and straightened. Dougal glued himself to her side as if he had every intention of staying there for the next two weeks.
“Much more of that and he won’t want to know me,” Sam said, telling himself he wasn’t bothered by the dog’s apparent defection. Sure, he wasn’t. Any more than he was bothered by the Madonna-and-child image in front of him. Or the empty way his arms felt when Haley took the baby from him.
She looked up and smiled, and the sun came out. “Dogs have plenty of affection to go around. I’m just glad that Joel isn’t scared of him.”
Sam had promised himself he wouldn’t get involved with either Haley or her child, but would settle them in their quarters, brief her on what she was to do while he was away, then get the dickens out of here. Suddenly he felt a powerful urge to stick around. “Joel doesn’t look as if he’s scared of anything,” he said.
“Thunderstorms,” she admitted, jiggling the baby on her hip. “You don’t like bad old storms, do you, pumpkin?”
“He’s scared of storms?”
She nodded. A thunderstorm had been raging the night Ellen passed away and Haley couldn’t help wondering if the baby associated storms with the loss of his mother. She told herself he was far too young and, anyway, most babies disliked loud noises, but she found the connection curious.
Sam used the heavy case to wedge the front door open so she could carry the baby inside. As she passed him in the narrow opening, her hip brushed his. It was the slightest contact, nothing really, but awareness of him vibrated through her, leaving her breathless. This would have to stop. He was The Beast, remember? The baby in her arms ought to remind her, if she needed it.
Sam followed her inside and put her possessions down on the polished parquet floor while he closed the door. “Joel isn’t the only one. I was scared of thunderstorms when I was a boy.”
She knew her expression betrayed her surprise. He looked too overwhelmingly masculine and sure of himself to be scared of anything. “You were?”
He nodded. “When I was four, lightning struck a tree outside my bedroom window, severing a branch that crashed into my room, missing my bed by inches. I hated storms for years afterwards.”
The image of a terrified little boy lying in his bed while a storm raged around him filled her mind. Much as she hated to feel compassion for him, it was impossible not to. “Anyone would feel the same after that.”
“I outgrew it. Joel probably will, too.”
Suddenly she became aware of how close they were standing, almost within kissing distance, she thought, astonishing herself. How would it feel to have his generously proportioned mouth covering hers? Feathers of sensation whispered along her spine and she closed her eyes, the feel of his lips so palpable that her own parted in response.
She opened her eyes in amazement. What was going on here? She was suddenly glad that the baby in her arms provided a tangible barrier between them. Sam was the last man in the world she should fantasize about kissing.
She became aware that he was speaking to her. “I’ve put you in my room.”
“You’ve what?”
“Your room while I’m away,” he said, heading off her objection. “It has a separate dressing room large enough to make a nursery for Joel.”
“Oh, thanks.” How much more foolish could one woman feel? For a minute she’d thought…She drove the idea away by reminding herself that she was here to do a job. Perhaps not the one that Sam had hired her to do, but a job nonetheless.
If Sam suspected her real agenda, he wouldn’t offer her any hospitality, far less the use of his own room for herself and Joel, she knew. Reminding herself that Sam had left her no alternative if she was to obtain justice for Joel didn’t entirely appease her conscience. The sight of the baby’s angelic features helped Haley to harden her heart. Sam had not only rejected his son, but in profiting from Ellen’s idea for the Cosmic Panda character, Sam had robbed Joel of his birthright as well. All Haley needed was proof, and she meant to find it while Sam was away.
Her sister had told Haley the bare bones of the story. As a book illustrator, Ellen had met Sam at a publishing dinner three years before, and she had ended up sketching ideas on the back of a menu. According to Ellen, that was when Cosmic Panda was born.
Haley didn’t know what would have happened if Ellen hadn’t become ill six months after giving Sam the idea for the character. Ellen hadn’t wanted anyone to know how ill she was, and Sam had promised to let her work with him on future Panda books as soon as she recovered. Being Ellen, she had put the work before her own welfare, and had urged Sam to hire another artist in the meantime. The first book had been published to great acclaim. The only name on it was Sam’s.
He had kept his word about hiring Ellen to illustrate the second Panda book when she let him know she was working again. But Haley had read all the publicity, looking in vain for him to give her sister any of the credit. Although plainly disappointed, Ellen had insisted she didn’t want a fuss made. While Ellen lived, Haley had felt bound to abide by her sister’s wishes. Now she was free of that obligation.
As soon as she had evidence that the character had been Ellen’s creation, Haley intended to confront Sam with what she knew. The price Haley wanted for keeping the news to herself was Sam’s acknowledgment of Joel as his son. A fair exchange, really. If Haley had to wrestle her conscience over how she brought it about, so be it.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Sam opened a door off the wide corridor and gestured for her to enter. It was the bedroom she had glimpsed the day she came for the interview, but it looked far neater today. The massive four-poster was made and every surface gleamed.
There was a walk-in closet with several railings cleared so she could hang her own clothes. Another door led to a smaller, light-filled room set up as the nursery, she saw when she went inside. She ran a hand over the glowing timber of the rocking chair. At her touch it moved slightly. Then she caught sight of the hand-carved crib and gave an involuntary gasp of pleasure. “It’s beautiful. I brought Joel’s portable crib but this is much nicer. I’ve never seen one like it. Is it very old?”
“Family heirloom,” he said. “I dug it out of the attic for you.” He didn’t add that his sister had supplied the sheets and blankets and a few other baby things she had to spare, although not without a considerable amount of teasing. She had been convinced that he fancied the baby’s mother.
The trouble was, he did. He had never been so diverted by a woman before. Yet for some reason, she didn’t like him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. Occasionally she smiled at him in a way that turned his insides to jelly, then she seemed to remind herself that she wasn’t supposed to like him, and the sun would go in. It was a mystery, and he didn’t like mysteries.
The baby was another mystery, reminding him of someone he couldn’t quite place. Telling himself that all babies looked alike didn’t help.
Haley shot him a concerned glance. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.”
“I could hardly let Joel sleep in the bottom drawer of a chest.”
But he could deny fathering the baby, the thought tempering her pleasure at the preparations he had made. She placed the baby into the crib while she got herself organized. “It’s time for Joel’s nap,” she said. “I’ll have to change him
