He would probably put the house on the market, he thought later as he lay in the king-size bed, his hands behind his head. It was too much house for a man alone. There was that word again—alone.
He made himself face another truth, the matter of Natalie herself, and the attraction he was beginning to feel. No matter how he tried to deny it, she was acting on him like a magnet, pulling him toward something unknown. At first he'd called it simple affection for his brother's widow. But now he was forced to face the implications of her sensual appeal.
He had loved his wife. And he felt like the worst kind of traitor.
Because tonight wasn't the first time he'd felt desire for this woman.
He surrendered at last to the memory that he'd denied for so long, letting his thoughts return to another night, another hospital, another occasion when he'd held her while she wept.
Three years ago, both he and Natalie had been exhausted by their vigil. But over the time they'd spent together, he had come to know her well and had grown to admire her tremendously.
Each morning she had dressed in her brightest colors, made up her face with care and fixed a smile on her lips for his brother. Weeks spent in hospital waiting rooms, weeks of watching Joseph wasting away in spite of tests and treatments, painkillers and prayers, had taken their toll, but she was determined not to let Joseph see.
Jake, however, was there when the smile faded. He knew that she had almost reached the breaking point.
One afternoon Joseph's condition had seemed to be slightly improved, giving them hope. They'd had dinner in the hospital cafeteria; Natalie had been animated and talkative.
But there is nothing so merciless as hope given, then snatched away. When they got back upstairs to Joseph's room, they found that there had been another setback, this one more serious than all the others. Joseph had been moved once again into intensive care. Natalie could not hold her tears inside any longer. She'd put both hands over her face.
He'd seen the tears seep through her fingers; he'd seen the determination leak out of her shoulders and backbone. He had gone to her, taken her in his arms and held her while they cried together for the man they both loved.
She had wrapped her arms around his waist, hooked her thumbs into his belt, holding on as though for dear life. Her sobs had quieted at last, but her body was slack with despair. And so he continued to hold her, moving his hand up and down her slender back in a comforting caress, murmuring into her hair.
He had no idea how long they had stood there. He would never know. But suddenly, unexpectedly, he was aroused by her woman's soft curves. And before he could draw away, she had made a soft kittenish sound and moved against him. For just a moment, a split second, his arms had tightened. He'd bent to her, and she had arched to him.
Instantly they'd sprung apart, as though they'd been cleaved with an ax, and stared at each other, horrified. "Oh, God," she'd whispered, her blue eyes desperate.
There was no blame to be attached. They'd been equally moved to reach out for warmth and life in an emotionally devastating moment; they were equally embarrassed. They loved their respective spouses deeply, with total commitment. Nothing would ever come of it.
It was nothing, they told themselves and each other. But why had he never forgotten it?
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
The night was long.
The following morning Jake rose early. Sunlight streamed in through the window as he dressed in jeans, shirt and sweater. He hesitated before he left the bedroom. Then he went back to his closet to take out a leather duffel bag.
He might feel uncomfortable invading Natalie's personal space, but, hell, he'd been married. He knew that Lisa would have been grateful to anyone who provided a change of clothes, a hairbrush, her makeup case. He just hoped Natalie would appreciate it.
He unlocked the back door of the apartment and entered the kitchen. On the living room sofa one pillow still bore the imprint of her head; the other, her feet.
In the bedroom he paused over the sight of the white wicker bassinet, its body at waist height on sturdy reinforced legs. A rigid canopy shaped like a deep shell covered half the oval basket. A few items of very small clothing were stacked neatly on the mattress. He touched the rim of the small bed; it rolled slightly. He turned away and went directly to the closet.
He stood there for a minute and stared at the few things that were centered on the rod. He thought the collection looked rather sparse, and it brought home to him how very important having this child was to Natalie. She obviously was very aware that she would never have another. He took out a pink-and-black outfit and folded it. Then he packed it, along with a pair of flat-heeled shoes, in the duffel bag.
In the bathroom he found her makeup and toiletries. He hesitated over the bottle of multivitamins and minerals on the shelf. Then he tossed it into the bag, too. Anything else? he asked himself.
Oh, yeah. Underwear. He opened a drawer.
Like everything in the apartment, like Natalie herself, the drawer was exceptionally neat. A whiff of her scent reached his nostrils, and he identified a bag of sachet. Folded on the right side were the practical items. He unfolded a pair of cotton panties. Roomy. Those, he presumed, were for pregnancy wear. But on the other side was a colorful spill of seductive silk and lace. He couldn't resist lifting a delicate ivory teddy by its thin straps. Sexy, very sexy.
He replaced the teddy as he found it and knew a poignant moment's pang for the loss of soft, silken things in his life.
* * *
Natalie was sitting on the side of the bed, staring dolefully at the breakfast tray that had just been delivered by a nurse's aide, when Jake walked in. The smell of citrus after-shave and cool outdoors arrived with him.
"Good morning," he said. He dropped the leather duffel bag he was carrying on the floor at the foot of the bed and grasped the high rail with both hands. "I saw Mac in the hall outside. He'll be here in a minute to dismiss you."
His smile was bright against his dark mustache. His hair was still damp but neatly combed, and his jeans were pressed. The collar of a yellow oxford shirt lay neatly over the neck of his green wool sweater. He slid his hands into the pockets of the jeans, tightening the fabric across his flat stomach. No matter how unsuitable it was for her to notice, he did look wonderful.
"Fine."
His smile faded under a frown of concern. "Don't you feel better today?" he asked.
She had dressed, too. But in contrast, her dress, the same one she'd arrived in last night, was a mass of wrinkles, her hair was flat on one side and tangled on the other. She wrinkled her nose and turned away. "Yes," she said, cross more with herself than with him. "I'm fine. Back to normal."
His smile faded; he leaned forward slightly. "No one would ever know it from your expression. Why are you so grumpy this morning?" he asked.
"I'm always grumpy in the mornings, especially when I look like I spent the night in a toxic waste dump and you're so—" she waved her hand in his general direction "—so neat."
He laughed then, a deep rich laugh. "I can take care of that," he said, the smile lingering on his face. He picked up the duffel bag and laid it on her lap. Then he removed the plastic cover from a plate of limp toast and cold, dry eggs. "Good God," he said.
She agreed; she'd already decided that she couldn't stomach the hospital food. "What's in here?" she asked, eyeing the bag. It wasn't hers.
"A change of clothes."
"For me?"
"Sure."
A change of clothes meant he'd rambled around in her drawers, and she did not like that. She tightened her lips, ready to tell him that he should leave her things alone, when Dr. MacGregor walked in, clipboard in hand.
"You slept well, Natalie," he informed her, perusing the papers on her chart. He lifted her foot in its disposable paper slipper that the nurse had provided and probed her ankle with his thumb. "Your blood pressure is down and the edema seems to be gone." He raised h
is eyes. "How do you feel this morning."
She made her voice sound chipper. "I feel much better, Dr. MacGregor. I'm certain now that I was just overly tired."
"Exactly," he answered. "And we can't have any more of that. Don't let yourself get run down like that again, Natalie. You're a strong woman and a smart one. You know what you have to do."
"Yes, I know." There was no hesitation, no reluctance in her when she answered.
Jake straightened from the position he'd taken against the wall. "I called John Barnard before I came over this morning to explain why she wouldn't be able to return to work," he told them.
Dr. MacGregor nodded his approval.
"John said for you not to worry. He understood."
The fact that he'd called her employer didn't endear him to Natalie, but she bit back an automatic protest. She'd already made up her mind to put this baby first, even if she had to sit on her pride. Still, she would have preferred to have called John herself. "I could have taken care of that."
He lifted a dark brow. "I thought it would be considerate to give him as much time as possible to find a replacement."
Once again she found herself in the position of having no choice in the matter of her own affairs. And she hated it. "You were right. Thank you. I'll call him when I get back to the apartment."
The doctor shuffled the papers, made a note and looked up with a smile. "Well, Natalie, I guess there's no reason for you to hang around here. I want you to take it easy for a couple of days. You don't have to be in bed, but try to stay off your feet as much as possible. As soon as you're dressed you can leave." He noticed the tray and its unappetizing contents for the first time. He shuddered. "If you're feeling chivalrous, you might even take her out to breakfast," he told Jake.
"I'll get something to eat at home," she said firmly. "But I would like to change my clothes. Thank you for everything, Dr. MacGregor." They shook hands. "I'll be ready in a minute," she told Jake. She carried the duffel bag to the bathroom and closed the door.
Jake had packed everything she needed. Everything. The idea of his rambling around in her underwear drawer still rankled, but she was grateful for the clean clothes. He'd brought black knit slacks and a rose-pink maternity top, banded on the sleeves and hem with black grosgrain ribbon. The color added some life to her complexion. Her black flats were in the bag, and she put them on.
She brushed her teeth, washed her face and applied a touch of blush from her makeup kit. There wasn't much she could do about her hair but brush the tangles out and pull it back with the large barrette he had also packed. Her hair still looked dull and lifeless. When she got back to the apartment she was going to shower and shampoo and give herself a lemon rinse. That should make her feel human again.
Her efforts earned her a smile from both men as she stepped out of the bathroom. Jake's smile was particularly warm. A nurse appeared with the hated chair.
At the main entrance Jake helped her on with her coat. They said goodbye to Dr. MacGregor and left the hospital.
During the first part of the drive Natalie remained silent. Jake, however, talked freely about the very thing she didn't want to talk about—her job and how it had eaten into her writing time. She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
"Jake," she said at last, cutting him off with a slicing motion of her hand. "I know that I had to give up the job, okay? But I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the work, and I enjoyed meeting the people who came into the shop. I enjoyed feeling useful and productive."
He made a sound, drawing her gaze. "What are you laughing about?" she demanded.
He shook his head, smiling absently. "I'm not laughing, but I am amazed that anyone in your condition would worry about being productive."
"That's a very different type of productivity," she maid wryly.
He was quiet for a minute. Then he sighed. "Look at it this way, Natalie," he said finally. "Lisa believed in your talent. She wanted you to have time to write."
His statement cut off all further argument, but she did have something else to say, something that couldn't be put off. "Jake, I want to apologize again for the things I said last night and to thank you for taking care of me."
"Taking care of you? I'm shocked. Ms. Independent, is that you?"
Her lips twitched in response to his teasing. "Yes, it's me. I've discovered that, under certain conditions, it is comforting to be able to depend on someone else."
He laughed and reached over to squeeze her hand briefly. His expression was sober, however, when he replied, "And I've found that, under certain conditions, it is nice to be needed."
He offered to stop for breakfast, as Dr. MacGregor had suggested, but she declined. "Before I do anything else, I want to take a shower."
He drove slowly back to the house, avoiding potholes and speed bumpers. He was gentle as he helped her out of the car; indeed, his anger at himself and the world seemed to have faded overnight.
* * *
The night Natalie spent in the hospital marked a significant change in her relationship with Jake. They were back to the easy camaraderie they'd shared before Thanksgiving. If she had thought he was solicitous about her health before she became ill, during the week that followed he hovered over her like a Victorian nanny. There was no better word for it.
She suspected that much of Jake's attention was rooted in guilt over her accusations that night in the hospital. Though she had been in an emotional upheaval herself when she'd lashed out at him, she had not missed his anguished reaction. She regretted the outburst and had apologized for it, but she had an idea that her apology wasn't enough to ease his burden.
One evening she sat before the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate and, with mixed feelings, reviewed her and Jake's relationship since her release from the hospital.
It was funny in a way—here was a man who could probably take on a group of toughs in a midnight back-alley brawl and come away with nary a wrinkle in the crease of his trousers. And yet here he was, counting her calories, asking if she'd taken her vitamins, wanting to know if she had walked or exercised that day.
She was gratified by his interest but cautious against becoming too close to him or, despite their teasing, too dependent on him. She was also wary that he might change his mind about the adoption. Setting aside the shock and grief and loneliness that had accompanied the pregnancy, she already felt bonded to this baby in the most intimate way. Mischief was already a part of her.
She rubbed her belly and the baby responded with a movement. She had read that what she drank, the baby also drank, and so she had eliminated all alcohol; she didn't even have a glass of wine. But now she smiled, wondering if Mischief was enjoying the hot chocolate.
Jake's solicitous attention had returned the morning he'd come to the hospital bearing a duffel bag with her clothes. He had begun a fire earlier, and when they entered the apartment it was warm and toasty. While she showered and washed her hair, he went to the coffee shop a few blocks away and came back with breakfast. Since then he had carried logs and stacked them in the fireplace every morning and every evening.
If he saw her light burning as she worked into the night, he would ring her doorbell and direct her to go to bed. He did it with such good humor that it was impossible to be annoyed. If she returned with a load of groceries while he was at home, he would take them from her and scold her for attempting to carry them in the first place. She began to schedule her shopping trips for times when she knew he would be working.
Doubly odd was her reaction. She had always cherished her independence; she disliked being beholden to anyone. And now she was surprised to realize that not only was she not annoyed or irritated when Jake mollycoddled her, she had actually thanked him. She was sure this uncharacteristically submissive behavior was a result of hormonal changes in her body. But if she were not careful, she might get used to it.
She had been made vividly aware of just how far he had gone toward overseeing her life when she had stopped at the gift shop one
morning. John was both pleased and horrified to see her. He hugged her, then pushed her away to arm's length. "Jake will kill me if he finds out you came by here," he said in his melodramatic fashion, the French accent thicker than she had ever heard it. "He made me promise."
Instead of being angry, she had laughed. "I'm feeling much better, and I promise I won't stay long. Have you found a replacement?"
He hadn't, and she tried to apologize, but he wouldn't have it. "It is most important for you and the little one—what is it that you call your stomach?"
"Mischief," she told him with a grin.
"Strange name," said John. "Anyway, you must stay healthy."
She had visited for a short time and then returned to the house, more tired than she would admit to herself or Jake.
Each evening when Jake arrived home he would knock on her door and make her recite what she'd eaten that day. His questions were playful and teasing, but his manner was determined.
Tonight she sat before the fire with a fine-tuned sense of expectation that she attributed to the emotional roller coaster that went along with having a baby. Over and over she tried to tell herself she was not waiting, but her ears were attuned to the sound of his car. It was all so domestic, she thought wryly—pregnant woman waiting at home by the fire.
Off and on all day long, cold northeast winds from the ocean had blown a driving rain across Savannah. The faint warmth of the sun had struggled to be felt through heavy cloud cover, but had lost out completely at nightfall. With darkness came bitter cold.
She was dressed in her warmest and softest slacks, made of violet wool. Over them she wore a maternity sweater with geometric patterns in amethyst and jade. Her red-and-white striped athletic socks ruined the effect of the outfit, but they were warm.
She heard his car in the alley, and her heart climbed to her throat. In a few moments, Jake arrived at her door, stomping his feet, chafing his hands together. "God, it's freezing," he said. He blew into his fist. "I hope you didn't go out today."
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