have a point. We should call his office and tell him you came through the surgery with flying colors. The rest of it can wait until you’re back on your feet.”
The next words were harder to say. “I—I’ll probably have to ask you for a loan to pay my share. And for a security deposit on an apartment. I’ll borrow against my life insurance policy as soon as I can make the arrangements, but I canceled my credit card so I can’t get an advance that way—”
He held up his hand. There was no longer any hint of a smile on his face or in his words. “Not so fast. Dr. Jamison said she’d let you return to work in six to eight weeks. That’s if everything is okay. You’re not going to be able to care for Matty by yourself for most of that time. How the hell do you think you’re going to manage alone until then?”
“I’ll find day care—”
He leaned back, once more folding his arms across his chest. “Good day care’s expensive. But more importantly your son’s been moved from pillar to post and back again over the past couple of months. He’s just getting used to my family. And me. There’s no need to uproot him again. Not for the time being.”
“I can’t stay here, Nate.”
Nate’s gray eyes never left hers but they allowed her no access to his thoughts. “If you want I’ll move in with Granddad for a couple of weeks so you two can have your own space. But not right away, not until you’re up on your feet again. Matty’s too much for you to handle alone.”
He had a point there, one she could scarcely argue with. She wasn’t allowed to lift anything over five pounds. Matty was a rambunctious three-year-old but he was still her baby. He needed help in and out of the bathtub, on and off the toilet. He wanted to be held and cuddled. She couldn’t do any of those things for him, at least not without help.
Nate’s help.
“I don’t want to be taken care of, Nate. Not anymore.” She had wanted exactly that once upon a time, and she had let herself slide too far into the fairy tale. Then when she tried to assert herself by insisting on a baby when he was afraid to give her one, the conflict had shattered their make-believe world, and their marriage.
His face darkened. He stood and picked up her plate and cup, turning his back as he set the dirty dishes in the sink. “I know that, Sarah. You pretty much burned it into my brain when we divorced. But the long and short of it is right now you do need someone to take care of you. And that someone is me.”
What a mess she’d made of things. “I’m sorry, Nate,” she whispered. Her hands trembled and fatigue washed over her in a black wave. She fought to keep her concentration focused on their discussion, but all she really wanted to do was go to sleep.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. We got a miracle handed to us. We can’t complain because it’s got strings attached.” He turned to look at her again, leaning his hip against the sink. The darkness was gone from his face, if not from his gray eyes. “I admit we’ve got a boatload of problems to work out, but outside of calling the lawyer with the good news none of them have to be dealt with today. You’ve only been out of the hospital for two hours. Go rest. I’ll get Matty from Tessa’s and wake you when I bring him back. We’ll form a plan of attack tomorrow.”
“You make it sound as if you’re staging a war game.”
He shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Yeah, I guess I do. Old habits die hard.”
That wasn’t all, Sarah thought as she curled herself around the oversize pillow that Dr. Jamison had recommended she use so that she didn’t lie on her back and put pressure on the incision. Old dreams died hard, too.
CHAPTER FOUR
NATE STARED at his reflection in the rechromed headlight of the Indian as he wiped a smudged fingerprint off the shiny surface. He looked like hell. He hoped it was only from the distortion of the metal and not evidence of another week of sleepless nights. He’d always prided himself on being able to sleep through anything, including mortar attacks, and the midnight shift change in a busy military hospital. But he was wrong. He’d found something that could keep him awake for hours, even though it was no louder than the sound of someone breathing. Sarah’s breathing, soft and even, in the room just down the hall.
He’d probably get more sleep if he bunked down out here on the lumpy old futon Joann had foisted on him after her last garage sale.
Hell, why was he thinking of bedtime? The sun wasn’t even down yet.
He looked at his watch. “Damn.” He was supposed to pick Matty up half an hour ago, but he’d been so focused on the restoration he’d lost track of time. Some kind of father he was turning out to be. He grabbed a jacket and headed out the door just as his sisters and their assorted offspring tumbled out of Tessa’s van.
Or to be more precise, the kids tumbled out of the van. Ty, Joann’s almost-nine-year-old, turned back to help unfasten Becca from her car seat while Matty, already released from his safety seat, raced across the parking lot only a step or two behind seven-year-old Jack. Joann strolled along in the kids’ wake while Tessa and her impressive belly brought up the rear. Both of his sisters were tall women with round, pretty features. Joann was blond and built along the same generous lines as their mother while Tessa, when she wasn’t pregnant, had the thinner build and red-gold hair that came from the Fowler side of the family.
“Hi, Nate.” Jack and Matty came skidding to a halt in front of him. “Can we see the bike? Is it done? Can I ride it yet?”
“No, it isn’t done. But I’ve got the gas tank back on, and the handlebars. It’s beginning to look like a real bike again. Go ahead, take a look. But don’t try to climb up on it.” Jack had been clambering on anything that would hold still, and a few things that wouldn’t, since he was about six months old.
His nephew made a face. “I know better than that,” he said, but his eyes didn’t quite meet Nate’s, so Nate knew he’d been planning to do exactly that.
“C’mon, Matty. Let’s go.”
Matty held back. “I want to see my mom.” He looked up at Nate with hopeful eyes.
“She’s taking a nap,” Nate informed him. “We’ll go wake her up in just a little while. Where’d you get that hat?” It was a navy blue ball cap with a big gold block M on the front.
“From Jack.”
“My dad said Matty needed to get with the program so I gave him my hat. It’s too little for me anyway.” Gus Westin, Joann’s husband, was the science teacher at the local junior high, and a former third-string kicker for Michigan. Jack was the spitting image of his father—dark-haired, small-boned and wiry tough. He wasn’t all that much bigger than Sarah’s son and still young enough to play with Matty so they got along well.
Nate patted Matty on top of the head. “Looks good on you, buddy.”
Matty reached up and pulled on the brim. “I like it.”
“Let’s go,” Jack urged. Dark-haired Ty, who had a leaner build than his brother, let go of Becca’s hand and took Matty’s.
“C’mon. I’ll go with you.”
“Keep
