Surrogate and Wife (8 page)

“No, I—”

“I have, haven't I? Look at that—” she gestured toward his face “—you're blushing.”

He was blushing
?

He was really in trouble now. He certainly couldn't tell her that he wasn't blushing, just hot under the collar from thinking about her.

“I…um…” He fumbled for a suitable lie, but came up with nothing.

“Don't worry,” she said, chuckling. “I won't tell anyone that the big tough arson investigator embarrasses so easily. And just at the thought of taking a bath. That's pretty funny.” She cocked her head to the side as if something just occurred to her. “Unless it's because you really do take bubble baths.”

“I don't take bubble baths.”

“That must be it. You take bubble baths.”

“I don't. Trust me.”

“Okay.” But her smug grin told him she didn't believe him at all.

“I don't,” he insisted through gritted teeth.

“I believe you.” She slanted him a mischievous look. “But just in case you're lying, don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, only to snap it shut again, his rebuttal left unsaid. Unless he really did want to tell her what he'd been thinking about, there was no point in protesting.

Still grinning like she knew his deepest secret, she said, “So, besides taking bubble baths, what do big tough firefighters do to relax after a fire?”

For him, the best way to come down off an adrenaline rush had always been sex. The release that came with a couple of hot sweaty hours in bed had always done the trick.

Of course, he hadn't always been in a position to use that form of relaxation. He was too smart to risk casual sex in this day and age. A trip to the local dive with the
other guys was always his second choice. He'd never needed a third. Until now.

Now, he racked his brain trying to think of a suggestion.

“What about exercise?” he tossed out.

“Why do you think I've been going to the gym five times a week?”

“Not working, huh?”

“It helps me fall asleep, but inevitably I wake up after a couple of hours and I just can't get comfortable again. I usually end up out here on the sofa.”

“With the TV on?”

“Usually.”

“I can't believe that doesn't wake me up.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you sleep like the dead.”

“Must be my mattress. Anyone would sleep like the dead on it. It's one of those adjustable air-filled ones. It's really—” He grinned, suddenly remembering a childhood remedy for sleeplessness. “I've got it.”

“Got what?”

“The trick to help you fall back asleep.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.

“What? You're going to feed me?”

“Better. I'm going to make you warm milk.”

“Warm milk?” She stuck her tongue out. “Bleck.”

He pulled out one of the chairs from the table and nudged her toward it. “Have you ever tried it?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Trust me. You'll love it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “It sounds gross.”

He pulled a saucepan out of a cabinet and the milk from the fridge. “My mother used to swear by this stuff. She made it for me all the time when I was little.” He
poured about a cup of milk into the pan and cranked up the heat on the burner.

A few minutes later as the milk came to a simmer, he pulled the pot from the stove and poured the liquid into a mug. He brought the mug to where Kate was sitting at the table, but instead of drinking it there, she took the mug and returned to the living room where she curled up in the corner of the sofa. After a tentative sip, she nodded. “This is good.”

As she drank, she appraised him in that serious way she had. “How old were you when she left?”

For a moment, he could only stare at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I just assumed your mom left, because you said your dad raised you alone. Also, when you talked about how your parents met, you said she never forgave your father for being just a man, which implies their marriage ended badly. Just now you said she made this for you when you were little. So I assume she left when you were pretty young. It sounds like it was a pretty nasty breakup.”

“What makes you say that?” He avoided her gaze, even though there wasn't a hint of condemnation in her voice.

“I've sat on the bench for more than four years now. You get used to reading the signs.”

“The signs?”

“The signs of a marriage gone wrong. Of husbands and wives fed up with each other. Of children disappointed by their parents' behavior. Disappointed by life. After a while you can hear it in the tone of their voice. See it in their expression. They seem haunted.”

She sounded so sad as she spoke. And beneath that sorrow was the faintest hint of pity.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees
and templing his fingers as he met her gaze. “I'm not a child. Don't make the mistake of treating me like one.”

She blinked as if surprised by the ferocity of his tone. But she didn't back down, and her gaze didn't waver from his. “I didn't say you were. But we never get over the disappointments we suffer as a child, do we? Not the big ones, at least. Those disappointments can feel like abandonment—say, if mother doesn't stick around when things get tough.”

Just like that, she'd summed up his entire childhood in one easy convenient package. And frankly, it ticked him off.

He stood and paced to the fireplace. “Don't try to psychoanalyze me.”

“I wasn't trying to. I was just—”

“I don't feel abandoned by my mother. She did what she had to do.”

“Deserting her husband and child? That was what she
had
to do?”

Kate sounded so damn logical. So reasonable. So irritating.

“Dad made her miserable. I can't say I blame her. She married a man she thought was a hero. Turned out he wasn't.”

“You mentioned he was injured on the job. Was that when she left?”

“Neither of them really got over his injury. Dad started drinking. He had bouts of depression.”

“So she didn't just leave you. She left you with an incompetent parent. That's borderline criminal.”

“She did what she had to do.”

“I'm sure she did,” she muttered in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

He spun around to face her. His tone came out har
sher than he'd intended. “Let it go, Kate. My family's not on trial here.”

Kate flinched at his words, instantly stirring his guilt. She tried to hide her emotions, downing the last of the milk, but he saw the flash of pain in her eyes.

“Well, I'm sure you're right. I don't know what I'm talking about.” She stood, taking her mug with her. “Thank you for the milk. I'm feeling sleepy already.”

“Kate, I didn't mean…”

In the doorway to the hall, she looked over her shoulder. “Good night, Jake.”

And then she disappeared, leaving him standing in the living room, alone. Again.

S
he had lied to him. She was not sleepy. The milk did not help. And she lay awake for what felt like several more hours, staring out the window, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong.

As far as she could tell, their conversation had been going along quite nicely…until she stuck her big fat nose where it didn't belong.

“Sounds like you had a troubled childhood, Jake,” she murmured to herself in a whiny voice. “Why don't you tell me all about it while I poke you with a sharp stick.”

With a huff, she rolled onto her other side. Who did she think she was? His therapist?

She sighed, running her hand over the curve of her belly. She hadn't meant to be nosy. Hadn't meant to venture where she wasn't wanted.

She'd just thought to…to what? Offer absolution of some kind?

Guilt came along with resenting a parent. That parent could be the worst person in the world—irresponsible, immoral or abusive—and yet nothing could overcome a child's basic need to love his parents. And if that love eventually soured and faded, the child inevitably felt a certain amount of guilt.

She'd wrestled with those emotions herself for years before finally admitting that it was okay to be angry with her birth mother for abandoning them to the imperfect mercies of the Texas foster care system and with her adopted mom for loving Beth so much. Doing so had helped her finally make peace with her adopted mom. Though she'd never be as close to her as Beth was, at least they now talked occasionally. So often she saw those conflicting emotions on the faces of the children whose warring parents paraded them through her court.

Of course, making peace with her own emotions and pushing Jake to acknowledge his were two very different things. Perhaps it was for the best that he'd pushed back. After all, she was supposed to be maintaining her distance from him, not forging an emotional connection.

She thought of the baby growing within her. She was already so much more attached to this baby than she should be. Even though she had no intention of keeping the baby, part of her still yearned…for what? Some fairy tale ending in which she and Jake fell in love, decided to keep the baby and lived happily ever after?

The very thought was absurd. She'd learned long ago that happily ever afters weren't for her. The lesson she was taught by an uncaring mother and an impersonal social services system had only been reinforced by the men she'd dated. Men who'd found her independence annoying and her strong will troublesome. Jake would most likely be no different.

No, she'd learned long ago it was best to stand on her own two feet. To depend only on herself rather than on others. That was the only way to keep from getting hurt.

Yes, keeping her distance from Jake was crucial. Because the unseen bonds between them were already far too strong.

 

By the time morning rolled around, Kate was exhausted. Days of too little sleep, combined with nerves and the pregnancy, had worn her down. Still, she found herself unable to doze any longer. So she got out of bed around six, dressed, and headed for breakfast.

She stopped cold in the doorway. Jake sat at the kitchen table, the morning paper open in front of him, a mug of coffee cradled in one hand, a last bite of a croissant sitting on a plate.

Unsure if she was up for another confrontation, she eased back a step, hoping to sneak away unnoticed. But he raised his head and pinned her with his stare.

“You're up early.”

Overcome by the sudden need to fidget, she had to make herself stand perfectly still. “So are you.” She'd been sure that after his late night he'd still be in bed. Yet once again he surprised her.

“I figured you'd be up early. Since you've been having trouble sleeping.” He motioned to the white paper bag in the center of the table. “I got you a whole wheat banana nut muffin. Giselle at the bakery said that's what you normally get.”

The unexpected gesture warmed her. Last night she'd trampled all over his personal space—emotionally speaking—and yet this morning he'd still been thoughtful enough to get her breakfast.

Despite her promises to herself not to rely on him,
she couldn't bring herself to reject his peace offering. So she pulled out the chair across from his and tugged the bag toward her.

She tore the bag down the side and spread the paper out before her as a makeshift plate. To her surprise, she found not just the whole wheat banana nut muffin, but a chocolate raspberry croissant, as well.

Before she could protest, he jumped up to get her a glass of milk. “I didn't know what you were in the mood for,” he said as he also handed her a plate.

As she stared at the choices before her, her self-control wavered. The whole wheat banana nut muffin was indisputably the right choice. The healthy choice. Better for her, better for the baby.

But she yearned for the chocolate raspberry croissant…as completely devoid of nutritional value and as laden with calories and fat as it was. Just looking at it made her taste buds prickle and her stomach growl.

She felt as if every emotional battle she'd waged in her life came down to this. What she knew was best versus what she desperately wanted.

In the end she knew she'd do what she always did. The right thing. Because if she didn't make the right choice, she certainly couldn't trust anyone else to do so, either. And this time, more than her own wants and needs were at stake. She was making this choice for the baby, as well.

With one last look at the croissant, she put the muffin on her plate and carefully wrapped the paper bag around the croissant.

She peeled back the paper on the muffin and tore off a bite. As she popped it in her mouth, she noticed Jake smiling.

“What?”

He shook his head wryly. “Somehow I knew you'd pick the muffin.”

“There's caffeine in chocolate.”

“Not much more than there is in your decaf coffee,” he pointed out.

“The muffin is still the better choice. Whole wheat, protein from the nuts and even a little fruit. Lots of nutrients the baby needs.”

“Sure.” He nodded.

“You disagree?”

“Not at all. That's very logical. You're taking this surrogate mother thing very seriously.”

“Of course I am,” she admitted. “This is a huge responsibility.”

“And you feel like you have to do everything just perfect.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.” And then, because she didn't want to sound defensive, she added lightly, “Besides, I'm the only one who can.”

“Well, sure, but…”

“But…” she prodded.

He held up the last bite of his own croissant. “But sometimes you have to spoil yourself. Just a little.”

As she watched, he placed that last bite in his mouth. She could just imagine how it tasted. The sweet chocolate, the lingering tartness of the raspberries. The way the flakes of croissant would practically melt on her tongue.

By comparison, her muffin tasted dry and bland. No contrast. No depth. No decadence.

An unexpected wave of sadness hit her. Usually she liked banana nut muffins. She'd eaten them for breakfast without complaint for years.

Now she wondered if she'd ever enjoy one again.

Resolutely, she took another bite of the muffin and
forced herself to chew and swallow. After washing down the bite with a gulp of milk, she said, “I wanted to—”

“About last night—”

Laughing, Jake ducked his head, looking up at her from beneath his lashes. “You go first.”

Kate felt the power of that glance deep in her belly. There was a rueful, almost bashful, gleam in his eyes that was way more appealing than his usually wicked charm. Which was saying a lot, since she often found his usually wicked charm pretty dang hard to resist.

Determined not to make a fool of herself if she could avoid it, she sucked in a deep breath and dove head-first into her groveling. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I didn't mean to pry into matters none of my business.”

There was more she wanted to say, so she stuffed a chunk of muffin in her mouth to quiet herself.

“It's funny.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I was going to apologize for being so defensive. I guess I'm just not used to talking about her.”

“Well, most people have decent relationships with their moms. And if you do, it's hard to imagine a mom who's a little more difficult to get along with.”

“Actually, we have a pretty good relationship now.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she eyed him with doubt. “You have to have some lingering anger toward your mother.”

“I don't.” He shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't buy. “I did when I was young, but we get along fine now.”

“So your mother abandoned you and you've just…what? Just forgiven her?”

“Yes. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

She pushed back her chair, snatched up the remains of her breakfast and took them to them trash can. “It just
is, okay?” She stomped on the foot lever that popped the top to the can and dumped her trash inside.

As the lid clanged closed, she realized how snappish she sounded. What a way to apologize.

She turned back to face him and leaned against the counter behind her. “I only meant that if you do have any lingering resentment, it'd be best to admit it. Parents are imperfect, too. It's okay to be angry with them.”

He leveled his gaze at her. “Kate, it's also okay to forgive them.”

Ah, so they weren't talking about just his mother anymore.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she asked, even though she suspected she knew exactly what he meant. His appraisal was too intense for her to miss his implication.

“You've never even tried to make peace with your mother, have you?”

“Make peace with her? No. Sorry. I can't make peace with what she did.”

“Still—”

“The state took us away when Beth was ten and I was eight. Mom didn't even protest. Never tried to get us back.” A sarcastic laugh struggled past her lips. “Maybe you think I should be grateful. Maybe letting us go was the best thing she ever did for us.”

Jake just eyed her with what she was sure was pity. “All these years later and you're still letting the way she treated you affect your life.”

“And I suppose now you're going to point out that Beth has handled this whole thing so much better than I have. That she—miraculously—has overcome all the hardships of our childhood, made peace with our mother's actions and learned to trust again.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I wasn't going to say any of that. This isn't about Beth. It's about you.”

Suddenly her exhaustion caught up with her and she slumped against the counter. God, she hated it when she felt like this. Angry and bitter. Not just at her mother, but at everyone involved in her upbringing. All the overworked caseworkers who didn't have the time to do their jobs properly. All the foster parents who'd judged and found her lacking.

Sometimes—she was most ashamed to admit—she was even angry with Beth, who'd seemed to have such an easier time being shuttled from foster house to foster house. Who'd instantly been everyone's favorite and who seemed never to feel unwanted.

She forced herself to hold his gaze. “I guess you're right. It's not about Beth. But…”

“But…” he prodded.

“But sometimes I wish I was more like her. She coped with things differently than I did. Plus, our experiences have been different. She and Stew met and fell in love so young. For most of her life, she's had him to depend on. To trust. I've never had that.” Uncomfortable with the personal turn of the conversation, she looked away.

God, she didn't want him to think she was fishing for something from him, so she forced an upbeat tone into her voice. “I've always been very self-reliant. That's the way I like it. I'm the one person I know I can always trust.”

The smile she gave him felt tight. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her forced cheer, and she had to turn away from him to hide.

Rinsing her breakfast dishes proved the perfect diversion. But when she was done, she turned to find Jake standing right behind her.

Before she could protest, he pulled her gently to his
chest. Stroking her hair, he murmured. “There's nothing wrong with the way you've coped with things. You're strong and brave. And that's admirable. But you're not alone anymore. I'm here to help. You can trust me.”

His arms felt so good around her. So strong and capable. His chest was solid beneath her cheek. His shoulders broad. Her eyes drifted closed, and she allowed herself to lean against him. He seemed so solid. So dependable. So much what she'd always wanted and never allowed herself.

Oh, how she wanted to believe him. To pretend, just for a few minutes, that he could share her burdens. That his presence in her life wasn't temporary.

He meant well, but in the end he was like that chocolate raspberry croissant. A temptation she didn't dare allow herself to enjoy.