Secret Agent Dad

by Metsy Hingle

  Six

  Lord, Josie, what were you thinking of? And what must Blake think of you after you all but attacked the man?

  She’d been asking herself those questions during the past two hours, and no matter what kind of spin she might try to put on her actions, the answer remained the same. Blake would realize the truth—that the plain little wren had stars in her eyes for him. Stars? Hah! Had it not been for the baby knocking his dish to the floor, she would have been begging the man to make love to her.

  And what would you have done when he turned you down?

  Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Josie pressed her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes as she recalled the feed of Blake’s mouth. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. She’d sensed his resistance, sensed he was holding back, until whatever demons restrained him broke free. Then he had kissed her And he’d wanted her, too. The heat of his arousal pressing against her had been proof of that. But when he’d kissed her this time there had been more than hunger and need in his kiss, there had been a tenderness, a longing, as though he felt something for her. As though he cared for her.

  Get real, Josie. Next thing you know you’ll be convincing yourself the man’s in love with you. Haven’t you learned by now that those sort of fairy tales only happen in books? And that they always led to heartache for you?

  Evidently she hadn’t learned, Josie admitted, pausing at the entrance to the den. Because one look at Blake seated in the rocker near the fireplace with Miranda in his arms and her foolish heart plunged. The scene was right out of her childhood fantasies. She couldn’t ever remember not wanting a family; she’d always dreamed of creating one. And here was Blake, handsome as any fairy-tale hero, sitting in her den holding a baby m his arms. Yearning welled up inside her so strongly Josie pressed a fist to her breast to ease the ache. She wanted, wanted so much for this to be real—for Blake and the babies to be hers, for her to belong with them.

  As though he’d sensed her presence, Blake shifted his gaze to the doorway. “I think she’s almost asleep,” he whispered.

  Toughening her heart, Josie pasted on a smile and walked over to him and the baby. “I can’t believe you finally got her to go down. She was so fussy, I didn’t think she would.”

  “Yeah, she was kind of cranky,” he said with a frown. A worry line creased his brow. “She feels kind of warm, too. You think maybe she’s sick?”

  His concern over the baby did nothing to loosen those strings knotted around her heart. “What I think is that she’s teething.”

  “Teething?”

  “Umm, hmm.”

  Panic gleamed in his dark eyes. “Shouldn’t we get her to a doctor then? I can try—”

  “Blake.” Josie placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s cutting a tooth, not dying. She doesn’t need a doctor for that. It’s something all babies do. Unfortunately, the parents have to suffer through it right along with them.”

  “But if she’s hurting...”

  “She’ll be fine. Honest. Her pediatrician will probably prescribe something for the discomfort when you take her for... when you leave. In the meantime, just try to comfort her, maybe give her something to bite on besides your finger.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Afraid so. You should probably put her to bed now. Do you want to do it? Or would you like me to?”

  “I’ll go.” He followed her to the extra room, which she’d turned into a nursery of sorts with a crib she’d managed to rescue from the attic, and the old-fashioned sleigh bed that she’d propped pillows all around to serve as crib rails. She motioned for him to place Miranda in the center of the bed. And before she put the wall of pillows back in place, he ran a finger over the little blond head. The gesture was so gentle and so loving, tears pricked Josie’s eyes, and she could have sworn the fist that had been clutching her heart from the start tightened.

  So much for toughening herself up, Josie thought. She swiped her eyes and quickly exited the room. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to find herself foolishly and unwisely falling in love with this man and his children.

  Josie, girl, have you taken leave of your senses? Why in the world would you pick a man like this one to fall in love with? Even if it turns out he doesn’t have a wife, do you really think he’s going to love you back? Not likely. Why set yourself up for that kind of heartache?

  At the sound of Blake’s footsteps behind her, Josie slammed the brakes on her thoughts. Brushing at her damp eyes again, she made an effort to rein in her oh-so-fragile feelings. She stared out the kitchen window at the shin-deep puddles that now dotted her yard and the water rushing over the road in a steady stream beyond her gate.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if it’s ever going to stop raining or if we’re in for another Biblical forty days and nights of this stuff.”

  “I certainly hope not,” she replied. “We don’t have enough diapers to last that long.”

  There was a long moment of silence. “I know you said you had a lot of food stored up, but you weren’t counting on an extra mouth or two babies to feed. Of course, I intend to pay you for everything, but how big a dent have we put in your reserves?”

  Mustering up a smile, she turned around to face him. “We’re okay. I have at least enough meat and vegetables to get us through another week without worrying. It’s the diapers that we have to be concerned about. They’re getting low. There’s only enough for about another four days.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then if the rain hasn’t stopped or the road hasn’t cleared so we can get to town to buy disposable ones, we’re going to have to improvise.”

  “Improvise?”

  “Make cloth diapers out of whatever we can find, which means we have to wash them after they’re dirtied so they can be reused.”

  “Oh, God. Please let this rain stop.”

  “Amen,” she said, and laughed at his pained expression.

  In the blink of an eye, he sobered. “You’ve got a beautiful laugh, Josie,” he said, cupping her cheek.

  Suddenly all the nerves were back, but only worse, and her unwise heart was beating wildly in her chest. “I’d better see about getting dinner ready,” she said and moved past him. In need of something to occupy her thoughts besides these romantic notions about Blake, she seized the potatoes she’d set out earlier to serve with the chicken.

  “Need some help?” Blake asked from behind her.

  “Want to peel and slice these for me?”

  “Sure.” He took the knife, the cutting board and the bowl of small, white potatoes she handed him and went to work.

  As she seasoned the chicken, Josie’s gaze strayed to Blake’s hands. He had big hands, she mused, strong hands. When she caught herself wondering how those hands would feel on her skin, Josie knew she was in serious need of something besides Blake to occupy her thoughts. So after setting aside the chicken, she reached for the bread dough she’d set to rise that morning. She sank her fists into the soft mixture and began to knead it.

  “Listen? Do you hear it?”

  Josie strained, waited to hear one of the babies crying. “Hear what?”

  “The quiet. I’d forgotten what that sounded like.”

  Josie chuckled. “Babies do tend to cause a commotion.”

  Silence stretched between them for several moments. Then Blake said, “I’m not sure I like quiet.”

  “You can put the radio on if you’d like. See if there’s any update on the weather.”

  He made a face. “I’d just as soon not hear any more about the weather or discuss it. Why don’t you tell me about you instead?”

  “Me?”

  He flashed her a grin. “Well, I’d tell you about myself, except that I don’t remember anything about myself. So that leaves you. Tell me about you, Josie Walters.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “Anything. Everything. Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” she in
formed him, relieved he didn’t mention the kiss.

  “Somehow I doubt that. But since you mentioned growing up in an orphanage, am I right to assume you don’t have any family?”

  “You’re right. That is, I don’t have any family,” she replied. Or at least none that had wanted her, she admitted silently, and beat back the stab of pain the memories evoked. Taking care to keep her voice even, she related the events hat made up her life. “I don’t know who my father was. I was two when my mother left me on the steps of a church with a note saying my name was Jocelyn, and that she couldn’t take care of me anymore. Until I turned eighteen, I was ferried back and forth between the orphanage and foster homes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.” Pity had been the one thing she’d had in abundance growing up—from social workers to teachers ers to classmates—and it was the one thing she found most difficult to accept. It was the last thing she wanted from Blake. “I was actually quite lucky. I escaped that awkward phase most kids go through of trying to live up to someone else’s expectations. The only expectations I ever had to meet were my own. No parental pressure, no one to tell me what should or shouldn’t do. No worries about letting anyone down, but myself. Like I said, I was lucky.”

  “I’m not sure most people would see it that way.”

  She shrugged. It was either that or spend her life feeling sorry for herself and blaming everyone else for the things that went wrong. Since she’d never believed that to be pro-ductive, she’d opted to go in the other direction.

  “So did you learn so much about babies living in those foster homes?”

  “I picked up a lot of it there, and the rest I guess I picked up teaching.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  She grinned at the memory and made another stab at the dough. “Was. I resigned this past June to move here. This place used to belong to my husband’s grandparents. He in erited it about two years ago. When he died I inherited it from him and decided to move out here. I like growing hings. I’m hoping to make it a working farm again.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how did your husband die?”

  “In a car accident. He was taking a turn too fast and slammed into a tree. I’m told he died instantly.” She didn‘ bother telling him that Ben hadn’t been alone in the car.

  “When did it happen?”

  “Just over a year ago.”

  “Were the two of you married very long?”

  “Almost five years.” Five years in which her sense of failure had grown steadily and her confidence diminished.

  “Happily?”

  Josie’s hands stilled on the dough she’d been shaping into loaves. She cut him a glance. “You certainly have a lot of questions today.”

  He shrugged, gave her a half grin. “Just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Except for the fact that you’re a widow who’s kind to strangers with amnesia and who kisses like a dream, I know very little about you.”

  The “kisses like a dream” comment had the nerves twist ing in her stomach again. “Ben and I...I didn’t make him very happy.” The fact that Ben had been spoiled and selfish didn’t make her blame herself any less. “He’d been out part tying with...with another woman when he was killed in the accident.” When he said nothing more, Josie told herself she was grateful.

  “I’m sorry,” he said from directly behind her, causing her to squish the loaf of bread in her hands, since she hadn even heard him move.

  “Thanks,” she finally managed when she got her heart ou of her throat.

  “Did you love him very much?”

  Josie hesitated. “In the beginning I thought I did. But looking back, I think I was more in love with the idea tha Ben thought he loved me.” Because until Ben, no one ever had. What she hadn’t realized at the time was that Ber needed someone to praise him, to take care of him and to love him unconditionally. Nor had she realized that halving only her to fill those needs would never be enough for him hat he would always need other women to feed his ego and allay his insecurities.

  “He was lucky to have you, Josie. Any man would be.”

  Swallowing hard, Josie told herself not to read anything nto it. “Yes, well. I’m not sure Ben would have agreed with you on that. But enough of me. How are you coming with hose potatoes?”

  “All done,” he said, and indicated the bowl on the counter, which she hadn’t even noticed.

  “Great.” She wiped her hands on a dish towel and grabbed the potatoes. Turning down further offers of help from him, she kept busy, fussing with the oven, basting the chicken, putting the bread to bake. She suggested he rest or read a book. He chose to keep her company instead.

  She knew he was trying his best to make her relax with chitchat about teaching, about the weather, about the farm. But how on earth was she supposed to relax when he kept watching her? Looking at her with those sexy brown eyes as of he wanted to gobble her up whole? And if the looking wasn’t enough, he seemed to need to touch her—a thumb prushing a smudge of flour from her cheek, a finger tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a palm resting on her shoulder, his legs nudging the back of her thighs when he came up from behind her to sniff the warm bread as she sliced it. All those hungry looks and light touches had her wired and feeling as though they had been engaged in foreplay. Her breasts were tight and achy, her pulse feverish, her body aroused and throbbing. The feminine center between her legs was damp and hot and needy.

  Oh, Blake had looked at her before, touched her before, even kissed her more than once. She knew that he had desired her. But he’d been an injured soul, a lost soul, robbed of his memory, of his sense of self. He’d reached out to her because he’d needed someone to hold on to, an anchor to right him luring an emotional storm while he tried to find himself again. And she had been there—handy, convenient, a body to hold on to while he searched for his footing. His kisses, his desire for her had clearly been the result of that need. It had been the male animal in him responding to the female, It had been just as she’d told him—hormones and proximity, the primal instinct at work, an affirmation that he had indeed survived.

  Only now he wasn’t looking at her like she was just any warm body to hold on to in a storm. He was looking at her as though she was a woman he really desired, a woman who was special to him. And when he touched her, it didn’t feel like just a means of asserting his survival. He touched her as though he cared about her, cared for her—as though she mattered to him.

  Josie. Josie. Josie. Do you regally think a man dike Blake could care about you?

  Yes, her heart screamed back.

  It was possible, she reasoned. She didn’t even know his last name, but she knew that she was falling m love with him, that she already loved the twins. She could make him happy if given the chance.

  Where’s your common sense, girl? Where’s your pride?

  Obviously both had been washed away in the storm of Blake’s kisses. Now she was left with the shaky realization that she had set her sights on a man not only out of her reach, but one who might not even be free. Not that it seemed to matter to her foolish heart, which was in danger of being seriously hurt and causing her to make an even bigger foo out of herself than she already had.

  What she needed, Josie decided, was to keep herself busy,

  And she did keep herself busy—and she kept Blake busy, too. Setting the table for dinner. Cleaning the kitchen. Changing the twins. Putting the babies down for the night. By the time she joined Blake on the couch in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate, she was exhausted. The temptation to snuggle up to him, lean her head on his shoulder was so strong, she nearly shook with the need. Anxious to escape before she did something to embarrass them both, she said, “You know, I haven’t had biscuits for breakfast in ages. I think I’ll go out to the kitchen and mix up a batch for us to have in the morning.” She started to get up.

  “Not so fast, angel.” Blake snagged her by the belt
loop at the waist of her jeans, and pulled her back down to the couch. “You want to tell me what I’ve done to make you so nervous?”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “That why you’ve been running around here like a rabbit with a wolf on its trail for the past few hours?”

  “I had things that needed to be done,” she told him.

  “And cleaning the oven couldn’t wait?”

  When she didn’t respond, he tipped her chin up so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “Are you afraid of me, Josie? I know I let things get a little out of hand earlier, and I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have. But I swear to you, all you ever have to say is stop, and I will.”

  The doubts she heard in his voice, saw in his face ripped at her. “I’m not afraid of you, Blake. I never have been. Not even when you were trying to scare me off. The problem is that I didn’t want you to stop.”

  He tensed. “You’re not making this any easier on me, angel.”

  Nor was he making it easier on her. The fire in his eyes sent desire swimming in her blood. Her knowledge of men had been limited to her husband, but never before or during her marriage to Ben had he ever looked at her with such raw hunger, with such longing. That Blake looked at her in such a way now sent a thrill of pleasure through her. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” He dropped his hands from her face. “Hopefully, the weather will start to clear soon. Until then I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

  Staying out of Josie’s way was easier said than done, Blake realized, as he worked on the screaming pipes in the bathroom two afternoons later. The small farmhouse made for tight quarters, and thanks to the weather, escaping out doors was not an option. He retrieved one of the washers from the items he’d found in the toolshed that morning before Josie had convinced him to come back inside.

  Convinced?

  Hah! For a soft-spoken woman with shy eyes, the lady could give lessons in persuasion techniques. She hadn’t an gued. She hadn’t pleaded or even threatened him. She’d simply zeroed in on one of his major weaknesses—the fact that he felt responsible for the twins. By the time she’d finished pointing this out to him, in that oh-so-reasonable tone of hers the precarious fate that awaited the twins should something happen to him, he’d been ready to take a horsewhip to him self. His need to put distance between himself and Josie had been no match to his sense of obligation for the twins. As a result, he’d been stuck in the too-small house with the too tempting Josie all morning, and he had been engaged in a battle with his hormones ever since.