Father to Be (32 page)

And she was one hell of a kisser.

He started down the hall, then lingered for a moment, out of sight of the kitchen, to eavesdrop.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Grayson?”

“Well, for starters, you can call me Bud. And you could chop those tomatoes there for the salad.”

Her next words came over the sound of running water. “You and your son share a preference for nicknames, Bud. You know, he won’t even tell me what J.D. stands for. I don’t suppose …”

Grinning, J.D. went down the hall, losing the rest of the conversation. In the living room he paused to check the kids, then he continued down the hall to their room. The door was half open. As he knocked, he pushed it all the way open.

Caleb sat cross-legged on his bunk, holding a picture frame in both hands. His eyes widened and his thin face flushed, as if he’d gotten caught redhanded doing something he’d been warned about.

J.D. recognized the frame in an instant, though he
hadn’t seen it in nearly eighteen months. It had been a cold, snowy January night when he’d unpacked the office and set that frame on his desk. Dissatisfied with it there, he’d hung it on the wall, then moved it to a lower shelf, then a middle one, and finally to the top. Unable to bear it there either, he’d turned it facedown and pushed it back so far that he could almost pretend it wasn’t there. For a long time he’d known it was, but at some point he’d started forgetting, probably hoping that at some point in his life he would start forgetting.

It hadn’t happened yet.

He forced his fingers to uncurl from the doorknob, made his feet move from the spot where they’d begun to sink into the floor. He crossed the room, pulled the frame from Caleb’s hands, and casually said, “I’d forgotten that was up there. Thanks.” Holding the picture side of the frame against his leg, he started toward the door.

“I wasn’t snooping or nothing,” Caleb said belligerently. “It was just lying there on the shelf.”

“It’s okay. No problem. Listen, supper will be ready soon. Why don’t you get the kids washed up?” Without looking at Caleb he left the room, went into his own room, and closed the door, then went to the closet. Though his hands trembled, he managed to take down the box in the darkest, remotest corner. He rested it on the edge of the dresser and unfolded the flaps, intending to deposit the frame inside, then put the box back in hiding. But when the last flap was opened, he didn’t reach for the frame secured under his arm. For several raw moments he simply stared inside.

There were stacks of envelopes, each addressed in his own hand, each stamped and sent off to its destination, each bearing the same scrawled message for its trip back—Return to Sender. There were apologies given and rejected, gifts offered and refused, pleas put to paper but
never mailed at all. This well-used, dusty box held the ragged remnants of his relationship with Trey, reminders too painful to keep accessible, too important to throw out.

His hand trembling, he picked up the top few letters. He could recognize the occasions from the postmarks—end of school, Easter, Christmas, with a big box under the bed to match. Thanksgiving, Halloween, birthdays. Every holiday, every special day, every nothing-special day—for months he’d remembered them all, until finally one day it had become too painful. The hope couldn’t make up for the inevitable disappointment, and so he’d stopped.

But it still hurt.

He dropped the letters back into the box, laid the frame on top, and clumsily refolded the flaps before returning the box to its dark corner. Then he sagged against the wall, closed his eyes, and gasped for breath, for just one breath that didn’t feel as if it might kill him. After a few noisy efforts that some might even call sobs, he found one, and soon he found another, and another.

He wasn’t going to die, not without significant effort on his part. He’d learned that two years, three months, three weeks, and six days ago. He’d also learned that he lacked the courage to make that effort.

No, he wasn’t going to die.

He just felt like it.

D
inner with the Graysons and the Browns was the most pleasant time Kelsey had spent in their company. Part of the credit went to Bud, who was as entertaining as he was charming, but a good deal of it went to J.D. and Caleb. J.D. was more relaxed. Caleb was less hostile. Maybe Monday’s events had been the corner they’d needed to turn to get their relationship on track. Too bad they couldn’t have accomplished it without split
lips and wounded feelings. But
any
way they accomplished it was good in her book.

She swallowed the last of her ice cream, dropped her spoon into the bowl with a clang, then sighed. “I’d better head home.”

A few steps above her, J.D. was leaning against the wall. Scattered down the steps below were the kids and Bud, eating their own ice cream. Bud looked up as he licked his spoon. “I’ll get the kids ready for bed, son. You go with Kelsey.”

“I don’t need an escort,” she said politely. “But thank you for offering.”

Ignoring her, J.D. stacked his bowl with hers, then stood up and offered his hand. She let him pull her to her feet and, because her hand felt good in his, even let him lead her on a zigzag path down the steps. At the bottom, though, she tugged free and turned back. “Bud, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Come back again.”

“I will.”

“How ’bout tomorrow?” Gracie asked. “Grandpa Bud is gonna make s’ketti, and not out of a can like Dr. J.D. does.”

Ignoring the question, Kelsey brushed a hand over Gracie’s hair. “Good night, kids, Caleb.”

“You want to drive or walk?” J.D. asked, falling in step alongside her.

“I’m perfectly safe walking home by myself. Bethlehem doesn’t have much of a mugging problem.”

“We don’t have
any
mugging problem. So … drive or walk?”

“You’re suggesting that we drive only so I’d have to climb into your truck.”

His gaze dropped to her too-short dress, and a devilish grin lit his face. “It’s not my fault you dress to entice me.”

“I don’t—” With an amused sigh she broke off the protest. “It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s walk.”

Dusk had settled and the streetlamps were on, casting pools of bright light that made the shadows seem shadowier. There were lights on in most of the houses they passed, and Kelsey easily imagined the families inside, eating a late dinner or sharing kitchen cleanup, as she, the Graysons, and the Browns just had.

But the Graysons and the Browns weren’t a family, and even if they were, she wouldn’t be a part of it.

The thought saddened her.

When she would have crossed Main Street, J.D. caught her hand and turned her to the right. Even after she’d obeyed his silent directions, he didn’t let go. She didn’t ask him to.

The downtown area was quiet, dim lights shining in shops closed for the night. Few cars passed, and there was no one on the streets but them. It was pleasant. Peaceful. Enticing.

“What are you thinking?”

She grabbed the first thought that came to mind. “Your dad’s a nice man.”

“He is.”

“But he wouldn’t tell me what J.D. stands for.”

His laughter was soft, pleasant. “I warned you not to try to charm it out of him.”

“I guess I wasn’t charming enough.”

“Oh, you’re plenty charming. Trust me.”

“Trust you? Your father told me not to believe a word you say.”

“He was wrong.”

“He also told me you were the best son a man could ask for.”

“Well, not entirely wrong.”

“So …” She fell back on the guessing game. “Is it Jonathan Drake?”

“Nope.”

“Joe Don? Jethro Delbert?”

“Do I
look
like a Jethro? Or a Delbert?”

“No,” she murmured without looking at him. She didn’t need to notice how handsome he was or how the dim light changed the blue of his eyes, or the way his amusement softened his face. Tonight, when she felt vulnerable, she didn’t need any reminders that he was exactly what she needed to feel whole.

“How about Justin Dwayne?” she asked as they strolled. “I could see you as a Justin. Or Julian Duncan.”

“Nope, no Justin, no Julian. And no Juno or Jupiter or Jehoshaphat.”

As they turned onto the street that led to her apartment, she finally risked looking at him. She opened her mouth, and words she would have sworn she hadn’t even thought popped out. “Did
she
know?”

All traces of humor slowly disappeared from his face, but he didn’t become sad or angry. Merely serious. “I was married to her. Of course she knew.”

Twice before, they’d discussed his marriage. The first time he’d snapped a plastic fork in half and walked away. The second time he’d told her it was none of her business because they were just friends and nothing more. Did Saturday night’s kiss make them something more? With business between them, could they even be something more?

Might as well hang a Hands Off sign around his neck, Mary Therese had advised. It hadn’t been a warning—the woman believed Kelsey was too smart to get involved with a client—but it might as well have been. It was a warning she’d been giving herself since coming to Bethlehem.

It was a warning that was becoming increasingly harder to heed.

“What is it you want to know, Kelsey?”

She wanted to know that he wasn’t still desperately in love with his ex-wife, that she wasn’t making a major mistake. She wanted to know his past and her future, wanted promises, guarantees, reassurances. She wanted …

Him
.

Nervously she pretended that crossing the street, then the apartment parking lot, required her utmost attention. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out her keys, then ran up the steps to the door.

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly. “This thing between you and me.”

The key was in the lock, but she didn’t turn it. Instead, she looked at him, standing at the bottom of the steps, hands in his pockets, looking incredibly earnest.

“You want to pretend that we’re just friends, but you know it’s not true. I don’t kiss my friends. I don’t spend most of my days thinking about them. I don’t spend most of my nights dreaming about them.”

She stared, unable to move, to speak.

“Tell me you don’t think about me, Kelsey.” He moved up one step. “Tell me you don’t miss me when I’m gone.” Another step. “Tell me you’re not interested in touching or kissing me.” One more step. Now he was directly in front of her. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

Feeling hot, edgy, and in far more danger than she could survive, she tried to turn away, but he caught her arm. His fingers were gentle, his grip loose. She could pull free with no effort, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted them to his face, hesitantly touching his cheek, his jaw, before withdrawing. “I could lose my job,” she whispered.

“Or your heart. Which one scares you most?”

Both
. She’d devoted her life to her career, to making up
to Steph for letting her down. Often the work was difficult, sometimes thankless, but it was her life. Or had been so far.

But wasn’t a job, even a career, worth sacrificing if it meant getting someone to share her life in return? Wasn’t the opportunity to love worth the possibility of heartbreak? Wasn’t it the risks that made the prize so worthwhile?

He climbed the final step and she took a matching step back. He continued to advance, his movements slow, deliberate, threatening—no, not threatening. Promising.

She continued to retreat until the door was at her back. “I’m not scared,” she murmured.

“Of course not. You’re just trembling for fun.”

“It’s cool.”

“It’s seventy-five degrees.”

“I’m just—”

He touched his fingers to her mouth, and she stilled. Such a small touch … but it sent heat through her body. Tied her stomach in knots. Made her lungs impossible to fill. “Tell me, Kelsey.”

She swallowed hard, brushed his fingers away, then clung to them. “I don’t think about you. I don’t miss you. I don’t want to touch you or kiss you. I don’t want you.” With each lie she pulled him closer, and as soon as the last one faded from her lips, she touched her mouth to his, slid her arms around his neck, brought her body into contact with his.

It was a hungry, needy kiss, fueled by urgency, passion, and heat. He held her tightly, thrust his tongue into her mouth, stroked her, teased her, made her sizzle. His hands glided over her hips, sending a throb through her as he touched the bruise, but the pain was forgotten the instant he lifted her bottom against him, rubbing his arousal against her.

For a moment she tried to remember Mary Therese’s advice, her own warning, but he tasted too good. She felt too good. She was past caring about consequences. There was always time to deal with them later.

Cupping her hands to his jaw, she pushed him away, ending the kiss even though he protested. For a long time she stared at him, and he stared back. It was easy to identify the desire in his eyes, but there was more, something that softened it, that intensified it, that made her feel … special.

She pressed one chaste kiss to his mouth, then turned, opened the door, and went inside. She left the door open in silent invitation, ignored the lights, and started through the darkened living room to the bedroom. She was halfway there when the door closed behind her. A moment later she heard her keys hit the dining table with a jangle.

And then he was in the bedroom.

Thin light came through the window. She moved to close the blinds, but his hoarse command stopped her. “Don’t. There’s nothing but woods out there. No one can see but me … and I want to see.”

With a faint smile she turned back. He’d stopped just inside the door and was looking at her as if he liked what he saw. She folded her arms across her chest, noticed that it pulled the neckline of her dress lower, then dropped her arms to her sides. “You’re the first man I’ve brought here.”

“I’m going to be the only one.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

He didn’t respond but came closer, then moved around behind her. With strong, gentle fingers he unfastened the tortoiseshell clasp that restrained her hair, then let it fall over his hands. “I don’t know about you or even myself, but I’m damn sure of
us
. I’m sure we belong together. I’m sure this is right. I’m sure.” He brushed her hair to one
side and touched his tongue to her ear, making her shiver, making her turn in his arms to face him.