Strictly Temporary

by Robyn Grady

  “No.” The bathmat already sopping beneath his feet, Zack wiped water off his face. “I mean, that’s fine.”

  “Has she settled down?”

  “Without a moment’s trouble.”

  Ms. Cassidy didn’t need to know about the baby’s red face when she’d hurled, or how he’d considered bundling her up and rushing her to the nearest clinic despite the weather when she wouldn’t settle down before getting into the laundry tub half-full with tepid water. Being a parent was said to be the most difficult job in the world. After tonight he believed it.

  Only proved again—he was so not ready. He didn’t mind doing his bit, but nothing and no one—including family—could convince him he was ready for this kind of deal. Marriage. Kids. He liked his life just the way it was.

  “Mr. Harrison, there is one more thing I need to say.”

  Grabbing a towel from the rack, Zack listened up. After a few seconds, he checked the display screen and frowned. Damn it. Lost signal.

  Another branch crashed onto the roof and his gut jumped before he made a beeline to the bedroom phone. That line still worked. Ms. Cassidy would call again—she had his landline number—and a time would be set for collection to take place.

  Not that collection, as a word, sat too well.

  While the wind howled through a thousand treetops outside, he crossed to a chest of drawers. He needed something suitable to wear. Rifling through socks, he grinned, but he didn’t own a pair of red silk pajamas. If he wasn’t thinking straight, Trinity wouldn’t be wearing red silk, either. She wouldn’t be wearing anything at all.

  At the same time a particularly angry gust shook the rafters, his towel slipped to the floor. Scanning the ceiling, Zack held his breath, waiting for the inevitable crash of a loose branch or two to land on the roof. The crash came—an almighty clattering thump—then the lights flickered, once, twice, and the roller-coaster evening took another unexpected turn.

  * * *

  Downstairs, the fridge clunked over and off. The single light emanating from the bar snuffed out. But for the flickering fire glow, the room would have been left in an impenetrable shroud of darkness.

  Trinity remembered to breathe.

  Obviously the storm had caused problems with the electricity. Maybe the blackout would last a few hours, maybe only a few minutes. The saving grace was that the baby was sound asleep and the kitchen was equipped with gas burners should milk need to be warmed.

  Still, Trinity held her bottom lip between her teeth as she shuffled deeper under the top cover and brought the downy warmth up around her chin. With wide eyes, she scanned a room filled with suddenly spooky-looking shadows. Truth was she didn’t much like the dark, not from as far back as she could recall, and there were at least a dozen reasons why.

  Hurried footfalls sounded on the stairs, a padding that sent an eerie echo through the room. She pricked her ears, angled around and barely made out a figure, which came to a stop near the door. Something clicked and rattled then the figure moved again and—

  Vanished?

  Trinity’s heartbeat began to pound in her chest, in her ears.

  A moment later, something brushed her arm. Her head whipped to that side at the same time she leaped near out of her skin. While she strangled the covers close to her throat, in the light of the fire she caught the face and blew out a long, shaky breath. Of course, there was no need for her pulse to be sprinting a hundred-yard dash. Who on earth else would it be?

  Zack’s deep voice rumbled out from the dancing shadows. “You okay?”

  She pasted on a blasé face. “I’m fine.”

  “You look a little shaken.”

  “Jeez, I don’t know why. Sitting here with the lights out and the mother of all storms lashing around outside. It was the ideal time for you to sneak up on me like that.”

  “Can I help calm you down, hold your hand?”

  Even though he was teasing, the need to recoil was outweighed by the urge to lean forward and say, Yes, please. Tamping down that impulse, she lifted her chin and calmly collected her glass.

  “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.”

  Her gaze curved around the strong angle of his jaw, down the thick column of his throat and lower. Then she frowned, squinted. When she realized, her brain began to tingle. She swallowed deeply but her voice still came out a croak.

  “What are you wearing?”

  He glanced down as if he’d only now remembered, then stated the obvious. “A towel.”

  She tried to give a casual nod, like it was no big deal that this dark-haired Adonis was crouching beside her, bare-chested, practically naked. The slightest shift of those massive thighs and, with the firelight’s help, nothing would be left to the imagination. Not that he seemed the least perturbed by his state of dress…make that undress. Hell, he might have paraded that body every other day to women he barely knew. And those arms…

  Her eye line ran over that nearest bulging bicep and she swallowed again.

  Clearly his body had been crafted from polished bronze. And he smelled so fresh, a combination of evergreen and musk. Her fingers itched to stroke up the toned ridges of his abdomen. Her palms ached to grip and rub those amazing pecs.

  Then he was standing and that towel looked as if it was hanging on to those lean hips by nothing more than a prayer.

  “…want some?” he asked.

  Her attention leaped up from his chest to his face and, more precisely, the grin glinting in those dark eyes. Her jaw felt as slack as soft toffee. She’d been so engrossed, now she couldn’t summon the good sense to answer whatever question it was that he’d asked and she wouldn’t mind betting Zack knew it.

  She couldn’t pretend that she’d heard all his question. “Want some—” Her throat convulsed again. “Some what?”

  His grin slanted more. “Wine.”

  She set her glass aside. “I’d better not indulge anymore.”

  His six-pack clenched as he chuckled. “Occasional indulgence, Trinity, is a must.”

  “I prefer sticking to the straight and narrow.”

  “Straight and narrow, huh?” He held her gaze with his for a long, unsettling moment then grunted and headed for the bar. He poured a second brandy as he asked, “So, was it bad?”

  “Was what bad?”

  “The breakup.” He sent a knowing look over one bare shoulder. “I’m guessing it was and that it was recent.”

  Her neck and face began to glow with a blush he would never see, thank God. “What on earth would make you ask something like that out of the blue?” And, despite her affront, she had to know. “What makes you think I had a breakup?”

  “Your attitude. My experience.”

  “With women?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Phil, but I don’t have time to date.”

  “Now that is a problem.”

  “What that is, Mr. Harrison, is none of your business.”

  He sauntered back, the towel slipping more with each step. He sipped and evaluated her again until that blush had devoured her entire body and she sat up straighter, defiant.

  “Is that another one of your tactics? Standing over people, trying to make them feel small while you make yourself feel big.”

  She imagined a significant portion just below the knot in his towel jumped as if to answer her at the same time he exhaled. “So it was bad.”

  Reflex said to laugh, tell him to take his brandy and questions someplace else. But this was his house. And, damn it, he was right. Bad pretty much summed up the end of her last relationship. She slumped into the pillows.

  “He was kind and considerate and a terrific listener. He also didn’t like kids.”

  His head went back. “You’d gotten that far?”

  “He hadn’t proposed, if that’s what you mean. But I think it says a lot about a person if the mere mention of children makes them shudder.”

  “At the risk of defending the guilty, men can
have a slow uptake on that particular subject.”

  “And why is that?” She really wanted to know.

  “Because if we go all gooey at the mention of children, some women might see that as a sign we want to…want to—”

  “To commit?”

  “Yeah. That.” He nodded at the covers. “Mind if I join you? Of course, I’ll get rid of the towel first.”

  Her breath caught but he was only teasing again. “Translation being you’ll change into something more appropriate.”

  He headed out. “That, too.”

  A moment later, rattling came from the kitchen then a stream of light clicked on—a flashlight. Its arc waved once over the room before fading into another area.

  Relaxing, Trinity snuggled into her makeshift bed, eternally grateful for the fire’s light as well as its warmth. With the electricity down, the radiator would be out, too, unless it was powered by gas like the stove. Of course, there was always a possibility of sharing body heat.

  As a pulse deep inside her kicked off, she scolded herself and snuggled down more.

  Don’t even consider it.

  When Zack returned, he wore drawstring pants and a loose fitting T-shirt, most likely found in the laundry room. She’d seen a basket of clean clothes sitting on the counter when she’d bathed the baby earlier.

  “I checked around outside,” he said. “Snow’s pretty deep.”

  “And still falling?”

  “It’s let up some, but this is not a night to be out. Hopefully by tomorrow sometime, the skies will be clear and the electricity will be back on. In the meantime, the stove, radiator and water are powered by gas, so we shouldn’t freeze, and the baby’s bottles and warm baths are covered.” He looked into the fire. “The woman from Child Services called just before the lights went out.”

  Zack explained that Ms. Cassidy had assured him she would be out to take care of the baby issue as soon as possible. Trinity told herself she ought to be relieved. She could get on with her life. Get back to New York. But she couldn’t help wondering about that baby’s future, immediate as well as long-term. Where were her parents?

  Lowering beside her, Zack grabbed a spare quilt and spread it over his legs and around his ribs at the same time he visibly shivered.

  “It’s freakin’ freezing out there,” he said. “And black. I can’t remember the last time the lights went out.”

  “It’s annoying,” she admitted.

  The child inside her whispered, And just a little scary.

  He seemed to read her mind. “Could be the perfect time to share some ghost stories.”

  The look she sent was pained. “I don’t think so.”

  “I remember when I was perhaps ten,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard, “Dad took his usual few days off from being stuck behind his desk and the family came out here to Denver, but our regular chalet was double booked. The only place available was a run-down building that had once been a barn.” His voice lowered. “Or so the story goes.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s where you’re headed.”

  “Neither did I. Until that night.”

  Huffing, she pulled the covers higher. “You are so not the type to believe in things that go bump in the night.”

  “Are you?”

  “Not the supernatural kind.”

  She caught his curious look and, knowing she’d said too much, she diverted the conversation. Might as well hear his story.

  “So, you were all staying in an old barn.”

  “That had been renovated decades before to include a kitchen, living room, bedrooms in the loft. The electricity didn’t go off like here tonight,” he said, picking up the thread. “But only a handful of lightbulbs worked. The fireplace was covered in cobwebs. The walls and roof creaked enough to have my sister biting her nails. I think that’s where it began.”

  “Your belief in the other side?”

  “No. Sienna’s gnawing at her fingers. Still does it to this day.” Leaning back, he latched his own fingers behind his head and those delectable biceps bulged. “Anyway, the light in the boys’ bedroom blew.”

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  “Three. Mason, Dylan and Thomas.” He pulled a mock-serious face. “We weren’t scared, you understand.”

  She suppressed a grin. “Oh, I understand.”

  “But the wind was blowing like tonight, and when that lightbulb exploded, we all happened to need a glass of water at the same time. Thomas, the youngest, shot out the room first. The rest of us followed on his heels. Our parents were sitting in the musty living room on couches that needed condemning decades before. My father was fuming, vowing to sue whoever botched our reservation, which he later did. He said if a good enough gust came along, the whole place would fly away.”

  “Where was your sister?”

  “Sienna was already snuggled up on my mother’s lap. She’s the baby. Always will be.”

  Grinning, Trinity imagined a cutie with pigtails and stubby nails who relentlessly teased her brothers and got away with it.

  “So you spent the night together in the same room,” she said, “set up all cozy before a fire like we are now.”

  “That’s right. Except…” His hands dropped from cradling the back of his head and he angled more toward her. “Around midnight, the noises began.”

  “What noises?”

  “Distant. Indistinct. But they grew louder. High-pitched, screeching sounds. Scratching on floorboards. Somewhere far off, a rooster crowed.”

  “At midnight?”

  “That’s when we woke our father. He’d drifted off, was snoring softly, but by this time Mom was hiding under the covers, too. He scolded us at first but when he heard the noises, I swear I saw his hair stand on end.”

  A shiver raced over her skin. Bringing up her legs, she hugged her knees. “What did he do?”

  “What any father and husband would do in that kind of situation. He went to investigate. He was gone for what seemed like forever, and with every passing minute the sounds only swelled. That cock crowed again, nearer, louder. And the screeches seemed right there on top of us. The flapping of wings. Smells of a barnyard. A coop. I pulled the cover up over my head when an eerie clucking began.”

  “Clucking?”

  “Right then our father returned. He told us not to worry. He’d found the problem. It was only a bunch of poultry-geists.”

  She gaped and then glared at the same time Zack broke into a grin. Two beats later, she let out the breath she’d been holding on a growl and slapped his arm. “That was so not funny.”

  “Ah, I was only egging you on.”

  A small smile cracked even as her eyes narrowed more. “Don’t leave your day job.” Poultry-geists, indeed.

  “My older brothers have kids. When I go over they always want to hear that story. Entertainment I can do. Diaper duty I leave to the experts.”

  “Not daddy material?”

  “As I’m sure you’d already guessed.”

  She shifted to lie down, propping herself up on her side. She’d like to know more about his family.

  “How often do you see them?”

  “Not including Christmas, Easter, birthdays and other numerous family occasions? All the time. I don’t mind. They’re good kids. What does irritate is—” His jaw tensed and he cut himself off.

  She prodded. “What?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I say it is.”

  He scrubbed his jaw. “Frankly I’m tired of hearing that I should settle down. Like it’s Regency times and—” he put on an Oxford accent “—every gentleman must find a suitable wife.”

  “Maybe they just want to see you happy?”

  His eyebrows knitted. “I don’t look happy?”

  “Happy in a nonbachelor way.” She put it out there. “Your family must feel like they’re in a revolving door the number of times they see you with a new woman hanging off your arm.”

  “Good thing
it’s my life and not theirs.” He leaned back, latched his fingers behind his head again and stared off at some distant point past the ceiling. “Unless you weren’t aware, I’m content with my life just the way it is. What about you?”

  “I’m busy, settled and happy with my job.”

  “And unattached after that breakup.”

  “Definitely unattached.”

  “But I’m guessing you’d want to tie a knot sometime…have children someday. You have a knack with babies.”

  Her heart dropped an inch and she looked into the fire. When she felt his expression sharpen, she explained. “I like children. Babies.”

  “That’s kind of obvious.”

  Her cheeks began to burn, but she shouldn’t feel awkward. Zack had his life and she had hers.

  “Thing is,” she said. “I don’t have family to fall back on, and sometimes both a mother and father drop out of the picture, for one reason or another. I have friends,” she went on. “Good friends. But no one I’d trust enough with a child of my own if something, you know, ever happened. And I have nothing against adoption. Heck, I would’ve loved to have been adopted by a loving family. And, when it’s needed, I can’t slight good foster care.” She took a breath. “Life is about choices. I’ve chosen not to go down that having-my-own-children path.”

  Trinity took a breath and looked from the bed of flickering flames back to Zack.

  A crease forming between his brows, he shifted and lay down on his side, too. Propped up on an arm, he set his jaw in the cup of that palm. After a curious moment of his intense gaze skewering hers, she shifted, too, and frowned.

  “You mean not get married, have children?” he asked. “I thought you sacked the boyfriend because he didn’t approve of kids?”

  “That’s right. He didn’t approve of them at all. I mean, you might not want to be a father, but you like your nieces and nephews, don’t you? You like this baby?”

  “She can be noisy and smelly and has caused me a ton of worry. But sure I like her.” He slanted his head and then nodded. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “I might not plan to have any of my own, but I couldn’t spend my life with someone who thinks kids are a waste of space.”