"My aunt and uncle had four kids, all quite a few years younger than me. My cousins were around the house a lot. Adrienne and I did our share of feeding and changing diapers. If we change Kippy's diaper now, I think she might go back to sleep."
"I'll do it." She took the baby from him and went into the back—fled into the back.
What if she did it? Married Cal.
He made it sound so logical. A vice presidency for her, and she could make her own hours, look after Tremaine's welfare in her own way. He would interfere, she knew he would, but she'd never minded his interference. She could hold her own, and she enjoyed the stimulation of his challenges.
Enjoyed Cal.
I won't let you down... won't let Kippy down.
If she'd learned anything in the last eighteen months, it was that Calin Tremaine could be relied on. She could have it all: the seat on Cal's board, the work she loved on her own terms, and time to care for Kippy.
Kippy could have a father from the beginning, a permanent, forever father.
Samantha thought of Wayne, who had come on the scene too late to be a real father to her, who'd played such an important part in her life and Sarah's. Of her grandfather, who had died three years before she and Sarah came to live with Dorothy permanently. Of her own father, a man she couldn't remember.
The baby gurgled and yanked her legs out of Samantha's grip. "You're getting a new diaper," she murmured, stripping off the old one and cleaning Kippy's bottom with a baby wipe. "But what about a daddy? What should I do, Kippers? Should I get you a daddy?"
Kippy gurgled and shoved her thumb in her eye.
Samantha fastened the new diaper and lifted her. "Are you really going to go to sleep and leave me to deal with him all alone."
Kippy yawned hugely.
"OK," she whispered, and she hugged the baby closely and kissing her soft cheek before she laid her in the crib. Kippy's eyes drooped and she sighed.
Samantha switched off the light and slowly walked back to the living room. She'd expected Cal to be on his feet, pacing, but he was... simply waiting, sitting where she'd left him.
She stopped in the big log archway that divided kitchen from dining and living rooms. "A business deal, you said?"
He rose from the sofa and she put out one hand to hold him off.
"A business deal," he agreed.
"We'll need a prenuptial agreement."
"I'll call Max, get him started on it." He crossed the room, took her hands in his. "Don't worry, Samantha. Everything will work out." He lifted their joined hands and used one to tilt her chin up. "We are friends, aren't we?"
She was frightened, run-for-your-life scared. "If we weren't friends, I wouldn't agree to this."
"We'll go see your grandmother tomorrow, tell her the news."
She shook her head slowly. "I can't tell her I'm getting married as part of a business deal."
He bent his head and covered her lips with his. The shock made the words jam up in her throat, then drain away.
"She wants to know you'll be happy," he said in a low, hypnotic voice. "And you will be."
He emptied her mind with his lips, his words, and she stood staring up at him, wanting to run, yet frozen. Frozen by what she'd just agreed to do—surely that was why? She hadn't realized how difficult it would be, how her certainty would drain away because everything had changed, because Cal wasn't a man on the other side of the desk anymore, because she wasn't safe behind a suit and a job title.
His lips tasted clean, strong, overwhelming.
"Did you sleep at all last night, Sam? Where's your bedroom?"
"Upstairs," she squeaked. "I don't—"
"I'll sleep on the sofa. If the baby wakes, I'll look after her."
"I'll see to her. Last night I slept in Dorothy's room, beside Kippy's, so I could hear."
"Go upstairs. I know what I'm getting in a vice president for Tremaine's, but you don't know what you're getting in a father for Kippy. Consider this a trial."
"If she cries, if she wants me...."
"I'll wake you." He touched her cheek, a soft brush against her skin like the one he'd given Kippy earlier. She wondered what would happen if she turned her head, captured his finger between her lips as Kippy had.
"Dishes," she said. "I'll just clean up."
"It's eleven, and your eyes are drooping. Get some sleep. I made the kitchen mess; I'll clean it up. You've got a busy day tomorrow."
She was pretty sure it was a bad idea to just turn around and walk upstairs, to obey him as if he ruled her in some way deeper than the relationship of boss and employee.
She didn't know what else to do.
She'd just agreed to marry a man, to trade her services as vice president for his services as father to her orphaned niece. A business deal.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"You could smile," he said, his own lips a straight line.
"No, I can't. I'm not sure about this."
"Tomorrow."
She nodded and turned away, feeling there was something she should do or say, self-conscious as she walked to the stairs. He watched her, she knew he did.
At the top of the stairs, when she was out of his sight, she said, "Good night, Cal."
"Good night, Samantha."
She went to the room she'd slept in as a teenager, closed the door tightly, and pulled off jeans and blouse. In the middle drawer of the big old dresser she'd shared with Sarah, she found a T-shirt advertising Nanaimo's dirt-racing track. Sarah had borrowed the shirt from her date one day at the beach, and she'd somehow never returned it.
Pulled over Samantha's head, it stretched to midthigh.
She didn't have a chance of sleeping tonight.
If she did marry Cal, where would she live? Where would she sleep? He'd kissed her, and she'd felt the warmth of his lips right down to her toes. She hadn't had a lover in a long time.
They'd made a business deal, but if she married Cal, his kiss told her there would be a physical aspect to their marriage.
She laughed, though even to herself it sounded more like panic than laughter. A physical aspect. She sounded like a virginal innocent, but it had been a long time since Howard. A long time since she'd been a young, immature girl in love for the first time. Thankfully, she'd been strong enough to break it off when she realized how completely Howard wanted to control her life.
This time, with Cal, was different. It wasn't about love or sex, but eventually, he was bound to expect... she'd need to be prepared for it to happen.
Friends. Partners. So long as she kept her head, so long as she didn't let herself lose control, it could work. She'd have to be very careful, though, because Cal was the sort of man who could take over. She'd held her own as his employee. She'd have to do the same as his wife.
Partner was a better word, one that gave her a feeling of control. As his wife, she'd be a partner. She'd do a good, efficient job, and the one thing she would not do was to let herself need him, to call on him for help, to cling. She'd keep her head and her sanity, and if they became lovers as well as husband and wife—well, then, they'd be lovers in friendship, not in lust and overwhelming passion.
Cal had been tender tonight, with the baby, with her. If they loved, it would be tenderness and friendship, controlled, not dangerous.
Smiling at last, she fell asleep.
The next day, Saturday, Cal flew back to Seattle, returning Monday morning to go to Nanaimo with Samantha to get a marriage license. She knew they needed the license but felt uncomfortably like an accessory to Cal's impulses, especially when he took the keys from her and slid behind the wheel of her rental car.
Why didn't she protest? Her name on the rental contract, her right to drive. She knew it was crazy to be bothered by something so minor, also knew that if she felt this ridiculous resentment over the issue of who drove the car, she should stop this insanity.
At the BC Access government building, Cal locked the car and unstrapped Kippy's carrier from th
e backseat.
"I can carry her," said Samantha.
"She's heavy." He lifted the carrier out of the car, locked the car, and took Samantha's arm as they approached the building.
Inside, after standing in a brief lineup, they filled out forms and learned there was no waiting period before they could marry. When the clerk named the fee, Cal shifted Kippy's carrier to his other hand to reach for his wallet.
"I'll get this," said Samantha, pulling out her own wallet. The clerk gave her a receipt and a list of marriage commissioners who could perform the ceremony.
Outside the door, Cal stopped her with one hand. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit. You yanked out your money as if we were in a quick draw contest."
"All right." She stared at Kippy, who slept on as if this conversation weren't happening. "Ever since I said I'd marry you, your attitude has changed. You've changed."
Someone pushed the door open behind them, and they both moved to step out of the way: Cal to the left of the doorway, Samantha to the right. A woman towing a three- or four-year-old boy hurried between them and down the stairs.
"I haven't changed," he said.
The doors opened again. A man, wearing a business suit and a heavy frown.
"We'll talk in the car, Sam." He reached his hand to her shoulder, to guide her.
"Cal, stop managing me." She stepped back, out of reach.
"I'm driving," she said, heading down the stairs, not looking back to see his reaction. At the car, she stopped and held out her hand for the keys.
He set Kippy's carrier on the hood of the car and pulled keys out of his pocket. "Why didn't you say if you wanted to drive when we left the house?"
She took the keys and opened the driver's door, slid in behind the wheel. She watched him pick up the baby carrier, then deliberately turned her head away and stared through the windshield while he strapped Kippy into the infant seat. She felt ridiculous.
He was right. She should have said something about the car if it mattered. In a few short hours, this marriage agreement had done something to her, something destructive. She'd lost something, and she knew that although Cal had mysteriously changed, so had she—and not for the better.
He opened the passenger door and belted himself in. "Head for the hospital, Sam."
She put the keys in the ignition, started the engine, and gripped the wheel with both hands. "The hospital?" she echoed.
"Yes."
"Why?"
She felt him turn his head to stare at her, didn't let herself look.
"I want to meet Dorothy."
She blew out a lungful of air. "Cal, this isn't going to work. This agreement, this—this marriage. Ever since I agreed, you've been steering me, telling me what to do, taking things from me."
His eyes were dark, filled with some emotion she couldn't decipher, his voice cold. "What have I taken from you? Car keys?"
"Yes, the keys. The baby, insisting you carry her because she's heavy, as if I'm incapable. You took away my right to decide when I'm tired, when I go to bed, sending me off to bed like a child Friday night. Now you're deciding when I'm going to tell my grandmother, and how. Did I try to tell you what to say to your family, when to say it?"
"For Christ's sake, Sam—"
Behind them, Kippy whimpered.
Cal ran a rough hand through his hair, then growled in a low voice, "Sam, you're on edge. It's been a tough week and—"
"Damn you! Don't minimize me, treat me like some bimbo who doesn't know what she feels, what she wants."
Kippy's whimper turned into a wail. Samantha felt like wailing along with her.
"I'll get her," she said, reaching for her seat belt.
"I'll look after it," said Cal. He had the door open and was easing Kippy out of her baby carrier before Samantha finished unfastening her seat belt.
"That's exactly what I mean," she protested when he sat down in the front seat with Kippy in his arms. Her voice rising, she said, "Ever since I said I would marry you, you're acting as if you can just... just take over for me. As if I'm not capable of caring for my own niece, as if I need you to do the littlest thing."
Kippy seemed content in Cal's arms, had curled up and tucked her head into the curve of his neck. Samantha felt as if she'd been walking out in the ocean and suddenly the ground dropped away from under her feet, leaving only churning swirls of water.
"You don't want my help with the baby?"
"No, Cal. No, I don't."
He gently shifted the baby. "You'd better take her, then."
She accepted the warm weight of her niece, and as the transfer was made, Kippy stretched her neck and began to cry.
"Cal—"
"I think I'll walk."
The door opened, then closed, and his long, lean body became only an image in the side mirror, walking toward Albert Street.
"Cal!"
Kippy responded with a wail.
She couldn't go after him, running, clutching a crying baby.
She rocked Kippy in the small space behind the steering wheel, felt her own shouted words echoing back at her. No wonder Kippy was crying. She'd been shouting at Cal—had done entirely too much shouting the last few days. She never lost her cool, but she was losing it all over the place now. She'd been ranting at Cal, listing his faults in a tirade, just as if....
Just as if she were her own mother.
No wonder he'd walked out.
Kippy wailed louder, and Samantha pushed the car door open and began walking the baby along the sidewalk outside the BC Access building. "I'm sorry, Kippers. Settle down and I promise I won't do any more shouting."
The words had just boiled out of her, as if she had no control at all. She had to get control.
"The shortest engagement on record," she murmured to Kippy, whose cries had turned to snuffles. "Are you ready to go shopping?"
Kippy didn't answer but consented to be fastened and belted into the backseat of the car. When Samantha slid into the driver's seat, her niece was watching her soberly.
"We're going to the bookstore to find a book about babies," Samantha told her. "Dorothy didn't need one, I guess, but I do. Then we'll go to the hospital, stop in the washroom while I comb my hair, maybe put some lipstick on. By then I figure I'll have stopped looking like a woman been screaming at a man."
How could she have lost control like that?
She started the car, drove to Albert Street, and turned downhill, the direction Cal had turned as he walked away.
No sign of him, which was a relief because she didn't know what to say to him—and a worry because it wasn't over. They'd have to talk again. He'd find his way to Gabriola Island, she supposed. He'd have to return for his helicopter. Then they'd talk, say good-bye, because this obviously wasn't going to work. A business deal, he'd said, but she'd been deluded to think she could weave Cal into her personal life and have it work with the same ease their business transactions did.
"My fault," she told Kippy, pulling into a parking space at the mall. She lifted the baby's carrier out of the backseat and headed for the entrance nearest the bookstore. The carrier was heavy—Kippy was heavy—and Samantha's arm was aching by the time she'd reached the bookstore's entrance.
How on earth did all those young mothers manage to go shopping with a baby? Did they have biceps the size of Arnold Schwarzenegger's?
Carrying the baby was one of the things she'd ranted at Cal for. She's heavy, he'd said, and she'd listed it as some kind of takeover aggression, offering to carry the baby for her. Well, she'd have to apologize, even if the thought did heat her face with humiliation. He'd be relieved to see the back of her after this morning. He'd thought he was asking a rational woman to consider a partnership; instead, he'd got a hysterical fool.
She'd warned him she wouldn't be any good at marriage.
She bought Baby's First Year, and The New Parent's Guide to Baby and Child Care. Both books fit into the carrier beside Kippy, making it e
ven heavier. In the corridor, she spotted a baby shop and stepped inside. The clerk, a twenty-something woman with a very tiny baby beside her in a bassinet, looked up inquiringly.
"Do you have any of those packs you can carry a baby in?"
Ten minutes later she'd exchanged a swipe of her credit card for a green corduroy snuggly that allowed her to lace Kippy into position nestled against her chest.
"When she's older, you can carry her on your back. Let me show you how to change it around."
Samantha walked out of the baby store feeling in control for the first time that day with Kippy nestled against her chest, her head drooping as if she were going to take another nap. The weight was comfortably distributed across Samantha's shoulders and back, leaving her hands free.
"Just a matter of finding the right tools for the job," she told the drowsy baby. "I'll get the hang of this baby-care business yet."
At the car, she unstrapped her niece and fastened her in the carrier with the seat belt in the backseat. As she drove out of the mall parking lot, her eyes flickered to the Gabriola ferry terminal across the road. Had Cal come here, to wait for her at the ferry? He must know she'd eventually return to the ferry on her way home.
But why would he wait for her after the way she'd treated him? If he'd started ranting at her like that, what would she have done? She didn't know, couldn't imagine him losing his temper. He was volatile, passionate about his work and his projects, but she'd never seen him out of control. When she first began working for him, she'd been nervous, recognizing his volatile nature, but it wasn't long before she realized Cal Tremaine was far too well wired to lose his temper.
She was the one who had lost it.
She swallowed a thick lump in her throat, blinked hard against the unwelcome pressure of tears. Samantha Moonbeam Jones, pull yourself together. Snap out of it!
She took a wrong turn somewhere around Dufferin Crescent, found herself back on Townsite and had to backtrack, following the hospital signs this time. OK. She needed to master this baby stuff first; then she'd be ready to take on the rest of her life. It was just as well she'd have a couple of weeks on Gabriola Island, just her and Kippy, waiting for the custody hearing.
Think About Love Page 8