Think About Love (11 page)

"There wasn't time for baked potato."

"I cheated. Six minutes in the microwave, fifteen in the oven."

"Oh."

She didn't know this Cal. She'd eaten with him before: business dinners in fine restaurants, clients entertained at his home with caterers providing the food, tepid meals in airplanes, and many pizzas eaten while working late in the board room on market plans, expansion requirements. Even one memorable dinner eaten long after midnight, during an endless night in which they examined travel schedules, expense claims, and computer-log entries to discover which employee was giving company secrets to the competition.

"How did you learn to cook?"

He placed a baked potato on her plate, added a chicken breast. "My mother taught both my sister and me. She's a doctor—my parents both are. Mom was always determined we'd eat properly, even if she wasn't there to cook. Once she'd taught us, we all took turns."

She cut into the potato, saw that he'd found sour cream and chives. She wasn't certain what to do with a Cal who made dinner, who suggested a business deal that required marriage.

"You have a sister?"

"Adrienne. She's three years younger, a doctor as well—an obstetrician. She's always trying to find a wife for me."

"I didn't know you were looking for a wife."

"I wasn't."

She concentrated on the potato, the sour cream. Then she cut into the chicken, a small piece because how could she eat, with Cal's suggestion of marriage hanging between them?

"I guess I should ask if there's someone else," said Cal.

She swallowed a mouthful of chicken without chewing. "No."

"Marrying me wouldn't be stepping on someone else's territory?"

"I thought we were going to eat before we talked about this, but since we're not, let's settle this." She put her fork down. "I'm not looking for a husband. Not now, not ever."

He smiled, actually
smiled.
"OK, so tell me about your family. I know almost nothing about you. Tell me about your sister, about Dorothy."

She didn't know what to say. Why was he calling her
Samantha?
He never called her that, always
Sam.
Sarah was the only other person who had always called her Sam.

"Tell me about your family," he urged quietly.

"I'm not going to marry you. It's crazy."

"I'll tell you about mine, then."

He picked up her fork, handed it to her. Mechanically, she began eating as he told her about his sister, Adrienne, who had nursed wounded birds and stray animals as a child, who'd gone to college intending to become a vet, until a pregnant friend asked her to be her labor coach.

Samantha had never placed family around Cal in her mind, and doing so now, seeing him with his sister who loved babies and wanted to marry off her brother, made him somehow much too real.

"She's not married?"

"No, and she claims she never will be, unless she can find a man like our father, who isn't threatened by a strong woman."

A man like Cal, she thought, remembering the times they'd argued about what was best for Tremaine's. As a consultant, she'd learned to be very careful opposing a client's conviction about what was good for his business. When the clients were men, they too often resented being given advice by a woman. With Cal, she'd gradually relaxed as she'd come to realize that although he would argue hotly when he disagreed with her recommendations, if she could give him good reasons, he would accept her ideas with none of the aggressive male insecurity she'd learned to expect.

"My parents are a hard act to follow," Cal said as he carved his potato into pieces and began eating. "They've worked together since before they married. Partners in work and in life." He chewed a large mouthful of potato, swallowed, then said, "You and I are good partners. We have been from the beginning."

There were a thousand things she could have said. Business partners didn't necessarily make life partners. She wasn't the sort of person who should ever marry. She didn't want to marry anyone, not Cal, not....

Would they share the cooking, take turns as his parents had? Would Kippy learn to cook early and take her own turn? His family didn't sound conventional, but what did she know of conventional families? Would he play with Kippy, the way she'd seen other men play with babies in the park? Would he hold her high and send her into delighted squeals?

A business deal, but he'd gone with her when she put Kippy to bed, had covered her tenderly, as if he really cared about this small baby whose world had suddenly turned upside down.

She couldn't marry Cal. The idea was preposterous. She had to think about Kippy, had to forget about Tremaine's, and Calin Tremaine. When she picked up Kippy at Diane's today, the baby had clung to her tightly again, then fell asleep in her arms as if she were only now secure enough to sleep. Diane said she'd been awake all day, hadn't napped. Pining for Dorothy?

Samantha pushed her plate away. "Cal, you can't marry someone just because you don't want them to quit a job."

He carved a piece of chicken, chewed it, swallowed, then pushed his own plate aside. "Not them, Samantha.
You.
I don't want to lose you. Why are you determined never to marry?"

"I'd make a mess of it."

"I can't imagine you making a mess of anything you set out to do."

"That's because I stick to what I do well."

Mercifully, Kippy began crying and Samantha was able to excuse herself and hurry back into the baby's room. When she picked the Kippy up, the baby twisted against her and wailed. She carried the baby out to the dining room. Time for Cal to leave, and she wasn't going to be diverted with talk of marriage.

"There's one motel on the island," she told him. Take my rental car. I'll give you directions."
 

Kippy wailed even louder and thrashed about in her arms.

Cal stood and reached out to touch the baby's face. Samantha's lips parted to protest, but somehow the words didn't come. He slipped the tip of his smallest finger between the baby's gums and suddenly, Kippy stopped crying and began sucking on his finger.

"She's—she's hungry," Samantha stammered. Cal was too close, far too close, and although he was staring at the baby right now, any second he'd look up. She wasn't sure what he'd see then, but she knew she couldn't let him hold her gaze with her heart pounding like this.

"She's not hungry, Sam. She's teething and she needs something to chew on. Why don't you give her to me, while you go see if she's got a teething ring."

"A teething ring?"

"They're usually plastic, or maybe rubber, sometimes shaped like a pretzel. Or there might be some teething biscuits." He took the baby out of her arms and cradled her in the curve of his arm. Kippy still had Cal's finger clamped between her gums, and she accepted the change of arms without protest.

Teething ring... or biscuits. Samantha walked into the pantry, feeling oddly unsteady. She found a package of biscuits evidently intended for babies, judging by the picture on the box.

"Will this do?" she asked, returning to hold the biscuit out to Cal.

He took it in one hand, brushed it against the baby's cheek. Kippy turned toward the teasing touch and began gumming the biscuit enthusiastically.

"You have your finger back," Samantha said awkwardly.

"Yes." And he had one hand free. He used it to brush a wisp of hair back from her face.

"Cal—"

"I won't let you down, Samantha. I won't let Kippy down either."

"It's not that exactly."

He took her hand and led her to the sofa, still holding Kippy in one arm. He sat and pulled her down beside him. "You said the social worker doesn't approve of you? "

"Because I left today, for the open house. I shouldn't have gone, but I— That's when I realized I couldn't do a proper job for you and give Kippy what she needs. I needed to choose."

"When do you see the social worker next?"

"Tuesday morning. She cares about Kippy, but she's got the idea I'm a big-city businesswoman who can't be trusted with a child."

"She'll change her mind. How long does it take to get married in British Columbia."

"I don't know. Cal, I can't—"

"We'll find out Monday morning. Tuesday I'll meet the social worker with you. We'll win her over."

"Cal!" She softened her voice for the baby in his arms. He held Kippy as if he'd always held babies, but why was he here, holding her hand and the baby, slipping his way into their lives? Why wasn't she sending him away? "How did you learn about babies?"

"My aunt and uncle had four kids, all quite a few years younger than me. My cousins were around the house a lot. Adrienne and I did our share of feeding and changing diapers. If we change Kippy's diaper now, I think she might go back to sleep."

"I'll do it." She took the baby from him and went into the back—fled into the back.

What if she did it? Married Cal.

He made it sound so logical. A vice presidency for her, and she could make her own hours, look after Tremaine's welfare in her own way. He would interfere, she knew he would, but she'd never minded his interference. She could hold her own, and she enjoyed the stimulation of his challenges.

Enjoyed Cal.

I won't let you down... won't let Kippy down.

If she'd learned anything in the last eighteen months, it was that Calin Tremaine could be relied on. She could have it all: the seat on Cal's board, the work she loved on her own terms, and time to care for Kippy.

Kippy could have a father from the beginning, a permanent, forever father.

Samantha thought of Wayne, who had come on the scene too late to be a real father to her, who'd played such an important part in her life and Sarah's. Of her grandfather, who had died three years before she and Sarah came to live with Dorothy permanently. Of her own father, a man she couldn't remember.

The baby gurgled and yanked her legs out of Samantha's grip. "You're getting a new diaper," she murmured, stripping off the old one and cleaning Kippy's bottom with a baby wipe. "But what about a daddy? What should I do, Kippers? Should I get you a daddy?"

Kippy gurgled and shoved her thumb in her eye.

Samantha fastened the new diaper and lifted her. "Are you really going to go to sleep and leave me to deal with him all alone."

Kippy yawned hugely.

"OK," she whispered, and she hugged the baby closely and kissing her soft cheek before she laid her in the crib. Kippy's eyes drooped and she sighed.

Samantha switched off the light and slowly walked back to the living room. She'd expected Cal to be on his feet, pacing, but he was... simply waiting, sitting where she'd left him.

She stopped in the big log archway that divided kitchen from dining and living rooms. "A business deal, you said?"

He rose from the sofa and she put out one hand to hold him off.

"A business deal," he agreed.

"We'll need a prenuptial agreement."

"I'll call Max, get him started on it." He crossed the room, took her hands in his. "Don't worry, Samantha. Everything will work out." He lifted their joined hands and used one to tilt her chin up. "We are friends, aren't we?"

She was frightened, run-for-your-life scared. "If we weren't friends, I wouldn't agree to this."

"We'll go see your grandmother tomorrow, tell her the news."

She shook her head slowly. "I can't tell her I'm getting married as part of a business deal."

He bent his head and covered her lips with his. The shock made the words jam up in her throat, then drain away.

"She wants to know you'll be happy," he said in a low, hypnotic voice. "And you will be."

He emptied her mind with his lips, his words, and she stood staring up at him, wanting to run, yet frozen. Frozen by what she'd just agreed to do—surely that was why? She hadn't realized how difficult it would be, how her certainty would drain away because everything had changed, because Cal wasn't a man on the other side of the desk anymore, because she wasn't safe behind a suit and a job title.

His lips tasted clean, strong, overwhelming.

"Did you sleep at all last night, Sam? Where's your bedroom?"

"Upstairs," she squeaked. "I don't—"

"I'll sleep on the sofa. If the baby wakes, I'll look after her."

"I'll see to her. Last night I slept in Dorothy's room, beside Kippy's, so I could hear."

"Go upstairs. I know what I'm getting in a vice president for Tremaine's, but you don't know what you're getting in a father for Kippy. Consider this a trial."

"If she cries, if she wants me...."

"I'll wake you." He touched her cheek, a soft brush against her skin like the one he'd given Kippy earlier. She wondered what would happen if she turned her head, captured his finger between her lips as Kippy had.

"Dishes," she said. "I'll just clean up."

"It's eleven, and your eyes are drooping. Get some sleep. I made the kitchen mess; I'll clean it up. You've got a busy day tomorrow."

She was pretty sure it was a bad idea to just turn around and walk upstairs, to obey him as if he ruled her in some way deeper than the relationship of boss and employee.

She didn't know what else to do.

She'd just agreed to marry a man, to trade her services as vice president for his services as father to her orphaned niece. A business deal.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"You could smile," he said, his own lips a straight line.

"No, I can't. I'm not sure about this."

"Tomorrow."

She nodded and turned away, feeling there was something she should do or say, self-conscious as she walked to the stairs. He watched her, she knew he did.

At the top of the stairs, when she was out of his sight, she said, "Good night, Cal."

"Good night, Samantha."

She went to the room she'd slept in as a teenager, closed the door tightly, and pulled off jeans and blouse. In the middle drawer of the big old dresser she'd shared with Sarah, she found a T-shirt advertising Nanaimo's dirt-racing track. Sarah had borrowed the shirt from her date one day at the beach, and she'd somehow never returned it.