moving a little early,” she assured her daughter, tucking the flap of the bag into place and heading for the kitchen. “Not into the trailer park with the nice trees, because that costs more, but tomorrow we’ll look in the paper and find, uh, somebody who wants a roommate with a seven-week-old baby. A wonderful baby.”
Emma gurgled as Lucy kissed her forehead, and when she closed the refrigerator door she saw Conner depositing another armload of boxes on the dining-room table. “We’re almost out of here,” she called, and he turned around.
It was bizarre, she thought with a guilty flicker of awareness, how much the man looked like Kenny. Dark hair instead of blond, but the essentials were unchanged. The same rugged build, the same cleft in his chin, the same vivid blue eyes…except Conner’s gaze was harder. Darker.
More intriguing.
And it was a little unnerving to realize that some ancient, feminine part of her still found that look of effortless privilege so…so… Well, so attractive.
“Sure you don’t need any help?” Conner asked, and she flinched. On the surface his question was perfectly polite, but she knew what lay beneath it. She had seen the weary resignation on his face when he told her there’d never been a job, and she knew what he must be thinking. Here’s some good-time girl who fell into a gold mine.
Just like her mother…
“No,” Lucy answered abruptly, heading back toward her room for the stack of sweaters. “We’re fine.” She didn’t need to remember her mother right now, not with such a humiliating parallel staring her right in the face. When she’d begun supporting herself halfway through high school, she had vowed that Lucy Velardi would either pay for her own dance lessons or go without. That she would never, ever depend on the generosity of men with expense accounts and wives back home.
Until all of a sudden she’d let herself move in with a celebrity golf pro who spent money like water.
But at least Kenny wasn’t married.
Oh, God, was he?
He could have lied about that, too, Lucy realized with a sickening lurch in her stomach. They hadn’t spent much time discussing family, which at the time had suited her fine, but surely he would have mentioned a wife.
Wouldn’t he?
After all, he had mentioned a “big-time responsible” brother and a mother “who about died when my brother got divorced,” and he was the one who’d blithely suggested a quick wedding at the courthouse when the pregnancy test turned blue.
So she hadn’t fallen in love with a married man, Lucy decided, standing up straight and surveying the room one last time. Just a scumbag…which was Shawna’s description of the man who’d never once called to ask whether Lucy had given birth to a daughter or a son. The man who probably still hoped she’d gotten rid of his baby.
A hope which justified her refusal to ever contact him again. Although if she had, maybe she would’ve been warned about the arrival of his brother…a beautifully mannered attorney who probably suspected her of using Kenny for whatever she could get.
“He’s not thinking that,” she knew Shawna would protest, but Shawna hadn’t seen the grim set of his jaw when she announced that Kenny had already paid her. Maybe she was overly sensitive at times, but there was no mistaking the rueful look on Conner Tarkington’s face.
Shouldering the diaper bag and wrapping her baby in the pile of sweaters on top, Lucy headed for the front door and found Conner just coming inside with his keys in hand. “That’s the last of it,” he told her, holding the door for them with the kind of reflexive grace she supposed Cinderella’s prince might have shown. Then he stopped, as if only now realizing she was on her way out. “Lucy, where’s your car?”
That was a question she hadn’t expected. She’d been more prepared for a request to examine her bag for stolen silver, although that might be a little crude for someone as well-bred as this man. But instead, he was looking at her with startled concern, as if he couldn’t imagine leaving the house without a car waiting in the driveway.
“I don’t need one,” she said, balancing Emma against her shoulder with one hand while extracting the house key from her purse and holding it out to him. If she could just maintain this confident tone of voice, just let him report to his brother that Lucy Velardi was doing fine… “Tomorrow I’ll come get the rest of our stuff.”
“You—” He glanced from the key to her, then at the sleeping baby, and the frown in his dark blue eyes deepened. “Is somebody picking you up?”
What, all of a sudden he was worried about them walking in a neighborhood like this one? She’d never lived anywhere as luxurious as this secluded enclave of golf villas, not since leaving her mother and Mr. “I’m In Charge Here” the year she’d turned sixteen. “No, we’re going right down the street,” Lucy said, nodding toward the distant lights of Hayden Road, where the donut shop stayed open around the clock.
“At this time of night?” Conner sounded horrified, and he still wasn’t taking the key she held out. “I’m not throwing you and a baby out in the street!”
Maybe not technically, but from the moment he’d broken the news that the Tarkingtons had never requested a house-sitter, there was no other choice. Still, he looked troubled by the realization that she and Emma were actually planning to walk away. “You’re not throwing us out,” she told him, setting the key on the stucco wall that bordered the porch. “We’re leaving.”
“Lucy, wait a minute. I didn’t mean for—” With a swift gesture into the house, he pushed the front door open wider. “Look, there’s plenty of room. Why don’t you stay the night, and in the morning I’ll take you wherever you want.”
That was an unexpectedly generous offer, and it was silly to argue with him when the two-mile walk seemed longer and heavier every minute. Still, her pride wouldn’t allow a complete surrender. “In the morning, I can get the bus.”
He gave her a slight smile, as if conceding that she could take care of herself just fine. “All right. But I’ll tell you the truth,” Conner said, reaching to pick up her discarded key and dropping it on the table just inside the door. “I really don’t want to stay up all night worrying about you. And Emma.”
Oh.
Well…
When he put it that way, Lucy decided, staying one more night in the Tarkingtons’ home seemed like a pretty reasonable choice. And it would certainly make things easier than waiting with Emma at the donut shop. All she needed to do was return to the guest room where she’d spent the past eight months, and remember that nobody could lose their independence by accepting only one night of hospitality.
“All right,” she said, stepping back inside as Conner turned off the porch light and checked the front door deadbolt…the same rituals she’d performed every night since returning here alone in March. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He started down the hall toward the master bedroom, then turned back. “You can lock your door if you want,” he suggested, and as his dark gaze met hers she realized with a sudden, startling flicker of warmth that they both knew how very little space lay between their bedrooms. “But just so you know, I’m going right to sleep.”
“Good night,” was the only response she could think of, and
