Читать книгу Secrets Of An Old Flame - Jill Limber - Страница 11

Nikki left the stroller in a corner and stood in the reception area of the law firm of Richards, Carey and White. She held Michael and took slow deep breaths to settle the flutter of nerves in her midsection.

She’d been in contact with Mr. Carey during the past year, but she hadn’t told him about the baby.

Michael’s coos sounded loud in the hushed atmosphere of rich walnut paneling, leather chairs and Oriental rugs. She shifted her infant son to cover the spot on her jacket where he’d spit up during the bus ride downtown.

Fielder Carey, tall and handsome with silver-gray hair and conservative suit, strode toward her, his step faltering only slightly when his eyes traveled from her face to the baby she held.

“Nikki, dear, it’s so good to see you. I was worried about you after I heard about last night.”

For a startled moment Nikki thought he meant he knew that Joe had moved in. Then she realized he was talking about the break-in.

“Hello Mr. Carey. This is my son, Michael.” The baby chose that particular moment to blow an impressive spit bubble, his latest trick.

A startled, angry look crossed his patrician features, then quickly disappeared as he glanced at Michael. Nikki wasn’t surprised by his reaction.

Being of the same generation, he would hold the same opinions as her father. Unmarried women shouldn’t have babies, and if they made mistakes, they certainly shouldn’t be aired in public.

“I’m disappointed you didn’t tell me about the baby.” The mild censure in his tone made her want to squirm. He was her only ally in this mess.

Having no good answer for him, she mustered up a smile as he took her hand and leaned in to give her a customary peck on the cheek.

“Shall we go back to my office?” He took her arm and managed to smooth out the awkward moment as he guided her down the familiar hallway.

Nikki settled in an armchair, the baby in the crook of her arm.

Carey slid into a massive desk chair done in the same burgundy leather. His desktop was so tidy it looked like a photograph in an ad for upscale office furniture.

Nikki cleared her throat and decided to get right to the point, not sure how much time she had before Michael would need to eat. She couldn’t picture herself unbuttoning her jacket to feed her child in front of the attorney.

“Mr. Carey, thank you for getting me permission to stay at the house. I’m sure you are more aware of my financial situation than I am. I need help, but right now I can’t afford to pay you.”

He shook his head and smiled at her as if she were a slow child. “Nikki, I am your family friend as well as attorney. My fee is not an issue.”

Nikki felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. He might not approve of her, but he wouldn’t abandon her, either. “Thank you. That means a lot to me right now.”

He nodded and didn’t speak for a moment as he repositioned a gold pen on his desk blotter so that it aligned perfectly with a slender matching letter opener. “Before we discuss your situation, have you heard from your father?”

The question took Nikki by surprise. She stared at the attorney, wondering for a brief moment if she had misunderstood his question. A year ago he’d agreed with her that her father was probably dead, a victim of his business partner.

Was Mr. Carey keeping something from her? Her heart raced. Was it possible her father had abandoned her for a fortune in stolen money? She suspected that might hurt more than finding out he really was dead.

She cleared her throat, struggling to maintain a normal tone of voice. “No. I haven’t heard anything. Have you?” She didn’t know whether to be hopeful or angry.

“No. Not directly. But a friend of my nephew Don returned recently from a fishing trip. He saw a man on a small island just south of Martinique who looked so much like your father that he called out to him. The man turned away and disappeared into a crowd before he could talk with him. Don said his friend sounded so sure it was Ray.”

The attorney’s words hung in the air as Nikki battled to grasp the possibility that her father was alive.

If it was true, if her father was alive, why hadn’t he tried to contact her? Would he have thought to look for her in Canada? She’d gone to her mother’s hometown.

Could Joe be right? She lifted Michael to her shoulder and absently patted his back. Had her father decided the money was more important than her, his only child?

She wasn’t sure she could handle that truth.

Tension bunched the muscles between her shoulder blades into a hard knot.

“Nikki, dear, are you all right?” Carey was on his feet, coming around the desk.

“Yes. You took me by surprise.” Nikki waved him back to his chair.

“I’m sorry. I thought you had entertained the possibility…” The attorney’s voice trailed away.

His words mingled with the strains of classical music that drifted quietly out of hidden speakers.

She’d denied the possibility her father was anything but a victim from the beginning. The alternative hurt too much. She wanted to keep on denying, but now it sat like a rock on her chest, making breathing difficult.

Had he murdered his secretary and taken millions from his company, then run off without a word to her?

Carey’s voice droned on and she fought to pay attention.

“It is only a chance. After all, there’s bound to be a false sighting or two after all the publicity. I’m checking it out.”

She grasped at his explanation like a drowning woman would grab a life ring. It hadn’t been her father in Martinique. It must have been someone who resembled her father. He couldn’t steal and murder. And he loved her too much to abandon her.

As much as she wanted to leave and not face the possibility Mr. Carey had just raised, she didn’t have that luxury. She had to think of Michael now.

“Is there a chance we can get the court to separate the house from the Fortuna bankruptcy?” Her great-grandfather had built the home and it had always been in the family, but she’d have to sell it. There was no way she could afford to live there.

“It’s possible, I suppose, but what would be the point?” Carey asked.

Nikki was surprised at his response. “I need to sell it.”

He shot her a sympathetic look. “Nikki. I thought you knew.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, bracing herself. “Knew what?”

“It’s mortgaged to the hilt. If it wasn’t for the Federal seizure the bank would have sold it months ago. No payment has been made on any of the loans for a year.”

Nikki felt as if she’d taken a blow to her midsection. She managed to get through the rest of the appointment and ask the questions she needed answered about selling off her personal belongings before Michael began whimpering from hunger.

She stood and picked up her bag. “I want to thank you, Mr. Carey. I appreciate all your help.”

Always the gentleman, Carey came to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

His phone began to ring. She gestured for him to stay where he was. “I know the way. I’ll be in touch.”

She walked to the reception area and was wrestling with the stroller when the main door to the offices opened and Don Carey, Fielder Carey’s nephew and junior partner, came through the door.

He looked startled to see her, and a strange look passed over his face when he spotted Michael in her arms.

“Nikki, hello!” He recovered his composure and took the stroller from her, snapping it open.

“Hello, Don. How have you been?” A few years ago her father and Fielder had tried very hard to play matchmaker for herself and Don, but there hadn’t been any chemistry between them and the relationship had ended badly when she had refused to date him any longer. Don didn’t take rejection very well.

“Just great. And you? Is this your baby?”

“Yes. This is Michael.”

They stood there awkwardly for a few moments until an unsmiling young woman in a business suit came through the doors after Don and handed him a file, then pointed at her watch as she walked by.

“Well,” he said shifting his weight from one foot to another, “I have a meeting.”

“It was good to see you.” It wasn’t, but Nikki knew she was expected to say something polite, even though she still remembered the ugly things he had said to her at their last meeting. He nodded and held the door for her.

She felt him staring at her as she left the law offices, but she didn’t turn around.

She walked to a nearby bus stop. After she climbed on the bus for the ride home, she settled the baby under a blanket so she could feed him. As he ate she forced herself to think about what she needed to do next. Her situation was even worse than she had thought.

She would have to find a place to live and get a job. According to Carey, she could only sell the things out of the house that had come directly to her from her mother’s estate.

The antiques and sterling should bring in enough to give her a start, but the thought of losing what little she had of her mother made her want to weep.

Nikki felt so torn about her father. She wanted to hope he was alive and well, and at the same time she was hurt beyond telling that he could leave her behind with no word.

Could he have done all the things he was accused of and turned his back on his only child? The possibility was like a deep cut. She knew it would hurt but she kept poking at it anyway.

She stared down at her son, trying to imagine leaving him, knowing she couldn’t, for any reason.

Exhausted by the stressful morning, Nikki struggled down the steps of the city bus at the stop closest to home. Michael in one arm, and the bulky stroller in the other, she ignored the grumbling of the bus driver because she was taking too long to exit.

The lighthearted little jingle played constantly on local radio and television urging everyone to take the bus had failed to mention cranky bus drivers, other passengers who brought imaginary friends with them and patrons who failed to bathe regularly, if at all. She missed her car desperately, but she’d sold it months ago to help pay for Michael’s delivery.

She whacked her elbow on the metal handhold as she lurched off the last step. The bus pulled away from the curb, belching noxious exhaust that enveloped her in an eye-stinging cloud.

She sighed, trying not to feel sorry for herself. She’d better get used to public transportation. After what her father’s attorney had just told her, it would be a long time before she would be able to afford a car. Any car.

Apparently the ride had not bothered Michael at all. He was sound asleep. She clutched him against her shoulder with one hand and struggled to unfold the unruly stroller with the other. Whoever had invented the contraption must have had a sadistic streak.

She finally got the stroller open, settled the baby and started the three block walk home. She blinked and recognized the changes in her vision as the beginning of one of her killer headaches.

Great, she thought as she squinted against the sun. Just what she needed to round out a wonderful morning.

As she pushed the stroller down the quiet residential street she concentrated on her sleeping son through a kaleidoscope of colored lights that always signaled the start of a migraine.

If she hurried home, took her medication and got herself into a dark quiet room quickly enough, she might be able to stop the pain before it blossomed into a full-blown headache.

She’d started having the headaches after she’d arrived in Canada. A doctor had told her they could be stress-related. Alone, pregnant and her father missing, she hadn’t needed an M.D. to figure that out.

Michael sucked contentedly on his fist as he slept. He usually napped during this part of the day, and that would give her a chance to lie down.

The wickedly beautiful colors that had fringed her vision disappeared and the throbbing started across her forehead. One and a half blocks, she chanted to herself. She would be home in one and a half blocks. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

Think of something besides the flare of pain. Think about what you will do tomorrow. She had to contact the man who ran the exclusive antiques shop on West Lewis Street. If Mr. Denny didn’t want to handle her things, he could probably recommend someone else.

She felt like someone had buried a hatchet in her forehead. Tears blurred her eyes so much she stumbled over a uneven spot in the sidewalk. All she had to do was get around the next curve and up her front walk.

Home. King’s X. Ollie, Ollie, in free.

For today, at least, it was her home.

Home and Joe. Dreams of him coming to her bed had awakened her during the night, with her nightgown twisted up and her body drenched in sweat.

Her mind knew she couldn’t trust him, that he was no good for her, but her body refused to get the message.

Just as she came around the corner, she saw Joe’s car in front of her house.

He stood by his car, his hands on his hips, sport coat drawn back so that she could see the weapon strapped under his arm. She wondered vaguely if he had practiced the intimidating pose in front of a mirror. He was very good at it.

“Where did you go?” Chin jutting forward, he had the body language of an angry man.

She squinted up at him, the sunlight unbearably harsh. “For a walk.”

“Do you always dress up in a suit and heels to take the baby for a walk?” He scowled at her clothes.

Nikki ignored him as she walked by and pushed the stroller through the gate and up the long front walk, bumping over the rough flagstones. It was none of his business where she went or who she saw.

Her stomach roiled with nausea. If she stood out here and argued with him she might disgrace herself in the front yard.

She didn’t have to turn around to know he was right behind her. She could hear him breathing.

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.