I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk,” Sherry said as she held the crib’s side panel against the foot rail.
He smiled, the familiar gesture that created attractive sunbursts of lines at the corners of his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’d rather have a cranky Sherry than no Sherry at all.”
His smile faded, and he covered her hand with his own. She’d always loved his hands. Big, strong, capable hands, his all but engulfed her smaller one. “I am grateful for your help, Sherry. I meant what I said earlier this morning. I wouldn’t want to trust her to anyone but you.”
The warmth of his hand on hers seemed to seep up her arm, across her body to embrace her heart. It was not the warmth of a friendly touch, but rather something deeper, more provocative.
She averted her gaze from his, confused by the strange heat that suffused her. She breathed a sigh of relief as he removed his hand from hers and picked up the screwdriver and got to work.
“Did Walt give you a hard time about taking off work?” he asked as his long fingers nimbly placed a brass screw in the appropriate place.
“Walt doesn’t know how to do anything but give me a hard time,” she replied.
Clint laughed. “He’s the biggest curmudgeon this town has ever known. I’ve never seen a man who takes such misery in each and every day.”
Sherry’s laughter joined his as she thought of her boss at the bar. “If Walter isn’t moaning, he’s whining.” She picked up the second railing and held it in place for him.
Clint paused and looked at her, his eyes searching hers. “Don’t you ever miss teaching?” he asked.
She felt the barrier fall into place, the self-protective wall that kept her from feeling the emotions of the woman she’d once been…and would never be again. “Never,” she replied more sharply than she intended. She forced a light smile. “I love working at the bar. I love the nighttime hours, all the people I meet, and I make a pretty decent wage with tips.” She raised her chin a notch, as if defying him to say anything to the contrary.
Clint studied her for a long moment, then nodded and went back to work.
Within a few more minutes the crib was together and the mattress was in place. Sherry placed the sheets Etta Mae had sent with Clint on the mattress as Clint picked up the little girl from the bed.
“I’m going to fry a couple of hamburger patties,” he said as they left his bedroom. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“No, I’m fine. I was up late last night, and I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just call it a day.”
She didn’t want to sit in the kitchen and watch Clint cook while the baby cooed and kicked in her car seat. It felt too intimate, too domestic.
“Towels are under the sink in the bathroom, and if you need anything else, just ask,” he replied. He looked so darned handsome standing there, the tools in one hand, the baby in his arms.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Sherry replied. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she added, then turned on her heels and headed for her room.
She grabbed her nightgown and robe, then went into the bathroom, intent on a nice long shower to ease the tension that had tugged at her back and shoulders all day.
She hadn’t lied when she’d told Clint she was exhausted. She’d worked until after three the night before, then his phone call had awakened her at just a few minutes after seven. She usually required at least eight hours of sleep to function properly.
As she stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, she thought again of that moment when Clint’s hand had covered hers.
For just a brief moment she’d remembered when the touch of his hand had made her knees weaken, her breath catch in her throat. She’d remembered how Clint’s touch, his kiss, had made it so difficult for her to keep her vow to be a virgin bride.
Definitely a lack of sleep, she decided. Those days of romance and chemistry were long gone where they were concerned.
She took an unusually long shower, relaxing muscle by muscle beneath the warm water. When she finally finished, she dried off and slipped into her nightclothes, then eased the bathroom door open. The scent of cooked hamburger hung in the air, and she assumed enough time had elapsed that Clint had already finished eating.
As she started to open the door to her bedroom, she heard the faint murmur of his deep voice coming from the living room. She peeked around the corner of the hallway and saw Clint sitting on the sofa, Kathryn snuggled against his chest.
“Sweet little baby girl, I’m right here for you. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was softer than Sherry had ever heard it, a deep, melodic singsong of love. His hand stroked the top of the baby’s head, lulling her to sleep.
This was what it could have been, she thought, as fantasies danced through her head. She could easily imagine herself on the sofa, a baby in her arms, both of them surrounded by Clint’s strong embrace.
She blinked to erase the deceptive image, her vision blurring with a trace of tears. A fool’s fantasy, that’s what it was.
She backed away and retreated to her room, swallowing against the tears that still threatened. She’d always known Clint would make a wonderful father, and the scene she’d just witnessed attested to that fact. Already his heart was embracing the child he thought to be his.
Yes, it’s what she’d always wanted for him, but having Kathryn here, seeing Clint and the baby together, had stirred up emotions Sherry had believed were behind her. She’d thought she could handle it, but it was too much.
First thing in the morning she had to tell Clint that she couldn’t help him anymore. As much as she cared for Clint, as much as she would like to be here for him, she had to protect her own heart.
Chapter Three
Clint groggily opened one eyelid, vaguely wondering if he’d fallen asleep the night before with the television on. No…he wasn’t on the sofa. He was in bed, and the noise that had awakened him wasn’t the television.
As the last of sleep fell away and consciousness overtook him, he sat up and realized exactly what the sound was that had awakened him from his slumber.
Kathryn. She lay on her back, arms waving and legs flailing. Her hands opened and closed as if in an attempt to capture the pale light of dawn that seeped through the window.
Although she wasn’t fussing at the moment, she’d been up and down all night. And consequently so had Clint.
At midnight he’d given her a bottle and changed her diaper. At two o’clock he’d sat next to the crib and stroked her cheek until she’d fallen back to sleep. At three he’d rocked her in his arms and sung her every lullaby that had not been sung to him as a child.
Although it was early and Clint felt the weariness of too little sleep, he also felt the profound joy of fatherhood. With each and every moment that passed he was more and more certain that Kathryn was his.
He wasn’t sure why
