Makin' Whoopee (17 page)

"A chicken's behind is probably very attractive . . . to a rooster." He puckered up again. "Come on, you said you would lay one on me."

"Not when you look like that." She pressed his lips back to their normal shape, then, with her index finger, parted them slightly. "That's better," she murmured, finding the exercise very sensual. "Now, where's your tongue?"

"Hmmm?" he said, his eyes half closed. "It was in there last time I looked."

"Well, I won't kiss you until we find it. Your tongue is a very important part of this."

Placing his hand behind her head, he pulled her toward him. "If you'll come closer," he whispered huskily, "I bet we can find it together."

She touched her lips to his, then, with a sigh, deepened the kiss. Long moments later she pulled back slightly. "I think—" She cleared her throat. "I think I may have found the little devil, but I can't be sure."

"You mean we have to do the whole thing again?" he asked. When she bit his lip he chuckled and rolled with her until she was lying beneath him.

"I've always said thorough research is the only way to find the truth."

"I wasn't looking for the truth," she murmured, "just your tongue."

With his help she found it . . . and a lot more as they lay before the fire. She had never experienced this kind of slow, sensual lovemaking with him before, the kind that only comes on a day with no deadlines. Before they found completion in each other she felt as though she had made every part of Charlie her own and had given every part of herself in return.

Later in the day Charlie dug up an old portable radio and some new batteries, and they listened to the weather forecast. According to the weatherman, the storm was likely to last at least one more day, and maybe longer.

But Sara didn't mind. In a way she felt as though she had sneaked into a warm cubbyhole of life. There was no pressure from business, no worry about what would happen in the future. There were only hours spent before a warm fire, playing with Trudy, loving Charlie.

"I hope you realize," Charlie said, "that if this lasts for another couple of days we'll have to start burning the furniture."

It was late afternoon, and he had his head in her lap while Trudy took a nap. Sara shrugged in complete indifference as she played with a stray curl on his forehead. "Who cares?" she said lazily. "I've got a few things I wouldn't mind seeing go up in flames." She bent down to kiss him fleetingly.

"Charlie, I've been thinking about Trudy's parents," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Why do you suppose they left her here?"

"We won't know that until we find them."

She shifted uneasily. "What will happen to her when the police take her? Where will they put her?"

He sat up. "I don't know any of that, Sara. But they know what they're doing. They'll put her where she'll be safe and well taken care of."

"In an orphanage," she said, frowning. "Or a foster home. They won't know anything about her. She'd be just as well off staying here."

He stiffened. "Sara—" he began, his voice worried.

"No, wait, Charlie. I know what you're thinking, but why couldn't I take care of her? I know I'm not the motherly type, but Trudy doesn't seem to know that. Irma could take care of her during the day, and—"

"You've got this all worked out," he said in shock.

"—and if an emergency came up we would both be right here. I could take breaks during the day to be with her, and do my paper work at night. I never realized it before, but I have the perfect setup for a working mother."

"Sara." He grabbed her shoulders to give her a hard shake. "You've got to stop it. You're letting yourself get carried away by a fairy tale. Trudy's parents are probably frantic right now."

"Then why did they leave her on my doorstep?" she asked stubbornly. "They obviously don't care about her."

"You don't know that. Maybe she was kidnapped. Maybe they're going out of their minds with worry."

"They should have taken better care of her. They should have watched her more carefully."

"Sara." He stroked her cheek, his blue eyes revealing his concern for her. "Don't do this. Please . . . you'll only end up getting hurt."

Sara didn't pursue it, but she didn't stop thinking about it, either.

That night when Trudy was asleep in her drawer, Charlie held Sara tightly in his arms inside the sleeping bag. "You're not still thinking about keeping her, are you?" he asked softly, his lips brushing the hair from her ear.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "And if I am?"

"Sara, if you want a baby this badly, why not have one of your own?"

"It wouldn't be the same. You don't understand, Charlie," she whispered in the darkness. "I don't want to get married and have a family. I can't. But Trudy is special. She accepts me totally."

His arms tightened around her. "Sara, Sara," he whispered as he buried his face in her hair. "What am I going to do with you?"

She blinked at the desperation in his voice, but before she could question him, his lips met hers and she was lost in the wonder of loving Charlie.

Within minutes she knew this would not be a repeat of the lazy lovemaking they had experienced that morning. His every movement, every caress, was shatteringly urgent. Pulling her into a fevered pleasure, he made love to her as though it were their last time together.

She was exhausted and deeply, thoroughly loved when she at last fell asleep in his arms.

Sara stared at the man on her front porch as though he were the forerunner of an invading army. She knew he expected her to speak, but she couldn't. She held on to the door, swallowing heavily, her thoughts frantic.

"Please, ma'am," he said, raising a trembling hand to his face. "Have you seen her?"

For a split second, a split second that seemed to hang on forever, Sara considered denying that the baby was there. But before she could say anything, before she could even get a grip on what was happening, Charlie was standing beside her with Trudy in his arms.

"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked gently, his voice filled with compassion.

As the man stumbled into the house to receive his daughter, Sara closed the door on the cold sunshine and leaned against it, watching in silence.

There were tears shining in the man's eyes as he clasped the baby close to his chest, raining kisses on her small face. "She's—she's all right," he whispered roughly. "Thank God, she's all right."

"Why don't you come in and sit down?" Charlie said. He led the young man to a chair close to the fire. "You look exhausted."

The man sat down, still holding his daughter close. "I haven't slept in two days," he said, then glanced up at Charlie. "You were my only hope. I—"

His voice broke completely, and Charlie looked away, giving him a chance to compose himself. Sara pushed herself from the door and walked stiffly toward the two men. Holding on to the arms of the chair opposite Trudy's father, she carefully sat down. Her movements were awkward, as though she had suddenly aged. She stared blindly as the man began to speak again.

"I kept praying—over and over again, feeling so damn helpless—that this was where she had left Dawn," he said quietly.

"She?" Sara spoke at last, trying to take in the fact that Trudy's name was Dawn.

"My wife," he said.

Charlie sat cross-legged on the sleeping bag. "What made you think your wife would bring her here?"

"I admit it was a long shot," the man said. "But it was my only hope. Irma had talked so much about you two to Marilyn—"

"Marilyn," Sara whispered as the pieces fell together at last.

"She's my wife," he said. "She's Irma's niece. She hasn't been well."

Sara ran a hand through her hair. "Irma's niece," she said. "Yes . . . yes, Irma told us that she had been ill. Then you must be Harmen." He nodded. "I still don't see what that has to do with her leaving Tru—" She broke off and cleared her throat. "I don't see what that has to do with Marilyn's leaving the baby on my doorstep."

"She didn't know what she was doing," he said, and leaned his head against the back of the chair.

"You don't have to explain," Charlie broke in. "You've been through enough already."

He shook his head. "No, you have a right to know. You've had to take care of a strange baby for two days." He laughed weakly. "The longest two days of my life."

Charlie glanced at the baby. "We didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of fun, wasn't it, Sara?"

She bit her lip. Then, when both men stared at her expectantly, she nodded shortly. "As Charlie said, we didn't mind."

"But I want you to know that this has never happened before . . . and it won't happen again. Sometimes—sometimes when the fever gets high, Marilyn sees and hears things." His voice was rough, as though talking about his wife's illness was painful for him. "She really thought Dawn was in some kind of danger. She thought she had to take her somewhere . . . somewhere away from the house to keep her safe." He shook his head. "I know it sounds crazy, but she wasn't to blame. She just wasn't thinking straight."

Harmen paused, touching his child's face as though to reassure himself that she was really there in his arms. "Marilyn truly thought she was doing what was best for Dawn. She's still very ill, and worried out of her mind, but she can remember being terrified, and she can remember leaving the house with the baby. After that there's a big blank. I found her about a mile from our house, just before the blizzard hit. She was in the car, but she had pulled over to the side of the road. She was delirious." His fingers tightened fractionally on the baby's head. "When I realized Dawn wasn't in the car with her, it was the worst moment of my life."

He closed his eyes, and his voice was almost expressionless with exhaustion. "Irma and I took Marilyn to the hospital this morning as soon as the snowplows cleared the streets. She didn't want to go. . . . She begged not to go. She hasn't stopped crying since she woke up . . . after I found her alone in the car." Harmen opened his eyes and tried to pull himself up straighter. "Irma is with her now, and the hospital is calling in a specialist from Houston—an internist who's supposed to be a genius at diagnosis."

"She'll be all right," Charlie said quietly. "You've got to stop worrying, because Dawn needs you now."

Harmen smiled shakily. "Yes, Dawn needs me. Thank heaven for that. And thank both of you for taking such good care of her. You can't imagine the terrible visions I've seen in the last two days."

"I think I can," Charlie said, smiling grimly. When Harmen began to struggle out of the chair, Charlie stood and gave him a hand. "If there's anything else we can do, we'd be happy to help."

We'd be happy to help
, Sara thought broodingly as Charlie helped bundle the baby up in a blanket. She felt tense to the point of breaking and wanted desperately to accuse the young couple of neglect. She wanted to tell Harmen that they deserved to lose the baby. But she couldn't. It wasn't true. There was too much remembered pain in the man's face, too much relief at having found his daughter at last. She couldn't take away his happiness.

She followed the two men to the door, and even managed to smile when Harmen glanced at her.

"I know you said you enjoyed it," he said as Charlie opened the door for him, "but I still wish I could show you how much I appreciate what you've done. I'm going to take her to the hospital to see Marilyn right now. My wife won't rest comfortably until she knows Dawn is safe."

"Tell her we're pulling for her," Sara said, finding strength in conventional politeness. "And tell Irma she can take off as much time as she needs."

And then he was gone. Sara stared at the driveway long after the car had disappeared. She only closed the door when she noticed the biting cold.

"Well," she said brightly. "That ended happily. Now maybe things will get back to normal around here."

"Sara," Charlie said softly.

She couldn't stand the pity she heard in his voice. "I imagine the electricity will be back on before long," she said quickly. "And the telephone." She laughed. "What on earth did people do before the telephone was invented?"

"Sara." He gripped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Sara . . . it's for the best. You can see that, can't you?"

She didn't answer him. She couldn't. Maybe it was for the best, but right at that moment it didn't feel that way. It felt as though something were missing.