really recalled nothing from the day, week, or month of the accident except for the sense of irreparable loss. Paralyzed with grief for months afterward, she had been unaware of events in her family, neighborhood, or the world around her.
But she hadn’t been the only one to suffer. How could she have been so self-absorbed? So insensitive? Perhaps, because she had wanted to blame someone, anyone, and she couldn’t do that if she sympathized or identified with the driver.
It didn’t surprise her to find that an internal company investigation had exonerated both of her favorite scapegoats.
“This is about what I expected a report by National to say.” She closed the document. “How do I know you didn’t dummy this up yesterday?”
“There are dated copies of the police and insurance report included with our official investigation.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “And because whatever else you may think of me, you know I’ve never lied to you.”
“I know I’ve never caught you in a lie.” The charge sounded lame even to her.
His glare challenged her to take back her accusations. She wasn’t prepared to do that. “How’s the driver now?”
“He’s still in a wheelchair, but back at work.”
“Driving?” Despite her sympathy for the man, she hoped he wasn’t back on the streets again.
“Dispatcher.”
“Why didn't you know anything about the accident before?”
He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “I’m not involved with any of the businesses on a daily basis. Uncle Jackson handled this personally, in the manner he believed most effective. The matter was discussed at Wyatt Enterprises board meetings, but I was out of the country the first six months of that year. It was resolved before I returned.”
He pushed his hands through his hair and drew in a deep breath. “I must have read or heard about it, but I had no reason to connect it with you.” He sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Kara, I understand your grief, I understand that you need to blame someone, but you shouldn’t blame me.”
In all fairness, she couldn’t continue to do so. Even before today, she had trouble justifying that rationale. After the shock of finding out that Wyatt Enterprises owned National Package had worn off, she probably would have put it into perspective. But now, with her secret about the baby between them, NPD was the excuse she needed to keep him at arm’s length.
“Not you specifically, but I can’t help resenting you for owning the company that caused so much misery.” She hurried to forestall his objection. “Inadvertent though it may have been.”
> Retaining one of her hands in his, he played with her fingers like they were pieces of a Chinese puzzle. “Where does that leave us?”
“It leaves me in New York and you in California.”
“I want more than that.”
Kara gaped at him. “What are you saying? You always said you didn’t want any strings or commitments.”
“I know. I don’t understand it either. But since you left Atlanta—before that, really—I came to realize that I care about you. More than I believed I could care about anyone. Something special has happened between us, Kara. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, too.”
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her toward him. His declaration was so much more than Kara had ever expected from him. Too stunned to think or react, she sat dazed as he trailed gentle kisses across her face. His lips skimmed her eyes and cheeks then teased the corner of her mouth and nibbled her chin.
Maybe we could have it all. A home. A future. A family. That last word drew her up short. He didn’t want a family, and she didn’t need a husband.
She planned to have the baby on her own. But if he’d changed his mind about being with her, perhaps he’d changed his mind about becoming a father, too. The idea of letting him into her child’s life terrified her. On the other hand, he had a right to know. If he wanted a child.
She’d have to approach the subject cautiously. “There is something special between us. I do care about you and am more grateful than I can say. But I don’t see any kind of future for us. We don’t want the same things.”
“We wanted the same thing all spring long.” The fingertips he stroked down her neck produced a delicious string of goose bumps.
She held his hand between hers, taking comfort from the link. “True, but I learned a lot about myself while I was with you. One thing I learned was that I want to have another baby. I desperately want to be a mother, Wyatt, and you still don't want to be a father.” She studied him carefully. “Do you?”
Was that revulsion, disappointment, or just plain disinterest that turned his eyes from their usual shades of gold to a muddy brown? “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She stood and moved toward the door. “It’s probably best if we don’t see one another again.”
As she opened the door, she braced herself for a poetic or literary assault. But as always, he surprised her.
“Your choice.” He merely flicked a finger across her cheek. “If you change your mind, Kara mia, call me.”
He stepped toward the boxy, no-frills elevator then suddenly turned back and gathered her into his arms. He captured her mouth in a determined kiss. As his lips moved over hers with love and longing, she answered him with restraint then uncertainty, and, finally, a wellspring of desire.
“God, Kara.” He tore himself away from her. “I hope you call me.”
Chapter Twelve
Connecticut, present day
Two weeks after Wyatt’s reentry into Kara’s life, she answered his knock on her door primed and ready to tear into him. “You’ve got to make her stop,” she demanded instead of greeting him.
“Okay.” It pleased him to note that she looked particularly fetching with her eyes blazing. And since he wasn’t the source of her annoyance, he would agree to help her with any problem she named. “Make who stop doing what?”
“Your mother!”
He paused in the act of removing his jacket. “What’s she done?”
“She keeps sending—” Kara waved her arms around in front of her like she couldn’t think of a word big enough to encompass the offense. “Largesse!” she exploded. “Gifts, presents, toys, clothes, you name it. Come and see.”
She grabbed his arm and dragged him through the clutter of boxes and cartons in every room. At least her current irritation outweighed her previous reluctance to touch him.“We don’t need this stuff, we don’t want it, and some of it’s entirely inappropriate. Does she think I haven’t been providing for him?”
Relieved to discover his mother’s transgression wasn’t unforgivable, immoral or illegal, he poked into a package that held the latest gaming system. “She’s just trying to make up for the time she missed.”
“Well, tell her she’s caught up until his high school graduation.” Kara kicked a box containing a skateboard.
“Can he use any of it?” Wyatt lifted up a wool dress coat more suitable to the Prime Minister of England than an active two-year-old.
Wyatt’s heart expanded when Sean rolled into the room dragging along a huge stuffed yellow bird. He snuggled against his mom’s leg and peeked around far enough to reveal his forehead and eyes.
“Hey, scooter.” Wyatt shook the stuffed animal by the wing. “Who’s this guy?”
“Big Bird.”
“Aptly named.” Wyatt reached around to tug the little boy out from behind his mother.
“I’m Elmo.” Sean giggled. “You’re Oscar the Grouch!”
Wyatt raised his eyebrow at Kara as Sean raced away. “Are we pretending or does that mean he doesn’t remember me?”
“Two-year-olds don’t remember much past this morning.” She said it gently, as though she might have a glimmer of sympathy for his feelings. “Unless a person or object appears regularly on their radar screen, their memory banks fill up with the most recent diversion.”
“Then it’s time to become reacquainted.” Wyatt’s toe caught on another tower of packages in the family room. He raised his hand like a traffic cop before she raised another complaint. “Keep what you think Sean will like—” he nodded across the room toward Sean banging a tambourine against a rocking horse “—store what you think he might want in the future, and give the rest to charity.”
“But won’t your mother mind? Won’t it hurt her feelings?”
“I’m not sure she has normal feelings, but if you’re worried about that, she’ll never know unless you tell her.” He picked up a kaleidoscope and looked through it, wishing the jumbled pieces of his relationship with Kara would fall as easily into place. “And I’ll speak to her about limiting her gifts to special occasions.”
“You mean she’s not done?” Kara grimaced. “She’ll keep wanting to give him things on birthdays and holidays, won’t she?”
If he hadn’t experienced his mother’s persistence too many times to count, he would have found Kara’s reaction more amusing. “Don’t your parents?”
“Yes, but they’re his—” She cut herself off mid-sentence and bit her bottom lip.
Wyatt filled in the blank. “Grandparents. And so is she.”
The comment sent her whirling away to pick up Sean. She had a point about the barrage of presents. He’d make an effort to keep his mother in check. But he would also make certain Sean knew the relatives on both sides of his family tree.
With that in mind, he brought up the subject he felt certain had Kara shaking in her shoes. “Are you ready for their visit tomorrow?”
She tapped her foot against the hardwood floor and pulled their son tightly against her chest. “Yes, but I still don’t know why I agreed to let them come here.”
“We’ve already discussed this. Would you rather I take Sean to Atlanta?”
“No!”
“If you don’t want my family to come to your house, I can take him to meet them at the hotel.”
“You’re not taking him anywhere.” Kara turned a shade of pale he’d never seen on her before—or on anyone still breathing. “How many of them are coming? I’d like to get the uninvited guest list straight, if you don’t mind.”
“Allie, Xander, Mother.” Each name caused her to flinch. “They aren’t ogres, after all. Not all of them, anyway.” Wyatt noticed a remote-control car amid Sean’s new loot. Intrigued, he dropped to the floor and picked up the handset. “I told you before I went to Atlanta this would probably happen. Do you have batteries for this thing?”
Sean pushed against her, trying to get down. “I thought I’d have more warning.” Kara stood the child on the floor and opene
d a kitchen drawer to get a box filled with batteries.
“You’ve known for over a week.” Wyatt fished out the kind he needed to get the toy up and running. As the car zoomed around the room, he stopped to enjoy watching Sean try to catch it. “Since next week is Thanksgiving and I didn’t know what your plans would be, I didn’t want to wait two to three more weeks for them to meet him.”
Picking up Big Bird, she hugged the stuffed animal to her. “What time will they be here?”
“Whatever is convenient for you. Mother has the jet ordered for nine AM. By the time they check into a hotel, the earliest they could get out here would be, what? Two or three o’clock?”
“Right in the middle of Sean’s nap.”
Sean backed up to Wyatt and plopped down in his lap, trying to take control of the remote. Wyatt placed it in his tiny hands. “Do you know how to operate it?”
“Me do it.” He pushed the big green button that sent the car racing. They laughed when he pressed the red one that caused the car to screech to a halt.
“Very good,” Wyatt praised before returning his gaze to Kara. “So, what time would you prefer? My family will adjust their schedule accordingly.”
“What color is this one?” Wyatt asked Sean the next day as Kara helplessly watched them add another block to a tower being erected exclusively for the entertainment of the rest of the Maitlands.
“Blue!”
“That’s right!” Wyatt agreed before the boy rushed off to get another.
“What color is this one?” Allie asked.
“Green.” Sean beamed up at his new aunt.
The group had assembled in the family room after the first awkward moments of arrival. When Wyatt took charge of introducing his family to her child, Kara became the sole audience member to an experimental play performed in her own home. Aware of the tension clawing between her shoulder blades, Kara stiffened her spine and sat up straighter.