Читать книгу His Holiday Bride - Elaine Overton - Страница 11

Later that same evening, as he chopped onions for the pot of chili that was boiling on the nearby stove, Paul glanced at the clock hanging on the wall over the dinner table and realized it was almost seven o’clock. He had not seen his houseguest in almost seven hours.

He looked at Joachim, who was bouncing in his swing, trying to grab the overhanging mobile that was just out of reach.

Paul’s mind replayed the image of walking into the nursery and finding Amber huddled over the dressing table. She’d looked so natural there, so comfortable with the task, a person would think she changed dirty diapers on a regular basis. Of course, for all he knew about her she well may have. But from what Luther had told him about her, and what he’d seen himself, she did not strike him as the nurturing type. Then again, there was the indisputable proof of how well she handled Joachim. Maybe some women were just natural mothers. Give them a baby and they just knew what to do.

Then there were those who should never be mothers. His mind conjured the image of another beautiful woman, and the most horrific experience of his life.

The day he found Joachim’s mother, Michelle, dead from a drug overdose. His infant son sat strapped in his car seat wailing from a combination of a soiled diaper and an empty stomach.

Paul was no innocent to scenes of death, having served on the front lines of a war zone. He’d seen his fair share of dead men, some of whom had been killed by his own hands. But nothing in his experience had prepared him for the traumatic experience of finding his former lover, the mother of his child, prone on a motel bed, her cold, dead body already beginning to stiffen.

Shaking off the melancholy image, he scooped the onions and hot peppers he’d chopped earlier into the boiling pot. Wiping his hands on the dish towel, he glanced back at his son once more before he turned and headed up the stairs to the guest room.

He stopped outside the door and lifted his hand to knock, but paused. Maybe I should just leave her alone, he thought. He knew the impact of what she had experienced had taken its toll. Paul could not even imagine how a woman would begin to get over finding her boyfriend in bed with another man. He could almost see her sitting on the side of the bed, replaying the image over and over again in her head.

He knocked, and heard movement in the room.

“Just a moment.”

He listened to the sound of a nose being blown into a tissue. A few muffled sniffles, and then some more shuffling around. Paul assumed she was getting rid of the evidence of her misery.

“Come in.”

When Paul opened the door, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The only light was coming from the moon outside the large picture window.

Instead of the bed, Amber was perched on the pillows of the window seat, staring out over the large wooded area behind the house.

Paul came to stand beside her.

“Is this real?” She spoke in almost a whisper.

Since he had been wondering pretty much the same thing all day, Paul had no answer for her.

“Are you real?” She glanced up at him before returning her attention out the window. “Because if you are, and if this house is real, that means that everything that happened, the trip to L.A., Dashuan…that means that all of that is real, too.”

It was just as he suspected. She was sitting in the dark room, feeling sorry for herself. Paul sat down on the seat beside her. “Sorry, angel, I’m afraid it is all too real.”

She slanted her head just the slightest bit, and it revealed the single tear flowing down her face. Paul lifted his hand, and let it fall. Although every ounce of blood in his body wanted to console her, he knew if he took her into his arms, in her vulnerable state, things could easily get out of hand.

He folded his hands together. “So, is this what you plan to do all evening?”

She swiped at the tear. “Pretty much. Except, I thought maybe later, I’d let loose and cry myself to sleep.”

He shook his head and made a ticking noise with his mouth. “I’m afraid that’s not acceptable.”

“Oh?”

She quirked an eyebrow in indignation, and Paul hid the smile that came to his lips. She may be a little battered, Paul thought, but she wasn’t broken.

“See, there’s a house rule that all houseguests have to do their fair share of the chores.”

The other eyebrow went up. “Chores?”

He nodded. “I’m cooking dinner, even as we speak, which leaves the cleanup for you.”

She folded her arms across her chest, and Paul took it as the clear sign of rebellion that it was.

“And if I don’t?”

Paul stood. “Then you don’t eat.”

He walked across the room without ever looking back. He had started to pull the door closed behind him when he felt a pillow hit the side of his head.

“You know, I was wondering when the tyrant I met last night would resurface. This whole Mr. Mom thing you’ve got working here is just a front. In a way, I’m grateful you’re showing your true colors. It’s comforting to know I was at least right about you.”

Paul glanced back over his shoulder with a wolfish smile. “Glad I could help. We’re having chili for dinner, and it will be ready in about thirty minutes. And don’t worry. I have rubber gloves to protect your delicate fingers.” He quickly exited, and chuckled to himself as he heard the thump of another pillow hitting the door.

“No, sweet angel,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re not even close to being broken.”

At seven-thirty, Amber appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Paul felt her presence as soon as she arrived, but continued to stir the pot without acknowledging her. Out the corner of his eye, he watched as his normally easy-tempered son began to squirm and wiggle in his walker.

Joachim became frustrated with his inability to make the walker go where he wanted. He began bouncing up and down and whimpering in earnest, his short chubby arms reaching for Amber.

Amber crossed the room and picked up the baby and he settled down, having gotten what he wanted. He tugged at a lock of long, golden brown hair that had come loose, and chatted in baby gibberish. It was obvious he’d missed his new friend and wanted to fill her in on the hours they’d been apart.

Paul glanced over his shoulder at the pair. “You’re spoiling him.”

“It’s the other way around. I can’t remember the last time any man greeted me with this much honest enthusiasm.”

Paul smiled to himself and continued to stir the pot. “The chili is not quite ready, but there are dishes in the sink…if you want to get started now.”

“No thanks, I’ll wait.” She gave him a smug smile as she passed by the stove and headed toward the dinner table. Amber sat down and began playing with the baby on her lap. She glanced around the large kitchen.

The room was large enough to fit thirty people comfortably. The walls were all covered in lacquered wood overlay and, combined with the stainless-steel appliances and the redbrick tiled floor, the effect was stunning. “Your friend has a nice house. What does he do for a living?”

Paul’s mouth twisted. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “Just wondering.”

Satisfied that the chili was coming along okay, Paul wiped his hands on a nearby dishtowel. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned a hip against the counter. “Can I ask you something?”

Amber shrugged, her attention focused on the laughing baby in her arms.

“How did you end up in L.A. with someone like Dashuan Kennedy?”

She glanced at his face, then looked away. “I thought Luther would’ve filled you in.”

“No, he was too concerned with your safety to worry about details.”

“So, now you want all the gory details?”

Paul stood straight and began to put away his seasonings and spices. “Look, it’s your business, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.”

“No…it’s no big deal. Hell, thanks to Dashuan’s entourage, most of Detroit probably already knows the story, anyway.”

She crossed the room and put the baby down in the playpen. Joachim started to protest, until he realized all his toys surrounded him. He rolled over on his tummy, and then up on his knees like a pro, crawling toward his favorite.

Amber wrapped her arms around her body and walked to the large window that looked out on the night, framing the mountains silhouetted in the background.

Paul just stood watching her, giving her time to decide if she wanted to share what was obviously an embarrassing memory.

“My sister Opal works for the Chargers owner D’marcus Armstrong. He gives me tickets to the games. The seats are so close to the team I could smell their sweat.”