the child in one arm, Leo used his free hand to steer Phoebe out of the room. “You’ll have to help me with the bottle,” he said softly, hoping she was hearing him.
Her brief nod was a relief.
Leo installed Phoebe in a kitchen chair. Squatting in front of her, he waited until her eyes met his. “Can you hold him?”
She took the small, squirmy bundle and bowed her head, teardrops wetting the front of the sleeper. “I have a bottle ready,” she said, the words almost inaudible. “Put it in a bowl of hot water two or three times until the formula feels warm when you sprinkle it on your wrist.”
He had seen her perform that task several times, so it was easy to follow the instructions. When the bottle was ready, he turned back to Phoebe. Her grip on Teddy was firm. The child was in no danger of being dropped. But Phoebe had ceased interacting with her nephew.
Leo put a hand on her shoulder. “Would you like to feed him, or do you want me to do it? I’m happy to.”
Long seconds ticked by. Phoebe stood abruptly, handing him the baby. “You can. I’m going to my room.”
He grabbed her wrist. “No. You’re not. Come sit with us on the sofa.”
Phoebe didn’t have the emotional energy to fight him. Leo’s gaze was kind but firm. She followed him to the living room and sat down with her legs curled beneath her. Leo sat beside her with Teddy in his arms. Fortunately, Teddy didn’t protest the change in leadership. He took his bottle from Leo as if it were an everyday occurrence.
Despite the roaring fire that Leo had built, which still leaped and danced vigorously, she felt cold all over. Clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, she wished she had thought to pick up an afghan. But the pile neatly folded on the hearth was too far away. She couldn’t seem to make her legs move.
Trying to distract her thoughts, she studied Leo out of the corner of her eye. The powerful picture of the big man and the small baby affected her at a gut-deep level. Despite Leo’s professed lack of experience, he was doing well. His large hands were careful as he adjusted Teddy’s position now and again or moved the bottle to a better angle.
Beyond Leo’s knee she could see the abandoned ornaments. But not the little green box. He must have shoved it out of sight beneath the table. She remembered vividly the day she’d purchased it. After leaving her doctor’s office, she was on her way back to work. On a whim, she stopped by the mall to grab a bite of lunch and to walk off some of her giddy euphoria.
It was September, but a Christmas shop had already opened its doors in preparation for the holidays. On a table near the front, a display of ornaments caught her eyes. Feeling crazily joyful and foolishly furtive, she picked one out and paid for it.
Until this evening she had suppressed that memory. In fact, she didn’t even realize she had kept the ornament and moved it three years ago.
Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. “Lean on me,” he said.
She obeyed gladly, inhaling the scent of his aftershave and the warm “man” smell of him. Gradually, lulled by the fire and the utter security of Leo’s embrace, she closed her eyes. Pain hovered just offstage, but she chose not to confront it at the moment. She had believed herself to be virtually healed. As though all the dark edges of her life had been sanded away by her sojourn in the woods.
How terribly unfair to find out it wasn’t true. How devastating to know that something so simple could trip her up.
Perhaps because the afternoon and evening had been so enjoyable, so delightfully homey, the harshness of being thrust into a past she didn’t want to remember was all the more devastating.
Teddy drained the last of the bottle, his little eyelashes drooping. Leo coaxed a muffled burp from him and then put a hand on Phoebe’s knee. “Is it okay for me to lay him down? Anything I need to know?”
“I’ll take him,” she said halfheartedly, not sure if she could make the effort to stand up.
He squeezed her hand. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
She stared into space, barely even noticing when he returned and began moving about the kitchen with muffled sounds. A few minutes later he handed her a mug of cocoa. She wrapped her fingers around the warm stoneware, welcoming the heat against her frozen skin.
Leo had topped her serving with whipped cream. She sipped delicately, wary of burning her tongue.
He sat down beside her and smiled. “You have a mustache,” he teased. Using his thumb, he rubbed her upper lip. Somewhere deep inside her, regret surfaced. She had ruined their sexy, fun-filled evening.
Leo appeared unperturbed. He leaned back, his legs outstretched, and propped his feet on the coffee table. With his mug resting against his chest, he shot her a sideways glance. “When you’re ready, Phoebe, I want you to tell me the story.”
She nodded, her eyes downcast as she studied the pale swirls of melted topping in the hot brown liquid. It was time. It was beyond time. Even her sister didn’t know all the details. When the unthinkable had happened, the pain was too fresh. Phoebe had floundered in a sea of confused grief, not knowing how to claw her way out.
In the end, her only choice had been to wait until the waves abated and finally receded. Peace had eventually replaced the hurt. But her hard-won composure had been fragile at best. Judging by today, she had a long way to go.
Leo got up to stoke the fire and to add more music to the stereo. She was struck by how comfortable it felt to have him in her cabin, in her life. He was an easy man to be with. Quiet when the occasion demanded it, and drolly amusing when he wanted to be.
He settled back onto the couch and covered both of them with a wool throw. Fingering the cloth, he wrinkled his nose. “We should burn this,” he said with a grin. “Imported fabric, cheap construction. I could hook you up with something far nicer.”
“I’ll put it on my Christmas list.” She managed a smile, not wanting him to think she was a total mental case. “I’m sorry I checked out on you,” she muttered.
“We’re all entitled now and then.”
The quiet response took some of the sting out of her embarrassment. He was being remarkably patient. “I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything, sweet Phoebe. But it helps to talk about it. I know that from experience. When our parents were killed, Grandfather was wise enough to get us counseling almost immediately. We would never have shown weakness to him. He was and still is a sharp-browed, blustering tyrant, though we love him, of course. But he knew we would need an outlet for what we were feeling.”
“Did it work?”
“In time. We were at a vulnerable age. Not quite men, but more than boys. It was hard to admit that our world had come crashing down around us.” He took her hand. She had twisted one piece of blanket fringe so tightly it was almost severed. Linking their fingers, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Is that what happened to you?”
Despite
