Читать книгу The Complete Christmas Collection - Джанис Мейнард, Rebecca Winters - Страница 29

Rory returned the call to Curt’s mother within a minute of dropping off Erik at the dock. When Audrey didn’t answer, she left a message saying she was sorry she’d missed her and asking her to please call back as soon as it was convenient.

Despite two other attempts to reach her, it apparently hadn’t been “convenient” for four days.

The conversation they’d had still had Rory reeling three hours later. Thanks to the distraction a text from Erik provided, however, at that particular moment she didn’t have to struggle to mask the resentment, offense and indignation she wasn’t about to impose on her little boy, anyway.

“Is Erik at our new house now, Mom?”

Following the beam of her headlights through the steady rain, she murmured, “Probably, honey.”

“Can I help him again?”

“We’ll have to see. I’m not sure why he’s coming.”

The text she’d received from Erik that morning hadn’t given her a clue.

Am in mtgs. Need to know if you will be home around 6.

She’d texted back that she’d be there by 6:15 p.m.

His reply had been a wholly unenlightening See you then.

Since he’d indicated he’d be in meetings, she hadn’t called to see what he wanted. She hadn’t talked to him at all since he’d closed her out at the dock last week, even though he’d told her to call if she had any questions.

She had dozens. Between online catalogs and searches, she’d figured out the answers to most of them, though, and talked herself out of contacting him about the rest. Those she simply added to her list to ask at their next meeting. Partly because they weren’t urgent. Mostly because she suspected that what she really wanted was more of the relief she’d so briefly experienced when he’d assured her that she and Tyler would be all right. The sensation hadn’t lasted long enough to do much more than tease her with the hope of finding the security she hadn’t truly felt in forever, but she desperately needed to feel something positive about the more personal aspects of her life—and that wasn’t something she should be seeking from him at all.

There also existed the unnerving little fact that she’d just wanted to hear his voice—something she insisted she shouldn’t even be thinking about, considering that she was nothing more than an obligation to him.

That glaring bit of reality mingled with her turmoil over her in-laws as she turned onto the gravel drive just past the store. Through the silvery drizzle, her headlights illuminated a black, bull-nosed pickup truck loaded with something large covered in plastic.

She’d barely pulled into the garage and gathered her groceries from the backseat when Erik strode up and plucked the heavy sack from her arms.

“Anything else back there?” he asked.

Raindrops glistened in his dark hair, beaded on his leather jacket. His impersonal glance swept her face, his brow pinching at whatever it was he saw in her expression.

Not about to stand there trying to figure out what that something might be, she turned away. “Just one bag. I can get it.”

Ignoring her, he reached into the car as Tyler raced around the back bumper and came to a screeching stop.

One strap of his green dinosaur backpack hung over his shoulder. The other dangled behind him as he looked up with a shy “Hi.”

Erik straightened, looking down at the child looking up at him. “Hi yourself, sport.”

Anticipation fairly danced in her little boy’s hazel eyes.

As if unable to help himself, Erik smiled back and held out the bag of apples he’d snagged off the seat. “Do you want to take this?”

At Tyler’s vigorous nod, he waited for the child to wrap his arms around the bag, then nudged him toward the warmth of the house. With Tyler doing double time to match Erik’s long strides, Rory punched the remote to close the garage door and hurried to catch up, clutching her shoulder bag and keys.

She couldn’t believe how pleased Tyler looked to see him.

“Were you on the ferry?” she asked, torn between her son’s growing fascination with the man and trying to imagine why he was there.

“I took the long way around. I had a meeting in Tacoma,” he told her, speaking of a town at the south end of the sound, “so I drove. Jake was on it, though. He should be right behind you.”

“Jake?”

“One of our craftsmen.” Rain glittered through the pool of pale yellow light that arced from the neat back porch. Even in that spare illumination, Erik could see strain in the delicate lines of her face, could hear it in her voice. “I’ll explain when we get inside.”

He watched her hurry ahead of him. Her head down, she unlocked the door and ushered Tyler inside, reminding him to wipe his feet on the way.

The mudroom, with its pegs for coats, cabinets for storage and the double sink his grandmother had used for repotting plants, opened into the kitchen. The warmer air held the same welcome it always had, but no longer did it smell of the pine disinfectant his grandmother had used with abandon when mopping the floors. Now lingering hints of lemon soap gave way to scents of cinnamon and orange as Rory distractedly flipped on lights and told him to set the bags anywhere.

The island of the neatly organized kitchen seemed as good a place as any. As he set the bags on the laminate surface, his glance cut to where she’d left on a lamp at the far end of the long, open space.

She’d just moved in last week, yet everything appeared to be in order. Furniture had been pushed, pulled or shoved into place. Drapes and pictures were hung. Not a box remained in sight.

Not a hint of what had once been familiar remained, either.

The walls had been bare for over a year. Having walked through that empty space a dozen times, it no longer felt strange without the chaos of floral patterns and knickknacks his grandparents had acquired living there. But with that blank canvas redecorated, the sense he’d had the other day of no longer belonging there, of having lost a piece of himself, threatened to surface once more. He didn’t doubt that it would have, too, had the unexpected ease of what she’d created not distracted him from it.

The well-defined spaces now bore his student’s decidedly understated stamp. The heavy wood pieces he’d carried in were dark and substantial enough to make a man feel comfortable, but balanced by shades of ivory and taupe that felt amazingly...restful.

The rustic refectory table with its high-backed chairs held a large pewter bowl filled with glittered pinecones and cinnamon potpourri. Beyond it, the deeply cushioned sofa faced the stone fireplace at the end of the room. A long, narrow sofa table behind it held a trio of thick cream-colored candles. The two armchairs he’d brought in had been positioned to one side, a heavy end table stacked with books and a chrome lamp between them.

He turned to see that she’d left her raincoat in the mudroom. The apples and her shoulder bag had landed on the desk by the now child’s-art-covered refrigerator—mostly red-and-green construction paper bells. Sinking to her heels in front of her little boy, she worked his jacket’s zipper.

“You’ve been busy.”

Oblivious to what had his attention, conscious only of his presence, Rory understated considerably.

“A little,” she replied, thinking of the day she’d had and how desperately glad she was for it to be nearing its end. “I had a meeting with the probate attorney.” Now that the house had sold, she’d had more paperwork to sign. “And I had to go to the bank to close the safe-deposit box, then go straighten out my medical insurance.”

The good news was that she could pay the attorney’s fees and increased insurance costs from the proceeds of the sale of the house. The not so good part was that both cost more than she’d expected—which meant she’d have to forgo the new sign and new shelving she’d hoped to have for her store’s grand opening. And buy a considerably smaller Christmas tree than a version of the megadollar, floor-to-ceiling noble fir that had so mesmerized Tyler at his school. She’d already ruled out buying more outdoor lights to pay for the ferry rides.

Budget concerns, however, had taken a backseat to the varying degrees of anger and hurt she’d been busy stifling all afternoon. Thanks to Curt’s mother.

“After I picked Tyler up from school,” she continued, “we dropped off library books and went grocery shopping before we caught the ferry.”

“And saw Santa ringing a bell at the store,” supplied Tyler, still in Christmas mode. “Not the real Santa,” he explained. “Mommy said he was a helper.” He gave a sage little nod. “The real Santa has lots of helpers.”

“Be tough to do all he does alone,” she explained. Her little boy’s zipper now freed, she rose and headed for the bags. “I hope the milk stayed cold.”

Erik had never seen her in a suit and heels before. A crisp white blouse peeked from beneath the black jacket that curved at her waist and hugged the hips of her slim pencil skirt. Black tights covered the long, shapely line of her legs. As he glanced up from her spike-thin heels, he had to admit he hadn’t seen her truly upset before, either. Though she definitely was, and trying hard to hide it.

“I meant you’ve been busy around here.”

Apparently realizing the extent of her preoccupation, she met his eyes and promptly closed hers with a sigh.

“Can I have an apple?” Tyler asked.

She forced herself to brighten. “You’ll ruin your appetite, sweetie.” Taking his head between her hands, she kissed the top of it, hard, and tipped his face to hers. “Hang up your jacket and empty your backpack. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

With Tyler dragging his jacket into the mudroom, she reached into the nearest bag to unload groceries. She’d just put the milk in the fridge and grabbed two boxes of cereal when she turned on her stylish heel.

The boxes landed on the counter three feet from where Erik watched her with his hands in the pockets of his cargos. The stance pulled the sides of his jacket back from the navy pullover covering his chest and made his shoulders look broad enough to bear the weight of the world.

It seemed terribly unfair just then to be taunted by the memory of how very solid his chest had felt. Especially when she so badly wanted to be held against it. But fair hadn’t been a big part of her day.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, the neat wedge of her hair swinging. “You didn’t drive all the way here to watch me put away groceries.” She tried for a smile. “May I get you something? Juice? Milk?” Neither sounded very adult. “Coffee?”

He took a step toward her. “I didn’t come to interrupt. I just want to drop off your shelving.”

“My shelving?”

“The three units for the back of the store. I had a couple of the guys work on them with me over the weekend. With Christmas coming, they were up for the overtime. One of the units is in the back of my truck. Jake is bringing the rest.”

Disbelief cut through the anxiety that sat like a knot beneath her breastbone. They’d barely discussed her layout to update the market. Though he’d said it would probably work, he hadn’t even bothered to tell her whether or not he liked the idea. All she’d done was show him her sketch, explain why she wanted it and all of a sudden the shelving she’d felt certain would now have to wait had materialized. He made it happen just like that, as if he was some sort of...fairy godfather.

The man fairly leaked masculinity. As utterly male as he was and so not fatherly in the way he’d checked out her legs, the thought would have made her laugh had she not felt like crying.

“You made my shelves?”

“You wanted them, didn’t you?”

She wanted world peace, too, but that didn’t mean she expected it to happen.

She raked her fingers through her hair, wondering if they were a gift, which she couldn’t accept without reimbursing him. Wondering, too, how much he’d paid his men, since it was undoubtedly more than she could afford.

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m just...” Speechless, she thought. “Thank you,” she concluded, because she had no idea what else to say before the ring of his cell phone had him pulling the instrument from his pocket.

After two short beeps and a glance at the text, he muttered, “Jake’s out front,” and dropped the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then you can tell me what’s wrong.”

Certain he was referring to her less than gracious reaction, she said, “Nothing is wrong. You just caught me off guard. I never expected you to make the shelves—”

“I meant what was wrong with you when I got here.”

Oh. That.

Thinking him far too astute, uncomfortable with that, too, she turned for the cereal. “It’s nothing.”

Moving with her, Erik stopped scant inches from her back. With Tyler just around the corner, he lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Lying is a bad example to set for a child.”

Conscious of his warm breath moving her hair, her head still down, she lowered her voice, too. “Then how about it’s nothing I can talk about in front of him?”

“That’s better.” Taking a step back, he indicated the door near the stairway. “I need to get into the store. Mind if I go in through the living room?”

Since he tended to do what he wanted to do anyway, she was a little surprised that he’d asked. Mostly, she was just conscious of how close his muscular body still was to hers. All she’d have to do was turn around...

She shook her head, swallowed hard. “Not at all.”

“Give me half an hour. I’ll be back.”

Twenty minutes was actually all the time it took him and his employee to unload the sections of the three shelving units from a company vehicle and the back of Erik’s truck. It wasn’t long enough, however, for Erik to question why he couldn’t leave well enough alone with the woman he’d spent the past few days trying not to think about at all. Not beyond her needs for the store, anyway. He’d told her to call him if she needed anything. Since she hadn’t, he’d assumed she was doing fine.

Except she clearly was not. Even when he let himself back inside, greeted by the scent of something delicious, there was no mistaking the disquiet she was still trying to hide.

Tyler smiled from where he sat on the dining room side of the island. Beyond him, light glowed through the glass-paned white cabinets, revealing neat stacks and rows of plates and glasses.

“Mom’s making mac and cheese. It’s my favorite. You want some?”

“Mom” had shed her jacket and heels. She stood across from them in her stocking feet, stirring a pot on the stove. The cuffs of her white blouse had been folded back. A green dish towel had been tied into an apron at the waist of her skirt. Erik knew she’d heard him come in, but it was her son’s innocent invitation that had her looking over her shoulder with apology in her expression.

“I told him you probably already had plans,” she said, sounding as if she fully expected his refusal and had already prepared her son for it. “But he wanted to ask anyway.”

Had this been any other woman, any other child, Erik knew without a doubt that he’d have done what she obviously expected and come up with some excuse for not being able to stick around for dinner. With just the three of them, the beat of the rain against the windows and the cozy warmth of the kitchen countering the cold outside, the scenario felt entirely too domestic for him.

He wanted to know what had upset her, though. If for no reason other than to be sure it wouldn’t impede her progress with the store. Or so he told himself. He also knew she wasn’t going to say a word about whatever it was as long as her son was present.

Then there was the little boy himself. With Tyler looking all hopeful, he simply didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Mac and cheese, huh?”

Again, the quick nod. “It’s really good.”

“Then I guess I’d better stay.” He looked to the woman at the stove, caught the strain countering the softness of her smile. “That okay, ‘Mom’?”

Her hesitation held uncertainty, and collided with something that looked suspiciously like gratitude for indulging her child. “Of course it is. Tyler?” she asked. “Let’s move your place mat to the table and get another one from the sideboard for Erik.”

Erik tossed his jacket across the stool next to where Tyler sat. As he did, the boy scrambled down and grabbed his pine-green place mat from the island. Intent on his mission, he laid it on the heavy oak table, then pulled a matching one from a long drawer in the printer’s cabinet his mom had pushed to the wall by the stairs.

He’d just set the mat across from the other when he looked back to the man tracking his progress. “Do you want to see my boat?”

Erik hadn’t a clue what had prompted the question. Seconds ago they’d been talking about food. With a shrug, he said, “Sure,” and the little boy was off.

Wondering if the kid’s energy ever ran low, he walked over to where Rory spooned dinner into two shallow pasta bowls.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“You’ve already done it,” she said quietly. “He’s wanted to show you that boat ever since you said you build them. After you told him about the boats outside Cornelia’s office, it was nearly all he talked about.” She turned, a bowl in each hand. “But if you want, set these on the table for the two of you while I slice another tomato. That would be great.”

Handing them over, she slipped past him to take two salad plates from the cupboard.

“Where’s yours?”

“I’m not hungry. What do you want to drink?” she asked, pointedly avoiding his scrutiny as he set the bowls on the table.

Walking toward them with his toy, Tyler announced that he wanted milk.

Rory told him she knew he did. As she set salads of tomatoes, herbs and olive oil above their place mats, she also said she knew he really wanted to show Erik his boat, but right now he needed to sit down and eat his dinner before it got cold.

She appeared as calm and unruffled to Erik as he’d always seen her with her son. Still, he recognized restlessness when faced with it. There was no mistaking the nerves that had her too keyed up to sit down herself. She seemed to be using motion as a means to keep that tension under control as she started pulling measuring cups, flour and a big wooden spoon from cabinets, cupboards and drawers.

Intimately familiar himself with the cathartic effects of movement, specifically his usual morning run or sanding teak until his arms ached, he said nothing about her joining them. While she moved about the kitchen side of the island, he turned his attention to the boy who’d docked his little blue plastic boat on the table between them.

His fork in his fist, Tyler stabbed a noodle. “It’s my Christmas boat.”

It certainly was.

The miniature ski boat held a hunk of clay middeck. A peppermint-striped straw stuck up from the little blob like a mast. More clay anchored a bit of pencil-thin neon-green tinsel from bow to mast and mast to stern.

He’d rigged the tinsel on it just like the lighted boats they’d talked about in Cornelia’s office.

Erik couldn’t believe how deeply touched he was by the boy’s innocent desire to share something of his with him. Or how humbled he felt by the innocent expectation in the child’s eyes.

The silence coming from the table had Rory nearly holding her breath as she waited for Erik to acknowledge what her son had shared.

He finally picked up the toy, turned it in his big hands.

She could have hugged him when he said, “Now that is one awesome sailboat.”

Tyler beamed.

Rory felt her heart squeeze.

Setting the child’s handiwork back on the table, Erik pointed his fork at the bow. “Do you know what that’s called?” he asked.

“The front?”

“That, too,” came his easy reply. “But in nautical terms, the front of a boat is called its bow.”

“What’s ‘not-cul’?”

“Nautical,” Erik emphasized with a smile. “It means things relating to boats and sailors,” he added, which led Tyler to ask what the back was called. That led to a discussion of stern, port, starboard and keel, the latter of which his ski boat didn’t have, but which Erik fashioned out of a paper napkin just so Tyler would get the idea of what one looked like.

When Rory casually mentioned that she was going to have to reheat their dinner if they didn’t start eating, conversation turned to the merits of shell-shaped pasta over elbow while they cleaned their bowls. Over pudding for dessert, talk then turned back to the boat—specifically the differences between sail and motor.

Her child ate up the attention her mentor so generously bestowed while she put cranberry muffins into the oven to have with breakfast and cleared their dishes. By the time she’d finished cleaning up the kitchen and removed the muffins from the oven twenty minutes later, it was nearing Tyler’s bedtime, and she didn’t want to impose on Erik any further.

“It’s time to put the boat away,” she finally told him. “Say good-night to Erik now, okay? And go brush your teeth. I’ll be up in a few minutes to tuck you in.”

She’d thought he would do as she’d asked and simply say good-night. Instead, with his toy under one arm, he walked to where Erik stood by the island and wrapped his free arm around the man’s thigh. “’Night, Erik,” he said.

She wasn’t sure who was caught more off guard by the unexpected hug—her or the man who went completely still a moment before his big hand settled on Tyler’s head.

“’Night, sport,” he murmured back. “Thanks for showing me your boat.”

Tyler tipped back his head, gave him a smile. “You’re welcome.”

Her conversation with her former mother-in-law already had Rory’s maternal instincts on high alert. Torn between allowing the draw her child obviously felt toward someone who would be out of their lives in a matter of months and the need to protect him from it, she took him by his little shoulders and eased him back.

“Teeth,” she reminded him, and turned him around to get him headed in the right direction.

“Can I read?” he asked on his way.

“Until I get there,” she called after him.

“’Kay,” he called back and disappeared up the stairs.

“He’s a neat kid.” The admission came almost reluctantly, as if he hadn’t wanted to be as impressed—or touched—as he was by a five-year-old. “I don’t know how long it’s been since he lost his dad, but you seem to be doing a great job with him.”

It had been fourteen months that sometimes felt like mere weeks. Sometimes, strangely, as if it had been years.

“It was a year ago in October. And thank you,” she offered at the compliment. “Thank you for being so nice to him, too. I’m sure you had other things to do tonight, but you just made his week. He’s not around men very often,” she said, compelled to explain why her son had monopolized his evening. “And he really misses his dad.”

“I imagine he does.” The agreement brought a frown. “What about relatives? Grandfathers? Uncles?”

She shrugged. “My parents are in Colorado.” This month, anyway. Heaven only knew where they’d be this time next year. “I’m an only child. So were my parents. So that’s it for my side. Curt’s family is in Seattle, but his parents aren’t...available.” Pushing her fingers through her hair, she could practically feel the hurt building in her chest. Even with Tyler out of earshot, her voice sank at the heartlessness of what had been said. “Actually,” she conceded, “they don’t want anything to do with him.”

He took a step closer, his brow dropping right along with his voice. “Why wouldn’t they want to see their grandson?”

The need to restrain her resentment pushed hard. The hurt pushed back. It was Erik’s expression, though, the unquestioning disapproval in it, that urged her on.

“Until a few hours ago, I’d thought it was just because of me,” she admitted, pride biting the dust. “I don’t care about having a relationship with Curt’s parents for myself. I gave up wanting their acceptance a long time ago. But they’re family. Tyler’s, anyway,” she clarified, reminded again of how succinctly her change in status had been pointed out to Audrey’s friends. “For his sake, I did want him to have a relationship with them. I wanted him to have traditions.

“Especially this time of year,” she hurried on. “Curt and I barely had time to start our own and my parents never had any.” None that counted, anyway. None she wanted to pass on. “But as much as anything, I’d hoped he’d have a sense of being part of more than just him and me.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned traditions to him. The last time he’d been there, she’d made learning those his grandparents had maintained over the years a huge priority. But discovering why she apparently lacked those bits of history herself—and, if he had to guess, the sense of belonging that came with sharing them—would have to wait. He was far more interested in what had her looking agitated enough to pace the walls.

Until a few hours ago, she’d said.

“Does this have something to do with that call from his grandmother when you dropped me off last week?”

It had everything to do with it. It also surprised her that he remembered it.

“I finally talked to her this afternoon. I already knew she didn’t want me to be part of their Christmas Day,” she told him, hating how she’d even let that matter to her. “But I’d hoped I could stop by for an hour or so with Tyler on Christmas Eve so he could spend some time with them. Audrey hadn’t sounded thrilled with the idea when I first asked,” she admitted, understating considerably, “but she’d said she’d get back to me. She called while I was on my way from the lawyer’s to pick up Tyler at school.”

Rory would be forever grateful that Tyler hadn’t been in the car at the time. She had known for years that the senior Linfields hadn’t approved of her. She’d just had no idea until that call how little they’d cared about the child their son had so dearly loved. “She and Curt’s father decided it best that there be no further contact between us. She said it was just too painful for them to see me or ‘the boy.’”

The hurt she felt for her son shadowed her eyes, filled her hushed voice as slights of past years could no longer be ignored.

“I should have seen this coming.” She turned toward the rack of muffins cooling on the counter. Turned right back. “Nothing about this ever came up while Curt was alive, but since his death they haven’t wanted to spend any time with Tyler at all.” Twice she had arranged to meet them. Once for Curt’s father’s birthday so Tyler could give him the present he’d made for him, a collage of photos of Tyler and his dad. Once for a trip to the zoo. Both had been canceled by last-minute calls from Audrey. “I’m just glad I hadn’t told him we’d be seeing them at Christmas. It’s so much easier on him to not get his hopes up at all than to have him be disappointed all over again.”

She turned back to the muffins, brushed a couple of crumbs from the counter into her palm, took two steps to the sink.

“What are you going to tell him if he asks about seeing them?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to figure that out.”

“Maybe they’ll change their minds.”

With a glance toward him, the crumbs landed on white porcelain.

“Only if you believe in hell freezing over.”

The rush of water in pipes told her the child under discussion remained occupied in the upstairs bathroom. Still, her voice grew quieter as agitation had her turning away, turning back once more.

“Audrey said that they feel no bond with him.” She spoke bluntly, as Audrey had. “That they never have. She said they tried while Curt was alive, for Curt’s sake, but with him gone, there was no need to keep up the pretense. He’s not their son’s blood, so they want nothing to do with him. Apparently, they already amended their will to delete Curt’s ‘legal offspring.’ Heaven forbid ‘the boy’ should get a penny of their precious money.”

Caution crossed the hard angles of Erik’s face.

“Not their son’s blood.” He repeated her words slowly, as if to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. “He’s not Curt’s child?”

As upset as she was, as insulted and offended as she was for her son, that caution barely registered. “Not biologically. We adopted him. We’ve had him since he was two days old,” she explained, going with the bonds that really mattered. To her, anyway. “We didn’t know until after a year of trying that Curt couldn’t have children. It wasn’t anything we ever discussed with anyone,” she added in a rush. “We just said that the opportunity to adopt came up and we couldn’t say no. After nearly four years and no other children, I’m sure his parents figured the problem was with me.

“Not that it matters,” she muttered, hugging her arms around her waist. “And not that I’ll ever tell them otherwise. They hadn’t liked me the minute they found out I was Curt’s secretary and not a lawyer myself. You could actually see them withdraw when they found that out. It got even worse when they found out my ‘people’ weren’t the right pedigree. But Tyler’s a child,” she insisted, only to forget whatever else she’d been about to say when she realized all that she’d said already.

Erik looked as if he wasn’t about to interrupt her. Though one dark eyebrow had arched significantly, at which detail she couldn’t be sure, he was clearly waiting for her to continue.

Appalled by the scope of personal detail she’d just dumped at his feet, she closed her eyes and turned away. Rubbing her forehead, she muttered, “I cannot believe I just told you that.”

His hand curved over her shoulder. The comforting weight of it barely registered before he turned her back around.

“Which part?”

“About Curt’s...”

“Inability to father a child?” he asked when her voice drifted off.

She gave a nod, not at all sure how she felt having divulged something that, until moments ago, had been only between her, her husband and their fertility doctor. She felt just as uncertain about the odd sense of loss that came as Erik’s hand slid away. “And about how his parents felt about me.”

He didn’t seem terribly interested in that. “Curt was a lawyer?”

Of all the questions he could have asked, he’d gone straight for what had been so hugely important to the Linfield family status. “Corporate. His father’s a litigator.”

“His mother?”

“She’s into charities.”

“What about brothers, sisters?”

“A brother. He took after their dad. His life is the firm and his wife is from money. She and Audrey adore each other.”

“So they had a problem with you not being equal, or whatever the hell it was?”

Among other things, she thought, though she wasn’t about to get into everything she’d overheard in that bathroom stall before she’d opened the door and watched Audrey’s friends go pale.

She’d said more than enough already.

“Seems so,” came her embarrassed agreement.

Quick, assessing, his glance swept her face. As if looking for where the problem might lie, apparently finding nothing in what he knew of her, utter certainty entered the low tones of his voice.

“Then this is their loss. Not yours.” Lifting his hand as she lowered her head, he caught her chin with one finger, tipped her head back up. “And for what it’s worth, everything you’ve said stays right here.” He brushed the back of his finger along the curve of her cheek, only to catch himself and still the motion scant seconds later. Drawing back, he settled both hands on his hips. “All of it.”

At the gentleness in his touch, her shoulders had risen with her indrawn breath. They now fell with a soft “Thank you” that had as much to do with his unexpected defense of her as his assurance that her secrets were safe with him.

She couldn’t deny how good his support felt. She was also rather horrified by how badly she wished he would stop looking at her as if he wanted to touch her again, and just do it. She felt terrible for her child. Totally powerless to give him the family he’d once had, imperfect as parts of it had been. Knowing what she knew now, she didn’t want him around the Linfields anyway. Yet what made her ache the most just then was what Erik had so inadvertently done.

Simply by touching her, he’d reminded her again of how long it had been since she’d been held. There had been brief hugs at Curt’s funeral, many of them awkward, most of them part of the blur that awful time had become. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt any measure of comfort from a man’s touch. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been in Curt’s arms. Or the last time they’d made love. She could easily recall the last kiss Curt had given her, though. She’d played it over a thousand times in her head. As rushed and preoccupied with work as he’d been in the mornings, it had been little more than his customary peck on her cheek on his way out the door.

After what she’d overheard, she couldn’t think of that kiss without wondering if it hadn’t been tolerance more than preoccupation underlying those absentminded goodbyes. But the awful possibility that the man she’d adored had merely endured living with her had existed since the day she’d buried him.

She shoved back the memories, fought the threatening ache.

“This is so not what you signed on for, Erik.” She shook her head again, tried to smile. “Thank you for listening. And for your help. And for the shelves. I still can’t believe you did that. Just tell me what I owe you.” She’d add it to what she owed him for the oil. “And thank you for having dinner with my son,” she hurried on, because that had been huge. “I’m sure you’ll think twice about sticking around for a meal in the future, but if you do happen to stay, I’ll make a point of not burdening you with my baggage.”

Despite her attempt to brush off the pain of what she’d shared, she looked as fragile to Erik as the thin silver chain resting below the hollow of her throat. He didn’t want her thanks or her money. What he wanted was more detail, not less. He especially wanted to know what she felt about the man whose privacy she still protected. He didn’t question why that mattered to him, or ask anything about Curt now. He was too busy hating how the man’s family had rejected her and the child she clearly cherished.

He’d never have guessed Tyler was not biologically her own. He’d just figured the boy had come by his fairer coloring from his father.

“What I signed on for was to make sure you can make a success of the business. I’ll do what I have to do to make that happen. I’m not taking your money, Rory. The shelves are just part of the service.”

He could see her protest forming even as he lifted his hand to her cheek once more. It was as apparent as her disquiet that she didn’t want to feel more obligated to him than she already did. Yet that protest died as he curved his fingers beneath her jaw and touched his thumb to the corner of her mouth.

“As for your son, he doesn’t need people in his life who don’t appreciate him.” Having made her go still, he drew his fingers toward her chin. “And you have too much else to do to waste any more energy on people who don’t appreciate you, either. Got that?”

She swallowed, gave him a small nod. Other than that questionable agreement she simply stood there, looking very much as if she was afraid to move for fear that he would.

He’d been physically aware of her since the moment they’d met. Knowing she wanted his touch made that awareness tug hard. She looked very much as if she needed to be held. Needed to be kissed. It was that stark vulnerability that drew him as his hand cupped the side of her face.

Lowering his head, he brushed his lips over the soft part of her mouth.

He heard her breath catch, felt it ease out, the warmth of it trembling against his cheek.

Rory wanted to believe it was just anxiety catching up with her as she slowly leaned toward him. Longing curled through her, a subtle yearning to simply sink into the incredible gentleness in his touch and let it take away the ache in her chest.

But that ache only grew.

So did the need for him to make it go away.

She leaned closer, drawn by that need, by him. As she did, his fingers eased through her hair, tipping her head and causing her to cling a little more tightly, to kiss him back a little more deeply.

It was kissing him back that turned the ache to something less definable. Shattering sweetness gave way to confusion. She craved the feel of this man’s arms, his strength, his self-possession. She just hated how needy she felt, and how badly she wanted him to make all the hurts and the doubts go away.

The pressure of her nails pressing into her palm suddenly registered. So did the realization that all that kept them from cutting into her flesh was the fabric wadded in her fists.

Beneath his own hands, Erik felt tension tightening the slender muscles of her entire enticing body. Before he could ease back himself, she’d released her death grip on his sweater and ducked her head.

Her quiet “I’m sorry” sounded like an apology for everything from the desperation he’d felt building in her to the way she’d bunched the front of his pullover. To remove any possible wrinkle she might have left, she hurriedly smoothed the fabric with the palm of her hand.

As if suddenly conscious of her palm on his chest, or possibly the heavy beat of his heart, she jerked back her hand and stepped away.

Erik moved with her, canceling that negligible distance. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he’d just added to the chaos of all she was struggling with. That hadn’t been his intent at all. Not totally sure what his intention had been, feeling a little conflicted himself, he lifted her face to his.

“Hey. It was just a kiss,” he murmured, attempting to absolve them both. Just a kiss that had done a number on his nervous system, he qualified, but her decidedly physical effect on him was beside the point. “No apology necessary. Okay?”

Unlike her unease, her nod was barely perceptible.

“I’ll call you in a couple of days.” Aware of how she barely met his eyes, he consciously lowered his hand. He shouldn’t be touching her at all. “Can you finish the inventory by Friday afternoon?”

As segues went, he knew his was positively graceless. All he wanted at the moment, though, was to get past the awkwardness that had her protectively crossing her arms as she pulled composure into place.

“I’ll have it finished.”

A wisp of her shiny bangs had fallen near the corner of one eye. Instincts that still wanted physical contact with her had him starting to nudge it aside. More prudent senses had him dropping his hand an instant before the small voice coming from the top of the stairs would have had him dropping it anyway.

“I’m ready to tuck in, Mom.”

She took another step away. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she called toward the stairs. Brushing at the taunting wisp, she looked back with an uncomfortable smile. “He has to be up early in the morning.”

“Then I’ll get out of your way so you can take care of him. I’ll let myself out,” he said, stopping her as she started for the door. “Just say good-night to him for me.”

His jacket lay on the stool behind her. Reaching around her, careful not to touch, he snagged it and backed up. “Thanks for dinner,” he added, and walked out the mudroom door, wondering what in the hell he thought he’d been doing when he’d reached for her in the first place.

He had no one but himself to blame for the tension that had his entire body feeling as tight as a trip wire. He was messing where he had no business going. Even if she wasn’t so obviously not the sort of woman a man could have a brief, casual affair with, she was just now moving on from a loss that had affected her in ways that went far beyond anything she’d shared with him.

He couldn’t even pretend to understand how she felt, or to know what she needed. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give it to her anyway. He didn’t know how. Even if he did, he suspected she wouldn’t let him close enough to try. She didn’t want to rely on anyone she didn’t absolutely have to. He could appreciate that. He’d been there himself. As it was there were only a handful of people he truly trusted—and not one of them was a female he wasn’t related to or who wasn’t in his employ. He suspected, though, that her walls weren’t nearly as thick as those he’d erected around his heart. There was no denying how vulnerable she was right now.

He wasn’t about to take advantage of that, either. He also wasn’t going to do anything else to potentially screw up his relationship with her as her mentor and jeopardize his agreement with Cornelia.

That was why he’d told his lovely protégée that he’d call in a couple of days instead of meeting with her. If he wasn’t near her, he wouldn’t be tempted to touch.

That didn’t stop him from being touched by her, though. Or by the little boy who’d strung Christmas tinsel on his toy boat.

He knew Rory wanted her son to have traditions. Knowing how tight her money was, and how badly she wanted this season to be special for the child, he decided there was no reason he couldn’t give them one of the traditions that had long belonged there anyway.