Secrets Of An Old Flame
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She tipped the stroller on its back wheels to maneuver it up the porch steps. Joe stepped past her and picked up the whole thing, setting it gently on the porch. His calm handling of the stroller did not hide the tension in his shoulders. Carefully he set the brake.
She fumbled in her bag and fished out her house key. It slid from her fingers and bounced off her shoe. She looked down in dismay, knowing if she bent over to pick it up the pain in her head would double.
Joe reached down and scooped the key up, then inserted it in the lock, his arm brushing against hers as she stumbled out of his way, attempting to avoid contact.
“What’s the matter, Nikki?” he said sharply, his hand on the door handle.
He just stood there, blocking the way. “I don’t want you here. Go away.” Instead of the sharp command she had intended, her voice sounded thin and whiney, something she couldn’t stand, especially in herself.
He turned and stared at her and she fought the urge to squirm under his direct gaze. She knew how pathetic she looked when she had a migraine.
He held the door open a few inches and stared at her. Just let me in so I can lie down, she thought, unwilling to plead aloud for what she needed most.
“Nikki, what’s the matter?” he repeated.
This time the words were the same but his tone was soft and concerned. He let go of the door and slid his big warm hand around her elbow, rubbing his thumb over her sleeve.
Oh, she thought, don’t be nice. She couldn’t handle nice from him right now.
“Nothing,” she muttered.
He ran his hand up her arm. “Don’t tell me nothing. You look terrible.” He leaned toward her.
God, how she missed his touch. The feel of his breath against her face as he coaxed her with his soft voice made her knees weak. Even his unflattering words sounded good when he said them like that. Self defense had her pulling her arm out of his grasp.
“I’m fine, just tired. Get back so I can bring the baby in,” she said, fighting the urge to forget the past and melt against him, take strength from him.
He frowned at her answer and ran his finger down her cheek. “You’re pale and—”
She had to stop him before he wore down her resistance. “I said I’m fine,” she said sharply.
The pain in her head stabbed and the nausea roiled. She shoved past him and bolted into the downstairs powder room.
Joe stepped back as she pushed past him and stared after her. She must really be upset. She’d left him alone with the baby. He hadn’t missed the fact that she acted as if she had to protect his own son from him.
He turned and released the brake on the stroller and wheeled his sleeping son into the house. He closed the front door and then stared down at the baby’s tiny hand, curled against his cheek.
Michael, he thought. My son Michael. The wonder of it struck him anew.
He reached to unhook the safety belt around the baby’s middle, aching to pick him up. It would piss her off to come back and find him holding the baby, but he didn’t care. She was just going to have to get used to the idea, because he’d given her all the time he was going to.
Before he could unclasp the belt, he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.
Damn, he’d been right. He’d known something was wrong the minute he spotted her pushing the stroller up the street. He could tell something was wrong from her hunched-up shoulders and the careful way she’d been walking.
Joe left the sleeping baby and found Nikki sitting on the floor of the guest bathroom, her skirt hiked up her thighs and her forehead resting on the rim of the toilet.
He wrung out a hand towel in cold water and slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to an upright position. Gently he wiped her face and frowned at her moan. She was as white as the porcelain of the toilet. “Pick up a bug?”
“Migraine.” She whispered the word.
Since when did she have migraines? He helped her out of her jacket. Maybe she didn’t get them very often. Their relationship had only lasted two weeks, and as she had pointed out last night, there was a lot he didn’t know about her.
“Can you stand up?” He threw the towel into the sink and hooked his hands under her arms, pulling her gently to her feet.
Unresisting, she allowed him to lead her out of the bathroom. “Come on, you need to be in bed.”
Her step faltered and she squinted into the entry where the stroller stood. “Michael—”
“Michael is asleep. Let’s worry about you for now.” He turned her toward the stairs and caught her as she stumbled. She hadn’t lifted her foot high enough to clear the first riser. Trying not to jostle her, he slid one arm around her shoulders and the other behind her knees, picking her up and holding her against his chest.
It felt too good to have her in his arms.
She held herself with an odd stiffness, as if she was afraid he might drop her. “Relax, I’ve got you.”
She didn’t say anything, nor did she loosen up. He climbed the stairs and deposited her gently on her bed. She struggled to sit up and he put his hand on her chest, forcing her back down on the mattress.
“Just tell me what you need.” God, she was stubborn.
“Close the drapes,” she whispered.
He left her to pull the curtains across the windows and the French doors. By the time he got back to the bed she was lying down, eyes closed, tears seeping from under her eyelids.
It killed him to see her in such pain. “Do you have medication?”
“Bathroom,” came the whispered reply.
Joe found the prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, noted the Canadian address. He quickly scanned the dosage and shook two red-and-white capsules into his palm. He filled a glass with water, wet another washcloth, and headed back to the bedroom.
She lay as still as a mummy on the satin comforter. “Nikki, I’m going to sit you up so you can take these.”
He sat on the side of her bed and helped her come up onto her elbow. She open her eyes a slit until she found his extended palm and took the pills one at a time, placing them in her mouth. He held the glass to her lips so she could wash them down. Then he lowered her back to the pillow and smoothed the cold cloth over her eyes and forehead. A small groan escaped from between her pinched lips.
“According to the bottle, you can have another painkiller in an hour. I’ll watch the time.” He frowned down at her clothing. She wouldn’t be very comfortable lying there in her clothes.
He unbuttoned the waistband of her skirt, eased the side zipper down and slid the garment off over her feet.
His hands shook. The last time he’d undressed her it had been to have hot sweaty sex.
Get a grip, Galtero. Even if she were perfectly healthy he didn’t stand a chance of ending up in bed with her.
His common sense told him he was nuts but his trembling hands and aching groin remembered the smooth warmth of her skin. He reached up under her slip and snagged the waistband of her panty hose, pulling them down her legs.
The familiar scent of her rose up and hit him like a fist. Joe struggled to keep his mind on the fact she was sick and uninterested, not particularly in that order.
Being careful to jostle her as little as possible, he peeled her blouse off each arm, slid his hand under her back to lift her slightly, and pulled the garment from under her unresisting body.
The utter lack of reaction from Nikki as he undressed her had him worried. If he had touched her last night she would have chewed his hand off at the wrist. She must feel really lousy.
With difficulty, he shifted his thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Nikki, when will the baby need to eat?”
He wanted to see his son at her breast again, to watch her feed him. Could she do that after she’d taken the pain killer?
“He’ll let you know,” she whispered.
He stood by the side of the bed and watched her, wishing there was more he could do. It twisted up his gut to see her in pain. Using the cloth on her forehead, he wiped at the tears on her face, then smoothed the cloth back in place.
“Okay. I’ll be back to check on you.” He glanced at his watch, flipped the edge of the comforter over her and left, hoping the prescription worked fast.
Joe headed downstairs, intent on finally getting acquainted with his son. The words still blew him away. His son. He wondered if he would ever get used to saying them, feeling the little burst of pride.
Michael still slept peacefully in the stroller by the front door. Joe unfastened the belt securing him and lifted his warm, relaxed body into his arms. The baby startled, opened his eyes, then quickly settled back to sleep.
He’d held his nieces and nephews when they were this small, but they had never felt so precious in his arms.
Joe carried the baby into the living room and settled on the couch. He laid the baby on his lap, Michael’s head at Joe’s knees.
Joe unzipped the bulky fuzzy suit and peeled it off the sleeping child much the way he had just undressed Nikki, gently, so as not to disturb his slumber. He tossed the garment on the couch beside him and looked at his son, dressed in a tiny shirt and a diaper. His small arms hung limply at his sides, and his legs were drawn up.
With one finger that looked rough and brown against the baby’s fair, smooth skin, Joe hooked a tiny foot and marveled at the perfect toes and tiny toenails.
He didn’t know exactly how old the child was. He didn’t know his own son’s birth date. He tamped down a spurt of anger. Missing out on Michael’s first months of life riled him. What right did Nikki think she had to keep the information about the baby to herself?
Did she think he wouldn’t believe her? They had both used birth control, but one look at this baby had told him all he needed to know. No DNA test was needed to identify Michael as a Galtero.
A Galtero. Part of him. Emotions welled up as he scooped the baby up against his chest and Michael nestled in against Joe’s heart.
The baby was his.
Galtero looks ran strong in the family. Auntie Rosie had baby pictures of Joe, his siblings and cousins. This baby looked like every other child on Auntie Rosie’s mantel.
How much had he already missed of his son’s life?
Michael stirred and Joe lowered the baby back to his lap. The baby opened his eyes. He blinked and stared at Joe, seeming to study his face.
Joe smiled at the solemn little features and his son rewarded him with a toothless grin, then a frothing of spit bubbles and a wild waving of his little fists.
“Well, aren’t you talented?”
Michael stilled at the sound of Joe’s voice and then chortled a reply.
Joe discovered what love at first sight felt like. A warmth of feelings spread and grew in his chest.
“Michael, I’m going to make a promise to you right now.”
Michael stopped waving his little hands.
“You have my vow that no matter what happens between your mother and I, I will always be there for you.”
Joe scooped his son up, cradling his tiny head in his palms, and kissed his forehead. Michael made a grab for Joe’s ear.
The touch of those small fingers went straight to Joe’s heart.
Chapter 4
Nikki awoke slowly in the darkened room. Her mouth felt like she’d been chewing on cotton balls. Still groggy from the medication, she rolled to her side and stared into the playpen. Seeing it empty, a spurt of panic bloomed in her chest. Then she remembered coming home with a migraine. And Joe.
He had been so caring and gentle with her. He made her want to fall back to the habit of depending on him, and she couldn’t let that happen. Never again would she trust him after the way he’d used her.
She had her reasons not to depend on Joe, but she had no doubts Joe would take very good care of their son.
Their son.
She turned onto her back and picked the cold lump of washcloth off her pillow. It was the first time she had ever considered sharing Michael. The thought unsettled her. She didn’t want to think about giving up time with her baby to someone else.
Nikki propped herself up on one elbow. She needed to pull herself together. Then she wouldn’t be tempted to let him back into her life.
Her first move would be to sell what she could and raise some cash. While she was doing that she had to figure out a way to get Joe out of her house and out of her life. This day-to-day living with him was not going to work.
She needed to do an inventory and get things organized while she waited to hear from Mr. Carey, but right now there were more pressing matters. The dim light showing through the crack between the drapes told her it must be early evening. Michael hadn’t eaten since the bus ride home hours ago. She could tell by the ache in her full breasts it was way past his feeding time.
She swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat quietly while she tried to orient herself, wiping away the crust of salt the tears had left behind.
She remembered Joe coming to check on her at least twice.
She cringed when she thought about throwing up in front of him in the guest bathroom. Just the fact that it bothered her he had seen her at her worst meant trouble. She was still attracted to him and didn’t want to be.
Why should she care what he thought? Whatever she’d thought was developing between them a year ago was over. He’d used her vulnerability when she’d needed him the most. She’d never trust him with her heart again.
She had to admit it was wonderful to have someone take over when she had a headache. Rarely did she have the luxury of sleeping away the pain since Michael’s birth.
She always had a strange hollowed-out feeling after one of the headaches passed. She made her way carefully to the bathroom, walking gingerly, like someone who had been confined to bed with a long illness.
She washed her face and combed her hair. It always surprised her how bad she looked after one of her headaches. Out of habit she started to reach for her makeup bag, then pushed it away. She wouldn’t make herself attractive for him.
She shimmied out of her slip, pulled on fresh panties and a pair of old soft knit pants, thick socks and a worn college sweatshirt.
As she made her way down the back staircase, she heard the television on in the den beyond the kitchen. She paused as she heard his voice.
Who was he talking to? She peeked into the room and saw Joe on the couch, Michael propped on his lap, his back against Joe’s chest. Joe anchored him in place with one big hand. Both of them seemed intent on a football game on the television. Their profiles were identical. Michael would grow up to look like Joe.
Her son would be a handsome man, but he would be a constant reminder of his father. Nikki wondered if Michael’s looks would be a blessing or a curse for her.
She stood quietly in the doorway, watching the two of them.
Joe had changed into a polo shirt and jeans. He looked good in casual clothes. His knit shirt fit loosely, only showing a hint of the strong muscles of his shoulders and chest.
Joe hadn’t noticed her. He laughed and pointed at the television screen. “That was a quarterback sneak with a lateral pass. Gutsy move in this situation, but it worked.”
Michael waved both his hands and blew a spit bubble in seeming appreciation.
Nikki shook her head. Male bonding. How like Joe to introduce the baby to his passion. He’d played football in high school and college and loved to watch the game. Nikki remembered a photo hanging on the wall of his apartment showing a much younger Joe flying through the air as he tackled another player.
She stepped into the room. “I need to feed him.”
Both dark heads swung in her direction. Joe smiled and reached out to her. “How are you feeling?”
She took a step back to stay out of his range and before she could answer Michael let out a howl. Instantly her milk let down and formed two wet spots on her sweatshirt.
Joe moved Michael into the crook of his arm and looked worriedly at Nikki and then down at his son. “Hey, buddy. What’s the problem?”
Nikki reached up under her sweatshirt and unhooked the cup of her nursing bra as she crossed to the couch. She lifted the baby out of his arms. “No problem. He’s hungry.”
“You said he’d let me know. The boy has a good set of lungs.” He beamed at her, his face so full of pride it made her want to look away. Her life would be easier if Joe was an indifferent father.
She pushed the thought back and turned away, carrying the baby to the living room. She settled down on the far end of the bigger sofa, snuggling the baby up under her oversized sweatshirt, guiding him to her nipple. He latched on and sucked hungrily, the suckling noises loud in the quiet room.
The comforting weight of his little body and the tugging on her breast relaxed her. It always surprised her how all her worries calmed down when she shared precious time with Michael.
Joe followed her into the room. “Is it all right to feed him after you’ve taken pills for a migraine?”
Nikki bristled at his question. Michael was always her first priority. “Do you think I wouldn’t check that out with my doctor?” She took a less effective medication for just that reason.
Joe spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Hey, I’m new at this. I was just curious.”
An awkward silence ensued as he watched the whole process intently. “He decided awfully suddenly that he was hungry.”
Nikki glanced over at Joe, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. She didn’t want him there during the feeding. This was her special time with her baby. She didn’t want to share.
“He’s smart. You’ve never fed him. He didn’t remember he was hungry until he heard my voice. It’s been hours since he ate last.” She stiffened up when Joe sat at the other end of the couch.
Joe slid a little closer. “How are you feeling?”
Like a bowl of overcooked pasta, she thought. “Fine,” she said with a bored shrug, wishing he would go back to his game.
Joe didn’t take the hint. “How often do you feed him?”
She eyed him closing the distance between them. “Whenever he’s hungry. Sometimes it’s every three hours. Usually around every four hours.”
“At night, too?” He came off the couch and squatted down on his haunches in front of her. She drew her feet up onto the couch and tucked them under.
She could smell his aftershave. By the late afternoon it mingled with his male scent into an appealing smell that was all Joe. “No. I can stretch him to six sometimes at night.”
He reached out and stroked Michael’s foot. “So you’re still getting up at night.”
She nodded noncommittally. The truth was she didn’t sleep all that well and feedings during the night didn’t bother her. She might as well be doing something useful she enjoyed if she had to be awake anyway. It made the long nights go by more quickly.
He stood and sat beside her.
She pushed back against the arm of the couch. “Why don’t you go back and watch the game?”
He gave her a long look. “I’d rather watch you.” He scooted closer.
Her stomach did flip-flops. She needed distance. Since she was curled into the corner of the couch she had nowhere to go.
“What are you doing?” she snapped at him, trapped by his big body.
He grasped the bottom of her sweatshirt and lifted it. She batted at his big hand. “Stop that!”
He captured her hand with his free one and continued to pull her sweatshirt up. “I want to see.”
She tried to pull her hand away without disturbing the baby. “Stop it.”
She didn’t want him watching. It was too…sensual. She didn’t need those feelings awakened. They led to dangerous memories.
He gripped her hand more firmly and his expression hardened. “I’ve already missed at least three months. Don’t deny me this.”
Guilt overcame her and she stopped struggling. He let go of her and she let her hand fall back into her lap.
Next time she had to feed the baby she’d go upstairs.
He lifted her shirt and tucked it gently behind Michael so that it would stay, then he stared at the baby.
She looked away and tried to concentrate on the faint sound of the football game, unwilling to watch the play of emotions across his handsome face.
She shouldn’t be embarrassed over something so natural, she chided herself. He wasn’t looking at her, he was watching Michael. She was the one struggling with feelings she desperately wished would go away.
“What does it feel like?” he asked in a low voice.
She closed her eyes against his soft, appealing voice, resenting the question. How could she tell him about the incredible sensation of nursing a child in terms that wouldn’t sound sexual?
“Different.” The lame answer hung in the air between them.
She glanced at him and saw his gaze fastened on the spot where Michael’s milky lips tugged at her swollen nipple.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His quiet voice held a note of sadness as his gaze shifted to her face.
Now she wished she had. She wished she’d called him as soon as she’d realized she was pregnant, before Michael had become real to her. She suspected it might have made sharing him easier.
If she’d told him then they wouldn’t be having this conversation with him practically sitting in her lap.
She’d been such an emotional mess when she’d first gone to her aunt’s home in Quebec it had taken months for the reality to set in.
“When I left I didn’t know,” she hedged.
He raised one eyebrow. “It’s been a year since you ran,” he said, his voice brusque.
Trust Joe not to let anything be easy. She had run, as far and as fast as she could, but she didn’t like the way it sounded when he said it.
She decided to tell him the simple truth. “A year ago I hated you.”
“And you think that’s fair?” His hand lay fisted on his knee, saying more about what he was feeling than his reasonable tone.
She shrugged. “I didn’t say it was fair. I said it was the reason. It took me a couple of months to realize I was pregnant. I thought I was feeling ill because of stress.”
He’d been looking at Michael. His head came up and he nailed her with a steady gaze. “You were sick?”
She nodded, remembering the misery. “Yes. I felt awful for the first three months. I blamed you.” She’d blamed Joe for everything. She realized she still did.
He stared at her a long time before he spoke again. She worked very hard not to squirm. “Why did you come back?”
The only sound in the room was Michael’s suckling and her own heart, pounding in her ears.
It wasn’t an easy question, but a reasonable one. She needed to be honest with Joe. She’d hide her feelings about him, but there shouldn’t be any dishonesty between them when it came to Michael. She owed him that.
“To tell you about Michael. To try to straighten out the mess Daddy left behind so I can start a new life with my son.”
His expression hardened, making his jaw look even more square. “Our son.”
She hesitated for a long moment. “Our son.”
Joe rubbed his palm along his thigh in a gesture that looked like nerves to her. She had never seen him look anything but totally composed and in charge.
“What is his birth date?”
“July twenty-first.” At 11:51 p.m. She didn’t remember, because she had been so exhausted and doped up with medication, but that was the time the doctor had listed on the birth records.
He cleared his throat. “Is my name on his birth certificate?”
“Yes.” How long had her hand hovered over the line on the form marked “father”? It had been a close call. Now she was relieved she could tell him yes. It was one less thing to argue about.
“This new life you have in mind. Where do you think you’re going?” His tone had a challenging edge to it.
“I don’t know.” That was the truth. She had no idea where she and Michael would end up. She didn’t know physically where they would live, but she knew that emotionally she had to stay as far away from Joe as she could get.