“Just the guy who carried you back into the house after you passed out.”
“It was only for a second. You told me that yourself.”
“I lied.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
“The baby was wailing and the boy looked scared to death and you sure didn’t seem in any shape for more bad news at that moment. The moment right before you ran off to toss your cookies. Remember that?”
“Yes,” she snapped. She appreciated that he had been there at the time, but she didn’t like having to feel grateful to him for anything. She didn’t want to feel anything for him at all. “Then, thank you for carrying me in and taking care of supper. But I’m fine now. You can go.”
He opened his arms wide, unknowingly allowing her a look at well-defined pecs and six-pack abs. He gestured around the room. “You’re on the verge of collapse, and you expect me to leave you by yourself with two kids? What kind of man would that make me?”
“As far as I recall, the same kind who walked out when I was pregnant with one of those kids.”
A muscle in his jaw worked hard, telling her he was having trouble holding back another response. The sight made her uneasy, not out of fear of him but from her memories of past fights. No matter how often they argued, he had almost always been better at hanging on to his anger than she had.
“You refused to talk to me,” he said finally, his tone harsh but even. “And you kicked me out. Have you got a recollection of that day, too?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “I remember it very well.”
“Great. Then remember this, too. I didn’t drop in only to say hello. I...I want to talk with you. But that can wait until you’re feeling better again. I’ll go. As soon as you call someone and they show up to stay with you.” He crossed his arms again. “Dammit, Layne, you always were the most stubborn...”
It was his turn to take a deep breath. She bit her lip to keep from responding.
“Look,” he continued, “you could barely handle the baby when she started squirming. And you were hanging on to the kitchen table with one hand while you stood up to strap her into her seat. You want to risk a serious accident while you’re alone with the kids?”
She flushed. “Of course not.”
“Then—”
“I don’t have anyone to call.”
“The baby’s daddy—”
“He’s not in the picture,” she said shortly.
She could see him hesitate, as if her admission had thrown him. But he simply said, “What about your brother?”
“No. Cole’s the best man in a wedding, and tonight’s the rehearsal dinner. Everybody I know is involved one way or another in prepping for the wedding. Or they’re working. That’s where I would have been, too, if I hadn’t called in sick.”
“You have a job, along with taking care of two kids?”
She nodded. “I waitress at SugarPie’s.” She had started working at the small sandwich shop in the center of town after Jason had left. “Which means they’re shorthanded without me there now, too.”
“Well, that settles it.” He returned to his seat across from her at the table and leaned forward until they were almost nose to nose. “You’ve got yourself an overnight guest.”
“No. I’ll find someone else to help me out.” Anyone else. She shot to her feet to stare him down. The defiant movement did her in. Light-headed, she staggered, then struggled to regain her balance. The small amount of soup she had eaten churned in her stomach. With one hand over her mouth, she fled from the room.
Even as she hurried toward the bathroom, she frantically ran down a mental list of all her friends. Surely she could find one person who wasn’t working and would come to her rescue.
Because Jason couldn’t stay here all night.
* * *
LAYNE AWOKE WITH a start to find she still held the cordless phone. Frantically, she looked around the living room. The baby lay asleep in the playpen. Scott sprawled on the floor with his toy cars spread out around him.
Across from her, Jason sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He was flipping through a newspaper but looked up as soon as she shifted upright. “You went out like a TV with its plug yanked from the socket,” he told her.
“Sorry.” Her voice cracked. She prayed the dry spot in her throat wasn’t the beginning of strep. The flu symptoms were enough to deal with. “How long was I asleep?”
“About an hour.”
While he sat there and did her job, watching over her kids.
Sighing, she turned her attention to her son. “Bedtime, Scott.”
He frowned. “No, Mommy. I play with cars. Look, my race cars.” He pointed to a sheet of cardboard propped up by some of his plastic blocks that seemed to be serving as a motorway for his entire auto collection. At that moment, she didn’t have the energy to argue, and an extra half hour or so of playtime wouldn’t hurt him.
What hurt her was having to see Scott and his daddy together.
“Very nice,” she managed. “Did you do that all by yourself?”
“No. Jason maked it.”
“Oh.” She looked at her ex. “Between getting supper and overseeing road construction, you seem to have maked yourself right at home.”
“You’ll thank me for that once I’ve gone and maked you a cup of tea for that throat.”
He laughed, and the sound did things to her insides that had nothing to do with the flu. She crossed her arms over her chest, fighting a sudden shiver she couldn’t blame on her illness, either. He frowned, and once again the resemblance to Scott made her breath catch. Over the years, she had tried not to notice the likenesses between her son and Jason. But seeing the two of them together only made the similarities between them undeniable.
Having the man right here in front of her only reinforced too many memories that had never completely faded.
“Have you got symptoms of anything else I should know about, besides flu?” he asked. “Judging by the way you crashed, I already suspect you’ve got sleeping sickness, too.”
“Not that. At least, not yet. The only other thing I’ve got is called middle-of-the-night nursing fatigue. And of course, just generally being a mom.” She swallowed, wincing at the dryness of her throat.
He rose. “I’ll take care of that tea. How do you drink it?”
“Milk, no sugar,” she said. As unhappy as accepting his offer made her feel, at this moment, she needed the warmth and comfort of the drink more than she needed control of the situation.
She ought to push him, to find out why he was here, to ask why he suddenly had something to say to her after all these years. At the reminder of his flat statement, uneasiness ran through her. But she just couldn’t face interrogating him right now. Her head was swimming and her eyes felt watery, and the chills—a brand-new symptom—couldn’t be a good sign at all, no matter whether they stemmed from her illness or her ex.
Jill continued to sleep peacefully and Scott sat engrossed in his car race. She took the opportunity to rest her eyes again until she heard the sound of the kettle whistling.
When Jason returned to the living room, he set two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table.
“Jason, help,” her son called. She looked in his direction and saw the cardboard raceway had slid from its supporting blocks and lay flat on the rug.
Jason went down on one knee beside Scott. Their matching expressions of concentration as they surveyed the fallen raceway shouted the fact they were father and son.
The observation made her throat tighten to the point of dry painfulness again. She grabbed the mug of tea. The warmth stung her mouth but soothed her throat and eased her chills. By the time Jason came back to take his seat, she had pulled herself together. Mostly.
“Any luck with your calls?”
&n
bsp; She shook her head. Before falling asleep, she had contacted everyone she could think of who might be able to help her tonight. She was reluctant to admit defeat, but what else could she do? Besides, though she had heard dishes clattering and water running in the background while she made the calls, in this small apartment chances were good he had overheard almost all of her conversations.
“My options were limited,” she confessed. “Most of the people I know are either attending the rehearsal dinner or involved in setting up for the wedding. Another few have plans for the night, and the rest have the flu bug themselves.” She slumped back against the couch.
She would never admit it to him, but all the phone calls had worn her out. Of course, he had probably caught on to that by now, too. How could she have fallen asleep? She bit her lip and winced as the skin burned. Probably a sign of dehydration.
What else could go wrong tonight?
Jason stared at her over the rim of his tea mug. “I’m staying,” he announced.
Chapter Three
The bull bearing down on him let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Jason jolted awake, jumped up from his seat in the armchair, cracked his shin against the coffee table and tripped over his boots, all at the speed of light. Another scream later, he made the connection between the onrushing bull and the baby down the hall.
He stumbled toward the bedroom Layne’s kids shared. The glow of the night-light she had turned on showed him the way. But who needed a night-light when the high-pitched cries left no doubt about the right direction.
Scott lay curled up in a ball on the bed, apparently oblivious to the noise. His sister flailed her arms and legs and continued to scream, her face beet red in stark contrast to the pale yellow crib sheet.
He lifted the wriggling mass of baby. Afraid he would drop her, he brought her against his chest. She hiccupped a few times, then started rubbing her cheek against his shirt.
No way. He knew the game she wanted to play, and he didn’t have the right equipment.
Reluctantly, he left the room and headed down the hall.
By now, he expected to see Layne coming to meet him, but there was no sign of her. He frowned. Considering what he’d heard about most new mothers, she would have to be comatose not to respond to her baby’s screams.
He hovered in the doorway of her room. When he’d announced he was staying, he had expected a scream from her, too, or at least a healthy protest. Her sighing acceptance and quick disappearance into her room after she’d put the kids to bed surprised him. They were also sure signs of how sick she must feel.
Her bedside clock read 2:38 a.m.
He hated having to wake her, but he had a hunch the baby’s screams had halted only temporarily, and when they started up again, he would be in a worse predicament than he was now.
“Layne?” he said from the doorway.
She didn’t move.
“Hey, Layne. The baby’s hungry.” And needing a change, judging by the warm weight of the pajama-clad bottom against his palm.
No sign of movement across the room. He went to the bed, then rested his hand on her shoulder and shook gently. “Hey, babe... Layne. Hey, Layne, wake up.” Was that the sound of desperation in his voice? Over the suddenly renewed screams from the infant, he couldn’t tell.
Now she stirred, rolling over onto her back. The pink sleep T-shirt she’d worn to bed twisted across her chest, leaving the deep neckline askew and barely covering her. He averted his gaze and tried to soothe the squirming baby, who had begun wriggling and twisting against his chest.
In desperation, he clicked on the bedside lamp. “Layne, wake up.”
She blinked a few times. Squinting in the light, she shifted to a seated position and leaned against the headboard. She reached up to take the baby from him. “Oh-h-h,” she cooed to the child, “somebody needs a change.”
Her voice was low and sleep-sexy and made him think of things he needed, too. Another list of thoughts that were best forgotten. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
She didn’t answer immediately, and he knew she didn’t want to tell him the truth. “Awful,” she said finally. She gestured toward the dresser. “Can you toss me that baby blanket, please? And there’s a diaper bag on the shelf just inside the closet.”
He handed her the lightweight blanket and found the bag.
“Normally,” she murmured, her attention fixed on the baby, “I’m up and out of bed the second Jill lets out a cry. And now I didn’t even hear her wake up.”
“You’ve got reason.”
Still looking away, she nodded. “I have to admit, I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here. Thank you.”
“No problem.” But there was a problem. What good was gratitude if she gave it grudgingly? If she couldn’t even look him in the face?
She finished diapering Jill and cuddled the baby to her. In a low voice, she asked, “Why are you here?”
And there was another problem.
He had been about to lean against the edge of the dresser. Her question made him freeze. He still couldn’t tell her the complete truth—not without the risk of having her kick him out again.
He told her a half-truth instead. “I wanted to see how things are going with you.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Why not? We’d been together for—”
“Jason,” she said quietly, “please don’t try that one on me.”
“All right, then. I wanted to see my son.”
“My son,” she corrected. “For all the contact you’ve had with him, you could have been a sperm donor.”
* * *
JASON STOOD IN the doorway of the kids’ room and watched his son rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Sitting in the middle of the double mattress, he looked so young and innocent. So small. Almost as small as the stuffed teddy bear and dilapidated panda taking up space on either side of him.
A minute ago, he had heard Scott calling for him and come at a run, hoping to keep the boy’s cries from wakening the baby and, in turn, the baby from wakening Layne. Considering the occasional sounds of Layne’s bedsprings creaking and, once, of her footsteps padding to the bathroom and back in the early hours, it had taken her till daybreak to get to sleep again.
“Morning now?” Scott asked.
“Yeah,” Jason confirmed.
This morning had come fast and furiously for him, with no sleep at all once he had left Layne’s room.
Furious couldn’t begin to describe his reaction to her verbal slam. Sperm donor. A helluva thing to say to a man. Even if there had been one grain of truth in it, she had no call to dump the full silo load of responsibility on him. He wasn’t the only one involved in how things had turned out.
He reached for the teddy bear for something to occupy his mind and hands. The bear looked well loved, with its fur matted in some places and its cloth body worn bare in others. Had Scott gotten the bear as a birthday gift? Had he slept with it ever since? Did he like it better than the panda he had just grabbed from the bed?
“Have to hug Teddy,” Scott said.
“What?”
“Morning now. Have to hug Teddy,” Scott said again. He wrapped his arms around the panda hard enough to squeeze the stuffing from it. “See?”
Jason froze. He was a rodeo rider and a hard-riding wrangler, and he didn’t hug anything that wasn’t female and wearing a dress and willing to hug him back. He didn’t do stuffed animals.
“Have to hug Teddy,” Scott said yet again.
He could hear the slight tremor in the boy’s voice and see his puzzled frown. Evidently, Layne had made those early-morning hugs a family tradition. He swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Hug Teddy.” Feeling like a fool, he wrapped his arms aro
und the little cloth body. Feeling worse, he watched the smile brighten his son’s face and wished he could hug his boy instead.
How many mornings like this had he missed over the years? He didn’t want to think about it, refused to count the days. There would be too many for him to handle and way too many for him ever to replace.
Scott glanced toward the crib. Jason looked in that direction, too, and saw Jill staring wide-eyed at the mobile of puppies and kittens hanging at one end of the crib. Could babies her age even see that far? She looked only a few weeks old.
Scott threw aside his covers and crawled to the edge of the bed. “Morning now. Mommy says time to do the diaper. De-e-e,” he said in a singsong. “Time to do the diaper.”
Jason frowned, knowing he’d have to draw the line there. He’d just mastered the task of tucking Jill into her crib without waking her, and even that had about taxed his skill.
But Scott padded over to the small white dresser and pulled a diaper from the bottom drawer. He returned to stand in front of Jason with the diaper held out toward him and with the same expression of expectancy as when he had wanted him to hug the bear. A look of complete trust.
He suddenly wished Layne would look at him that way.
Even better at the moment, he wished Layne would wake up and walk into the room.
“I’m green at this, pardner,” he admitted, taking the diaper.
“Green?” Scott said, looking at him with his mouth open, probably expecting to see him turn into an alien before his very eyes.
“A greenhorn,” he explained, feeling foolish again. How could he explain that concept to a three-year-old? How could he explain anything when he’d never had the practice? The chance? All he could do was try. “It means I’m new at this. A beginner. Someone who’s just learning.”
“I learn my ABC’s!” Scott grinned.
He smiled back at him. “Yeah, that’s it. Just like you learn your ABC’s. I’m a greenhorn at doing diapers.”
“De-e-e,” the boy chanted again. “Greenhorn at doing diapers.”
Cowboy in Charge Page 3