The Baby Bargain (15 page)

"I've got to go," she muttered as much to herself as to him.

"Wait a minute." Dan stepped in front of the door, blocking her way. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. Out. Away. Somewhere he can't find me."

"Kelly, he's not going to find you here."

She looked at him as if in a trance. "I have to go," she repeated, wondering why he didn't see the obvious.

"No, you don't. I'm not going to let him hurt you ever again."

"You can't stop him," she whispered. "He thinks I have to be punished and he'll find me. Oh, God, maybe he's right" She turned away, wringing her hands. Fear had taken over, blotting out every other emotion. She didn't have to close her eyes to see her father standing over her, that terrible, terrible madness in his eyes, his fist lifted to strike her. The image was so vivid, so real, that she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with dry sobs.

"Stop it," Dan's voice made the command gentle but firm. He caught her shoulder, ignoring her attempt to pull away as he turned her to face him. "We've had this discussion before. You didn't do anything wrong. I want you to stop thinking that."

When she didn't respond, he put one hand under her chin, forcing her face up until he could look directly into her eyes.

"Kelly, listen to me. I'm not going to let him hurt you. I'll kill him before I let him near you again. No one's ever going to hurt you like that again. Do you hear me? I'd kill him before I would let him hurt you."

It may have been the force of the words that got through. It may have been her own desperate need for reassurance—for someone to believe in. Whatever it was, he saw the frozen mask of despair slowly dissolve. She pressed her fingers against her mouth as it began to shake.

"I couldn't stand it again."

Dan had to lean close to her the muffled words. His heart ached for her pain. Slipping his hand to the back of her neck, he drew her forward to rest her head against his chest. She remained stiff for only a moment before giving in to the very human need for comfort, for someone to share the burden.

"It's going to be okay, Kelly. I'll take care of you. I promise. You don't have to be afraid anymore." He stroked his hand over the back of her head, murmuring reassurance, hardly aware of what he was saying. What he said wasn't important. What was important was that Kelly felt safe, that she understood he would take care of her.

She didn't cry. She only leaned against him like a tired child, all her strength seemingly gone. She allowed him to slip the thick coat from her shoulders, tossing it over a hook in the open coat closet.

If she had been tired before, it was nothing compared to the exhaustion she felt now. The emotional turmoil of seeing her father had drained the last bit of energy from her. In the back of her mind was the thought that she should move, should do something to prove that she was strong and that she could handle this little scare. Except she didn't feel strong. And it felt so wonderful to have Dan holding her, protecting her.

Dan bent, sliding his hand beneath her knees and lifting her into his arms. He carried her into the living room, settling in the big overstuffed chair with her on his lap.

Grunge jumped up on the coffee table, his battered face alight with curiosity. The big tomcat had shown an immediate devotion to Kelly. From the moment she'd moved in, Dan might as well have ceased to exist. The fact that Kelly admitted she'd never had anything to do with animals didn't seem to bother Grunge at all. It simply made her easier to train in the proper way of doing things.

Now he watched Dan settle into the chair before making the leap from the coffee table to the arm of the chair. When he stepped down onto Kelly's knee, Dan moved to push him off but Kelly grumbled a protest.

"It's okay. I like him."

"You spoil him," he told her without heat. Grunge picked his way delicately onto Kelly's lap, pausing to knead his paws against her thigh.

"Everybody ought to be spoiled," she said, her voice dragging with sleepiness.

Then why hadn't anyone spoiled her? he wondered, watching the cat find a spot and settle in.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. How long was it going to take for her to heal, inside as well as out? How long before she could believe that she'd committed no wrong, unless loneliness was considered a sin? And if loneliness was a sin, heaven knew he was guilty.

It was after ten o'clock when Kelly awoke. With only the hall light burning, the apartment was dim. And it was quiet. She didn't have any of that momentary disorientation that occasionally comes on waking. She knew exactly where she was, exactly why she felt so warm and safe.

Dan was sprawled in the big wing chair, his feet on the coffee table, his arms holding her even in sleep. Grunge lay stretched over her legs, his torn ear twitching in response to some feline dream.

She lifted her head slowly, careful not to disturb either of them. Dan's head had settled into the corner where the back of the chair met the arm. She studied him in the sparse light. He looked younger in sleep, almost vulnerable.

Vulnerable. It wasn't a word she would normally have applied to Dan Remington. Her acquaintance with him had been relatively brief in terms of time but it had been eventful. In that time, he'd shown her nothing but strength. And kindness.

She mustn't forget just why he'd been so kind. He wanted the child she carried. That was the only reason she was here, the only reason he was so determined to help her.

Dan stirred in his sleep, one hand shifting until it lay just beneath her breast. Kelly flushed at the feel of his long fingers. Even though she knew he was asleep, the touch seemed intimate, warming her skin. She was suddenly aware of the way his body cradled hers, the feel of his thighs beneath her, the muscled width of his chest against her shoulder.

The heaviness she felt in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with the child she carried and everything to do with its father. Her flush deepened until her face burned.

Moving carefully, she tried to slide off Dan's lap without waking him. At her first move, Grunge meowed, digging his claws into her leg as a gentle suggestion that she might like to stay where she was. When Kelly persisted, he got up and jumped off her lap, turning to give her a reproving glance.

Kelly ignored him. Dan stirred as her feet found the floor. Seeing his lashes starting to lift, she abandoned her attempt at stealth, sliding off his lap with more speed than grace.

"Hello." His voice was just-awakened rough. His eyes held a sleepy awareness that made her flush anew. There was nothing offensive in the look, but there was something in it that made her suddenly aware of the lateness of the hour and the intimacies they'd shared.

"Hello.'' She ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the tangles out. "I guess we fell asleep."

"Guess so." Dan stood, arching his back in a deep stretch. Kelly backed up a step, wanting a little distance between herself and the maleness that she was so suddenly aware of. She glanced away, tugging the hem of her sweater down over her slacks.

"Well, it's late. I guess I ought to go to bed."

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay. I'm sorry I made such a fuss earlier. It's just that it was a bit of a shock to see him."

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Dan said easily.

"I overreacted."

"I think you're entitled to a little overreaction."

"Maybe." She hesitated, not sure why she was lingering. "Well, I should probably get to bed," she said again.

"You want a cup of cocoa?"

"Cocoa?"

"You know, the brown chocolatey stuff that you drink?"

"I know what it is. I haven't had cocoa since...in a long time."

Since her mother died? Dan wondered.

"Well, I'm a moderately skilled cocoa maker" was all he said.

"I...sure, it sounds nice."

It was, he thought, like having a half-wild kitten in the house. She wanted to be friends but she was wary of being hurt—with good cause, heaven knows. But he was going to do his damnedest to make sure she didn't get hurt.

"Can I help?" She'd trailed after him to the kitchen and leaned against the corner of the counter. Glancing at her, Dan could see that she was still too pale and there was a tired droop to her eyes. Obviously her lengthy nap hadn't been enough to recharge her energy. Weren't pregnant women supposed to get lots of sleep?

"I've got it," he told her as he got out the milk and found a pan. "Why don't you sit down. You look like a strong wind would blow you over."

"I feel fine." But she walked over to the table and pulled out a chair.

She watched Dan make the hot cocoa, his movements efficient. It occurred to her that he probably knew his way around a kitchen as well as she did, which meant that their deal that she would do the cooking and cleaning might not be as much to his advantage as she'd thought.

That didn't disturb her as much as it might have twenty-four hours before. Maybe it was having clothes like a real person. Or maybe it was that seeing her father had made her realize nothing was as important as the fact that she'd gotten away from him. Maybe it was just that she was too tired to care. She'd worry about pulling her own weight tomorrow. It would be soon enough.

"Here we go." Dan set a steaming mug in front of her.

"World-famous cocoa at a moment's notice. That's our motto."

"World famous?" She drew the mug closer, inhaling the dark, earthy scent that drifted up from it.

"Okay, 'locally pretty well-known' might be a more accurate description," he admitted as he sat down in the chair across from her. "It's my dad's recipe, and when the construction business got him down he used to threaten to chuck the whole thing and open a cocoa stand."

"It's very good," Kelly assured him after taking a sip.

"Thanks."

Silence drifted between them, a surprisingly companionable silence. Somewhere during the course of the day, she'd lost her wariness of him, or at least her vague fear. Whether it was the way he'd clowned around while they were buying clothes, or the rage she'd felt boiling inside him when they saw her father, or the way he'd held her while she slept, she couldn't have said. Maybe it was nothing more than the way his hair insisted on falling onto his forehead in a dark blond wave.

"When did your father die?" she asked, thinking that she knew too little about him.

"Almost four years ago."

"Were you close?"

"Yes. We had our ups and downs but we were close. He had a great sense of humor. We had just begun to get past a lot of the father-son garbage. I think we were beginning to be real friends."

Kelly tried to imagine what it was like to be able to say that about either parent and failed. She'd loved her mother but she couldn't imagine that they would ever have managed to be friends. Sara Russell had always been too fragile, too turned into herself, to be friends with anyone, even her own daughter,

"What about your mother?" she asked, following her own train of thought.

"She lives in Europe. After Dad died, she didn't want to stay here with all the memories so she packed up and took a tour of Europe."

"And she decided to stay?"

"More or less. She fell in love with someone. He's a count or a baron or something. Very old family. He even owns a molding castle. He apparently took one look at Mom and decided that the sun rose and set for her. Took him nearly a year to convince her but she finally married him. They live in France."

"Do you mind? Her remarrying like that, I mean?"

"No. Dad would have been the last person to want her to mope around after he died. And Henri treats her as if she were made of spun glass. I'm happy for her."

"It sounds nice," Kelly said, feeling a little wistful.

"It is." Dan lifted his mug, watching her over the rim. "What about your mother? What was she like?" He made the question so casual it didn't occur to Kelly not to answer.

"She was pretty. Long dark hair and the biggest brown eyes you've ever seen."

"Sounds a lot like you," he said.

She looked up, surprised. "Oh, no. She was really pretty," she repeated, as if he couldn't have heard her the first time.

"So are you."

"Thank you." The words were perfunctory. Clearly she thought he was only saying it to be polite. Dan was torn between amusement that she could dismiss his opinion so easily and irritation that she couldn't see herself as he did. He wanted to march her to a mirror and make her look at her reflection, make her see the sweet lines of her face, the way the dark sweep of her lashes created soft shadows on her cheeks, the perfect molding of her mouth. But now was not the time to pursue that particular issue.

"So what was she like besides being pretty?"

"She was nice." Kelly frowned down into her half-empty mug as if dissatisfied with that description. "Sweet, really."

"Did you spend a lot of time together?"

"Not really. Mama was...well, she was delicate, I guess. My father..." She stumbled over the word, her fingers tightening on the warm mug. "My father wasn't very easy to get along with, even when I was little. I think Mama sort of withdrew because she couldn't cope with his temper. She used to spend a lot of time in her room, reading or just staring out the window. I guess it was her way of dealing with him.