His Motherless Little Twins (6 page)

“I was told that you were competent. Competent, that's all. Which doesn't make any sense, because I saw you work. Saw how good you are.”

“It's none of your business!” she snapped.

“It became my business when you stepped into my operating room to assist me.”

“Which wasn't exactly my choice, if you recall. You were the one who wanted me there.”

“And I don't regret that because I saw what you can do. Saw your passion. Which is why I don't understand what I was told.”

“Well, believe it. It's true. I was competent. That's all there is to say, except I'm not looking for a nursing job. So you can leave now.” She marched over to the hanging rack above the center prep island, grabbed a large copper pot down off its hook and slammed it down on the stove top. When it didn't slam hard enough to satisfy her, Dinah picked up the pan and slammed it again, harder this time. “What gives you the right?” she cried, spinning to face him. “I came here to cook, and to be left alone. Not to have someone like you dig into my past.”

“Your past doesn't reconcile with what I saw.”

“And it doesn't have to. I quit nursing. Walked away from it, and that's the end of the story. If you still want me to give your girls cooking lessons, I'll do that. But after that you have to leave me alone. That's the deal, Eric. Take it or leave it.
I'll help your girls, but that's as far as we go.” She brushed past Eric and went to the cold storage, where she grabbed six large onions, bundled them into her apron, and marched straight back to the prep area. “And you don't get to ask questions. That's also part of this deal.”

“Then I have to accept it, don't I?”

“Do you?” Rather than waiting for an answer, Dinah set about the chore of prepping onions. Peeling off skins, cutting off both ends, she lit into them, fast and furious, alternately swiping at the onion tears with the back of the sleeve of her chef's jacket and chopping like a woman possessed.

“Look, Dinah, it was only a kiss. OK? People do it all the time and it doesn't usually mean anything.”

She chopped even faster, the sound of her knife striking the cutting board and never breaking rhythm.

“I apologize for it, and that's all I can say. I'm sorry we did it, sorry I upset you.”

The speed of her chopping picked up even more. In fact, she was whooshing through her little pile of onions so fast it surprised her.

“But I'd like us to get past that, and be friends. For my girls' sakes. Can we do that?” Her knife slipped. She whacked her finger, and blood immediately spilled out onto her cutting surface.

Dinah dropped her knife and jumped back, not reacting from pain because she didn't yet feel the pain. But the sight of blood on the butcher block… “I was a damned good nurse,” she whispered, taking the kitchen towel Eric held out to her. “Better than competent.”

“I know that. So, let me take a look at your finger,” he said, taking hold of her hand.

But she pulled back from him. “It's a nick. I'm fine. Just…just leave me alone.” Hurrying over to the sink, she ran
cold water over her wound, and once the blood was washed away, she assessed the severity.

“You're right,” he said, taking his place at her side. “It's only a nick. You'll be fine.” He pulled a bandage from the kitchen first-aid kit and wrapped it around her cut, his fingers so gentle on her she shivered. “You OK?” he asked, when the gooseflesh rose on her arms.

“I'm busy, and this is taking up too much time.” She slid her hand from his grasp and fought hard not to shiver again as her flesh slid across his. Even so, the goosebumps remained.

“So, what happened, Dinah?”

“The knife slipped.”

“You know what I mean.”

She did. He wanted to know things she didn't talk about. Deep, hurtful things. But she could make it simple, make it impersonal, then he'd go away. “I was engaged to a man who thought I was better suited to the kitchen than the hospital.” She held up her finger. “And as you can see, I'm not that well suited to the kitchen. But I promise to keep the knives away from your girls if you still want me to teach them.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you're making light of something that's not light at all?”

“It's complicated. And not very interesting. And if you agree to the cooking lessons then you drop this. You don't talk about it, don't ask questions, don't express an opinion. It's over, I've moved on, and that includes to the kitchen, not the hospital. That's the deal, the only deal.”

“One opinion, then consider it dropped. I want you to know that
I know
you're a talented nurse. One of the best I've ever seen. If it's the kitchen you want, that's fine, but that man who was supposed to love you enough to marry you was wrong. Now, no more opinions. I want you to teach my daughters how to bake.”

It was a deal that left a bitter taste, apparently for both of them because the memories of that betrayal hurt Dinah, and because Eric wanted to know more. Much more. But couldn't ask. This was how it had to be, though. Dinah was reconciled to that because her history repeated itself and, for once, she was fighting hard not to let that happen again. Eric tempted her, and she caught herself wanting to be tempted. But she couldn't let herself be. It was as simple as that. Or as difficult.

Yet one glance into Eric Ramsey's eyes and she wondered if she could do what had to be done. Because he stirred things inside her she'd never known could be stirred.

 

“I thought you'd be at the hospital.” At least, Dinah had hoped he'd be there, which didn't turn out to be the case because he was standing in the doorway, looking drop-dead gorgeous in his jeans and black T-shirt. A distraction like that was something she didn't need and, for a moment, she considered cancelling the cookie lesson, or postponing it until he was gone. But while she struggled against taking a second lip-licking look at Eric, a whirlwind from behind literally pitched him forward, almost into her arms—a giggling, squealing whirlwind of little girls, which jolted her back into the moment, and into the recognition that this was not about her, or Eric. She'd made a promise to Pippa and Paige, and she couldn't break it.

“Sorry about that,” he said, shoving off her and trying to stand upright against the twin force jumping up and down behind his back. “They've been excited about this all morning. I couldn't calm them down.”

Pippa and Paige each wore a tiny version of a chef's apron. If it weren't for the fact that the aprons were embroidered with their names, she wouldn't have been able to tell the girls
apart, they looked so much alike. Pippa had the brown eyes, she remembered, while Paige had the hazel—if they stood still long enough to get a good look. Which wasn't the case right now. Pretty girls. Exuberant. They looked like Eric, with dark hair and beautiful, perfect smiles.

“We have lots of chocolate chips, if Paige didn't eat them all,” Pippa said.

“Did not,” Paige defended.

“Saw you,” Pippa argued.

“Saw
you
,” Page retorted.

“Which is why you should always buy twice as many chocolate chips as the recipe calls for,” Dinah interrupted, stepping around Eric and entering the house. Nice house. Homey. But it didn't suit Eric. Of course, it wasn't Eric's house. He lived with his sister. “That way, you'll have enough for your cookies, and enough for your tummies.”

The girls each latched on to one of Dinah's hands, and pulled her toward the kitchen in a collective effort. “We got everything ready last night,” Pippa said. “And checked it again this morning to make sure nobody took anything.” She gave her sister a dubious look, one which was returned.

“Good luck,” Eric said from the doorway. He was standing there, filling up the frame, arms folded casually across his chest. Smiling.

“I think we'll manage quite nicely,” she replied, wishing he'd go away. She didn't want him there, didn't want to keep looking to see what he was watching, afraid that he was watching her, afraid that he wasn't. “Am I going to teach you how to bake cookies, too?” Hopefully he'd take the hint and leave.

“On call all night, on duty all morning. Meaning nap time for me.”

He did look tired. But it was a long-time weariness she saw
more than anything else, and her heart went out to him. His life couldn't be easy. Between his work and his girls she doubted Eric had any time left over for himself. “We'll save some cookies for you,” she promised, then turned away. Her thoughts were too cozy, she had no business sympathizing with the man. Had no business having any kind of thoughts about him.

As she began to hunt for the proper bowls, Eric motioned Paige and Pippa over to him. “Girls, Daddy's going to sleep for a little while. Be good for Dinah. Do what she tells you to do, and come get me when the last batch comes out of the oven because I like my cookies warm.” With that, he kissed each one on the top of her head, then plodded down the hall. Seconds later, the distinct thud of a shutting door told Dinah she could relax. Suddenly, though, it was just her and two eager, ricocheting little girls. Sick children she knew how to deal with. But these girls…

 

It probably wasn't the nicest thing for him to do, leaving her in the kitchen with the girls. They were high energy on a normal day and this wasn't a normal day for them. But he couldn't be there. Couldn't watch the cozy scene going on. Back in the days when Patricia had been pregnant with the twins, she'd had so many plans, so many hopes and dreams for her family. And sometimes the cruel bite of how unfair life was simply got to him. Today was one of those days. It should have been Patricia teaching her girls to cook, Patricia and the girls in
their
kitchen, not in his sister's. Seeing Dinah in there, doing something that should have been Patricia's to do, tore at his heart, and it had nothing to do with Dinah. She was just being nice.

But, damn it, the girls were all over her, so happy to be involved in such a simple thing. When Dinah had volun
teered to do this, it had sounded like a good idea. But now the reality of it made him question why he'd wanted to bring Dinah closer to their lives. The girls had a hard enough time hanging on to a mother they'd never known, and this wasn't going to make his task of keeping Patricia in their lives any easier. But something was nagging at him to move on with his life. It had been for a while, and Dinah only accentuated it.

Just look at him! An adult with children, living in his sister's home, making do. Postponing life. Refusing to move forward.

Back in California, before he'd agreed to come to White Elk, he'd had his mother to help him. She'd swooped in to take care of the girls, and promised to stay as long as he needed her. Which had turned out to be until the time he'd moved to White Elk and allowed his sister to do the same thing. He'd taken an apartment here, hired a nanny for his daughters, planning on putting life on a permanent delay. Janice had come here, with his niece shortly after, solely to help him, once it had become clear he was struggling to manage without family. Once she'd got here, she'd found a real life right away. She'd bought a house, established a business, made friends everywhere. On the other hand, he'd moved in with her, at her request, to make her care of the twins more convenient, while he'd secluded himself at the hospital. His life on an even bigger delay.

That's exactly what it was, and most of the time he didn't think about that because it worked well enough. The girls were happy, they didn't feel the pressures. Right now, though, with Dinah assuming a mother's duty… “Damn,” he muttered, dropping onto his bed. A single bed. For one. Grown men didn't sleep in single beds, and this was just another reminder of how he'd allowed things to get out of
hand. It was his duty to make sure his daughters came first in his life, but what came after them? What was out there for him?

“It's not easy, Patricia,” he whispered, looking at the wedding ring on his finger. For a few moments he simply stared at the glint of the gold and the plain contours of it, trying to empty his mind of everything. Yet for once his mind wouldn't empty. It was chock full of memories…good ones like the day he'd met Patricia, the evening he'd proposed marriage, the afternoon they'd married. Flashes of the day she'd learnt she was pregnant were there, the excitement of discovering it was going to be twins…hopes, dreams, futures to plan. But the bad memories were there, too…her obstetrician telling him she'd bled out during the delivery, that she was in a critical condition. Sitting at her bedside, never leaving for three days, never letting go of her hand. Never having the chance to tell her that her daughters were beautiful and healthy…

Eric swiped at the tear straying down his cheek. The kitchen. The damned kitchen is what caused this…what
forced
this. It was time.

He stroked the gold band on his finger, twisted it around, stroked it again. It
was
time. He resisted it, tried to argue himself out of it. Didn't want it. Dear God, he didn't want it. But it had to be time. He needed a life, too. Needed to be normal again. For himself. Especially for Pippa and Paige.

On a deep, sad sigh Eric slipped the wedding band off his finger, kissed it and held it to his heart for a while. He wasn't sure how long. But eventually he stood, walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. There, nestled into the corner, was a small velvet box with another plain gold band. A smaller one. The one he'd placed on
Patricia's finger nearly seven years ago, promising her he'd buy her something more beautiful someday. She'd laughed at him, called him silly, told him the plain gold band was all she wanted, that to her it was the most beautiful ring in the world.

It was another few moments before he placed his gold band with hers then, reluctantly, shut the box lid and tucked the box away.