"She must have been devastated."
"We all were. This sounds awful," he went on, "but I kept thinking, I hadn't wanted another one in the first place. I'd been perfectly content with Natalie and Tanner. Andi was the one who wanted another child. I guess part of me blamed Cody. It wasn't fair, I know, but I thought, if not for him, she wouldn't have caught that staph infection during the delivery. She would have been healthy and strong, ready to take on the world, like always. My other two kids would have still had their mother, I still would have had a wife. If only she hadn't pushed so hard to have another one, everything would be just fine. I don't know if I blamed God, Andi or the baby more for her death."
"Oh, Wade."
He looked at the boy and the softness in his eyes brought tears to her own.
"Thank the Lord my Mom stepped in to help because I wanted nothing to do with him. I don't think I would have let him starve but I sure didn't want to see him or touch him or anything. But about a week after the funeral, Mom was in taking a shower when Cody woke up howling. I almost left the house right then, I couldn't stand it, but I finally made myself go in to see what he needed."
She almost reached for his hand but she didn't want to move, to breathe, afraid any interruption might compel him to stop talking. He was giving her a rare window into his world and she was touched beyond words that he would share this with her.
"It was like something out of the movies. You know, one of those unbelievable moments." He smiled a little. "One minute he's shrieking loud enough to knock the house over, but as soon as he caught sight of me, he shut right up, stuck a little fist in his mouth and just stared at me out of Andi's eyes for the longest time."
He didn't add that when Marjorie had finally come in to check on the quiet baby after her shower, she'd found Wade in the rocking chair clutching Cody tightly and bawling his eyes out like he hadn't been able to do since Andi's death.
He also didn't add that in those first horrible months after she'd died, the only peaceful moments he remembered—the moments he'd somehow felt closest to Andi—were when he'd been holding their baby. On nights when he couldn't sleep for the pain, he even used to sometimes go into Cody's room in the middle of the night, just so he could pick the sleeping baby up out of his crib and rock him until he could remember how to breathe again around the vast, endless grief.
He looked up from his thoughts to find Caroline watching him, a tear trickling down her cheek. Guilt swamped him. "You're in pain and I'm in here yakking your leg off. I'm sorry."
She reached out and squeezed his arm, and the simple touch almost made him feel like bawling, too, for some crazy reason.
"No. I'm fine," she insisted. "I just can't imagine what it must have been like for you."
She was crying for him? He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that but he did know that when she pulled her hand away, part of him wanted to reach for it again.
"The hardest thing was the kids. It still is, really," he said. "Trying to do right by them is tough on my own, even with Marjorie's help. Whatever you might think—whatever my mom thinks—I love my kids. They're first in my heart, even if I don't always act like it. Everything I do is for them. I might not be able to give them as much time as I should, but I love them."
He heard that blasted defensiveness creep into his voice, but he couldn't seem to help it. He wanted so much for her to understand. It seemed suddenly vitally important that she not see him as a father trying to shirk his duty by his children.
She wiped at her eyes. "I know you do. I know. It was presumptuous of me to ever imply otherwise and I'm sorry for what I said the other night. I have this bad habit of thinking I know what everyone in the entire world should be doing to improve their lives. I forget that my help isn't always wanted or needed."
"I guess that's why you're a life coach, then. So people will pay you to boss them around."
She laughed softly at that and, for some reason, it moved him that she could still laugh even when she was in pain—and at herself, no less.
"My dad always told me that if you're lucky enough to find something you're good at, you have to hang on to it with both hands and not let go no matter what the world throws at you."
He decided in the spirit of goodwill between them, he would put aside his animosity toward her father and try to understand what his mother might have seen in the guy.
"What does your father do for a living? I never thought to ask Marjorie. I guess that's something I should know if I'm to perform my son-in-law duties effectively."
What had he said to put that strange, edgy light in her eyes? he wondered.
"Oh, he's retired," she said quickly.
"From what?"
Her fingers tightened on the quilt. "A little of everything. Sales, support, research and development. I guess mostly sales, you could say."
Now that sounded like a whole lot of nothing. He wanted to push for more specifics but he could plainly tell she was uncomfortable with the subject and he didn't want to press her when she was hurting.
He didn't want their conversation to end, though, he realized, so he fished around for another subject.
"Where are you from originally? I assumed California but I just realized I never bothered to ask."
Again, he got the strange impression she was picking her words carefully. "I'm one of those unfortunate people who doesn't really have a hometown, except the one I've chosen for myself as an adult."
She smiled a little but it didn't reach as far as her eyes.
"I'm not like you, born and bred in one place like the Cold Creek. We lived in Texas for a while when I was a kid—Houston and San Antonio, mostly—and then my mother died when I was eight and after that we moved around a lot."
"Just your dad and you?"
She gave a sharp, tight-looking nod and he wondered if she was hurting. "I was an only child."
"I'm sorry."
She looked surprised at his word. "When I was a kid, other kids at school always told me how lucky I was to have my dad all to myself. But I always wanted a couple of older brothers and an older sister or two."
"My brothers drive me crazy most of the time but I can't imagine not having either of them."
"You're very lucky," she murmured. "And your children are as well. No matter what else happens, you all have each other."
"You have your dad," he pointed out.
She seemed to find that amusing in a strange sort of way. "Right. My dad."
"And according to Seth, you're now our stepsister."
He meant it as a joke to lighten her odd mood but she gave him a long, charged look that had his palms sweating.
"I don't think either one of us wants to think very seriously about that, do you?" she said quietly.
He suddenly couldn't think of anything but the kiss they had shared, of her arms wrapped around him, of the wild heat flashing between them like a summer lightning storm.
He shifted, wishing he could get those blasted images out of his head. But every time he looked at her mouth, every time she smiled, every time her soft vanilla scent drifted to him, they came flooding back.
The room instantly seemed to seethe with tension and he regretted the loss of their brief camaraderie.
He had never told anyone about Cody, probably because he was ashamed of that initial anger he'd felt toward a helpless, completely innocent little baby. Marjorie was the only one with any inkling and even she didn't know the whole of it.
He wasn't sure why he'd told Caroline, he only knew that once the words had started, he couldn't seem to hold them back.
He had learned a few things about her but he wanted more. He wanted to know everything. The name of her second-grade teacher, her favorite kind of candy bar, her happiest memory.
The realization scared the hell out of him. He had no need to know those things about Caroline Montgomery—or to share his deepest, innermost secrets with her.
That was the kind of thing a man did with a woman he was da
ting, a woman he thought he might have feelings for.
A woman whose kiss he couldn't get out of his head.
Wade rose abruptly. "I'd better go check on Tanner. Who knows what kind of trouble he might get into if I don't."
"Right. Good idea," she said, her voice quiet.
"Do you want me to take Cody out of your way?"
"No. Let him sleep."
Her smile looked a little strained, he thought with concern. "Are you sure he's not hurting you?"
"He's fine," she insisted, running a gentle hand over Cody's blond curls. The boy made a sound and moved closer. "I'll call if I need you to come get him."
He nodded, picked up the lunch tray and headed for the door, wondering as he went how on earth he could be so jealous of a two-year-old.
Chapter Fourteen
By the afternoon of the second day after her injury, Caroline decided she'd had enough of pain pills that left her loopy and disconnected, and she stopped taking them, at least during the day.
Though the result was a low, throbbing ache in her ribs and stabbing pain in her leg, she decided it was worth the price to feel moderately like herself again.
She also reached the firm conclusion that if she had to spend one more moment in her room—lovely though it was—she just might have to throw one of her crutches through the window.
She nearly planted a big, juicy kiss on Jake when he came to check on her and said there was no reason she couldn't sit on one of the recliners in the great room with Wade and the children.
"Those sore ribs are going to make it tough to work the crutches," Jake said. "I'll go get Wade so he can help you move to the other room."
Before she could ask Jake why he couldn't help her, he left with a peculiar smirk on his handsome features.
She hadn't seen much of Wade since their encounter the day before. She couldn't decide if he was avoiding her or simply wrapped up in the children and the ranch paperwork she knew he tried to catch up on anytime he had a spare minute.
He had brought her meals and checked every hour or so to see if she needed anything—or sent one of the kids in to check—but there had been no more opportunities for revealing conversations.
She was glad, she told herself. She was afraid she had already revealed too much about herself. Better if he left her alone so she had no more opportunity to make a fool of herself or to slide deeper and deeper in love with him.
For an instant, she regretted asking Jake if she could start getting up and around. Maybe she should stay in her room, despite the boredom, for the sake of her heart.
The decision was taken out of her hands a moment later, though, when Wade walked through the open doorway. He wore jeans and a soft gray chamois shirt, and he looked big and hard and gorgeous.
She sighed, wishing she were wearing something a little more attractive than her old nightgown and robe.
"I'm under orders to help you into the other room," he said, gazing at some point above her head.
"Jake is afraid I'm not quite ready to handle the crutches on my own because of the bruised ribs."
For some reason, she was compelled to make it clear to him this had been entirely his brother's idea that Wade come in to help her.
Wade finally met her gaze and her stomach twirled a little at the strange expression in his eyes. She would have given just about anything right at that moment to know what was going on inside his head.
He moved toward the bed and, before she realized what he was doing, he scooped her up gingerly. Not expecting the move, or the sudden shock of finding herself held so gently in his powerful arms, she couldn't contain a quick gasp.
"Did I hurt you?" He looked aghast at the idea.
"No. I just don't think this was what Jake meant!"
A muscle flexed in his jaw. "Oh, I'm pretty sure it was, since his exact words were go carry Caroline from her bedroom to the recliner in the great room."
"He should have at least warned me what the master plan was here," she said.
"Yeah, me, too," she thought she heard him mutter but it was so low she couldn't be sure.
"I can probably make it on the crutches if you'll just spot me," she said, though she wanted nothing more than to stay right here, nestled into his heat and strength.
He smelled divine, of some kind of outdoorsy aftershave, and his shirt had to be the softest material she'd ever felt as her arms slid around his neck to hang on. He was close enough that she could have drawn his head down to hers without much effort at all….
"You could have said something if you were bored in there."
She blinked, hoping he didn't notice the sudden color she could feel creeping over her features. "I didn't want to bother you. You're already doing so much for me."
"What? A few meals, that's about it. Doesn't seem like much in return for saving my son's life."
Before she could respond to that, they made their way far too quickly to the great room.
The moment they walked through the doorway, the children reacted in different ways to the sight of her in their father's arms. The boys both shrieked her name as if they hadn't seen her in months and raced to her side.
While she was greeting them with laughter, she caught sight of Natalie sitting at the table with Jake, her math book spread out in front of her. She looked stunned at the two of them together, as if she'd never considered the possibility of ever seeing another woman in her father's arms.
Caroline wanted to assure her Wade was just helping her, that there was nothing between them, that she would never take her mother's place, even if she could.
She could say nothing, though, with everyone else looking on.
Still, she was aware of Natalie's hard stare the whole time Wade carried her to the recliner then set her down as carefully as if she were fragile antique glass.
"Is that good?" he asked gruffly and Caroline shifted her gaze from the daughter to the father. His jaw looked tight and she saw his pulse jump there and she wondered if he'd been affected by their nearness as much as she had been.
"Yes. Wonderful—thank you so much. It's amazing how a simple change of scenery can lift my spirits."
"Don't overdo it," Jake warned. "You'll pay the price if you try to take on too much."
"I know, Dr. Dalton. I'll take it easy, I promise."
He rose from the table. "Sorry I can't stick around but I've got to run to the hospital in Idaho Falls to check on one of my patients who had surgery this morning."
"What about my homework?" Natalie asked, a plaintive note in her voice. "I still have, like, ten problems to go."
Wade frowned at her. "I'm still here," he reminded her. "Uncle Jake's not the only one who knows long division, you know."
"Yeah, but he always explains it better," she muttered.
"I'll do my best to muddle through," Wade said dryly.
"Care read?"
Caroline glanced away from the homework drama to find little Cody hovering near the arm of her chair, a favorite picture book in his chubby fingers.
She smiled. "Of course."
"No, not that one," Tanner objected, not far behind. "That one's a baby book. I'll find a better one."
He raced out of the room, most likely to scour his bedroom bookshelves for something more to his liking, leaving Cody standing by her side, his picture book held out like an offering to the gods.
She smiled at him and patted her uninjured leg. "Come on up here, kiddo. Maybe we can get through this one before your brother comes back," she said.
Cody giggled as if they shared a particularly amusing secret and climbed from the footrest onto her lap.
"Is he okay?" Wade asked. The worry in his eyes warmed her even more than Cody's sturdy little body.
"Wonderful." She wedged a throw pillow between her aching ribs and the little boy, then opened the book.
They turned the last page just as Tanner skipped in, his arms loaded with at least a dozen books.
"These are better," he announced, dr
opping them all to the floor. "Start with this one."
He handed her a rhyming book about trucks she had already read to him at least a dozen times during her time at the Cold Creek, then he pulled an ottoman next to her recliner and perched on it with all the anticipation of a baby bird awaiting nourishment.
The next hour would live in her memory forever as one of those rare, sweet moments when all seems perfect with the world.
A soft rain clicked against the window but a fire in the huge river-rock fireplace took away any chill from the October night and lent a cozy, snug feeling to the gathering room.
While Wade and Natalie slogged their way through the intricacies of arithmetic, Caroline read story after story to the boys, repeating a few of them several times. Tanner wasn't often able to sit still through long bouts of reading but for now he seemed content to settle in next to her, trying to pick out letters he recognized.
A few times she felt the heat of someone watching her and looked up to find Wade studying her intently. As soon as she would meet his gaze, he would quickly turn his attention back to Natalie, but not before she thought she saw an odd, baffled kind of look in his eyes.
Though she knew it wasn't productive and would only lead to more heartbreak when she returned to Santa Cruz, she couldn't prevent her imagination from playing make-believe, if only for a moment. Was this how things would be if they were a family? If she belonged here at the Cold Creek with Wade, with his children?
Autumn evenings spent in front of the fire, winter nights with a soaring Christmas tree there in the corner, springtime with the windows open and the sweet smell of lilac bushes wafting in.
They would sit here, the five of them, sharing stories and memories and laughter.
And then after the children were asleep, Wade would turn to her, those blue eyes bright with need, his strong hands tender on her skin….
She blinked, stunned at herself.
The last little part of her fantasy wasn't so surprising—since that kiss and probably even before then, sexual awareness simmered between them. She couldn't manage to look at him without remembering his mouth, firm and warm on hers, and those large, powerful hands buried in her hair, at the small of her back.
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