by Jade Kerrion
“Do you need to go?” Noelle asked him.
“I’ll have time after dinner. Meal times feel like a two-person job.”
Which he had been doing alone for a year, Noelle thought with new respect for his endurance and patience. She sat next to Grace and scooped out a portion of lasagna and green beans into her plate.
Grace stared skeptically at her dinner.
“If you keep that up, Hope will grow taller than you,” Noelle said casually.
Grace’s gaze snapped up to Noelle. “No, she won’t.”
“Check it out.” Noelle pointed at Hope. The little toddler had scrunched up her face at the first taste of pasta Connor fed her, but had opened her mouth eagerly for the second bite, and the third.
Noelle shrugged. “You better eat if you want to hold on to your head start.”
Grace lowered her head to be on eye-level with her lasagna slice and stuck out her tongue to lick the sauce.
Noelle pressed her lips together to stifle the chuckle and exchanged a glance with Connor.
His smile, as he looked at Grace, was affectionate, but Noelle could see weariness in the slump of his shoulders and fatigue in the dark shadows under his eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’m looking forward to the break. I’ve got all of next week off.”
“Does that mean you’ll be able to sleep in?”
“With Hope? Not a chance. She’s usually does a long stretch of sleep in the first half of the night, but all bets are off after 2 a.m. Still, I’ll be able to nap when the children do.”
“You look like you need it.”
“Yeah, I do.” Connor ate and fed Hope until she pushed the spoon away. He handed her a piece of toast, and she cooed, apparently delighted at the item that was as much a toy as it was food. He glanced at his watch. “I should get going.”
Noelle nodded.
“Hope’s formula is on the kitchen counter. She’ll want a bottle before bed—”
“I got it. As long as the instructions are in English, Spanish, or a language translatable by my iPhone app, I’m all good.”
“Okay. Bye, Hope. Bye, Grace. I’ll be home soon.”
Hope giggled. Grace scowled.
Noelle walked Connor to the door. She kept her voice low. “You’ve got a tough situation, but you’re handling it well.”
Connor sighed. “Someone had to be the adult. I didn’t volunteer, but I was the oldest by a long shot, so I guess I was nominated by default.” He smiled. “Thanks for staying with them. I appreciate it.”
Noelle watched him drive off before she closed the door and returned to the table. Hope’s delighted face was a smear of breadcrumbs. As Noelle watched, the sulky expression on Grace’s face faded. The girl picked up her fork and ate the lasagna as if she were starving.
“Is that food any good?” Noelle asked drily.
“It’s quite yummy,” Grace conceded, her voice absent of rancor.
“You know, your dad would feel better if you told him that.”
Grace’s lips shaped a pout. “I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“I hate him.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s mean. He hates Christmas.”
“Really?”
Grace nodded. “All my friends’ houses are pretty. Mine is ugly. He didn’t put the lights up.”
“I see.”
“And he said he was going to take me to Disney World.”
“Right, but you see, Grace, that was my fault.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “What?”
“My daddy got very sick, and your dad had to stay back to take care of him.”
Her mouth shaped an O. “Did your daddy die?” Her voice was quiet, her eyes large, even terrified.
“No, he didn’t. Your daddy saved him in time.”
Grace blinked. On her mobile features, fear gave way to sadness. “My daddy couldn’t save my mommy.”
“I know, honey.”
“She died.”
Noelle nodded, her heart aching at Grace’s matter-of-fact tone. “Do you miss her?”
Grace nodded. She swallowed hard. “I want a kitten.”
Noelle didn’t balk at the change of topic. “What kind of kitten?”
“A white kitten, but Daddy won’t give me a kitten.”
Noelle censored mentions of dying goldfish. “Kittens are lots of work, honey. Your daddy is already very busy taking care of you and Hope.”
“All he does is come home and give us dinner and put us to bed,” Grace complained. “Sometimes, he doesn’t even come back until I’m sleeping.”
Because he’s in the hospital late into the night, deciding on the best level of care for an irascible old man who’s just had a heart attack. She reached out and stroked Grace’s hair.
The child quivered beneath Noelle’s gentle touch. She stared at her half-eaten lasagna. “I know Daddy doesn’t like me.”
Noelle gaped at Grace.
Two fat tears rolled down Grace’s face and plopped onto her plate. “He says I look like Mommy.”
“You do. And so does Hope. And I know he loves the both of you very much.”
“He won’t give me a kitten.” Grace’s lips twisted into a scowl. “I hate him.” Her words were filled with pain instead of venom.
Noelle pressed her lips together. “Why don’t you finish up your lasagna, and then we’ll work on the tree again. Wouldn’t it be an awesome surprise for your daddy if we finished decorating the tree before he got back?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Thank God the department stores did not close early on Christmas Eve. Connor managed to purchase toys, stocking stuffers, and clothes for Grace and Hope. He was walking toward the checkout line when he passed the women’s department.
Noelle.
His steps faltered. The memory, forever frozen into a perfect image, made his breath catch. Noelle stood in his living room, cuddling Hope, while Grace, with a delighted smile on her face, placed soft toys on the lower branches of the Christmas tree.
For a moment, he had the crazy illusion of a completed family. Three golden heads of hair. Three beautiful, happy faces. Three sets of flashing smiles. He had to remind himself that he was looking at Noelle, not Millie, but for an instant, it hadn’t mattered. For that single, priceless moment, he hadn’t felt a broken piece of a whole.
What could he get for Noelle for Christmas?
Some part of his mind shrieked at him—why was he buying gifts for a woman he hardly knew?—but mental and physical fatigue kept him from digging too deep. He stopped at the jewelry counter and surveyed the mind-boggling selection of earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and rings. The saleswoman smiled at him. “Can I show you anything today?”
“I need a gift for a friend.”
“How special of a friend?”
“I don’t know.”
“How special do you want her to be?”
He turned the question over in his head. His mind was too fuzzy to deliver clear answers, too drained by weariness to sort through the turmoil in his heart. “I don’t know yet.”
The woman smiled. “I’d recommend earrings or a bracelet. Do you know if she has pierced ears?”
Was he supposed to notice things like that? “I don’t know.”
“Most women do, but a bracelet would be safer.” She walked him over to the right section. “What’s her favorite color?”
“I don’t know.” He was starting to feel like an idiot—an unobservant idiot.
“What’s her coloring?”
“Blond. Blue eyes.”
The woman picked out three bracelets. “Any of these will complement her fair coloring.”
Connor’s eyes stung from lack of sleep, and he blinked in a slow and deliberate motion to moisten them. His head felt like it was packed in wool. Damn, but he was tired. “This one, to match her eyes.”
“Wonderful. Would you like it wrapped?”
“Yes, please.
”
Only when he got back to his car did he realize he had paid for Noelle’s bracelet with his credit card without actually taking note of how much it cost. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled his car out of the parking lot. Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave; perhaps he should have taken the time to stop for an espresso.
No matter, he supposed. He was just fifteen minutes from home. He would be there soon enough.
His car raced down the highway, swallowing the miles. The glare of the streetlights blurred the white lines of the road into hypnotic patterns. The purr of the engine blended into a soothing white noise, and the headlights of on-coming vehicles danced across his field of vision like brightly glowing balls.
His mind drifted, and for a single second, his eyes closed.
CHAPTER SIX
Noelle glanced at her watch. 11 p.m. Where was he? The stores had closed an hour earlier, and even if he had stayed until closing, he should have been home within fifteen minutes; Havre de Grace was not a large town.
Frowning, she stretched out on the couch and stared into the crackling flames. An urgent text to her sister earlier that evening had brought Holly scurrying over with a bale of firewood, chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. While Hope dozed on a cushion, Grace and Noelle made s’mores and picnicked in front of the fireplace.
The children were both finally in bed, though, and Noelle enjoyed the quiet of Connor’s home over a cup of chamomile tea. Her gaze fell frequently on the photograph on the mantle place. They had been a beautiful family. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of Millie’s artistic hand. Knitted throws in relaxing pastel colors draped over large armchairs. Watercolors of fairies, obviously painted to delight children, filled the house with whimsical charm.
A dull ache throbbed in Noelle’s chest. Millie had infused her home with love and beauty, and she was gone, leaving behind a grieving widower and two motherless children. How difficult it must have been for Connor—
Noelle’s cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“It’s Connor.”
“Where are you?”
“At the ER.”
Noelle frowned. “Did you get called in?”
“No, I…I was in an accident.”
“What?” She sat upright. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, mostly. The car went into a ditch. I strained my back, and I’ll probably have a couple of bruises tomorrow, but I’m all right.”
Her breath whispered out of her. “Thank God.”
“Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’m on my way. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad you’re all right.” She hung up. Sweet heavens, what had happened to him?
Noelle paced in the foyer until a cab pulled up in front of the house. She flung the door open and ran down the pathway to help Connor from the taxi. His face was pale and tight with pain, and he accepted her support without a word.
The cab driver got out and pulled out from the trunk a large bag of wrapped gifts, which he handed to Noelle. With an arm around Connor’s waist, Noelle helped Connor into the house. “What happened?” she asked, wincing at the slow and careful way he moved when she helped him shrug off his black leather jacket.
“I think I dozed off at the wheel.”
“What?”
He shook his head. Embarrassment stained his features. “Stupid, I know. I didn’t realize how tired I was. Should have had some coffee before heading out.”
“Should have had more sleep,” Noelle corrected. “How badly hurt are you?”
“The worst is just the strained back, though I’m sure I’ll feel more aches tomorrow. The car’s still in the ditch, but I’ll get a tow truck to haul it out the day after Christmas.”
“Are you going to be able to handle the stairs?”
Connor’s jaw tensed. “I think so. Slowly.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry about this. I’m sure it’s not the way you planned to spend Christmas Eve.”
“No one ever plans for these kinds of things to happen. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
The master bedroom was scarcely larger than the other two bedrooms on the second floor, but it was absent of the clutter that made Grace’s room look like it had been hit by a hurricane. The king-sized bed took up most of the space in the room, but a large chaise lounge tucked against the window looked like a cozy reading nook. The tasteful blend of soft beige and soothing blue hues was likely Millie’s choice of colors, but it suited Connor too. In fact, the bedroom was an oasis of calm in a home still struggling to find its footing after the death of a beloved wife and mother.
She glanced back at Connor. He was struggling to tug his sweater over his head. Indecision pricked her until she saw his grimace of pain. Practicality trumped her instinctive reticence. “Easy,” she murmured as she stepped over to help him. She was close enough to feel the heat from his body. Gently, she eased the piece of clothing over his head.
“Thanks,” he muttered as he started undoing the buttons on the shirt he wore beneath his sweater. “There’s…”
“What?” she asked when he hesitated.
“There’s an ice-pack in the freezer—”
“Be right back.”
She found the ice pack and returned to his room. Noelle jerked to a stop beside the door and gave herself a moment to enjoy the view. He had stripped off his shirt to reveal a lean, muscular torso and the faint outline of a six-pack abdomen. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow. All in all, he was one of the more pleasing male specimens she had ever set eyes on.
And he was hurt.
And he was widowed with two children.
And he lived in a little town in the middle of nowhere Maryland.
No, no, no.
Shoving her less-than-pure thoughts to the back of her mind, Noelle cleared her throat. “I’ve got the ice pack. Why don’t you lie down?” The corner of her lips tugged up when he hesitated. “If you need to take off your jeans—you can’t possibly sleep comfortably in them.” She turned her back to him. “I promise not to peek.”
His laughter was low, but it echoed with humor rather than irony.
She did peek, of course. He wore boxers—plain black cotton boxers, which confirmed for Noelle his simple tastes and lack of vanity. He did not, however, take his boxers off, although Noelle appreciated the hint of his firm buttocks beneath the loose material.
She turned when she heard the rustle of bedcovers. He lowered himself onto his stomach, his back and shoulders taut. Tension knotted in her stomach—tension of the entirely wrong kind. Damn it. Down, girl. He’s hurt. He needs my help. She bit down on her lower lip and braced herself before touching him.
“Gently,” Noelle murmured, as much to herself as to him. She placed her hand against his lower back; his skin was heated, the muscles tender to the touch. Connor tensed when the ice pack pressed against his skin. His breath caught for an instant, and then he breathed out slowly.
His shoulders relaxed as the moment of pain eased.
“Thank you,” he whispered. His eyes closed.
“You’re welcome.” She gently brushed sweat-soaked locks off his brow.
His eyes flashed open. Dark brown locked on blue. The surprised vulnerability in his eyes stunned her.
She jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry.”
He swallowed hard. His lips moved. “Don’t be. Noelle—”
“You should rest. I’ll let myself out and lock the door behind me.”
His brow furrowed, as if he wanted to say something else, but finally he nodded. “Thank you.”
Not good. Noelle hurried downstairs. The lump in her throat threatened to migrate to her chest. She had flight reservations back to Los Angeles on January 2. The last thing she needed was a distraction in the form of a gorgeous doctor whose strength and grace under pressure tugged at her heartstrings.
She was about to step out of the door when she heard the fretful, sleepy cry of a child. Hope.
I
ndecision tickled up her spine. She couldn’t afford to get sucked in any deeper into Connor’s life than she already was. A gorgeous man with two beautiful little girls—a gorgeous man with a good heart and two beautiful little girls who desperately needed a mother. The situation had “DANGER—QUICKSAND AHEAD” stamped all over it.
Hope continued to cry.
Damn it. Noelle closed the front door and scurried into the kitchen. She grabbed the bottle of milk from the refrigerator and took the steps two at a time. Even so, she had not been fast enough. Connor stood at the top of the stairs, leaning heavily against the bannister. He was obviously on his way downstairs to get milk for Hope.
Their eyes met.
“I thought you’d left,” he said quietly.
“I’m not leaving. Now, get back to bed. I’ve got Hope.”
“But—”
“Just leave pillows and a blanket on the couch in your bedroom. I’ll be on hand if anyone needs help in the night.” She touched his cheek gently. “You need someone to take care of you. You need sleep.”
He stared at her. For a moment, she thought he would say something, but a soft sigh escaped from him and he nodded. Apparently, they had both come to the same conclusion: It took too much energy to argue.
It took her ten minutes to feed Hope a bottle of milk and get her settled back to sleep. Noelle returned to Connor’s bedroom and found him fast asleep too. He had left two pillows and a soft down comforter on the chaise lounge for her. The chair wasn’t long enough for her to stretch out fully, but she was a snuggle-up-in-a-ball type of person anyway. She closed her eyes and listened to the unfamiliar sound of another person sleeping not far away. Connor, thankfully, didn’t snore, but his erratic breaths testified to the restlessness of his sleep. Twice she swapped out his ice pack for a heat pack. He flinched from the contact but did not fully wake.
She stood by his bedside, staring down at Connor. A smile crept across her face. How much of a hardship could it possibly be to wake up next to him every day?
Not hard at all, she realized.
And it terrified her.
CHAPTER SEVEN