she felt him relax.
She looked up at Joe. He stood straight and tall with booted feet braced wide apart as if he were standing guard over them, which was oddly comforting. His worn jeans and snug black T-shirt molded to his body and left none of his muscles to her imagination. And she’d imagined him a lot since he walked out on her.
“I have a breast pump that extracts the milk,” she explained. “It goes into bottles that I freeze and take to Marilyn Watson. She’s the lady I told you about who watches him while I’m at work.”
“I see.”
“He’s also starting solid food—cereal, fruit.” She saw the look on his face and added, “Pureed fruit. No teeth yet.”
“I got that.” He almost smiled before the serious expression returned. “How did you learn all this stuff?”
“OJT—on-the-job training.”
But she remembered when J.T. was brand-new and she’d felt as if someone with a warped sense of humor had thrown her into the deep end of the parenting pool. She’d been alone. On her own with a newborn. Trying to breast-feed, not knowing if J.T. was getting enough to eat. That first night the two of them cried together. But she got through it by herself. That’s how it always had been and always would be.
By the heavy, relaxed feel of him, she knew J.T. had fallen asleep. She stood and said, “I’m going to put him to bed.”
Joe nodded, but to her relief didn’t follow her into the other room. She placed the baby on his back with a light receiving blanket over his legs. It was May in Las Vegas and far from cold. The gesture was more of a “mom thing” than a necessity to keep him warm. After adjusting her shirt more modestly, she rejoined Joe.
“I got your dinner ready,” he said.
He’d set it on the bar with a glass of iced tea beside it. Although she wasn’t hungry now, she knew she needed to eat something and sat down. He stood in the kitchen across from her.
“Thanks.”
He shrugged. “I know how to get food in and out of a microwave.”
The subtext of that remark was that he didn’t know what to do with a baby. The pained regret in his expression made her want to comfort him. “Having a child might be the most natural thing in the world, but they don’t come with an instruction manual.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
She took a bite of mystery meat and studied him while she chewed and swallowed. All she could think to say was, “It’s not your fault, Joe.”
And it wasn’t. But when she’d received no response from him, she hadn’t known he was a prisoner in Afghanistan and the silence had hurt her deeply. For the second time. She never wanted to hurt like that again.
“I’ll never know what it was like to hold him as a newborn.”
“If it’s any consolation, he won’t remember that.” She finished off the mashed potatoes and washed them down with iced tea. “And it’s a good thing. I was all thumbs and he was so tiny. It took time to know what I was doing.”
“That’s all I’m asking for, Kate.” He rested muscular forearms on the countertop in front of her. His eyes sparked with intensity as they met hers. “All I want is time to know my son and learn how to take care of him. Time for him to know me, to trust me.”
“That’s the hard part,” she said. “Why should I believe you’ll stick around?”
Why should she believe he was different from the other men she’d known? The ones who’d paraded in and out of her mother’s life when she was a child. Each time she’d hoped and prayed this one would stay so she could have a family—a mom and dad like other kids. It had never happened and she didn’t want J.T. to know the same disappointment she had.
Joe looked down for several moments, then met her gaze. “I guess there’s nothing I can say to convince you. But, here’s the thing. I wasn’t here when you were pregnant or for the first months of his life. I will be around now. Count on it.”
She had to be fair; there was no choice but to give him time with his child. He was entitled to that. It wasn’t his problem that her attraction for him refused to die. Since there was no way she’d let J.T. out of her sight, she’d have to see him—and do her best to make sure history didn’t repeat itself.
The last time he’d only wanted sex. Now he was there for the baby. It had nothing to do with her, and she needed to remember that. She’d already experienced a serious level of pain on Joe’s account that was a small preview of the damage he could do to her heart.
“Okay,” she said. “You can come over.” Then she held up her finger in warning. “Just don’t bring up marriage again.”
As if that would protect her from emotional catastrophe. She could only hope.
Chapter Three
Kate had said okay—permission to come aboard as a parent. It was bright and early the following morning and he stood on her doorstep with bagels and doughnuts in hand. He didn’t bring coffee because after browsing breast-feeding sites on the Net, he wasn’t sure whether J.T. would get caffeine through his mom. On general principle he figured it wasn’t good for a baby.
Joe knocked softly on the door in case the baby might still be asleep. He didn’t know a lot about this, but the little information he had suggested new parents were tired, which meant babies didn’t sleep much.
Kate answered the door with a coffee cup in her hand which answered the caffeine question. “Hi. You’re early.”
And you’re beautiful.
For a split second he was afraid he’d said that out loud. It was the honest-to-God truth, but she wouldn’t want to hear it from him. Her sunstreaked brown hair was tousled from sleep and he remembered it looking like that after he’d run his hands through the silky strands all night long. She was wearing white shorts and a sleeveless green cotton shirt. Her feet were bare and her face didn’t have even a trace of makeup. She took his breath away and also, apparently, his powers of speech because he hadn’t said a word yet.
“Hi.” He gave her the bag. “Breakfast.”
“Thanks. Come in.”
He followed her inside and said, “I wasn’t sure about coffee and caffeine for J.T.—”
She held up her cup. “It’s decaf and I miss my morning jolt. Want some?”
The sight of her had already given him a jolt and no caffeine was involved. “Coffee would be great.” He looked around and saw J.T. propped up in a high chair and gnawing on something that looked like a bread stick. He had goo and residue, presumably from a food source of unknown origin in his hand, all over his face and as far down his body as was visible. He reached to the top of his head and ran a grubby hand in his hair, grabbing a hank before pulling it straight up.
“Hey, buddy.” He walked over and squatted in front of the boy who was watching him with big, interested blue eyes. “You’ve got a punk-rock thing going on there.”
