It was daylight. The realization made her sit up with a jerk, the thin cotton blanket covering her pooling in her lap. The living room was empty, but she heard activity in the kitchen.
She'd slept through the night. Her mind raced back to the evening before. Gage had come to the rescue. Lily had seemed utterly captivated by him. And then he had suggested she rest her eyes.
Could she have slept through Lily's cries? She had been tired, but could she have zonked out to the point that she hadn't heard her niece during the night?
Shoving the blanket aside, Jenna stood. Absently, she combed her fingers through her hair and headed for the kitchen.
"Morning," Gage greeted. "Coffee?" He lifted the pot, obviously in the act of pouring himself a cup.
"That would be heavenly." She accepted the mug he offered, her gaze scanning the room for her niece. Not wanting him to think she was in a panic, she inhaled the rich vapor, and sipped the steaming liquid. "Mmm. This is good. Thanks." But she couldn't keep her next words from tumbling from her lips. "I'm sorry if you were up with Lily through the night."
"I wasn't. I did leave my door open, though, in case she woke up and you didn't hear her."
Jenna thought it sweet that he'd do such a thing. Especially when he'd been so adamant about not wanting to have anything to do with Lily. It didn't make sense, really. And she had no idea why he was being so nice. But it was sweet, nonetheless.
He drank from his mug, then told her, "I haven't been up long myself."
"But . . ." Jenna cradled the warm mug between both her hands. "Lily slept through the night?"
Gage nodded. "I think both of you needed a good night's sleep. I know I did."
The grin that cocked his lips was sexy, and suddenly Jenna felt all flushed. She shifted her weight and studied the rim of her mug.
He set his coffee on the counter. Then he turned off the gas and slid the frying pan onto the back burner. "Let's go check on her."
She followed him through the living room. As they moved into the hallway that led to the bedrooms, he said, "I think part of the problem might be that she needs to sleep alone. It could be that sharing a bed with you was disturbing her sleep."
"You think so? That never entered my head. I wanted to buy her a crib, but I hadn't had a chance to ask you about taking the truck into Forsyth."
For a man who'd seemed so tense around a baby, Gage sure knew a lot about how to handle one. Her curiosity got the better of her. Jenna said, "You were so good with her last night. You gave me that golden nugget of advice about bundling her up. How on earth do you know so much about babies?"
He didn't answer her question. He also didn't continue down the hall to her bedroom, instead turning into the room directly across the hall from his. The one he'd specifically told her was off-limits the day she'd arrived. The one she'd thought was his office.
Jenna looked around her in wonder. It was a nursery. A baby's room beautifully decorated in pale shades of yellow and green, pink and blue. The rocking horse positioned in one corner was painted to look just like the pinto ponies that galloped out in the paddock. A border of teddy bears and alphabet blocks and rattles had been stenciled on the walls at ceiling level. White furniture gave the place an airy feel. The room was clean and dust-free. Well kept. Morning sunlight streamed through the gauzy green curtains hanging at the window.
Glancing into the crib, Jenna saw that Lily snoozed peacefully, her tiny thumb stuck into her mouth.
"Gage?" A dozen questions popped into her head, but every single one of them sounded too intrusive, too personal to voice.
Then she remembered the teenage boy at the service station, the one who had been willing to talk about Gage, the one who had mentioned an accident and how it had changed him. She racked her brain trying to remember what else she'd been told.
In an instant, the puzzle pieces slipped, one at a time, into place. And the picture wasn't pretty. Everything Gage had done last night, everything he'd said about Lily — no, about babies in general, she now realized — suddenly took on new meaning.
"Gage —" she knew a frown marred her forehead "— you were a daddy."
She'd meant to speak in an inquiring manner, but she was so certain of his response that her observation came out sounding like a statement of fact.
He nodded, his chin dipping only once, the strain on his face tightening the muscles in his jaws.
She couldn't stop herself from asking, "Are you divorced, or —"
He shook his head. The magnitude of the implication was overwhelming. "A widower?" His head bobbed.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I — I'm just so sorry. I didn't know. I had heard something about an accident. But I had no idea that you'd lost your wife. And child. Gage, I had no idea you'd lost your family. I honestly had no idea."
She was babbling. She also couldn't help the completely normal human curiosity that was hungry for details, but she didn't dare ask insensitive questions.
"Lily's still sleeping and we don't want to wake her." Gage lifted his hand to point to the door. "Let's go into the kitchen where we can talk."
Minutes later, they had refreshed their mugs of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. The bacon sat forgotten on the stove.
"I should apologize for not offering the use of the nursery before, but —"
"It's all right," she quickly assured him. "It's obviously a very private thing. I can understand why you'd want to keep the room . . . just so. It belonged to your child. If you'd rather Lily not be in there, I can buy a crib. I planned to buy one. I'll set it up in my room. We'll be fine."
Jenna fingered the white paper napkin she'd set her mug on, desperate for something to say. "It just never occurred to me that I might be disturbing Lily's sleep. I mean, the bed is plenty big for both of us. And I put pillows around her, so she'd be safe."
Going on about Lily's sleeping arrangement felt wrong after what he'd just confessed, but she'd said she was sorry and couldn't think of another way to express her regret over his situation.
"Don't beat yourself up about it. How could you know?"
Silence fell. Before the moment could become too awkward, Jenna said, "I'm serious, Gage. I can buy a crib."
He shook his head. "It took me some time to get used to the idea. But it's for the best. Lily needs a place of her own to sleep. It's silly to let the crib, the furniture, the toys just sit there when they're needed."
Again the room was still, and Jenna's unasked questions about the accident somersaulted like clowns in a circus in her mind. She did her best not to voice the questions, but it sure wasn't easy. If Gage wanted to talk, he'd talk. If he didn't, it was his right to keep his story to himself.
He'd told her plainly how he felt early on. He'd agreed to help her with her problem. He hadn't agreed to open up his life to her.
Just when it seemed that he intended to keep his private life private, he set his mug down on the table and sighed.
"It was a car accident." His gaze locked on something across the room, while his thumb smoothed the ceramic handle of his coffee mug. "Mary Lynn, my wife, was driving our sedan. I was in the passenger seat. Our daughter, Skye, was in her car seat in the back."
He paused, every muscle in his body strained. After he swallowed, he quietly continued, "It was a beautiful, sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky. We weren't traveling at an excessive speed. There was absolutely no reason to suspect that our trip home from a day of shopping in Billings would turn into the worst nightmare of my life."
Jenna sat still and breathless. She knew firsthand what heartache and devastation a car accident could bring. A split second could forever change lives and alter the future.
"I still can't say what kind of animal it was," he said. "A mink. A weasel. A muskrat. All I saw was a flash of dark fur on i he road. Mary Lynn swerved. I can still hear her tiny squeal in my head. It was something she did when she was surprised. She jerked the steering wheel too sharply.Jammed the brakes too hard. They locked up is wh
at the state trooper told me later. All I know is that the rear of the car fishtailed. Violently. We struck a cement median. And then we were airborne. Tumbling. The car rolled at least once and landed on its roof."
Sometime while he spoke, he'd laced his fingers around the coffee mug. Jenna noticed that his knuckles had gone pale with the force. She hoped the ceramic didn't crack under his nervous strength.
"I walked away with barely a scratch. Mary Lynn and Skye were dead before I could get myself out of the car and get to them."
Compassion impelled Jenna to reach across the table and slide her fingers over his forearm. He seemed to relax under her touch.
"It was an accident," he told her. "A freak accident. No one was at fault. There's no one to blame. It's just that —" he inhaled deeply "— I can't help but feel guilty. For surviving."
Jenna's heart pinched in her chest.
When they first met, he'd seemed like such a hard man. Unfriendly. Surly, even. But now she was learning that he was just like her. Very human. Nursing wounds of grief and guilt. Trying to get through the best way he could.
She was acutely aware that her hand was still on his arm, so she pulled it back, curled her fingers and placed her fist in her lap. "I think what you're feeling is perfectly natural."
After a moment, he said, "I'm sure you're right." He reclined against the chair back and took a drink of coffee. "I should have cleared out the nursery months ago, I guess. It's been a year. I just haven't been ready." His tone went soft as he added, "I'm still not ready."
He seemed more relaxed, and Jenna couldn't help but ask, "How old was she? Skye?"
Surprisingly, he smiled. "She'd had her first birthday a month before the accident."
"Oh," Jenna breathed, "so little." Her spine straightened as she was struck with a startling realization. "Lily must —"Remind you of Skye, was what she'd been about to say.
So much made sense to her now. His initial refusal to marry her so she could gain custody of Lily. His tense attitude when they'd picked up Lily from Arlene's house. His long hours spent out in the stable. His unwillingness to have anything to do with her niece.
He hadn't been avoiding Lily. He'd been avoiding memories of the daughter who had been taken away from him.
"I want you to know —" a slight quiver changed her voice "— that I'm very grateful to you for all you've done for me and Lily. You've done something amazing, having us here, in light of all you've been through."
"I'm just repaying a debt."
She couldn't help but smile. "I understand that's how you see it. But from where I'm sitting ..." Suddenly, words failed her and a nervous tension flared inside her like a bright flame. She was overwhelmed by his graciousness. He'd agreed to have her and Lily in his home even though doing so was sure to stir his memories of the past.
"But why now?" she asked. "Why open up the nursery? Why tell me about the accident? You made it pretty clear before that you wanted to keep your private life to yourself."
"I don't think any of us could have gone another night without sleep, do you?"
She averted her gaze. She had no idea what kind of response she'd expected from him, but for some reason his answer left her feeling a little chilled.
What had she hoped he'd say? That he'd come to trust her? That he'd suddenly decided she was worthy of his secrets?
That was silly. How could he have come to trust her when they hadn't spent ten minutes alone together? For four days she'd been busy inside the house with Lily and he'd kept himself busy outside.
Okay, so he'd offered the use of the nursery because Lily needed a crib. End of story. And he'd told her about his wife and daughter because . . . ? Well, she guessed it was because he felt he needed to explain why a man living alone would have an immaculate nursery.
The whys shouldn't really matter to her, should they? The fact that he'd confided in her meant a great deal. It changed her opinion of him. It made her see him in a whole new light.
She understood him a little better now. No, a silent voice in her head corrected, she understood him a lot better now. The warm emotion gathering in her chest took her off guard. However, what started out as a pleasant sensation quickly turned so troubling that she felt a tiny frown mar her brow.
When she'd asked Gage for his help, she'd never expected to feel compassion for him, or empathy for his situation. Those feelings could be dangerous; could turn into something else - something more intense, more intimate. Yes, a woman could all too easily fall for a man like Gage.
Marrying someone completely unfamiliar to her in order to get custody of Lily had seemed harmless when she'd devised the scheme. But this marriage of convenience didn't feel so safe anymore. Her frown deepened. After experiencing Gage's kindness last night, after hearing his tragic story this morning, she could no longer call her husband a stranger.
Chapter Five
"May I join you?"
Gage's question had Jenna twisting around to find him standing at the back door. She smiled. "It's your back porch."
The springs of the screen door creaked as he stepped outside. "You looked as if you were deep in thought, and I wasn't sure if I should bother you."
Well into her second week of living under Gage's roof, Jenna was pleased with the way things were going. Lily seemed to have settled in. Jenna was actually getting a little work done. And Gage had finally been able to relax around the baby.
"I just tucked Lily in for the night," she told him. "I've got work to do, but I slipped out here to enjoy the quiet for a few minutes. You're welcome to join me."
He sat down on the porch step next to her and immediately she was aware of the heated scent of him. She had noticed that Gage didn't wear cologne very often. Not that she'd wanted to notice. She simply couldn't help herself. And she had come to the realization that, for some reason, she found his fresh, soapy smell more enticing than the most expensive aftershave.
"The sky is beautiful tonight," she said.
"I never get tired of staring up at those stars."
"I can't help imagining that some jeweler tossed a palmful of diamonds across rich black velvet." It wasn't like Jenna to be so fanciful, but she was in high spirits.
She and Lily had enjoyed a day of fun and play. Lily was sleeping soundly now, and Jenna had finally been able to finish updating a particularly complicated Web site. The job had taken her days longer than she'd anticipated, the baby needing her undivided attention whenever she was awake. But Jenna had accomplished the task, so she was feeling pretty good.
"How was your day?" she asked. "Did you get everything you needed in town?"
"I did. I'm sorry I was late getting back."
Jenna suppressed a smile, hoping the darkness would cover the humor bubbling up inside her. What a difference just two short weeks made. When she'd first arrived, he'd been crabby and short-tempered and never around, and now here he was apologizing to her because he hadn't arrived home exactly when he'd said he would. Anyone listening in would have thought they really were a married couple.
"I found the leftover pot roast in the fridge," he said. "It was good. Tender and tasty. You're a great cook."
"Thanks. I was forced to learn a few domestic skills pretty early."
"Oh?"
Jenna looked out into the night and listened for a second to the hum of flying insects, the soft chirp of crickets.
"When I was twelve, my mom cut herself and went to a doctor in Rock Springs for stitches." The memory had her mouth flattening and she smoothed her splayed palms down her thighs. "She didn't keep the wound clean and developed a staph infection that invaded her bloodstream. It ultimately took her life."
"That's terrible," Gage said.
She nodded. "Amy was nine when Mom died and, being the oldest, I felt I had to lake over Mom's responsibilities. My dad had never been a very good provider. He did what he could, but he had a tiny drinking problem." In truth, her father was a flagrant alcoholic. "He floundered from job to job." She shrugged.
"So I did what I could to keep the household running. When cash was low, I found odd jobs that would earn a little bread money."
"Must have been tough."
She swiveled her head to look at him. "You do what you have to do. I'm sure lots of people have had it harder than me and Amy. At least my dad kept a roof over our heads while we were growing up."
"Is he still in Rock Springs?"
"He died two years ago. His liver was in bad shape."
Gage's expression filled with sympathy.
"So, with both your parents gone, I guess you and Amy were close."
Jenna nearly winced. "Not as close as we should have been. We didn't agree about her education. I wanted her to attend classes at community college. We couldn't afford tuition at a bigger school, and her grades weren't good enough to earn any academic scholarships. That really didn't matter because the idea of going to college didn't appeal to her, anyway. All she was interested in was painting. However, that didn't keep me from harping on the subject. After one particularly loud argument when she was eighteen, she packed her things and left home. She ended up in Chicago. I would hear from her now and then, but one day she called to say she was moving back to Montana. That she'd met an artist named David Collins and they were getting married. They moved to Broken Bow where David was certain things would be economical for them. And it was. They were happy here. And I liked having Amy close again."
Gage was quiet a moment, then said, "Well, I know a little about your sister, but what about you? Since education seems so important to you, were you able to attend college?"
Self-consciousness forced Jenna to look away. "I took a few courses, but not nearly enough to earn a degree."
He chuckled. "So you wanted your sister to do as you said and not as you did."
She grinned sheepishly. "Something like that. But I found my niche very early."
"Your computer work?"
"Yes. I'd just graduated from high school, when the local public school system refurbished its computer labs. They gave away lots of computers, and one of them landed in my hungry little hands. I took a couple of computer courses, and I talked the local bakery into hiring me to build them a Web site. They really didn't expect anything to come of it."
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