the water,” Tracy said without turning away from her charge. Josh splashed her and she squealed. After one startled moment, Josh chortled and slapped both hands into the water sending droplets everywhere.
The ache in Cort’s heart intensified. He hadn’t been able to coax a smile from his son, let alone make him laugh out loud.
Josh deserved better.
He grabbed a hand towel from the rack and stepped into the room to blot the moisture from Tracy’s face. “I’d like it, too, if I had a pretty lady scrubbing my back.”
A flush stained her pale neck and cheeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be assembling the crib?”
“Patrick’s getting the tools from the truck. I thought I might learn something in Bath 101.” He lowered the toilet lid. It wasn’t until after he sat down that he realized the room wasn’t big enough for two—three if you counted the squirt. His knees bracketed Tracy, and his mind took an X-rated detour. Unless he wanted to embarrass himself, now was not the time to fantasize about Tracy on her knees in front of him.
He blew out a slow breath and focused on her hair. She’d tortured it into that tight twist again, and it looked like only one pin held it in place. The urge to pull the pin and see the strands tumble over her shoulders nearly overwhelmed him. He twisted the towel in his hands.
He’d liked her hair long, and so did Josh. His son’s tiny fingers had played with the length of Tracy’s braid yesterday while she changed his diaper. He wouldn’t mind burying his own hands in the shiny strands to see if they were as soft as they looked.
He plucked at the collar of his knit shirt. The heat and humidity of the bathroom were getting to him. “You’re good with kids, and it’s clear you like them. Why don’t you have a houseful of your own by now?”
“I spent my childhood mothering my brothers and sisters. It’s time to put myself first. Kids aren’t a part of my plan.”
He wondered if his brothers had ever resented having to baby-sit him. Brand, Patrick and Caleb had been more like parents to him than his own father. He didn’t remember his mother. She’d left when he was two.
Josh wouldn’t remember his mother, either.
He shoved aside the sobering thought. “Do you put yourself first? From what Libby said, it sounds like you’re still combining the roles of platoon commander and Mother Teresa.”
“Libby talks too much. Grab that towel and take this wiggly fella.” She lifted Josh out of the water and turned.
The wet fabric of Tracy’s shirt clung to the lacy bra and the peachy skin underneath, distracting him from the chore she’d assigned him. His abdomen tightened. He sucked a deep breath to clear his head. Tracy’s sweet scent mingled with the baby bath soap to short-circuit a few of his brain cells.
“Cort?” She sounded breathless.
He snatched up the towel and snapped it open. Tracy pushed Josh into his arms, and her fingertips grazed his chest. He flinched. The woman packed the electric charge of a defibrillator, and every time she touched him his heart took a jolt. He bundled Josh in the towel, terrified he’d drop him.
“Cort, relax. Your tension transfers to him.” She kneaded his tense biceps, and other parts of his body tensed.
Sure enough, Josh’s smile vanished and his lip quivered. Cort couldn’t have been happier to hear Patrick’s boots on the outside stairs. He passed Josh back to Tracy, and his knuckles inadvertently brushed her breast.
She gasped, and their gazes locked.
He hated the wariness in her caramel-colored eyes. He swallowed hard and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Excuse me.”
Seducing Tracy was not part of his plan. He’d be in Texas less than three months, and Tracy deserved more than a quick roll in the hay. That was all he had to give. Even if he were staying longer, he wasn’t fool enough to offer another woman the opportunity to wipe her feet on his heart. “I’ll call when his crib’s ready.”
He hustled out of the tiny bathroom. What was the matter with him? It had to be the sheer terror over being responsible for Josh, causing the tension in his gut and making his brow sweat.
He feared he would bungle being a single father as badly as his dad had—only Josh didn’t have older brothers to pick up the slack.
Josh’s crying woke Tracy at two in the morning.
She lay in the darkness waiting for the baby to settle, but he seemed to grow more agitated as time passed. Before going to bed tonight she and Cort had agreed on a tentative schedule. This was Cort’s shift, but Josh had been crying for almost thirty minutes.
Throwing back the covers, she shrugged on her robe, climbed the inside stairs and knocked on the door. Cort didn’t answer. He couldn’t possibly sleep through the baby’s crying, could he? She turned the knob and, finding the door unlocked, stepped into the apartment.
Cort, wearing nothing but scrub pants riding low on his narrow hips, paced the den with Josh crying on his shoulder. Muscles rippled in Cort’s shoulders as he awkwardly patted and rubbed the baby’s stiff back.
She could have lived without the knowledge that he had dimples flanking the base of his spine. Adrenaline coursed through her blood, erasing the remnants of sleep from her brain and turning her insides to mush.
“It’s all right, kid. We’ll get the hang of this soon. Everybody says so. Just put up with me until then, okay?”
Josh’s piercing wail jerked her out of her hormonal stupor. No wonder Cort hadn’t heard her knocking. Before she could speak he reached the end of the room, turned and stopped in his tracks when he spotted her across his living room. “Damn. I’m sorry we woke you.”
“You shouldn’t swear in front of the baby,” she corrected automatically.
Even in the dimly lit room she couldn’t miss the well-defined muscles of his broad chest and shoulders. A small gold medallion glinted in the dark hair dusting his chest. Finer hair marked a path between his washboard abdominal muscles. She didn’t want to consider what he was—or wasn’t—wearing beneath the thin fabric of his scrubs. Cort had always been athletic, but ten years ago he’d been an eighteen-year-old boy. As a twenty-eight-year-old man, he’d matured beyond expectations.
Strange feelings stirred in her belly. She dampened her dry lips. “Did you change him and give him a bottle?”
“Yes to the diaper. No to the formula. The baby book says not to feed a nine-month-old more often than every six hours.” He grimaced. “It also says to let him cry himself back to sleep, but I tried that, and I can’t handle it.”
His dark curls went every which way, reminding her that he’d also been in bed. She looked through the open door beyond his shoulder to the rumpled sheets on his bed, and her stomach clenched. “Sometimes it’s best to ignore the books and go with your instincts. Would you like for me to fix his bottle?”
He shook his head. “Thanks, Trace, but if you think that’s what he needs I’ll take care of it. Leanna warned me to keep bottles already made in the fridge. You go back to bed.”
If
