Millionaire's Christmas Miracle (11 page)

But one glance at her reflection in the rain-streaked windows and he knew that she’d spotted him as soon as he came into the room. She watched him, then he saw her straighten and push her hands into the pockets of the robe before turning to face him.

Her expression startled him. There was a sense of distance in her. Two patches of bright color dotted her cheeks, but the rest of her skin seemed oddly pale, especially emphasized by an ebony cloud of wild curls. She was biting her bottom lip so hard that he was certain she’d make it bleed. Then she took a breath that seemed to echo in the room.

“I want you to know that I am not some sex-starved widow,” she said in a tight voice.

He would have laughed at that, if there wasn’t such desperate seriousness in her with each word she uttered. “Amy, don’t do this.”

But his words didn’t stop her. “I can’t believe that I let that…” She bit her lip again, then took another breath that seemed to make her whole body shake. “You had no right to say what you said, and I had no right to…to hit you. And I apologize for that. And I was so far out of line, but you were too, and we both—”

“Stop.” He’d had it. He couldn’t take this self-flagellation she seemed bent on dishing out. “Just stop,” he said, crossing to her at the windows. “You’re sorry. I’m sorry. That’s it. Let it go.”

Her eyes were huge, overly bright, but she didn’t cry. In fact, she looked angry. Whatever was going on inside her was hurting her, and he had to kill that overwhelming need he seemed to feel to make things right for her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even make them right for himself.

She exhaled and suddenly buried her head in her hands, the wedding band catching the overhead light. She took several deep breaths, then she slowly lowered
her hands. “That’s it,” she whispered as she hugged her arms around herself.

“Yes, it is,” he said, ignoring the fact that a man who told the truth to a fault was lying with every other word tonight. That
wasn’t
it, and he couldn’t forget what had happened, but he wouldn’t repeat it. That was the bottom line. “And I’m starved. The soup is more than ready. How about some?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

“And take this,” he said, holding the phone out to her. She stared at it as if it was a snake about to bite her, then reached for it, all but snatching it out of his hand. She put it back in the pocket of her robe as he asked, “Coffee or wine?”

“Coffee,” she said, moving away from him as she spoke. “I’ll check on the kids and be right back,” then left the room, leaving the space as achingly empty as he felt at that moment. He turned to set the table and serve up the food, but all the while that he worked, he literally had to make himself not remember. Maybe later. Maybe after she was gone. Maybe then he could let himself remember their moment of weakness. But not now.

Incredibly, the two of them ate in amiable silence as if nothing had happened. They sat at the end of the huge table, eating a hearty vegetable soup along with crusty French bread and sipping a decent red wine and strong coffee. “More?” he asked when Amy finished her bowl of soup.

“No, thanks,” she said, picking up what was left of her bread and taking a nibble.

“I checked and there’s plenty of canned goods, some stuff in the freezer and a well-stocked wine cellar.” He glanced at the storm that wasn’t letting up. “I hope you brought enough diapers.”

“Plenty. We had a stock at the center, and I took all the smallest ones we had, and plenty for Taylor.” That was the most she’d said since coming back from checking on the children. “We’ll probably be leaving in the morning, anyway.”

She sounded anxious, and he couldn’t blame her. “Probably.” He tore a chunk off the loaf of bread, then realized he didn’t want it. Instead, he put it down, poured himself some more wine and looked at her. “Sure you won’t have any wine?”

She shook her head. “I don’t drink well,” she said.

“It’s good on a night like this,” he murmured as he put the bottle down, then sipped the wine, welcoming the warmth as it spread through him. He watched her scanning the room. “What do you think?” he asked, and could see that he’d startled her slightly when she looked back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re looking all over the place. What are you looking for?”

He was thankful that didn’t bring more tension. She didn’t say an escape, any escape. Instead, she said, “I was just thinking that this room is as big as my apartment.” She pointed overhead at the heavy beams crisscrossing above them. “That the ceiling took a tiny forest to make.” Then she motioned to the stone walls and heavy counters. “And that you probably had plenty of money as a kid.”

He sat forward, putting the glass on the table, fingering it while he debated about filling it again. “It’s a ranch, and I was indeed brought up here as a kid. And we didn’t have a lot of money. We had a working ranch, and this room was the center of it, sometimes feeding twenty hands at once, so it had to be big.” He motioned with his head, indicating the rest of the house. “My dad built most of this out of material that was already on the land to begin with, and they’ve added to it, but it’s basically what it always was, a sprawling ranch house.”

She was breaking crumbs off the bread she was holding, but she wasn’t eating it anymore. “You worked here?”

“When I was a kid. So did Meg, my sister. I went off to college and never really came back. Meg was a change of life baby, as my Mom says, or her ‘oops baby.’ She’s only five years older than Mike. And it wasn’t easy on either of my parents, but they did it. Now they’re having a second childhood of their own, traveling, making up for lost time.”

A cry came from down the hall, and Amy was on her feet and moving before he even realized that one of the children was awake. She was gone. He reached for the dishes, clearing the table into the dishwasher. By the time she came back into the kitchen, he was almost done. He turned and Amy was there holding Taylor on one hip and cradling Travis in the crook of her other arm. He crossed and took the baby from her, and looked at Taylor, who seemed still half-asleep.

“The baby’s cries woke Taylor. I told her you
might have a cookie or something out here for her,” Amy said, hiking Taylor higher on her hip.

“Sure, I bet we do,” he said, taking the baby with him into the pantry, a small room off to one side of the kitchen. He found a box of graham crackers. “We’ve got these,” he said, coming back out with them. Amy was at the table, holding Taylor on her lap. “How about graham crackers?”

“Perfect,” she said, “Not too much sugar.”

Quint put the box on the table, and while Amy opened it and gave one to Taylor, he sat down opposite them with the baby in his arms. Taylor ate one cracker and Amy looked across at Travis. “He’s such a good baby,” she said. “Taylor was fussy. She had these crying fits in the afternoon and the only way she could be comforted was by holding her like a football in your arm facedown, and walking and jiggling her at the same time.”

“He’s still new. This might not last.”

He was grateful that made her smile, not a full expression, but a softening at her lips and a general lightening in her. “True. Kids change so quickly.” She smoothed Taylor’s sleep-mussed hair. “Taylor changes every day so much, that’s why I couldn’t just put her in day care and miss all of that.” She sat back as Taylor took another cracker. “I’ve got the perfect job. I’m with her and can earn a living, such as it is, and not miss her growing time.”

She genuinely loved her child, cared about her child and nurtured her child. And she was just as good with a child who had been dumped on her doorstep.
“You’re remarkable,” he said before he really thought and could stop the words.

“Excuse me?” she said, her expression darkening slightly.

He couldn’t say what he really thought, that she was attractive on so many levels and one level was being a mother. He didn’t want more lies, so he just hedged a bit, but told the truth. “You’re so good at this, with the kids, as if it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.”

“It’s not brain surgery.” She cuddled Taylor who had had enough crackers and was snuggling back into her mother.

He smiled. “Amy, no brain surgeon could do what you’re doing. Believe me.”

The color dotted her cheeks again, but this time, not from anger. “I always wanted to be a mother, it just took me longer than I thought it would to get there.”

“Odd,” he said, honesty coming from this woman at all times. Despite the physical turmoil she caused him with her presence, there was something soothing about her. She was as soothing to him as she was to the children. “I never wanted to be a father. Then it happened. I got married and Mike came. But when he was there, I knew that he was the reason for all that had happened before that moment. And everything that would happen.” He chuckled roughly. “I’m usually not good at philosophical discussions.”

She shrugged. “It’s not philosophy, it’s life. If you hadn’t met your ex-wife, you never would have had your son.”

“You’re right. But that doesn’t change the fact that I stink at marriage. Now, as a father, I’m not bad.” He tried to smile. “At least I’m passable. I got past it, and Mike’s turned out just fine. Dumb luck, probably, but he’s a great kid.” He shook his head. “No, he’s a good man. He’s not a kid anymore.”

She glanced at Travis in Quint’s arms, and he looked down, too. The baby was sound asleep. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

“I guess it’s like riding a bicycle,” he murmured, then looked at her. God, he hated regret, but right now he totally regretted being at a different place in his life than she was at the moment. And he regretted the way he could feel himself getting more obsessed with a woman almost as young as his son, and that he couldn’t stop this gradual slide into the father role he’d left behind.

He cleared his throat and glanced at his wine. He tried to stop looking at this woman who deserved more than he could ever offer her. That thought stunned. What could he offer her and what would he want to offer her? What would she take from him?

“And who’d want to ride a bike again, huh?” he heard her whisper.

He felt a sense of sadness. “Exactly.”

That night, Amy slept with Travis on one side bolstered by pillows and Taylor on the other, blocked in by the wall. The sleep was deep and easy, except for waking to feed Travis, and when he stirred around dawn, she was instantly awake. She picked him up, changed him, then managed to get dressed herself, in jeans, the Super Dude T-shirt and gray sweatshirt that she’d brought from the center.

After putting a piece of graham cracker in the rat’s cage, she put the cell phone in her pocket and took Travis out into the kitchen to heat a bottle. Quint was nowhere around, and one look out the windows showed her that the storm was still going strong. After getting the bottle warmed, she carried Travis near the windows, and while he fed, she looked out at the watery world outside the ranch house. Through the blurry glass, she could see rolling green off into the distance, a dark building that looked to be two stories tall to the right, and a wing of the house jutting out to the left. The tiled roof shed the water in small rivers, and the wide overhang partially protected what looked like stone walls.

“Good morning,” she heard from behind her, and turned, surprised to see Quint looking painfully fresh in clean jeans and a white shirt. What shocked her most was Taylor in his arms. He smiled as he came into the kitchen. “She found me,” he said as he crossed to the pantry and disappeared inside. “And she wanted more crackers.” His voice came out of the room, then he was back with the box in Taylor’s hands.

He crossed and asked, “Can she use a chair or is she better on the floor?”

“She slips off chairs, but the floor’s so cold,” she said.

“Okay, let’s go where the floor’s better for her,” he said, carrying Taylor across the room and through the arched doorway where he’d carried Amy last night.

She hesitated, almost afraid to go back to the scene of her insanity, then she hurried after him. She’d thought it was a den and it was, of sorts, a cozy room with the tiles partially covered by area rugs. Leather was everywhere, from the low couch, from which she quickly averted her eyes, to chairs that all but made a circle in front of a huge stone hearth. Near windows to the right stood what looked like an antique pool table, and one wall was filled with bookshelves, overflowing with books of every sort, with a television set in the middle.

Quint crossed with Taylor, sank down on the couch and put her on the carpet that ran under a massive wooden coffee table. She started on the crackers, and Quint looked up at Amy still holding Travis, only
partially in the room. “If you’ll watch them, I’ll get something for breakfast. We can eat in here.” He tapped the coffee table. “Just the right size for little people.”

“Okay,” she said, crossing the room, but choosing to sit on a chair that faced the couch where she could watch Taylor. She could hear Quint in the kitchen, the clatter of pots, then the aroma of fresh coffee. She burped Travis and laid him on his stomach across her thighs and slowly made circles on his back. He seemed content just to be there, and she was feeling suspiciously content at that moment, too. Taylor was happy, Travis was content, and she was…she couldn’t put a word to it, so she let it go. She didn’t have to understand, that was something she’d realized when Rob died. She didn’t need to understand, she just needed to keep going.

“Breakfast is ready,” Quint called and strode into the room with a wooden tray in his hands. He crossed to the coffee table and put the tray down—eggs, bacon, toast. Cups of coffee. A dish with scrambled eggs in it for Taylor. He sank down in the next chair, then looked at her. “Can you put him down?”

She kept stroking his back. “No, I can manage with one hand,” she said, thankful that she could smile at him, and thankful that there was none of that tension that had been in the room last night. “Tay-Tay, want some eggs?” Taylor shook her head and took out another cracker. “Okay, more crackers, then the eggs,” she said and started to eat her own food with an appetite she couldn’t remember having for a very long time.

“Thanks, that was great,” she said once she’d cleaned her plate, turning to one side to drink some coffee without having the cup over the baby on her legs. The liquid was hot and strong and good. “Just great,” she said, putting the cup back on the table before sitting back.

“I thought I’d feed you before I broke the bad news.”

She looked at Quint sitting forward, his coffee cup cradled in his hands, and he didn’t look too happy. “What is it? I’ve got the phone and there haven’t been any calls, but did—”

He cut her off. “No, no calls. I just listened to the news. That’s what I was doing when Taylor found me. The weather’s not letting up, and there’s widespread flooding.” He glanced at Travis. “So, we can’t leave and we can’t do a thing about him right now.”

That uneasiness was coming back. More time here, with Quint. “Maybe we could go back to LynTech?”

He shook his head. “The main part of the city is pretty much in a blackout at the moment.”

“Well, if it’s that bad, maybe his mother can’t get back to LynTech to find the note. We’re stuck, so she probably is, too.”

“That’s being kind to her, but I suppose it’s a possibility.” He stood and picked up the dish of eggs that Taylor had been ignoring. He went around to the couch, sank down by her on the floor and said, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

She looked up, saw the dish and shook her head. “No. No eggs.”

He looked at Amy. “She does No quite well.”

“She doesn’t say a lot, but she has mastered a couple of words. That’s one of them.”

“Okay,” he said looking back at Taylor. “How about if Quint eats your eggs and makes them all gone?”

She looked at him as he pretended to eat some, then said an exaggerated, “Mmm good.”

She watched him with a frown, then reached for the spoon, almost sending egg all over Quint and the couch. But he evaded the grab and offered the spoon to her. “Okay, you win, they’re Taylor’s eggs, all of them,” and quite miraculously, she opened her mouth and let him spoon them in. “Good, huh?” he asked.

“Huh,” Taylor said, nodding and opening her mouth wide again.

Within minutes, the eggs were gone, and Quint was sitting back with the empty bowl as Taylor went back to the box of graham crackers.

“Well, that’s a near-miracle,” she said.

“No miracle. Actually, it took me forever to figure out that if it was mine, Mike wanted it. If it was his, he didn’t want it. Kids are so perverse,” he said with a smile.

So are human beings, she thought as she scooped Travis up and cuddled him to her shoulder. “That’s the truth,” she said as she stood. “I need to get them changed.”

“Okay,” he said, grabbing the box of crackers and picking up Taylor almost in one fell swoop. The four of them went back through the house to Amy’s bedroom, and Quint never hesitated, going to the bed with Taylor. “What’s she going to wear?”

“I had some overalls at the center that I grabbed and some T-shirts, so it’s not fancy, but serviceable.”

“Okay, you take care of the diapers and I’ll put the clothes on.”

For the next several minutes, the two of them worked together with the children, until both were dry and clean and dressed. Amy was sitting on the floor putting on Taylor’s shoes and Quint had Travis in a clean sleeper, offering him the pacifier. For a flashing moment they were like a family, a mother and father, the children, and that scared Amy. She got to her feet, then spoke without looking at Quint again. “I’ll have to figure out where to let Travis nap so I can keep an eye on him.”

“You know, there’s an intercom in the house.” She turned to see Quint cross to a box by the door and turn on a button. “It’s in what I call the ‘eavesdropping mode.’ This room is strange. You can hear what goes on in here from anywhere in the house, but anyone in here can’t hear what’s going on out there.” He turned to her with a boyish grin on his face. “Something I learned about the hard way when I was a kid.” He crossed to the bed. “So, make a pillow barrier, and let him sleep for a while if he will.”

She went about stacking pillows, then glanced at Quint, a bit unnerved to find him watching her intently, the grin long gone. “What?” she asked, that uneasiness starting to rear its ugly head even more.

“I meant it before. I’m impressed.”

“You’re easily impressed,” she said, reaching for Travis and turning to lie him on the bed. The pacifier was there, Quint holding it out to her over her right
shoulder. Without looking at him, she took it, gave it to the baby and was thankful when Travis seemed to sigh and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Actually, I’m not easily impressed,” Quint murmured from behind her. “You can ask anyone who knows me.”

“Easy to offer when I don’t know anyone who knows you very well at all,” she said, then looked at Taylor absorbed with the teddy bear near the bed. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“I’ve got some work to do. There’s plenty of books in the den, a TV, a pool table if you want to play. Plenty of food.” He touched her on the shoulder and she almost jumped out of her skin. She turned and was inches from Quint. “And don’t worry about anything getting wrecked. This house is invincible. It can take anything Taylor can dish out.”

“Okay, we’ll make do,” she said.

“I know you will.” He went back to the door, adjusted the intercom, then turned to her. “Everything’s set. You’ll hear him anywhere if you’re inside.” That grin was there. “And it’s my bet that you aren’t going to be outside.”

“That’s an easy bet to win,” she said, then Quint left the room.

Amy stared at the empty door for a long moment, then scooped up Taylor and said, “Let’s go on a tour of this place, okay?” Taylor hugged the bear to her tightly. “And you can keep the bear…for now.”

She started for the kitchen, wondering how one person could confuse her, calm her, upset her and heal her all at once. She couldn’t begin to place the man
who’d rescued her from the storm with the man from last night with the man who was so good with the kids despite his protestations of being too old for it all. And she couldn’t begin to figure out why she was so relieved that he’d gone off to work for the day so she had space to think and to breathe.

That’s what she needed to do, just keep her distance as much as possible until they could leave and she could put this all behind her.

“I
THINK
he’s sick,” Amy said over the yowling of the baby.

Quint was at the sink in the kitchen, running hot water over the baby’s bottle to try and reheat it. “I don’t think so,” he said, but he was starting to worry himself. The child had been crying since before lunch, barely stopping long enough to spit up before starting up again. “Maybe it’s the formula that’s upsetting him.”

“No, it’s the same as the cans that were in his box.”

He turned and saw Amy walking back and forth in front of the windows with Travis, pacing and jiggling and patting him. But nothing was helping. “It’s probably colic.”

He could see the distress in her face when she turned in his direction. “I think he’s missing his mommy. He needs a familiar face and a familiar voice, that reassurance.”

He wasn’t going to get into any sort of condemnation of the woman who didn’t care enough to stay with him. “I’m more inclined to think it’s colic.” He
glanced at Taylor sitting on the floor playing with a stack of pots and pans on the tile, totally oblivious to the baby’s distress, then crossed to Amy with the bottle. “Do you want me to take him for a while?”

She looked exhausted, and it was all he could do not to brush her hair back from her face. She’d pulled it into a ponytail, had no makeup on and a decided paleness to her skin. But she was lovely and delicate looking. He saw her nibbling on her bottom lip, an action he’d come to recognize as one of her signs of stress. Four hours of crying was stress enough for anyone.

“Maybe for a few minutes?” she asked.

“Sure.” He shifted the bottle to his other hand, took the squalling baby from her, and tried to get him to take the bottle, but he stiffened and screamed even harder. Now Quint was walking back and forth, jiggling and patting, and wondering how Amy had done it all afternoon.

“What did you say you did when Taylor had colic?” he asked over the cries.

Amy was over by Taylor, giving her attention and she twisted to look back at him. “I would put her tummy-down on my forearm, in a sort of football hold and her legs and arms would drape over each side of my arm, then I walked and sang to her. But, I already tried that.”

“What did you sing?” he asked.

“I don’t know, a lullaby, something like ‘Bye Baby Bunting.’ Do you know that one?”

“Yes, and I don’t think it’s very comforting to hear
that your daddy’s going out to kill a rabbit for the skin so you can wrap it around the kid.”

That brought a slight smile to Amy’s face. “He won’t understand. Just sing whatever you want to sing.”

He didn’t sing much, never had, but he did know one song from way back, an old Beatles’ tune, “Hey, Jude.” At least he knew the tune. He could fake the words. He shifted the baby to his forearm, tummy-down, and started pacing as he sang. At first it made no impact, but gradually the crying grew lower, then, with a heavy sigh, Travis stopped crying all together.

He sensed Amy watching him, but he was almost afraid to stop. He walked across to where she was with Taylor and whispered, “What’s he doing?”

“It’s a miracle. He’s sleeping. I tried that, and he just got worse.”

He hadn’t heard that word,
miracle,
applied to any area of his life for a lot of years, but lately it had been thrown about as if people were talking about the weather. “He exhausted himself,” he said in a low voice, thinking the only miracle would be if he could put him down without the screams starting up again. “I don’t suppose putting him down is a good idea?”

“I couldn’t put Taylor down. Not for a while after she quieted. If I were you, I’d keep walking,” she said, and he had a feeling she was enjoying this just a bit.

“I was going to try and make some dinner. Maybe you could take him, and—”

“I can make dinner. You keep him,” she said, scrambling to her feet as she brushed at her jeans.
“Just tell me what to make. I’m not a bad cook, despite the dead gingerbread family.” The baby stirred slightly. “Tell me while you walk.” She really was enjoying this.