He paused to take a breath.
He had been in a bad mood lately. A hell of a frustrated mood.
“And it’s all your fault,” he muttered.
“What was that last part?”
He strode toward the den, determined to get this out in the open. Living with Rebecca and not being able to touch her was turning his mood nastier by the day. He’d held off coaxing her into bed because he was afraid of hurting her, but the one who was hurting was him.
And everyone he came in contact with.
“Look, Rebecca, I’m a man. And you’re a woman.” A woman who had brought her woman’s scents into his house, who had brought fantasies of her womanly body—her legs, her breasts, her smooth, pale skin—into his head. “Don’t you think it’s time we—”
He halted in the doorway, staring at what was in his den instead of Rebecca. The furniture was pushed against the walls. A box cutter and a full roll of packing tape lay on the carpet between himself and an edifice of heavy cardboard. “Rebecca?”
The edifice swayed, and a head half peeked out of a square cut into the side of one wall. “Yes?”
“Your playhouse,” he guessed.
“Merry’s playhouse. She’s still in the hospital and I thought that when I go back on shift tomorrow I’d like to tell her I made some progress.”
“A lot of progress.”
The head disappeared and he heard the distinctive screech of sticky tape being stretched from a dispenser. “I’m taping down the interior walls.” The playhouse swayed again and he heard another screech. “Now, what was it you were saying?”
He shook his head, trying to regain his thoughts. In a corner of the room, the television was alive and on it—wouldn’t you know—was that smug Dr. Phil. Well, the guru would approve of his honesty, wouldn’t he? “You’re a woman, and I’m a m—”
“Would you mind holding this?”
“What?”
Her hand wiggled outside the window opening. “Just hold right here while I reinforce the edges, okay?”
He frowned. “Why don’t we just buy Merry a playhouse?”
There was a tiny pause that made him feel like a big-footed clod. “It wouldn’t be the same.”
Of course it wouldn’t be the same. Before he made another female in his world cry, he crossed to the little window. Rebecca wanted him to hold some cardboard mullions in place, which required him to hunker down on the floor.
“Now,” she said, over the screeching tape, “what is it you were telling me?”
He peered through the window. Rebecca must have been on her knees, too, because he could only see her between the neck and waist. She was wearing an old cutoff T-shirt—was it one of his?—and the knowledge of what was beneath it, what was distinctly hers, smooth and warm, started itching at him again.
I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s have sex.
It was as primal, as essential as that.
He could see it now. The two of them, tangled on his bed. Hell, tangled on the floor, right here, right now, that T-shirt pushed away, the sweatpants she was wearing pushed down and his mouth on her. Everywhere.
Dampness gathered along his spine. He sucked in a breath and drew her light perfume into his lungs. Powdery, sweet, womanly.
He shifted, trying to ease the pull of his slacks. He couldn’t turn his gaze away from her shirt, as if any second, X-ray vision would melt the barrier between them.
He didn’t want any more barriers. Of any kind.
She froze. Maybe his lust was that loud.
“Trent?”
“What?” His voice was hoarse. I’m a man. You’re a woman. Let’s have sex.
“Is something bothering you?”
Yes! Hell, yes! It was the perfect lead-in. He opened his mouth.
She moved, leaning sideways. The action lifted her T-shirt.
He saw it. Between the hem of the rising T-shirt and the waistband of the sweatpants was Rebecca’s belly. Pale and smooth like her breasts. Warm and fragrant, he was sure, like all the rest of her skin.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Under all that smooth, fragrant, Rebecca-skin, his child was growing.
The prickles rose all over his body. There was a baby, he’d been aware of that. His baby. He’d been aware of that, too. But until this second, he’d separated that from Rebecca. Somehow there’d been the woman, and then the child. He’d not seen her as a mother, the mother of his child.
Lust was replaced by reverence.
He rose, and then backed away from the playhouse, needing air, time, distance.
Man, woman, mother, child. Father.
And…fear.
It was as primal, as essential as that.
Rebecca returned to work and for a few days her life with Trent settled into a routine. Not the kind of marriage routine she’d envisioned with her shared-chores, shared-meals plan, but the kind of roommates’ routine that she began to believe was what he’d had in mind from the beginning.
Perhaps those moments of sexual awareness had been something only she experienced, and those kisses he’d instigated only experiments.
Experiments that had failed, since he’d never gotten close enough for another.
“Doing okay?”
Her head jerked toward the kitchen entry. Trent stood there, his hair damp, his feet bare, wearing his suit trousers and his tieless, untucked dress shirt. It was his pre-coffee uniform.
“Doing okay?” he asked again.
It was his pre-coffee question. His home-from-work question. His just-passing-her-on-the-stairs/hall/front-porch question.
She smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee. “Doing fine.” Her standard response.
He took the mug with a nod of thanks and stood beside her to drink it. Closing his eyes, he slowly drained the liquid.
She closed her eyes, too and drank in the scent of his just-showered self. The tangy, fresh smell of him woke her nerve endings better than caffeine ever had. His mug clacked against the countertop, and opening her eyes, she moved away from him.
He poured himself another full cup and she bustled about to brew her own small pot of green tea. “Busy day ahead?” she asked.
“Mmm.”
She slid him a sidelong glance. He appeared preoccupied already, his gaze trained on his coffee. That was routine now, too—that he rarely looked at her. But it freed her to appreciate his handsomeness, a little pleasure that she indulged in without too much guilt. What woman wouldn’t admire that strong, tall body and handsome features that belonged to the man she called husband?
In name only.
With a mental shrug, she pushed the small regret away. She’d wanted to make the best of their situation, to do the right thing by Trent and to do the right thing for Eisenhower. That had been accomplished.
She was satisfied.
Trent started out of the kitchen, mug in hand. She allowed herself to watch him leave, her gaze moving from the square cut of the hair at his nape to the muscular male curve of his behind.
Looking was enough.
At the doorway, he hesitated, then swung around.
She jerked up her gaze and felt herself flush. Had he felt her staring?
“It’s wrong,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “I…uh…” Should she apologize?
He ignored her stuttering. “It’s wrong, but my sister Katie isn’t going to let up until I—we give in.”
Oh. Whew. He wasn’t talking about the way she was getting her secret jollies. She swallowed. “Give in to what?”
“Dinner. Her house. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Rebecca’s voice squeaked. “But…but…”
“Do it for me, Rebecca, will you? I should have told you days ago, but I kept thinking I’d come up with a way to talk her out of it.”
“But…” The obvious presented itself first. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Not that black-and-white dress,” he said instantly. “Please.”
&nbs
p; Rebecca’s face burned. “Okay.” She’d thought he’d liked it.
“My sister’s a romantic.”
What did that mean? What did that have to do with the black-and-white dress? She didn’t know the man she’d married well enough to ask. She wondered if she ever would.
“My sister will want to see for herself that we’re, uh, happy, even though I’ve assured her a dozen times.” His eyes met hers. “And we are, Rebecca, right?”
“Sure.” She’d just told herself she was satisfied. But would Trent’s sister feel the same when she had a chance to judge her brother’s marriage for herself?
Trent took Rebecca’s hand as they ascended the steps to the wood-and-glass house—it looked like a mansion to Rebecca—that belonged to his sister Katie and her husband, Peter Logan. “Your fingers are cold,” he said, tightening his grip. “You don’t need to be nervous.”
“Oh, I’m not. Traipsing into the home of wealthy strangers and playing an ecstatic, yet secretive newlywed comes natural to me.”
“Rebecca.” He stopped midway up the stairs. “Shall we leave? I can call and give her an excuse. She probably half expects it.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can do this, Trent.” Her nerves had been jangling all day and the sight of the Logans’ huge, sleek-looking house wasn’t soothing them any. “She probably thinks I’m a gold digger.”
“I already married one of those. Katie knows I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“But what if we’ve both gotten this all wrong? You said your sister is a romantic. What if we’re wrong about romance, about love, and we shouldn’t have let our pessimism push us into this marriage?”
He half smiled. “Pessimism didn’t push us into this marriage. An accident did. An accidental pregnancy.”
“It wasn’t an accident to me,” she responded fiercely. “I wanted this baby.”
His expression softened and he lifted his hand to caress her cheek. “What about this explanation, then? Maybe this…situation is destiny. Have you ever considered that? Maybe our marriage is fate.”
She had a feeling he was humoring her. But it sounded better than a marriage made out of pessimism and a situation that came about through something as simple as human error. “Fate,” she echoed. You could tell your grandchildren about fate.
Your granddad and I were destined to be together.
Were they?
She looked into Trent’s eyes. “Do you think…?”
“I think…” He glanced toward the house. “I think we should leave. I’ll tell Katie something came up.”
“Oh, good. It’s—” Rebecca began.
Ahead of them, the front door popped open and a young woman popped out her head. “Finally! You’re here!”
Trent and Rebecca looked at each other and half smiled. “Too late,” they said together.
Katie Crosby was close to Rebecca’s age and radiant with pregnancy and happiness. Her brown hair was worn in a short, wispy style that made her dark eyes stand out. She wore a poppy-colored knit dress that showed off her six-months-along belly, the belly that she patted as she linked arms with Rebecca and drew her into the house.
“This place still feels a little cavernous to me, but neither Peter’s loft nor my condo was big enough for the three of us. Did my brother prepare you with the news you’ll be an aunt soon?” Katie threw a smile at Trent over her shoulder. “He keeps asking me when I’m going to start wearing maternity clothes, but I wore a baggy wardrobe for a lifetime, so as long as the spandex will stretch, I’m showing off all my curves.”
A dark-haired man approaching them smiled and held out his hand. “Peter Logan, curvy lady’s husband. It’s nice to meet you.” He reached again to share another firm handshake with Trent.
“Come into the living room,” Katie said. “Peter’s parents happened to drop by for a drink.”
Rebecca knew Terrence and Leslie Logan by sight. The older couple were legends around Portland General for their very generous contributions to Children’s Connection as well as to the hospital itself. She shook hands with them, and even though she’d never dealt with them professionally and felt they were socially out of her reach, they put her at ease with their seemingly genuine interest in her position as an OR pediatric nurse.
“We didn’t know you’d married, Trent,” Leslie said, smiling. An attractive woman of around sixty, she seemed delighted to hear the news. “Please accept our congratulations.”
Trent returned her smile. “Thank you, Leslie, I appreciate that.”
Peter came by with a round of drinks, and beneath the clinking of ice and glasses, Rebecca heard her speak to Trent again, her voice soft. “And Danny, Trent. Katie says she hasn’t talked to your brother recently, but that you have. How is Danny doing?”
Trent took a swallow from his glass. “The same, I guess. Okay.”
“Tell him I asked after him. Please,” the older woman said.
“I will.” Trent’s nod was stiff.
Danny was the brother whose son had been kidnapped. The one who’d been friends with the Logans’ little boy, Robbie, who’d suffered the same fate. Rebecca felt a chill run down her back, and she crossed to stand beside Trent. He put his arm around her.
Maybe it was just an act for his sister, but she appreciated the gesture all the same.
“Sit down, everyone,” Katie said. “I’m going to put up my swollen feet and Peter is going to serve the hors d’oeuvres, won’t you, honey?”
The serious expression on her husband’s face vanished at that “honey.” He gave her a smile that tugged at Rebecca’s heart. “Only if you let me rub those feet later.”
Katie’s face turned pink. “Peter!”
He grinned and mimicked her embarrassed exclamation. “Katie! Considering the state of your belly, my darling, I’m sure even your big brother here realizes you’ve let me touch you a time or two.”
The others in the room laughed, though Katie turned even redder and rolled her eyes. “Men!” she said, then dropped onto the couch and patted the place beside her. “Come sit next to me, Rebecca, and you and Leslie and I can commiserate.”
Terrence Logan sent both his wife and Katie a fond smile. “Sorry, daughter-in-law, but we can’t stay long. We’re here to tell Peter what we learned at the Children’s Connection directors’ meeting.” He glanced at Rebecca. “It’s something of a family endeavor, you see, supporting the place.”
“We can go to my study, Dad,” Peter started.
“No,” Leslie interrupted. “We’re all family here. As a matter of fact, Trent himself helped out a few months back, though I’m not sure he knew why Morgan and the Children’s Connection lawyer, Justin Weber, asked him for that favor.”
Katie shot her brother a glance. “What favor?”
He replied with one word, tersely stated. “Mom.”
“Mom?” Katie echoed. “What now?”
He hesitated, his gaze darting around the room and then landing on Rebecca’s face. “Katie…”
“You haven’t warned her about Mom?” Katie asked, shaking her head. “Then let me fill her in. It was our mother who should have been watching our brother Danny and Robbie Logan the day he was kidnapped. But she was her usual neglectful self and we’ve all paid for it.”
“Katie.” Trent’s voice was a warning.
His sister flashed him a look. “Don’t bother denying it. You blamed yourself, Leslie blamed herself, our fathers feuded, our companies became bitter rivals, not to mention what Danny went through then and again when he lost Noah and after that, Felicia. It’s a miracle that Peter and I managed to find each other through all that pain!”
Peter perched on the edge of the couch and stroked his wife’s hair. “Katie. Sweetheart.”
“Well, I’m right, aren’t I?” Katie switched her gaze to him. “If it wasn’t for fate—”
“I thought that was me,” Peter put in with a little smile, “tracking you down in Wyoming.”
Fate
, Rebecca thought. It was sounding better all the time.
“Fate and your persistence, then,” Katie amended. “But my mother still tries to turn all the past tragedies around and make herself victim!”
Peter stroked her hair again. “It’s not good for the baby if you get so worked up.”
“And it’s not good for Rebecca to be unaware of the true colors of her mother-in-law, either.” She ran a hand over her belly and looked back at Trent. “So what has she been up to?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. I only know that Morgan and Justin called and requested a favor. They asked if I would apply some pressure on Mom about her country-club membership—tell her that if she started spreading rumors about Children’s Connection that I would revoke her privileges at Tanglewood. I didn’t ask any more questions of them, and the minute I broached the subject, Mom saw the writing on the wall and clammed up.”
All eyes in the room turned to Terrence. He cleared his throat. “Let me start from the beginning. You’re all aware of the Sanders baby being found?”
“We saw it in the papers and on the news, Dad,” Peter said, “but there were very few details given.”
And not any more from the PAN meeting she’d attended, Rebecca remembered, or via the hospital grapevine in the days afterward, which was even more surprising.
“There’s more to the story, much more. It has all been part of an elaborate scheme that’s purportedly about money, but that seems to me to be about discrediting Children’s Connection as well. First, there was a heist of frozen eggs from our Portland clinic that were subsequently put up for sale on an illegal Internet site. Then, babies intended for adoption here in the U.S. through our Russian affiliate were stolen and then sold on the black market, though thank God the FBI was able to put a stop to that and apprehend the man on the Russian end. There was the Sanders baby, as I said—”
Right by Her Side Page 9