Teardrop Lane (14 page)

“There are a lot of good people out there who should be parents, but can’t be. Your choice was a real gift.”

“I know.”

“So, no regrets?”

The length of her pause answered his question.

When she finely spoke, pain rippled in her voice. “That’s a complicated question. I have lots of regrets. I regret overindulging in
glühwein
. I regret going to bed with a young man without using condoms—or learning his last name. I regret spending the next fifteen years trying to make it up to my father by living the life he
thought I should live, and then doing it with the person he thought I should live with. I let guilt and regret make choices for me, and I’d like a do-over on some of them. I wish I hadn’t missed a few particular life experiences. But do I regret choosing adoption? No.”

Cicero was intuitive enough to deduce that one of the missed life experiences to which she referred was having other children.

“Do you have any contact with Elizabeth?”

A full half-minute passed before she responded, and she did so with a catch in her voice. “I got to hold her after she was born. Beyond that, no. My father told me a clean break would be best, so that’s the way we set it up from the beginning.”

What a prince, he thought as he idly stroked his thumb up and down her arm.

“After he died, I added my information to a registry that will match us up if she ever goes looking for me. That’s what I dream about. She’s lost and looking for me, and it’s dark and I can’t find her. I hear her calling me, but I can’t see her. In my dream, I know that I’ll never find her, never see her, and”—she gave a little despairing laugh, and Cicero felt the warm splash of a tear against his bare chest—“and I don’t have a clue why I’m yammering on about this to you. Seriously, I don’t do this sort of thing. Tell me to shut up.”

“I’m not gonna tell you anything, but I think I can coax your thoughts into a new direction.” He slid his large hand lower across her hip and between her legs.

The art of seduction.

He was the master. She, the canvas. He took his time and concentrated on detail, and devoted himself to making the moment a masterpiece.

So why, he wondered, when she lay sated and asleep in his arms, did he feel as if he were the student, and she the artist?

The following morning, Rose awoke to the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon, and her thoughts immediately turned to bad haikus. She grinned into her pillow until she realized that the pillow wasn’t hers. The bed wasn’t hers. And she lay as naked as the day she was born.

She went still.

Oh, yeah. Hunter
.

The memories of the night came roaring back. She’d done it. She’d had sex with a near stranger, a man she’d known all of two weeks. A handsome man. An obvious player. Only that hadn’t been shocking enough. She’d also managed to spill at least some of her guts about Afghanistan and the whole miserable story of her teenage pregnancy.

Her eyes fluttered open. She waited for shame to wash over her or embarrassment to warm her cheeks. Neither happened. Instead, she felt almost
free
.

Go figure
.

Sunshine sliced through a gap in crisp, white window curtains and cast a wedge of light on the earth-toned rug in front of the bedroom fireplace where yellow flames flickered from gas logs. She heard the nudge of the refrigerator door shutting and moments later, the crack of eggshells against a bowl. If she wanted to shower before breakfast, she’d better get a move on.

She rolled from the bed and scooted into the bathroom. Eight minutes later, wearing a white terry spa robe with the Angel’s Rest logo on the lapel, she joined Cicero in the kitchen. He’d forgone a spa robe and wore only a pair of plaid boxers. His dark eyes warmed and he said, “Good morning,
Dolcezza
. I hope you like waffles.”

Beautiful flower, she translated. “Good morning,
Cuoco
. I love waffles.”

“
Cuoco
? Not
Innamorato
?”

She’d called him a cook, not a sweetheart. She didn’t know if he realized that he never used her given name. She thought it might be a defensive tactic utilized by a man who’d undoubtedly had legions of women in his life. If he didn’t use a woman’s name, then he didn’t get it wrong. She shrugged.

“What can I do to help?”

Amusement flashed across his face.

“I’ve got it. Coffee?”

“Please.”

He filled a mug and set it on the bar in front of her. Rose propped a hip on a barstool, sipped her coffee, and watched as he poured batter into a waffle iron. “It’s nice of you to make breakfast. Thank you.”

“Completely self-serving. I woke up starving and thinking about words that rhymed with bacon. I was so relieved to recall that the refrigerator was stocked.”

As the waffle cooked, he studied her over the top of his own coffee cup. “And how are you this morning, in addition to being beautiful, of course?”

The man had a way of making lines sound sincere.

Suddenly ill at ease, she misjudged the distance as she set down her mug, leaving it halfway off the edge of the bar. It teetered and started to fall. She grabbed for it, and coffee sloshed onto the bar and hardwood floor. “Oh, for crying out loud.”

Cicero reached for the paper towels.

“Did you burn yourself?”

“No. Only embarrassed myself.” She took the handful of towels and bent to wipe up the floor spill. When she straightened, she saw his big hand wiping the counter and she had a sudden flash of memory of it stroking down her hip. Heat stung her cheeks. “Honestly, I’m nervous. I have very little experience with things like this.”

“Waffles for breakfast?”

“A man cooking me waffles for breakfast. In fact, I have little experience with the whole morning-after thing entirely.”

“Ah.” Judging the first waffle done, he transferred it to a plate then added two pieces of bacon beside it. He set it in front of her and gestured for her to dig in. “If it makes you feel any better, this is new territory for me, too.”

“Excuse me? You don’t have experience with one-night stands? How gullible do you think I am?”

Frowning, he removed warm butter and syrup from the microwave. His voice held a grumpy note as he said, “I don’t think you’re gullible at all, and if I had considered last night a one-night stand, I’d have gone home afterward rather than spend the night.”

“Oh.” As she dribbled syrup onto her waffle, she decided she might as well be direct. “So what exactly was last night?”

“That’s a fair question. I guess it’s up to us both to decide. From my perspective, I’d like to think of it as a beginning.”

“Beginning
of
?”

“You tell me.”

She didn’t know. An affair? A friendship with benefits? Neither one sounded right to her. “Maybe we don’t need the preposition, after all.”

He pointed his fork at her and warned, “Don’t start with the grammar smack again. We’ll end up back in bed, and then I won’t get any work done this morning.”

She laughed in response. It proved to be the first of many times he made her laugh during the first month of their “beginning.”

March blew in with a blizzard and frigid air that hung around two weeks, but Rose’s new love life kept her toasty warm. While she and Cicero continued to meet
regularly for dinner at Murphy’s Pub, they also began to broaden the scope of their activities. They enjoyed official date nights when he took her to the Yellow Kitchen for dinner or drove over to Gunnison for Mexican food. They went skiing at Crested Butte and snowmobiling on the property Flynn Brogan owned in Thunder Valley. She caught some speculative looks and fielded a few questions about the budding relationship from friends, but it wasn’t until after they attended a Mardi Gras party as a couple at the end of the month that she faced the expected third degree from her sister.

Bright and early the morning following the party, Sage sailed into Rose’s office at the clinic, toting a brown bag and wearing yoga pants and an intense expression. Rose braced herself for interrogation. Sage set the brown bag on her desk and demanded, “So, what’s the deal with Cicero? Are you sleeping with him?”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Sage,” Rose said dryly.

Sage waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t try to change the subject. Tell me everything, Sister-mine. Dish!”

Past experience had taught Rose the futility of trying to dodge Sage’s questions, but folding easily would be a bad precedent to set. “Do I ask you about your sex life with Colt?”

“So there is a sex life. Good for you. Rosemary, I love Colt with all my heart and I couldn’t be happier in my marriage, but I have to say that Cicero is one fine looking man. He’s a grand addition to Eternity Springs’s merry little band of hot and sexy men.”

The phrase startled a laugh from Rose.

“Did you say merry little band?”

“Of hot and sexy men, yes. It’s a term Sarah Murphy coined. You have to admit we have more than our fair share of gorgeous guys, the vast majority of whom are blissfully married, thus merry. I’m so excited for you! Is it serious or just a fling? Not that there’s anything wrong
with flings—well, unless you’re married, of course. But you’re not married and you’ve been alone for too long and—tell me—is he as good as he looks? I bet he is. Those hands of his are huge.” Sage gave a dramatic shudder and added, “I’ll bet he’s just a whole lot of fun in bed.”

“Sage, I’m not going to talk about this.”

“It’s a waste of time to try and put me off. You know I’ll pester you until I wear you down. That’s what little sisters do.”

“Maybe so, but I have to try.”

“I know. That’s what big sisters do.” Sage nodded toward the brown bag and added, “I figured you probably skipped lunch again. You need something light before yoga class. I brought you yogurt and nuts from the Blue Spruce.”

“Seriously? The Blue Spruce isn’t ordinarily open this time of year.” She reached for the bag.

“They’re opening for spring break this year. Celeste convinced them that they’d have enough business to make being open worthwhile. I’m thrilled because I’ve been craving their pimento cheese. Nobody makes homemade pimento cheese like the Blue Spruce.”

In the process of pulling a yogurt cup from the bag, Rose stilled. A fierce combination of joy and envy struck her like a fist. The last time her sister had craved pimento cheese, she’d been carrying her son.

Sage is pregnant again
.

She pinned her sister with a look. “Pimento cheese? Really?”

Sage went still, then winced. “Well, shoot. I just lost a hundred dollars. Colt said I wouldn’t be able to keep the secret until Easter. He is going to win the bet. It’s just not fair that you know me so well. Unless you keep my secret?”

“You mean you don’t want me to tell anyone that you’re pregnant?”

A madonna’s smile spread across Sage’s face. “Yes.”

Tamping down the envy and giving joy free reign, Rose hurried around her desk and pulled Sage onto her feet. She wrapped her arms around her sister saying, “Congratulations, honey. I’m so happy for you. For all three of you. Wait. Make that four. How are feeling?”

“Thanks. Fine.” Sage hugged her back, then said, “I’m a little scared. I had hoped I got past all my phobias when Racer was born, but the minute I missed my period, the nightmares returned.”

Rose gave her sister another hug for good measure. Sage had been delivering a baby when thugs directed by an African warlord attacked the medical clinic and ordered unspeakable horrors done to physicians and patients alike. As a result in her sister’s damaged psyche, babies and terror had been intertwined. “You’ve told Colt about the nightmares.”

Sage nodded. “He immediately went online and booked a long weekend for us in sunny Southern California. We’re leaving on Friday morning. We can take Racer with us, of course, but I wondered if—”

“Of course I’ll babysit,” Rose interrupted. “You know how much I love to do it. Racer and I are pals.”

“I know. But since you have a new man in your life, maybe it’s not good timing?”

“The timing is just fine. Although”—her words trailed off as a thought occurred—“now that I think about it, I’d like you to give me a chit to hold in reserve.”

Warily, Sage asked, “A chit? What kind of chit?”

“Babysitting.”

Sage gave her a confused look. “I’m sorry, but I’m not following.”

“Hunt and I have this thing about wagering. We do it a lot. One of the bets I lost requires I babysit his
nephews and nieces when they visit Eternity Springs this summer. So, how about if I keep Racer for you and Colt this weekend, then when Hunt calls due our wager, you have to pitch in to help.”

“All right—whoa. Wait a minute. These are the kids Gabi talks about? One of them ran through the Valentine’s dance? Another broke his arm?”

“Taking care of multiples will be good practice for you.”

“There are two girls, right? That makes four of them. I’m not having triplets, Rose.”

“How do you know?”

“Bite your tongue.”

“How far along are you, anyway?”

“I’m due the first part of August.”

Rose flashed a grin. “Have to do something on these long winter nights, right?”