by Diana Palmer
She breathed more easily. She had expected him to argue. He brushed a kiss against her nose.
"Of course," he added, "you can always seduce me
if you like."
'Thank you," she replied with a reluctant smile. "I'll keep that in mind."
He winked at her. "See you Saturday. Rest for another hour. I'll stop by your store and tell the mother hen where you are. And watch those damned stairs," he added firmly.
"Yes, your worship." She curtsied.
He laughed shortly as he went out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Dani stared at it for a long time before she went back to lie down. She wondered what she was letting herself in for. He wasn't going to be able to settle down, she was sure of it. It would mean only more heartache. But apparently he felt responsible and he wasn't going to let her out of his sight for five months. She grimaced at the thought of having to cope with Dutch and Harriett together. It was going to be a rough pregnancy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DUTCH THOUGHT THAT getting married might have been worth it all when he saw the shock on J.D.'s and Gabby's faces.
J.D. Brettman was big and dark. He was an ex-mercenary who now practiced law in Chicago. And Gabby Darwin Brettman had been his secretary before she married him. Dutch had heard a little about her from First Shirt, another member of the team, who'd told him how rough the courtship had been, and he'd met her once himself. Now he needed advice, and he couldn't think of anyone better than J.D. to ask.
"Married." J.D. caught his breath. "You?"
Dutch shrugged. He looked up from his lit cigarette to catch the amused look in Gabby's green eyes, and he laughed in spite of himself. "It's your fault," he told her. "I never would have noticed her, but for you. Until J.D. married you, I thought all women were incapable of honesty."
J.D. touched Gabby's cheek gently. "She changed my own outlook," he said, and a look passed between them that embarrassed Dutch.
Dutch got up and went to the window, staring blankly
out at Chicago. "I don't know what to do," he confessed. "I thought I would keep working and we'd each have our own lives. But she won't agree to that. She says she can't handle knowing what I'm doing when I'm
away."
J.D. got up. "I'll make a pot of coffee. Gabby, keep Dutch company, will you?"
"Sure." She got up and went to the window, standing quietly beside the tall blond man, her arms folded over her chest. She looked at him. "I was going to get out of J.D.'s life when I thought he might go back to it," she said honestly. "I couldn't handle it, either." Her shoulders rose and fell. "I'm not a coward, but the worry would have made one of me. If he'd been a policeman or worked in law enforcement, I suppose I'd have had to make the best of it. But the kind of work he did, and you do, isn't easy for a woman to cope with. It's extraordinarily dangerous."
"Gabby," he said, staring out the window, "how would you have felt if J.D. hadn't been able to give it up—and you were pregnant?"
Tears burst from her eyes. He looked down and saw them, and his face contorted. "Oh, God," he breathed roughly.
She turned away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I want a baby so much. But J.D. and I haven't been able to have one. If I were pregnant, and he went off to a war, I think I'd die in my sleep."
He started to speak and couldn't. He lifted the cigarette to his lips, anguish in his eyes.
"I meant to tell you," J.D. said minutes later, after
he'd brought the coffee, "that Apollo's been cleared of any criminal charges."
"You got him off?" Dutch asked with a smile, feeling happy for their old friend and comrade.
J.D. nodded. "It took a little work. But he was innocent; that helped." He pursed his lips and glanced at Dutch. "He's opened his own business."
"Oh? Doing what?" Dutch asked.
"A consulting firm. He specializes in teaching anti-terrorism tactics to international corporations. And already he's got more work than he can handle." He leaned back against the sofa. "It's exciting work. Even a little risky. He asked if you might be interested. He needs someone experienced in tactics and strategy."
"A desk job," Dutch scoffed.
"Not at all. Go see him."
Dutch met J.D.'s level gaze. "I don't know if I can settle down."
"I didn't know, either." He glanced at Gabby, who was writing letters at the small desk, her long hair around her shoulders. "But it wasn't hard to decide which meant more, a few wild thrills, or her. She's my world," he added in a tone that made Dutch look away.
He leaned forward, staring at the carpet. "Dani's pregnant."
J.D. hesitated. "Is it yours?"
He nodded and smiled. "No doubt about it."
LATER, HE WENT TO SEE Apollo Blain, the tall black man who'd been part of their small unit since J.D. and First
Shirt had formed it years ago. Apollo grinned at him from behind his big desk, looking urbane and capable and prosperous.
"Tired of planning battles?" Apollo chuckled as he shook Dutch's outstretched hand. "Help me save paunchy executives from terrorists. It's a hell of a lot safer, and the pay's good."
"J.D. said I might like it," Dutch sighed, settling back in an armchair. "I got married."
"You?" Apollo gaped at him. He felt his own forehead. "My God, I must have an awful fever. I though you just said you were married."
"I am. And I've got a son on the way," came the amused reply.
"I'd better lie down."
"Not until we discuss this job," Dutch returned. "Are you really interested?" Apollo asked seriously Dutch nodded. "I don't know if I can stick it out That's up front. But I think I need to try, for her sake; Apollo whistled. "I'd like to meet this lady. Anything like Gabby?"
Dutch smiled. "Quite a lot." "I hope there aren't any more of them running aroun loose." Apollo shuddered. "Even First Shirt's on the verge, with Gabby's mother. Anyway, enough about that. Here's what I had in mind, if you'd like to give a shot...."
Dutch lit a cigarette and listened quietly. He nodded. Yes, it sounded like an interesting job. Outwriting terrorists. He smiled. Perhaps he might even enjoy
He leaned back and crossed his legs as Apollo's deep voice outlined the project.
WHEN DANI TOLD HER BEST FRIEND what was happening, Harriett had little to say about it, except to mutter something about a strong cage and a thin whip.
"He's not at all difficult when you know him." Dani grinned impishly. "And you have to admit, he's rather extraordinarily handsome."
"Handsome doesn't have anything to do with it," Harriett said curtly. And then she smiled. And growled wolfishly. And went off grinning.
Dani stared after Harriett, her own smile being slowly replaced by a frown. Her hand went absently to the swell of her stomach and she walked back behind the counter slowly.
It all seemed like a dream, somehow. The only reality left in her life was the baby. How in the world was she going to cope with a husband who felt trapped? She couldn't forget the look on his face when he'd seen that she was pregnant, couldn't forget what he'd said to her. He'd apologized, but still she couldn't forget. He didn't want this baby for some reason, and although he desired Dani, he didn't love her. His feelings were superficial at best, nothing that a marriage could be built on.
Her eyes went to the order sheet on the counter and she stared at it blankly, oblivious to the sound of Harriett helping a new customer find the books she wanted. Harriett had been right; she should have kept her head in Mexico. How incredible that level-headed Dani had
gone off the deep end and married a stranger. It wasn't
like her.
And now he felt responsible for what he'd done, and he was going to take care of her. She almost cried. Not because he loved her, but because the baby was his fault. She stared at her neat, short nails. How could she bear seeing him day after day, knowing that only the baby held him to her, that when it was all over, he'd be gone again. Perhaps he'd be killed. Her eyes closed in agony. "Stop it," Harriett whispe
red sharply, pausing by the counter. "Stop tormenting yourself. At least he cares enough to look after you, doesn't he?"
Her eyelids lifted, and her anguished gray eyes were fogged from tears. "Does he?"
"He was snarling like a mountain lion," Harriett said, "when he stopped by here on this way to the airport. But it wasn't all guilt, you know. He's really worried about you."
Dani sighed thoughtfully. "He was terrified when he saw I was pregnant, Harrie," she murmured. "And when we got back to my apartment...he said some harsh
things."
"None of which he meant, I imagine." Harriett patted her hand. "But you've got to stop worrying. It isn't
healthy."
"He said he had to see some people," Dani said
tightly.
"So that's it." Harriett glanced toward the browsing customer. "If he said he'd be back, he will. You can't put a rope around a man like that."
296
THE TENDER STRANGER
DIANA PALMER
297
"I'd die if I lost him," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I offered him a divorce, and he wouldn't take it. I can't bear being nothing more than a responsibility."
"Once he gets to know you, that might change. Have you thought of it that way?" Harriett asked with a quiet smile. "Now, get busy. That's the best therapy I know for worry. Okay?"
"Okay." But as the days went by, the worries grew. What if he didn't come back at all? What if the people he was seeing told him of another mission, and he couldn't resist taking it?
Friday afternoon, when she left, she asked Harriett to open up the next morning so that she could sleep late. She was tired, and the worry wasn't helping. Harriett started to say something, but apparently thought better of it.
SOMETHING WOKE DANI. A movement beside her, a heavy weight on the bed. She came awake slowly, her face pale and drawn from lack of rest, her eyes heavily shadowed.
Dutch stared at her with unconcealed anxiety. She looked even worse than when he'd left. His eyes went slowly down her body to the swell of her stomach and they darkened. He didn't touch her this time. She didn't want that, he recalled bitterly, she didn't want him in any physical way anymore.
Dani blinked and almost reached out to touch him. Was he real? Her eyes wandered over his broad shoulders in the tan raincoat he was wearing. His blond hair
was damp, too, curling a little around the sides of his face, and she wondered if their child would inherit that slight waviness.
"I didn't expect you so early," she said drowsily. "Is
it raining?"
"Cats and dogs." He stood up, moving away from the bed. "Harriett's watching the store, I gather?"
"Yes. Would you like some breakfast?" she asked, although the thought of food was giving her problems
already.
"I had it on the plane," he said. He lit a cigarette and glanced at her. "Can you eat anything?"
She shook her head. "Not now, I can't. I have toast when I get up."
"I'll go make some."
She gaped at him, and he laughed reluctantly.
"Well, I can toast bread, you know," he said. "We used to take turns with chow when the group and I were on a mission."
Her eyes lowered quickly to the bedspread. She touched the design in the white chenille. "The.. .people you had to see?" Her glance skipped to his hard face and down again. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business." She got up, standing slowly because any movement could trigger the nausea.
He felt as if he'd taken a hard blow in the stomach. Not her business! For God's sake, didn't she even care?
He turned, striding angrily into the kitchen while she sighed miserably, wondering what she'd done, and made her way into the bathroom.
The toast was on the table when she joined him. She'd thrown on a sleeveless flowered dress and came barefoot into the room, her hair gently brushed, her face white and drawn. He was wearing jeans and a brown knit shirt that made him look even more vital, tanned and powerful than usual.
"Thank you," she said as she sat down. "You don't look well," he said bluntly. "I'm pregnant." "Yes, I noticed that."
She looked up and caught an amused gleam in his dark eyes.
"I don't ever feel well in the morning," she returned. "It's normal. And as for looking well," she added with a glare, "as you like to remind me, I never have looked well. I'm frumpy."
"Talk about bad moods," he murmured, leaning back to smoke his cigarette with an amused smile on his firm mouth. "Eat your toast, little shrew."
She glared at him. "You don't have to feel responsible for me," she said coldly. "I've already told you, it isn't necessary for you to stay here. I can have the baby all by myself."
"Sure you can," he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "That's why you look so healthy."
"I'd be healthier if you'd go away!" she shot back. She left the toast, started to get up and suddenly sat down again, swallowing rapidly.
Dutch went to fetch a damp cloth and held it to her face, her throat, her mouth, kneeling beside her.
"All right now?" he asked in a tone so tender, it brought quick tears to her eyes.
"Yes," she whispered miserably.
His hand sought her belly and pressed there protectively. "This is mine," he said softly, holding her gaze. "I put it there. And until it's born, and the danger is all over, I'm going to stay with you."
The tears overwhelmed her. "Oh, please go away," she whispered brokenly. "Please.
He pulled her gently against him, her face against his, his arms warm and strong at her back. He smelled of spicy cologne and cigarette smoke, and her body reacted to him with a crazy surge of pleasure that she tried to fight down. It wasn't permanent, she had to keep reminding herself, it was only temporary, until the baby was born. She'd better not get too attached to the feel of his arms.
"I was going to wait until later to discuss this with you," he said after a minute, "but I think we'd better talk now. Come here."
He lifted her in his arms and stood up in one smooth motion, carrying her back into the bedroom.
He laid her down against the pillows and leaned over her, searching her wide gray eyes behind the glasses.
"You're killing me," she whispered achingly.
"I can see that," he said quietly. "It isn't making my life any easier. I can't love you," he said tersely, and his face was hard. "I'm sorry. I'm...very fond of you," he added, brushing the tears from her cheeks. He took off her glasses and laid them aside, wiping the tear tracks
away with a comer of the sheet. "But what there was in me of love died long ago. I can't afford the luxury of caring, not in my line of work."
Her eyes closed and her voice was hoarse with pain. "I love you," she said helplessly, her voice strained.
"I know," he replied. Her eyes opened, and he searched them. What the hell! She needed to know. Perhaps it would help her to understand. He took a sharp breath. "The woman, the one I loved so desperately... she became pregnant with my child," he said coldly. "The day she left me she told me she'd had an abortion. She laughed about it. How absurd, she said, to think that she'd want a child of mine!" His hands gripped her arms fiercely, but she didn't notice it at all. Her shocked eyes were fixed on his tortured face. "She got rid of it," he said harshly, "like so much garbage!"
Now she understood. Now it all made sense. She reached up hesitantly and touched his face.
"I'm raw from thinking about it," he whispered roughly, "from the memories. When I saw you pregnant with my child it all came back like a fever." His eyes blazed. "You don't know me. What I am now, she made me..."
Her fingers touched his hard mouth, feeling its warmth. Everything soft and womanly inside her reached out. Poor, storm-battered man, she thought achingly. Poor, tortured man.
"My parents hated me," he ground out. 'They died hating me!"
"Come here." She reached up, drawing him down with her, holding him. He shuddered, and her eyes
closed. Perhaps he didn't lov
e her, but he needed her. She knew that even if he didn't. Her arms enfolded him— loving, comforting arms. Her hands smoothed his cool blond hair, and she nuzzled her cheek against it. "Parents never hate children," she said quietly. "Not
really."
"How would you know?" he growled harshly.
"Didn't yours desert you?"
She took a slow breath, cringing to him. "Yes." She shifted under his formidable weight. "They were very young. Just children themselves. The responsibility must have been terrible." She held him closer. "They tried to contact me once. My aunt...told them I was dead." He stiffened and she swallowed hard. "I found out only when she was dying herself. It was too late then." "Dani..."
"We can't go back, either of us," she continued quietly. Her hand brushed the nape of his neck. "We have to do the best we can with what we have."
"Are you sorry that I made you pregnant?" he asked in a tone so quiet she barely heard it.
"I've already told you that I'm happy," she said, and smiled against his cool skin. "I've never had anyone of my own."
It was a long minute before he lifted his head. He drew in a slow, calming breath and met her eyes. His own were stormy, turbulent; his face was terrible with remembered pain.
"I would never hurt you," she said. "Never, in any
way, even if I had the ability. She was a horrible woman, and you were young and vulnerable. But I'm sure your parents understood, even if they were hurt. And I will never believe that they didn't love you," she said, her face soft and caring.
His jaw tautened. He got to his feet and turned away. A long moment later he fumbled to light a cigarette.
Dani, blind without her glasses, didn't see the betraying movement of his hands. She tugged her glasses back on and sat up, straightening her dress, which had ridden up her legs.
"I have to get to the store," she said after the long silence began to grate on her nerves. "Harriett has an appointment to get her hair cut at noon."