When he returned, the coffee was ready, and she’d just filled two mugs and put sugar and cream in her own.
She’d been determined to keep any communication between them on a purely impersonal and businesslike level, but she made the fatal mistake of looking at the baby in his arms.
‘Why...he’s dark!’
‘I guess you didn’t see him without his hat yesterday.’ Luke ruffled his son’s wispy black hair, and the child chuckled and blew out a bubble. His lashes were as dark as his hair, but he had his father’s blue eyes. He was wearing a red sweatshirt, with a pair of red corduroy dungarees.
He was beautiful, adorable...and he melted her heart.
‘Could you unhitch that tray,’ Luke said, ‘so I can get him into his seat? Those catches baffled me.’
It took Whitney a couple of moments to get the hang of them herself, but she finally managed. After Luke had seated the baby, she clicked it in place again.
‘So...’ She stepped back, uncomfortably aware of his closeness. ‘What does he have for breakfast?’
‘Today, he’ll have a banana and toast, some milk...’
‘I don’t have any bananas—’
‘I’ve brought enough food to last him a couple of days. Then I thought,’ he went on as he took a brown bag from the fridge, ‘you might drive me into town and I can stock up on supplies. My credit was always good at Stanley’s corner store, so I’m sure it’ll—’
‘Jim Stanley died years ago. His store was bulldozed, and you’ll find a superstore there now. You’ll have to go to the bank, if you’ve no money...and get a loan.’
He toppled the contents of the bag on the table: a bunch of ripe bananas, a small loaf of bread, a container of wheat germ, a pint carton of skim milk. ‘To get a loan, a person needs collateral. Looks as if I’m going to be depending on you for supplies. But Troy and I don’t eat much—do we, monster?’ He grinned down at the baby, and the baby grinned back—showing two small white teeth—as if they were sharing some huge joke.
Whitney felt a violent surge of resentment. So...Luke thought he could stay on here, living off her own meager bank account.
No way.
He’d already peeled a banana and diced it. Now he dipped the squares in milk, rolled them in the wheat germ and began setting them on the plastic tray. Reluctantly intrigued—not only by the economy of Luke’s movements but by his lean, tanned fingers with their smooth rounded nails—she wanted to stay and watch. Instead she set his coffee mug on the table along with the creamer and sugar bowl.
‘I’m going through to the living room,’ she said crisply, as the baby with intense concentration picked up a banana morsel. ‘I have some phone calls to make—’
‘You’ll be calling Maxwell, I guess, and asking him to make enquiries about me. Let me save you both some time.’ After wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans, Luke dug into his hip pocket and took out his wallet. Extricating a couple of business cards, he slapped one down onto the table. ‘Dale Gregg—loan officer at the bank where I stash my money...when I have any, and—’ he tossed the second card down on top of it ‘—Elisa Thomson, a lawyer who’s done some work for me recently. They both know my current financial status. I’ll phone them as soon as I’ve fed Troy, and ask them to cooperate with Maxwell when he calls. They’ll give him all the info you need.’
Whitney picked up the cards and read the addresses.
She looked up at him. ‘You’ve been in California, all this time?’
‘Land of surf and sun bunnies.’
‘A beach burn.’
His only answer to her scornful comment was a slanting smile.
‘So,’ she went on, ‘you’ve nothing to show for your thirteen years away but a tan, an empty bankbook, and—’
‘And a baby.’
Whitney shook her head. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Isn’t he, though?’
‘Unbelievable that someone with your potential could have screwed up so badly,’ she snapped. ‘It’s commonplace to hear about the self-willed teenage girl who runs away from home because she refuses to live by the house rules—only to come back with her tail tucked between her legs and an illegitimate baby in her arms. It’s unusual to see a reversal of roles...but your case is a perfect example—’
‘You mean—’ his blue eyes were wide and innocent ‘—someone took advantage of me and got me pregnant?’
‘—and it’s people like you who are ripping apart the very fabric of North American society—’
‘Oh, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration! I’m only—’
‘—with your irresponsible behavior! You want to have your fun, but when things go wrong, you want somebody else to bail you out. Bad enough you behave that way when you’ve only yourself to look after, but when you have a child—’
The baby whimpered.
Whitney jerked her head around and felt a stab of dismay. His little mouth was turned down, his lower lip was trembling and his tear-filled eyes were fixed on her with a look that said better than any words: ‘How could you!’
Which was exactly what she asked herself.
How could she possibly have forgotten that Troy was in the room? She was well aware of how awful it was for a child to have to listen to grown-ups fighting, yet here she was, subjecting this one to that very thing.
‘Babies,’ Luke said quietly, ‘pick up on bad vibes. When I’m around Troy, no matter how...difficult... things may be, I’ve always tried to maintain a happy and positive attitude. I’d appreciate it if you’d make an effort to do the same. The situation we’re in isn’t easy for either of us. Let’s just try to make the best of it, mmm?’
A painful lump swelled in Whitney’s throat, and though she tried to swallow it, it wouldn’t go away.
Luke went to crouch by his son, running a hand over his dark hair, and speaking reassuringly to him. Soothing him.
Whitney picked up her mug and walked unhappily out of the kitchen.
And as she did, she swore that, however long Luke stayed at Brannigan House, no matter how he infuriated her, she’d never lose her temper with him again.
At least, she amended, not in front of the baby!
CHAPTER THREE
‘EDMUND MAXWELL has gone on holiday and he won’t be back for two weeks.’ Whitney put her coffee mug into the dishwasher. ‘That should give you a breathing space. Time to look around for a job. Once you’ve got one, you can move out.’
‘A job?’
As
