Babies and a Blue-eyed Man

by Myrna Mackenzie

  “Don’t worry, Rachel,” Annie said, tugging at Rachel’s fingers. “You were prob’ly just tired from all that work. Rachel has seen bugs that only come around every seventeen years,” she confided to her father.

  “We better not let her overdo things, then,” Sam said, quirking up one corner of his mouth as he tried not to laugh. “Anyone who’s lived that long should probably rest after a big race. Why don’t you and Nicky play for a while and I’ll put the twins down for a nap in a few minutes? I think they’ve eaten enough dirt for one day.”

  Rachel automatically looked at the shovels Zach and Janey were dangling. Zach frowned at his daddy. “No,” he said, in a voice as stern as an eighteen-month-old could manage.

  “Looks like you taught them well,” Sam said as Rachel relaxed and wrinkled her nose at his teasing grin. “I almost had you going.” He lowered his voice as he moved closer. Letting the twins slide down to play in the soft grass at the base of the tree, Sam took one step farther in.

  He was standing a step away from Rachel now, whisper close, and he knew he shouldn’t be there, but she was like a lure, impossibly enticing. Her hair had been pushed back, exposing the long, curving line of her neck where moisture beaded and ran down into the shadows beneath her blouse. Sam had a sudden urge to lean forward and trace his lips down her throat to the catch on her blouse and below. If they’d been alone...well, thank goodness they weren’t alone. But still, he didn’t bother stepping away.

  He turned and felt her hair catch on his sleeve.

  Rachel swallowed. He saw the pulse beating in her throat.

  “I—I guess I’ll be going then. Sleep tight, sweethearts,” she said to Janey and Zach. “You and Nicky enjoy the day,” she told Annie.

  Don’t go, Sam wanted to say, but he didn’t. What would his excuse be? That he wanted to look at her, to touch her?

  “Don’t go,” Annie said. “Please stay longer, Rachel. Stay for dinner. Daddy and I will cook, won’t we, Daddy? You won’t even have to work. It’s Saturday. There’s still lots of time. You can sit out on the porch and rest and drink lemonade. Don’t go just yet.” And moving toward her father and Rachel, Annie grasped Rachel’s hand. She looked up into the lovely lady’s eyes. The eyes of the woman who’d let his child win a race. He wondered if Annie knew...or even if she cared. Whatever, it was clear as Annie’s eyes that she didn’t want Rachel to go home yet. It was obvious that Annie had accepted this woman into her heart.

  He could see the slight tremble of Rachel’s lips as his child grasped her hand and made her plea. He felt the moment Rachel turned her gaze to his. He was almost afraid to look and he wasn’t sure why. Like Annie, he wanted Rachel to stay longer. She was a woman who had changed his daughter’s life. She was also the woman who made him get the shakes whenever he got too close. He knew without a doubt that he wanted this woman, knew all too well that was a danger. Wanting her, desiring her. He should probably be hoping that she’d remember some sensible errand she had and leave. But she wouldn’t do that. Sam knew it. If the president of the United States was calling her to Washington right now, she’d tell him she couldn’t come.

  She’d stay because a child needed her, but he wondered what she’d say if he told her that there was a man who wanted her. And he did want her. Badly. Wanted his lips against her soft, sweet flesh, his hands skimming over her hips.

  Standing there, staring into her eyes, Sam tried to tamp down his desire. Still, he saw Rachel’s breath catch. Quickly she looked down at Annie and managed a shaky smile.

  “Does that mean we’ll be having hot dogs? Wasn’t that the only thing your daddy could cook?”

  Annie bit her lip. “Does it matter?”

  “No.” Rachel shook her head. “It’s a good day for hot dogs, sweetheart. A perfect day.”

  But as she silently took a snoozy Janey and Zach from him, as she walked away and he watched the gentle sway of her hips as she strode up the stairs to the porch, it wasn’t hot dogs Sam had on his mind.

  It was Rachel. She walked across that porch, looking like she belonged there. In his house. With his kids. In his bed.

  As the door closed behind her, Sam could still see her standing against that tree. Dark hair and creamy skin, a wood nymph made of flesh and bone, her woman scent curling around and drifting into his consciousness. Alluring, maddening, the way she made him burn, the way she fit in so effortlessly. She touched his children, his home, and turned things bright and beautiful. Only he was left wanting, untouched, and he very much wished for Rachel to touch him. He craved the freedom to touch back.

  It was a danger, a real danger—and yet not a danger at all this time, this hunger for her. This time he wasn’t talking about love, he wasn’t talking about the kind of relationship he’d had with Donna.

  He was talking about a woman who fit. A woman who fit his home, his kids, his body. That was all.

  This was safer, this was better, this was the way things should be. The only problem was—would Rachel see things in the same light?

  Hell, Sam thought, standing alone now beneath the tree. If he was stupid enough to tell Rachel he wanted her in his bed, he’d be lucky if he escaped with his head on his body.

  ~ ~ ~

  Standing inside the house after she’d put the twins to bed, Rachel leaned against the door, breathing hard, trying to make sense of her thoughts.

  For a while there, with Sam nearly pressed against her side, she’d been almost incapable of functioning. Only the presence of the children and the knowledge that she was in danger of making a fool of herself once again had kept her coherent.

  And now she had agreed to stick around longer, to stay, when she wanted nothing more than to speed away and not look back.

  “So what are you going to do, Rachel?” she muttered, remembering the look on Annie’s face, the pleading in her eyes. She could no more have walked away tonight than she could have stopped the greening of the earth—or the devastating smile that touched Sam’s face so often.

  Darn it! Couldn’t she get that man out of her mind for more than five minutes?

  Determined to do just that, Rachel pushed off the door and made her way to the kitchen. From here, she could get something done and feel useful, not just flustered.

  She could also look out the window and see Sam adjusting the tilt of the tire swing he had hung from a sturdy oak at the edge of his property. She could see him lifting the little girls into the swing and see him pushing it in swaying circles as Nicky and Annie held their heads back, letting their hair billow out behind them. She could hear the interplay of little girls giggling, begging for just one more push while the man answered in that low, sandy voice of his, readily agreeing to their childish demands.

  No, it seemed she couldn’t get away from Sam, not in her thoughts or anywhere else in her life.

  Humph. Rachel reached out and pulled the shade down over the window. Immediately the glow of the sun disappeared, the sound of the delighted voices outside muted. She was cocooned in here, hiding from the light and the love outside. Rachel knew that, but heavens, what else could she do?

  She could occupy her mind and her hands. And digging through the pantry and the cabinets, Rachel set out to do that. She dug out pots and pans and food. She dragged an ancient cookbook from its space on the counter. She thumbed through its pages, finally, finally losing herself to her task.

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing, lady?”

  The deep, masculine voice behind her caught her off guard and Rachel whirled around, dropping the muffin tin she held in her hands. It clattered against the linoleum.

  For three seconds, maybe four, there was silence as Sam and Rachel stood there staring at each other across the broad expanse of white vinyl floor that separated them. Watching the man, knowing just how foolish she was for even being here, wondering if she was staying just for Annie or partly for herself, Rachel swallowed. She opened her mouth, closed it again, closed her eyes.

  “Rachel.” Sam’s
voice turned soft and soothing, melting with regret. “God, Rachel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you so.”

  He came up close beside her then, reached down, and picked up the tin. When he placed it in her hand, she wondered if he could feel her fingers shaking as she tried to grasp the cool metal. She wondered why her fingers were shaking. As he said, she’d been startled, but that was all. There was no reason she should be losing control—except that Sam was touching her again.

  “I’m—all right, thank you,” she said as Sam backed away, giving her breathing space. “What—what are the girls doing?”

  His smile was automatic, easy once again. “They’re riding bikes, they’re running, they’re playing hide-and-seek, being kids. Just—being kids.”

  To anyone else, that might have seemed like an ordinary statement, but Rachel knew that to Sam it was not. He’d told her that Annie hadn’t acted like a child in a long while. She’d seen for herself that it was so. But today...

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said, and she was. “Annie’s very special to me.”

  “You let her win the race,” he said accusingly, drawing near again, giving her that direct, blue-eyed stare that made her feel like she was desert-dry tinder ready to flicker into flame before him.

  “No, I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head insistently. “I knew you’d think so, but I really didn’t. It would have been cheating, she would have known.”

  Sam crossed his arms. He raised his brows in disbelief. “You’ve got legs like a baby giraffe, sweetheart. A lot more shapely, of course,” he continued when she started to open her mouth. “But still, you’ve got mile-high legs. And of course, you gave her at least a ten-second lead to a tree that was right around the corner.”

  “Well,” Rachel said, laughing and lowering her voice in case the girls were anywhere near. “She still won fair and square. That little darling of yours really put the pedal to the metal at the end, so, the extra few seconds...” She raised one shoulder in a helpless shrug. “They didn’t really matter. What mattered was that she was really trying. She really wanted to win, to do something badly for the first time in a long time. She was incredible. Is incredible,” she corrected herself.

  Giving up, Sam held out his hands in a gesture of defeat. “And you, lady, are pretty incredible, too. What the hell do you think you’re doing in here rummaging through all this rubble? Step aside, please. Didn’t Annie tell you that the Graysons were providing dinner tonight?”

  “I know, but...”

  “But nothing. Just move that gorgeous little behind of yours, lady, or else I’ll move it for you. I intend to show you what Sam Grayson can do with a few friendly appliances.”

  The sexy teasing note in Sam’s voice had Rachel smiling all over again, feeling calmer, safe from her own emotions once again. Nevertheless, when he moved to remove her from her place by the counter, she gave a small shriek and feinted to the left.

  “Okay, you win, Sam,” she agreed, laughing. “Bring on the hot dogs.”

  Sam paused, his hands on his hips.

  “Aw, Rachel, you wound me. I realize that you have it on good authority that I am a lousy cook, but hey, I don’t wear that Stetson for nothing, you know. My roots are in Texas, and I can grill a steak with the best of the boys. So you just sit yourself down and rest while I rustle up some grub.”

  She nodded. “All right. But I could make a salad.”

  Sam’s brows drew together in a mock-threatening frown. “And you could find yourself carried outside and dumped on the porch swing, too. You’ve done enough for today, Rachel. It’s supposed to be your weekend. So rest, lady. Take it easy, put your feet up. You’ve worked your miracle for the day with Annie. Now lean back and let me take over from here.”

  “You’re sure? I could—”

  “Rachel?” Sam’s voice was soft, soothing, mesmerizing.

  “Yes?”

  “Shut those beautiful lips, Rachel. Now, please.”

  He was staring at her mouth, his eyes dark and harassed. Her lips tingled, and she raised her fingers. Halfway there, she stopped, hoping he hadn’t seen her gesture.

  “I’ll just go outside,” she agreed. “But Sam?”

  He looked up.

  “Call me if you need me.”

  “Go.” His voice was strangled. He looked like a man capable of anything, whether it was running a business, cooking a steak, raising three children alone, or kissing a woman senseless to shut her up.

  Rachel scooted out the door.

  A short hour later she was in steak heaven, her lips moist with the juices of the wonderful T-bone that Sam had prepared.

  Outside on the lawn, Sam had gathered his little clan. He’d called Cynthia and gotten permission for Nicky to stay a while longer. They’d feasted on steak and baked potatoes, salad and light-as-air biscuits.

  At Rachel’s questioning stare, Sam shrugged.

  “My mother insisted that I learn to cook at least one decent meal. I guess she was afraid that no woman would want me and I’d starve to death.”

  But of course, Rachel remembered, that had been a joke. Girls had crowded around Sam in droves. He had loved and married young. Now he was back, come full circle, a confirmed bachelor who’d written the possibility of love out of his life.

  That was why he allowed her here. Because she was no threat, because he didn’t view her as a possible source of love or betrayal.

  The thought snuck in, hitting Rachel below the belt. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry. She wanted to be up and away from her thoughts.

  Quickly she bent to gather up the dishes and the blanket, all that was left after the girls had run off to catch fireflies.

  When Sam moved to help her, she shook her head. Hard.

  “I’ll just stack the dishes in the dishwasher and come back with a couple of jars. That’s all. They can catch fireflies, and we’ll let them go in a little while. It’s what kids do on a summer night. Remember?”

  “One of the best parts of summer, Rachel. I remember it all. I remember helping you and Kate when you were old enough to have lost the thrill for a good firefly chase, but you didn’t, did you? You never lost that glow.”

  Rachel turned to look at Sam. In the gathering darkness she could just make out his outline, but as she made her escape, she was sure he was watching her. His gaze was like a soft stroke down her spine, a long, slow caress. She could escape Sam, but she couldn’t escape from whatever it was that happened between them whenever he looked at her, whenever he touched her.

  Desire. Thick and hot and demanding.

  Sam wanted her.

  She wanted him, too. But...

  Rachel pressed on into the house. She clamped down on her thoughts, forcing herself to think only of the magic of the night, of the children, of the joy of catching the season’s first fireflies.

  And Sam let her forget—for a while. Like a kid himself, he gently caught the bright insects, held them close for the twins to see, then sent them winging on their way into the night.

  “Bug,” Janey said, satisfied, when Sam had caught another.

  “Bug,” Zach agreed on a yawn.

  “Yes, bug,” Sam said. “But now it’s bedtime, I think. Come on, let’s go,” he said, taking a toddling child on either hand.

  Rachel watched them go. And while Sam corralled his babies off to see the sandman, she trundled Nicky into Cynthia’s car. Then she escorted a swaying Annie in and stayed close as the child brushed her teeth and got ready for bed.

  “Sleep tight, speed demon,” she said, kissing Annie on the forehead and tucking her into bed. “I’ll send your daddy to you in a minute,” she promised.

  Annie nodded and pulled Rachel down for one last hug. “This was fun, Rachel. Come catch fireflies with us again, okay?”

  Fortunately Annie was too far gone to expect an answer. Passing Sam in the hallway as she left, Rachel just meant to peep in on the twins, then slip out in the darkness back to her house.

  “Sta
y for a minute,” Sam whispered as he brushed against her in the cramped hallway.

  Rachel looked up to where Sam’s face should be. Somehow, not seeing him, she was even more aware of his presence, of the sound of his voice, the warmth flowing from his body to hers.

  “I should go,” she managed to say, her voice barely making it past her lips.

  “I know,” he agreed. “But don’t. Not just yet. I need to talk to you for a minute.”

  Rachel nodded, knowing Sam couldn’t see her, but unable to say yes when she knew she should say no.

  Chapter Eight

  What in hell was he doing?

  Sam could feel the anxiety rolling off of Rachel. He knew he should let her go. But his mind had been spinning all day long, ever since she first called him. His gut had started churning every time she came near.

  She was driving him certifiably insane. Everything she did, every time she moved. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. No, he hadn’t ever felt desire that slipped beneath his defenses the way it did with Rachel. And just now, knowing she had come from his daughter’s room, hearing the soft whispered exchange as he moved out into the hallway had left him with a feeling of...right.

  Now, moving back out into the shadowed hallway after kissing an already sleeping Annie good-night, he followed the scent of Rachel down the stairs, out the door, onto the porch. Softly scented lemons. Soap. Woman. He wanted to drink it in, run his fingers through that long hair of hers, bury his face in its softness and scent.

  Instead he simply stepped out onto the unlit porch.

  She turned, waiting for whatever he had to say.

  And what could he say? I want you? You’re driving me crazy with lust? I need you now, Rachel?

  “Come here,” he simply said, although it was he who took the steps that brought him to the lady’s side. And he was the one who opened his mouth to speak and found himself wordless.

  “What is it, Sam?” Rachel asked, and her voice was trembling. Had he scared her? Oh, damn him for a worthless idiot if he’d done that.