Читать книгу Mixed Blessings - Cathy Hake Marie - Страница 12

Her own glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. Marie ignored it as she gaped at him.

“Did you cut yourself?” Peter carefully walked on the clean spots between the glass and juice. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the counter.

She practically shrieked, “Live with you?”

“Yes. You’re a mess. Swing around here and put your feet in the sink so you can rinse the juice off of your legs and feet.”

Stunned, Marie sat there and looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted cloven hooves. “I can’t live with you!”

“Marie, take care of your legs, then we’ll see to the other issues. Where’s your trash?”

She mutely pointed at a cabinet. Turning around, Marie followed his suggestion and put her feet in the sink. Rinsing off took no time at all, but she sat on the counter and stared at the water as it cascaded over her feet. Clearly, Peter Hallock wasn’t going to be a take-things-slowly kind of man. He blazed his own path; she carefully considered and weighed her options. That personality difference wasn’t going to make coping with the situation any easier. Lord, this would be a great time for a miracle. If You’re not dispensing those, then that wisdom I just requested? Please double it and add on a side order of patience!

“Are you okay?”

His concern jarred Marie out of her prayer. She turned off the water. “I’m fine. Please hand me a towel.”

He tossed a dishcloth to her. “There you go.” Gingerly, he picked up large shards of glass and put them in the trash, then sopped up most of the remainder of the mess with a few paper towels. “Your floor is going to be sticky.”

“I planned to mop it today, anyway.”

“I’ll mop it.”

“No, thank you.” His offer surprised her. “I’ll sponge it for now and take care of it after Ricky goes down for his nap. He’ll slip on a wet floor.”

“I hoped we could use that quiet time to talk through some plans.”

Marie gave him a stern look. “Peter, I don’t know exactly what you have in mind, but I’m not ready to pull up stakes and move. I have a steady job and, though it may not compare in any way to your mansion, this is my home. I have ties to the community, and stability is important to me. It’s vital in a small child’s life, and I’d be a fool to give all of that up because you snap your fingers.”

“I’m not asking for myself. I’m asking because I firmly believe it’s in the boys’ best interests.”

Marie took a deep breath in a vain attempt to settle her nerves. The man was as calming as a stick of lit dynamite.

“If your concern is for Sandy, let me assure you, she’d be welcome. My home is big enough, and since it’s a single story, she’d have full access to the whole place. Think of it. You could stop working and spend all day with the boys. You’d have more time to work with Sandy, too.”

Marie twisted sideways. She concentrated on rubbing her feet dry and tried to block out the temptation of his offer. She shook her head and whispered, “We can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t we come up with another option? Maybe have a weekend together, then swap kids for the next weekend or something?”

“That’s too disruptive and awkward.” Several glass shards clinked as he dropped them into the trash. He turned and gave her a level gaze. “You’re the one who just pointed out how important stability is.”

“It’s morally wrong, Peter.”

“Your sister will be there! Isn’t that enough?”

“We’re total strangers!”

“It wouldn’t take long for that problem to be resolved.”

“Stop it. Just stop!” She wanted to turn back the hands of time and make it so she’d have never discovered the baby swap. But then I’d never have seen Luke….

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing, Marie.”

“There isn’t any big hurry,” she countered.

“If you really like working outside the house, Anne can handle the boys. All of my sisters work, Marie. If you enjoy having a job, we’ll find something up there that you like.”

“You’re trying to tempt me, and you’ve tossed in everything a woman might hope for, but, Peter, it’s still wrong. I can’t go against my moral code. It’s a terrible message for the boys, and we still don’t know how well they—or we—will get along. I’d be a fool to accept this cockamamie plan.”

Peter had finished up cleaning the floor. He planted his hands on the counter on either side of her. His eyes searched hers for a long count. “You’re going to have to work with me. What is it you want, Marie?”

Nervously crushing the dishcloth into a ball, she blurted out, “I want the nightmares to stop!”

Peter took the dishcloth from her and set it off to the side. He slid his hand over hers. “Tired of it all?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Blinking madly, she pleaded, “Don’t get me started crying. I can’t do that.”

“But, Marie, in less than two years you’ve suffered not one, but three staggering blows. Think about it. You’ve lost your husband, your sister got injured and became totally dependent on you and you’ve discovered your son isn’t yours. How are you supposed to cope? I think you’re more than entitled to sob your guts out.”

She averted her face. “It upsets Ricky and Sandy too much,” she whispered thickly. “I need to be strong for them.”

Peter gently tilted her face and forced her to look back at him. In a low, insistent tone, he asked, “But, Marie, who’s strong for you?”