been any chemistry between them and the relationship had ended badly when she had refused to date him any longer. Don didn’t take rejection very well.
“Just great. And you? Is this your baby?”
“Yes. This is Michael.”
They stood there awkwardly for a few moments until an unsmiling young woman in a business suit came through the doors after Don and handed him a file, then pointed at her watch as she walked by.
“Well,” he said shifting his weight from one foot to another, “I have a meeting.”
“It was good to see you.” It wasn’t, but Nikki knew she was expected to say something polite, even though she still remembered the ugly things he had said to her at their last meeting. He nodded and held the door for her.
She felt him staring at her as she left the law offices, but she didn’t turn around.
She walked to a nearby bus stop. After she climbed on the bus for the ride home, she settled the baby under a blanket so she could feed him. As he ate she forced herself to think about what she needed to do next. Her situation was even worse than she had thought.
She would have to find a place to live and get a job. According to Carey, she could only sell the things out of the house that had come directly to her from her mother’s estate.
The antiques and sterling should bring in enough to give her a start, but the thought of losing what little she had of her mother made her want to weep.
Nikki felt so torn about her father. She wanted to hope he was alive and well, and at the same time she was hurt beyond telling that he could leave her behind with no word.
Could he have done all the things he was accused of and turned his back on his only child? The possibility was like a deep cut. She knew it would hurt but she kept poking at it anyway.
She stared down at her son, trying to imagine leaving him, knowing she couldn’t, for any reason.
Exhausted by the stressful morning, Nikki struggled down the steps of the city bus at the stop closest to home. Michael in one arm, and the bulky stroller in the other, she ignored the grumbling of the bus driver because she was taking too long to exit.
The lighthearted little jingle played constantly on local radio and television urging everyone to take the bus had failed to mention cranky bus drivers, other passengers who brought imaginary friends with them and patrons who failed to bathe regularly, if at all. She missed her car desperately, but she’d sold it months ago to help pay for Michael’s delivery.
She whacked her elbow on the metal handhold as she lurched off the last step. The bus pulled away from the curb, belching noxious exhaust that enveloped her in an eye-stinging cloud.
She sighed, trying not to feel sorry for herself. She’d better get used to public transportation. After what her father’s attorney had just told her, it would be a long time before she would be able to afford a car. Any car.
Apparently the ride had not bothered Michael at all. He was sound asleep. She clutched him against her shoulder with one hand and struggled to unfold the unruly stroller with the other. Whoever had invented the contraption must have had a sadistic streak.
She finally got the stroller open, settled the baby and started the three block walk home. She blinked and recognized the changes in her vision as the beginning of one of her killer headaches.
Great, she thought as she squinted against the sun. Just what she needed to round out a wonderful morning.
As she pushed the stroller down the quiet residential street she concentrated on her sleeping son through a kaleidoscope of colored lights that always signaled the start of a migraine.
If she hurried home, took her medication and got herself into a dark quiet room quickly enough, she might be able to stop the pain before it blossomed into a full-blown headache.
She’d started having the headaches after she’d arrived in Canada. A doctor had told her they could be stress-related. Alone, pregnant and her father missing, she hadn’t needed an M.D. to figure that out.
Michael sucked contentedly on his fist as he slept. He usually napped during this part of the day, and that would give her a chance to lie down.
The wickedly beautiful colors that had fringed her vision disappeared and the throbbing started across her forehead. One and a half blocks, she chanted to herself. She would be home in one and a half blocks. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
Think of something besides the flare of pain. Think about what you will do tomorrow. She had to contact the man who ran the exclusive antiques shop on West Lewis Street. If Mr. Denny didn’t want to handle her things, he could probably recommend someone else.
She felt like someone had buried a hatchet in her forehead. Tears blurred her eyes so much she stumbled over a uneven spot in the sidewalk. All she had to do was get around the next curve and up her front walk.
Home. King’s X. Ollie, Ollie, in free.
For today, at least, it was her home.
Home and Joe. Dreams of him coming to her bed had awakened her during the night, with her nightgown twisted up and her body drenched in sweat.
Her mind knew she couldn’t trust him, that he was no good for her, but her body refused to get the message.
Just as she came around the corner, she saw Joe’s car in front of her house.
He stood by his car, his hands on his hips, sport coat drawn back so that she could see the weapon strapped under his arm. She wondered vaguely if he had practiced the intimidating pose in front of a mirror. He was very good at it.
“Where did you go?” Chin jutting forward, he had the body language of an angry man.
She squinted up at him, the sunlight unbearably harsh. “For a walk.”
“Do you always dress up in a suit and heels to take the baby for a walk?” He scowled at her clothes.
Nikki ignored him as she walked by and pushed the stroller through the gate and up the long front walk, bumping over the rough flagstones. It was none of his business where she went or who she saw.
Her stomach roiled with nausea. If she stood out here and argued with him she might disgrace herself in the front yard.
She didn’t have to turn around to know he was right behind her. She could hear him breathing.
She tipped the stroller on its back wheels to maneuver it up the porch steps. Joe stepped past her and picked up the whole thing, setting it gently on the porch. His calm handling of the stroller did not hide the tension in his shoulders. Carefully he set the brake.
She fumbled in her bag and fished out her house key. It slid from her fingers and bounced off her shoe. She looked down in dismay, knowing if she bent over to pick it up the pain in her head would double.
Joe reached down and scooped the key up, then inserted it in the lock, his arm brushing against hers as she stumbled out of his way, attempting to avoid contact.
“What’s the matter, Nikki?” he said sharply,
