Sweets to the Sweet (2 page)

“It’s still sixty-five degrees. You had a thick blanket under her, another one over her, this
thing
completely covering her—”

“She’s only three weeks old,” Laura protested. “And the infant seat is too hard without a blanket. And this
thing
is a bunny suit that covers her head; you’re supposed to keep a newborn’s ears covered. They get ear infections. You have to be very careful—”

“Spock from
Star Trek
never worried about ear infections, and think of
his
ears,” Owen murmured.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. She’s your first baby, isn’t she?” He sighed. “Which suddenly explains a great deal.”

“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” But her voice softened. Mari was trying to jam a tiny fist into her mouth, but she wasn’t crying. Laura forgot the accident; she forgot the argument. The weight of the baby felt perfect in her arms, making up for just about everything that ever had or ever could happen to her.

When she glanced up again, the man was studying her with a faint smile. How amazing that at first she’d thought his mouth was rigid, his features uncompromisingly stern. His smile didn’t erase the lines of authority and control, but there was definitely a kind man behind the threatening mask. Never one to trust a stranger, Laura abruptly realized that she already had, in allowing him to touch Mari. The thought was unsettling.

“I don’t want to contradict the advice in your baby books, but do you think there’s a slim chance she’s hungry?” he asked tactfully.

“There’s a good chance she’s hungry,” Laura agreed dismally. “She’s always hungry. But she was also crying earlier, before she could possibly have been hungry.”

“Hmm.” Owen tried again. “She looks fat as a butterball.”

“Too fat?” Laura said with alarm, and peeked at Mari’s double chin.

“Not
too
fat. I was just trying to suggest that perhaps you don’t need to worry quite so much about anything being terribly wrong with her.”

“Well…” Belatedly, it occurred to Laura that she must be pretty desperate for reassurance, to take it from a man who looked as though he’d be more at home between satin sheets than changing diapers.

“In the meantime, there are two officers outside who need insurance and registration information…”

“I’ll get it. I—” Thin wails started the moment Laura reached for her wallet. Her hand jerked back from her purse. “Oh, Mari….”

With a sigh, Owen took the bag from her and started rifling through brushes, combs, diapers, pins.

He held up the well-thumbed
Mother’s Almanac
with a skeptical look and finally surfaced with her wallet. “I’ll get your license. Your registration in here, too?”

She looked blank.

“Skip it. I’ll find it. Look, just feed your baby. I’ll take care of the rest.”

A pale pink glow streaked across her cheeks. “I can’t feed her here.”

Briskly, he tugged a dry shirt from his pile of clean laundry and handed it to her. “I understand. I figured you’d want a bottle from the diaper bag, and when there wasn’t one, I realized that you were breast-feeding her. Just use the shirt to cover yourself. I won’t let anyone near the car.”

He was gone again. Through the back window, she could see him striding toward the policemen, but abruptly Mari’s shrieks climbed into the next octave. Draping his shirt over her, she groped underneath for the tiny pearl buttons of her blouse. “Just a minute. Just a minute, darling. Please, Mari…”

There hadn’t been time to buy nursing bras, but she wore the kind that fastened in front—just as easy to manage, when her fingers were steady enough. It took three tries, and then she winced when Mari clamped down on her nipple. A familiar taut ache filled her breasts, and she closed her eyes.

Only it didn’t work. The baby’s mouth opened, and Mari let out a furious wail. Laura coaxed her back; the baby pushed away. After several minutes, Laura gave up trying and simply rocked the frantic baby back and forth, back and forth. Stay calm, the books on nursing said. Sure. After an accident? Maybe she didn’t have any milk. Maybe she’d run out. Good Lord, could it conceivably turn sour after only three hours?

When the car door swung open, Laura jumped, startled. “You’re finished with the police already?” she tried to say calmly over the baby’s screams.

“No, we’re not done, but I could hear the baby crying from out there. Listen….” Owen leaned in, deliberately looking into Laura’s eyes and no lower. “I know you’re going to misunderstand this, but I’ve been around a ton of babies. I grew up with six younger brothers and sisters—and my sisters are having babies of their own now. They all breast-feed their infants, and my sister-in-law, Paige—”

“What the
hell
do you think you’re doing?”

His palm was sliding gently between his shirt and her blouse. “Paige and Gary have three small ones. Gary’s always talking about breast-feeding. Now, just take it easy…”

“
Stop
that!” Desperately, Laura tried to hold the baby, climb away from him, keep herself covered, and for God’s sake look unconcerned. Unfortunately, she ran out of places to back up. Warm, smooth fingers stroked her firm, supple breast with the touch of a lover.

Heat spread through her lower body in a rush. The sexual voltage was more potent than the slash of lightning outside. All the air left her lungs in a horrified whoosh.

“If you’ll bring the baby close now…”

“There’s no point. I haven’t any—” The blend of shock and despair in her voice hushed abruptly. Mari’s piercing shrieks ceased as milk spurted into the infant’s mouth.

Total silence instantly filled the car. A hectic color flooded Laura’s face. “I…er…you can take your hand off my…um…”

Owen’s palm lingered seconds longer before sliding away. His face averted, he protectively covered her once more with his shirt, his movements suddenly awkward. Owen couldn’t remember having felt awkward in years. But one didn’t bother with social conventions when there was trouble, he told himself; one acted. Being Owen, he could not have continued to stand there doing nothing while the baby cried and the mother grew more and more frantic with worry. Only…he’d hardly expected his own body’s instantaneous reaction to the touch of her. He straightened. “Look. I’m sorry. That was way out of line—”

“Yes.”

“In fact, I don’t believe I just did that.”

“Neither,” Laura remarked, “do I.”

“Owen’s the name, by the way.” He thought if he introduced himself he might seem less like of a stranger to her. When her expression didn’t change, he cleared his throat. “You see, ever since I was knee-high, there was always a baby in the family. My mother and sisters talk about nursing as easily as they talk about politics. I learned years ago that if a mother’s tense, sometimes the milk won’t come down. And my brother—”

“Yes. You told me.”

“Would I be better off if I shut up?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I would be to drop the subject. As long as you understand that I wasn’t…assaulting you.”

He caught the first glimmer of humor in her eyes, a spark that erased the weariness from her cameo features. Even damp and disheveled, she had a special claim to natural loveliness. Owen caught his breath.

Laura had already caught hers. Now that Mari wasn’t crying and his hand was back where it belonged, it occurred to her how foolish she was to have panicked. The man was hardly going to make a pass at her in front of the police and a crowd. He would hardly have made a pass, anyway, at a waif with straggly hair and no makeup and postpartum Jell-O for a stomach. “For heaven’s sake, I didn’t think you were.”

Well, that was more than he was sure of. He studied her soft profile, the tangled mass of light brown hair, the sweep of bared white throat…and reminded himself that babies weren’t made by magic. Which meant she had a husband.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Yes,” Laura said politely. She couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

“I should have asked you before if you wanted me to call anyone…”

“No, but thank you.” Laura stared with fascination at the windshield, aware that his eyes were suddenly riveted on her face.

Eventually, Owen closed the door again. By the time he’d finished with the police, the rain had quieted to a lazy drizzle. His mind wasn’t on accident reports or insurance. It was on a fragile-looking woman with a brand-new baby who’d said she had no one to call.

A woman who’d wrecked his vintage Austin-Healey.

“This really isn’t necessary, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’d have appreciated a ride to the nearest phone, but the police would have done that much for me. And I never meant for you to get dragged in this far…”

“Laura,” Owen said flatly. “I said I would get you and the baby to a doctor, and I will.”

Laura fell silent, and then ventured again, “Look, I know how crazy I must have seemed. Hysterical woman, new mother, stranded, raving. I’d really like to correct that first impression. Would you believe that I was labeled ‘Most Stable and Calm’ in my high school yearbook?”

“I never heard of that category in high school yearbooks.”

“Neither have I,” she said dryly, then changed the subject. “I’m trying to let you off the hook. I’m sure you had a dozen things planned for the afternoon other than chauffeuring two strangers to their pediatrician.”

True. Particularly when the pink-cheeked, happily sleeping infant on her shoulder couldn’t possibly need a doctor—but Laura, Owen was discovering, was a stubborn woman. Also, she was determined to let him know that a man wasn’t welcome in her life.

“And another thing…” Laura said quietly.

At a red light, Owen turned to study her, having no interest in hearing yet “another thing.” She was sitting as close to the door as possible and wearing a smile like a shield. What the hell did she think he was going to do, attack her?

Actually, that was partly the cause of his headache. He wanted to. Not attack her, exactly, but definitely touch. The impulse was embarrassing, and offended every grain of integrity Owen possessed. He was hardly in the habit of picking up married women, much less young mothers with their offspring in tow. Laura had clearly recovered from the accident; the color was back in her face and her voice was calm. He didn’t have the slightest excuse for continuing to hang around.

Except that every instinct told him something was wrong. She shouldn’t be alone, not this soon after having a baby, with no one to call. He was concerned about the circles under her eyes, and she ought to be several pounds heavier…and her coral mouth was as naturally kissable as any he’d seen in thirty-three years.
Where
was her husband?

“And another thing,” Laura repeated. “I have good insurance coverage. It’ll pay for the repairs to your car. And if there’s anything that isn’t covered, I promise you I’ll take care of it.”

“Yes.” He looked straight ahead. Insurance was the last thing on his mind, but it gave him an opening. “Would you prefer I call your husband if there’s any problem?”

“That won’t be necessary. The policy’s in my name.”

Which answered nothing. The woman’s quiet-voiced replies were gradually reducing him to insanity. He was left with little choice but to be straightforward and blunt. “If
I
were your husband, I would want to
know
you’d been in an accident.”

Those turquoise eyes flickered briefly over his face. Her cucumber-cool smile didn’t falter. “I’m not married—actually, my divorce was final a month ago. Is that what you’ve been trying to ask?”

It wasn’t pleasant, having his own straightforward and blunt manner turned back on him. “Yes.”

At his disgruntled expression, Laura chuckled. “Relax, I didn’t think you were prying. You were just being kind. Thank you,” she added warmly as he parked in front of the doctor’s office. “I’ll take a taxi home.”

“I’ll see you in.”

“There’s no need.”

The woman could give lessons on destroying a man’s ego, but he took her inside anyway.

In the waiting room, Owen collapsed in a chair and tried to figure out what on earth he thought he was doing there. He had plenty to do this afternoon besides sit in a roomful of toddlers. The only reading material was on child-rearing, breast-feeding and potty-training. The six women in the room kept looking at him, and he felt distinctly out of place. Shifting, he glanced at his watch.

She’d been in with the doctor for two minutes. Already it seemed like two hours.

After a quick trip to the car, he settled down with
Forbes.
A detailed article charted the previous year’s patterns in commodities and predicted heavy bidding in cocoa futures, which would affect chocolate prices over the next six months. Chocolate was Owen’s livelihood; he could have been engrossed, if a sticky-handed one-year-old hadn’t used his pant leg to pull himself up and then stand there, wiggle-bottomed, asking, “Da?
Da?
”

The boy’s mother rushed over, all blushes and flushes, to grab the urchin. Owen heard a brunette whispering to her neighbor about how her sex life had ceased after the baby was born. He sighed, raising his
Forbes
to eye level.

He was pacing by the window a half hour later, wondering exactly what would make a beautiful woman with turquoise eyes seek a divorce in the middle of a pregnancy, when he heard a low, throaty chuckle. Laura was standing at the receptionist’s desk, juggling the baby, her purse, the diaper bag and a checkbook. The lines of strain and tension had disappeared from her face. Her smile was radiant, and a sassy brightness lit her eyes. She radiated vibrancy.

Suddenly, he knew exactly why he’d waited for her.

Tucking the magazine under his arm, he strode toward her. When she turned, that smile encompassed him. Or he wanted it to. “The baby passed her checkup?”

“With flying colors!”

He tried to look surprised. Reaching for her bag, he asked, “What did the doctor say?”

Her smile suddenly wavered. “I just realized—you really didn’t have to wait for me.”

“Forget it. It’ll only take a few minutes to get you home.”

As they walked out to his car, Owen could barely keep from chuckling. Laura’s expression was rueful. “He claims Mari’s the healthiest baby he’s seen in ages.”

“And—”

“And he told me to quit worrying.”

“And—”

“And,” she related dryly, “he told me to stop reading baby books, let the baby cry occasionally, and drink a glass of wine every afternoon.” She settled into his car and announced, “I am
not
going to let Mari cry, and I’m definitely not going to drink wine while I’m nursing her.”

Owen hid a grin. “I’m certainly glad we came all this way to get the doctor’s advice.”

“He also told me to try to wait a whole week before I come back again. Owen, you can quit trying to look deadpan. It’s perfectly all right to laugh at me.
I
laugh at me. Maybe I wouldn’t overreact quite so much if I knew something about babies…but I don’t.” Her eyes softened as she stroked the baby’s cheek. “And Mari’s everything to me. She’s all I have.”

Owen’s hands suddenly tightened on the steering wheel. Her tone was light, the statement simple, but he heard pain from somewhere, an ocean of it. He studied her quietly as they drove. At first glance, she was simply a young woman holding a baby, surrounded by diaper bags and purse and blankets.

There was more to Laura than a first glance revealed, though. The fierce love she had for her child, the mask of control she wore over those fragile features, the emotional shadows he saw in her eyes. When she caught him studying her, he smiled. Lord, she was beautiful.

Laura smiled back. Owen—he hadn’t told her his last name—was making her damn nervous. An hour ago, she’d definitely needed a hero; she’d been a basket case. But no more. Surely he could see she was fine now?

Imposing on him went utterly against the grain. Pushing herself on any man went utterly against the grain. She’d done that once, for the space of a three-year marriage. Once, she might have believed that nothing could dent her faith in herself as a woman. Peter had, in the space of five minutes. Irrevocably.

“Laura? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She stared at the tree-lined streets of Ridgefield. “Absolutely nothing, now.”

Although New York was only an hour away, there was no hint of the bustling metropolis here. Restored eighteenth-century homes were nestled amid trees and leafy privacy; roads curled through hills and valleys. Laura could feel Owen’s eyes on her as he turned up the steep drive to her beautiful place, and she felt a rush of pride.
Now you can see. I was never a waif, Buster, just a lady in temporary trouble.

This was hers, all hers and Mari’s. At the top of the hill, surrounded by woods, stood a Cape Cod–style cottage. Behind it, wood hyacinths rambled down a ravine to a splashing silvery creek below. The grass in front of the house was a tiny bit overgrown, and there were still packing crates on the porch, but a woman fresh out of the hospital could only do so much, and Mr. Sexy Businessman could clearly see she owned a terrific piece of property.

“You just moved in?” he asked casually as she climbed out of the car, carrying Mari.

“Yes. I—”

“Alone? Right when you were having the baby?”

She sighed. She wished he had looked at the ravine instead of at the packing crates. “It
was
awkward timing, but I couldn’t move out of New York until the divorce was final. Even then, I would have had enough time to get settled—if Mari hadn’t arrived early.”

“Laura?”

“Hmm?” She was covering Mari’s head with a blanket. The rain had stopped, but the late afternoon was cool and damp.

“You have family close by?”

“Just Mom and Dad.”

“So where
is
your mother?”

She blinked. “In India. Where the devil is yours?”

He chuckled, a disarming chuckle. If Laura had been the least bit inclined to be attracted to a man because of his warm laughter and changeable gray-silver eyes and winsome smile…but she wasn’t. What Peter hadn’t destroyed in the way of sexual feelings, giving birth certainly had. Labor could make a rabbit think twice about ever wanting sex again.

“I only asked because it seemed logical your mother would come to help you. My mother stayed with all of my sisters for a few weeks after each of their babies arrived.”

“Well, my mother doesn’t approve of daughters divorcing their husbands in the middle of pregnancies. When she and Dad booked a trip around the world, I was supposed to ‘come around’ and turn to Peter if she wasn’t there.”

“But you didn’t. You went through the birth alone.” He looked ready to hit someone.

He’d reached the door ahead of her, and she sighed, shifting Mari in her arms. “I take it you’re coming in?”

“The doctor ordered you to drink a glass of wine just about this time of day.”

“I don’t have any wine.”

He motioned to a paper bag buried behind her diaper bag in his arms. “I do. Picked some up this morning. Might as well share it.”

As if accidentally, his eyes wandered to the smashed rear end of his car, and Laura felt a rush of guilt. She’d been nothing but trouble to him all afternoon, and now she was being churlish as well. “Come in,” she invited hesitantly, and immediately noted the triumphant gleam in his eyes.

“Let me take the baby for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. Actually, no one’s held Mari but me, and I—”

He stole the child so swiftly that she found herself standing awkwardly, feeling exposed somehow. His eyes took a determinedly slow path, from her high-necked lace blouse over her ripe, firm breasts, down to slender bare legs and sandals. She felt a rush of the uglies. Her stomach wasn’t quite flat yet; her breasts seemed disproportionately big from nursing; her legs were too slender these days. Not that it mattered what he thought, but the flush she felt climbing her cheeks was a surprise. Perhaps she still had some feminine vanity left, even after Peter.

Owen’s eyes met hers, opaque, unreadable, but there was something…dangerous there. Something she’d never expected. And then it was gone. He turned, setting down the diaper bag, and studied the room.

“You like antiques?”

“They’re my business.” Again, pride echoed in her voice. At first look, the room was a jumble of baby gear and packing crates. Beneath that, though, the place was ideal for the two of them. Upstairs, a roomy loft with a slanted roof had been divided into two bedrooms and a bath. The main floor contained an old-fashioned country kitchen, a dining room she could use as an office, and the long living room they were standing in now.

Plank paneling and casement windows and a huge fieldstone fireplace set off her treasures…the bonnet-topped highboy, the comb-back Windsor chairs, the oak refectory table with baluster legs, the Georgian burred desk. The couch was Jenny Lind—a criminal transgression for a period antique fanatic, but Laura had opted for comfort; its blue-and-white cushions were thick and comfortable, matching the crisp curtains. A lighthouse clock stood on the mantel, and the bookshelves were already filled with books on the eighteenth-century antiques that were her stock in trade.

“You sell antiques?”

“Actually, my business is finding them.” Laura moved forward swiftly, self-consciously straightening things. “My ex-husband was a musician—a cellist—and we traveled around from city to city. That gave me a chance to scour the countryside, comparing prices and quality, finding all the best sources.”
Stop babbling, Laura.
“Anyway, I act as a middleman. For example, if a store has a customer looking for a step-down Windsor settee, or a baroque chimney piece, or an English linen press, they call me and I track it down. Good eighteenth-century antiques are hard to find; they’re usually hidden away on estates. I’ll have to go back to traveling in time, but for these first months with Mari, I’ve arranged to do most of my searching on the internet. Owen?”

“So you’re trying to work, as well as move in and care for a new baby.” No surprise echoed in his wry tone, but a rare twist of jealousy gnawed in Owen’s head. So the guy had been artistic, a musician. Owen could claim courage, guts and sound survival instincts in the corporate jungle, but not a single artistic bone. So if that appealed to her in a man… And he’d expected her to talk about her ex-husband with anger, or pain, or
something
to indicate the reason for a fast divorce in the middle of a pregnancy. But Laura mentioned Peter as casually as she might discuss chicken soup.

“Owen?”
A frantic note had crept into her voice.