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  “No. What the hell did you mean by that?” Grabbing his arm, she pulled him around. Coffee sloshed over the side of his mug, splattering her feet. She ignored the pinpricks of pain and stared up him, breathing hard. “Answer me.”

  He swallowed, throat working in a convulsive motion. “You’re not connected to him, are you? You’re stronger, better, but when was the last time you held him?”

  She didn’t want to think about his words, acknowledge he might be right. Her anger prompted an offensive attack. “So the key to getting me connected to him is taking him away?”

  “I never wanted to take him away.” The torn whisper mirrored the anguish on his face. He shook his head. “You want me out, but I have to think about what’s best for him.”

  “And that’s not me.” Bitterness curled around each word. He thought she was a failure as a mother. Maybe, but she knew enough not to deprive her son of a father who loved him. Weary, she passed a hand over her eyes, her fingertips still warm from the contact with his bare skin. “Don’t go yet.”

  “What?”

  She looked up to meet his gaze. “Don’t look for another place yet. We’ve managed this long; we can make it work a little longer. At least until your leave is up.”

  Hot water cascaded over John’s neck and shoulders, doing little to relieve the knots of exhausted tension there. He’d been granted a reprieve, but there was still too much to lose.

  He stuck his head under the water, remembering the feel of Lanie’s hand on his arm earlier. She’d touched him out of anger, but the brief contact had taken his breath. Deprived of her touch, he’d grown hungry for it over the weeks. When her fingertips slid over his arm, he’d wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and feel her next to him.

  More than anything, he wanted her touching him, kissing him, the way she’d done before he’d screwed everything to hell. No, not like before. He wanted her caressing him with love and forgiveness. He wanted her whispering the words against his skin. He wanted her crying them out while he came inside her.

  A shudder worked its way over his skin, and heavy arousal settled in his groin. He groaned. Not likely he’d ever hear those words on her lips. The same words trembled constantly on his tongue, but he couldn’t say them. She wouldn’t believe him, and he couldn’t blame her. Judging from her reaction to just his talking to Beth, he didn’t think his campaign to prove himself trustworthy and steadfast showed much success.

  Implying she doesn’t care about her baby was a damn stroke of genius, O’Reilly.

  He didn’t get it, though. Once she’d gotten over the initial shock of finding herself pregnant despite their best precautions, she’d been excited about becoming a mother. For months, their conversations—mostly one-sided—had revolved around the baby. She’d wanted that baby with a desperation that bordered on the obsessive.

  And now she hardly looked at him. Hardly touched him. What was she afraid of?

  Slicking his hair back, he shut off the water and stepped out, no closer to an answer or a solution. A towel wrapped around his waist, he strode into the nursery. The grumbling from the crib told him Sonny was awake—not happy, but not yet squalling.

  He dressed quickly and lifted the baby from the crib. “Hey, big guy. Hungry?”

  The irritable fussing stopped, and Sonny graced him with a rare smile. John grinned back. He lifted the baby, found a sodden diaper and headed for the changing table. Sonny stretched and kicked while John removed the wet diaper. After seeing the suggestion in one of Lanie’s myriad baby books, John had propped an unbreakable mirror on the table, and Sonny turned his head, staring at his own reflection. His legs pumped faster.

  Chuckling, John wiped, powdered and lifted tiny legs to slide a clean diaper under an equally clean bottom. “Kid, you have one serious case of bedhead.”

  He smoothed the dark wisps down the best he could. Sonny turned toward his voice, and John rested his arms on the railing, bringing his face closer to his son’s. “So, what are we going to do about your mom, Sonny Buck?”

  Sonny’s gaze locked on his face, and John rubbed his palm over the tiny head. His thumb traced a minuscule ear. “Maybe she just needs more one-on-one time with you, an opportunity to get to know you. I mean, you’re kind of intimidating at first.”

  The only reply he received was another wide, toothless grin. With another chuckle, John lifted him against his shoulder and headed downstairs, already feeling better. If time and proximity had worked on him, it had to work on Lanie as well.

  Cursing, Lanie ripped another voided check in half. The slips of colorful paper joined the small pile of confetti already on the table. She’d transposed the amounts twice, and once she’d finally gotten the digits correct, she’d screwed up the number words. Math had always been her strong point, and now she couldn’t even write a check. Frustrated tears burned her eyes, and she dropped her head in her hands.

  “Want some help?” Above her head, John’s voice was sympathetic.

  The urge to tell him what he could do with his help almost choked her, but she pushed the words down. She lifted her head, brushing her hair back. “All I’m trying to do is pay the mortgage, and I can’t even do that.”

  Horrified, she heard the crack in her voice. John chuckled. “I think I can handle that for you. Here, take him.”

  He deposited Sonny Buck in her uneasy hold and pulled the checkbook in front of him. She hated him for the ease with which he scribbled the information. Tired of feeling inadequate, she turned her attention to the baby in her arms. His wide navy eyes were alert and watchful, his gaze locked on her face. She couldn’t remember seeing him this awake before. He blinked, thick, dark lashes fanning over his cheeks.

  John tore the check from the pad and stuffed it in the envelope. “You know they’d set this up on automatic deduction for you.”

  “I know.” She stared at her son, not wanting to talk about the daily tasks she couldn’t do anymore. Phone numbers she knew by heart she had to look up now, and half the time she still dialed them wrong. The coffee she’d run earlier would choke a camel because she’d added the wrong number of scoops. God knows how her mind would mangle the radio ten codes if she ever got back to work. A shiver tingled over her spine.

  Road duty was out of the question. Hell, she couldn’t even dispatch. She couldn’t afford a mistake in the radio room, where minutes and correct codes were a literal matter of life or death. Her throat closed, and she leaned forward, lips pressed to Sonny’s forehead.

  “Lanie? You all right?”

  She shifted, lifting the baby against her shoulder. His downy head brushed her neck. She didn’t look up at John. “I’m fine.”

  “He’s due for a feeding, so don’t be surprised if he starts bawling. I’ll go warm a bottle.”

  “What are we going to do, baby?” she whispered once she was sure John had gone. How was she going to provide for him? Sonny Buck lifted his wobbly head from her shoulder for a second and bumped his nose when he couldn’t hold it up anymore. He let out an outraged wail.

  Lanie clutched him tighter, patting his back. She wanted to howl with him.

  “Here you go.”

  She glanced up, blinking back tears. John held out the bottle, and she stared at it. He wasn’t going to feed the baby? Hesitating, she shifted Sonny into the curve of her arm and accepted the bottle, its comforting warmth seeping into her palm. “Thank you.”

  “I already tested it.” John laid a burping cloth over the baby’s chest and knelt beside her chair. Sliding his hand behind Sonny’s head, he shifted their son’s position in her arms. “Hold him up a little, and he doesn’t swallow as much air.”

  His proximity increased her nervousness, and she waited for him to move away. With his hand still cupping the baby’s head, his fingertips lay a breath away from the curve of her breast. How many times had she imagined this scenario during her pregnancy? The only difference was, that in her fantasies, their son suckled at her breast. Sadness shivered thro
ugh her.

  “What are you thinking?” John’s soft whisper brought her gaze up to his. The jumble of naked emotions in his navy eyes closed her throat and brought a tingling warmth to her lower abdomen.

  She dropped her gaze and watched Sonny, his eyes closed in bliss. John’s finger stroked over the baby’s forehead. Hugging his precious weight against her, she shook her head. “Just that I’m sorry I didn’t get to nurse him.”

  “So am I.” His voice remained soft, and she felt the heaviness of his gaze on her again. She refused to look up, but instead watched the rhythmic stroke of his fingers on the baby’s head. “Maybe next time.”

  “You must be kidding.” Her heart jerked. She couldn’t imagine having another man’s baby, but didn’t intend to have another with him, either. “Do you want another?”

  “I’m still getting used to him.” He was so close she felt his easy shrug. “But, yeah, I might like one more.”

  The idea of another woman bearing his child scalded her with jealousy. She covered it with a harsh laugh. “Shouldn’t you talk to Beth about that?”

  One of his long fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let’s get this straight—I have no intention of giving Beth or any other woman a baby. And you’re not going to be able to hide behind her forever, Lanie.”

  She shook her head, and he lowered his hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He rubbed his hands over his jeans-clad thighs. “I don’t have to be here. I could’ve walked off, hired a nurse to help you, written you a child support check and gone after Beth. But I didn’t. I’m in this for the long haul, honey.”

  The words and the single-minded intent behind them frightened her. The weak part of her that still remembered the way it had been wanted to trust him, to believe in him. The stronger, self-sufficient part smothered the weakness. He could still walk away. This time, her laugh bordered on a disgusted snort. “Yeah. You’re the stand-up, trustworthy type, O’Reilly. I can’t tell you how secure that makes me feel.”

  He looked away with a muttered profanity, and Lanie resisted the urge to cover Sonny’s ears.

  The phone rang. John pushed to his feet and stalked into the kitchen to answer. Lanie blew out a shaky breath, feeling as though she’d just gone rounds with a recalcitrant suspect. The nipple popped free from Sonny’s relaxed mouth, air gurgling into the remaining formula. She set the bottle on the table, watching her shaking hand with detachment. He could be so persuasive and convincing when he wanted to be. She almost believed him.

  Almost.

  He walked back into the room, hand covering the mouthpiece on the cordless phone. “Lisa wants to know if it’s all right if she comes to see you this afternoon.”

  Lifting the baby to her shoulder, Lanie hesitated. She wasn’t sure she was really up for visitors yet, but the day stretched before her—trapped in the house with John. She swallowed and forced a smile. “Sure. I’d love to see her.”

  “Lanie?” John’s voice drifted through her consciousness. She smiled and reached for him. Her hands brushed the reality of warm skin and brought her awake in an instant.

  John leaned over the bed, his face close to hers. Her hands, wrapped around his forearms, tingled with the contact. She jerked away and sat up. “I’m awake.”

  Strands of her hair clung to her face, and he brushed them behind her ear. “Lisa’s downstairs. Do you want me to ask her to come back?”

  She shook her head, ignoring the slight ache along her incision. “No. I’ll be right down. I just need a couple minutes to freshen up.”

  He nodded, straightening, his face mask devoid of expression. “Okay. She’s oohing over Sonny Buck anyway. I’ll let her know you’ll be down in a little while.”

  “Thanks.” She waited until he left to leave the bed. In the bathroom, she avoided looking at her reflection. There was little she could do to improve her appearance at this point. After brushing her teeth, she exchanged her pajamas for a velour track suit. The pain at her Cesarean scar had faded to a weird numbness, but she still couldn’t zip up any of her jeans.

  Barefoot, she went downstairs. The soft sounds of John and Lisa’s conversation drifted from the living room. John had the baby in his arms, and he rose when she entered the room. Smiling, Lisa jumped to her feet and ran to hug her. “Oh, Lanie! It’s so good to see you.”

  Uncomfortable with the physical contact, Lanie pulled back. She smiled to cover her discomfort. “You, too. You look wonderful.”

  “So do you,” Lisa said, holding Lanie’s hand.

  Liar. That was one thing she swore she’d never do again—lie to a recuperating person about their looks. She let Lisa lead her to the couch. Lisa swept her long blonde hair over one shoulder. “The baby is beautiful. You must be so thrilled.”

  “Of course.” Her gaze met John’s. He watched with cynical eyes before rising to his feet.

  “I’m going to check the mail, so you two can do the girltalk thing.” He settled Sonny into her arms. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Lisa’s bright green gaze followed him from the room. “Oh my God, he’s different.”

  Lanie frowned and shifted the drowsy baby to a more comfortable angle. “What do you mean?”

  Lisa shrugged, an expression of mild discomfort crossing her face. “Well, before, he was like ‘what baby?’ You wouldn’t have thought he knew you were pregnant. Now, it’s all the man talks about. Casey called him the other night about a case and got a play-by-play of the kid’s sleeping habits.”

  Imagining Casey’s glazed expression, Lanie giggled. “He did not. When it comes to the job, John’s the most focused guy I know.”

  “I didn’t believe it, either.” Shaking her head, Lisa laughed. “Until I walked in here and couldn’t get him to shut up about the baby. Obviously, you’ve birthed a prodigy, girl.”

  “He’s just…a proud father.” The reality of the words made her heart kick. There were no other words to describe John’s attitude toward their child. He was proud. Loving. Involved. The father she’d hoped he would be.

  “Hey.” Lisa waved a hand in front of Lanie’s eyes. “Where’d you go?”

  Lanie smiled, trying to collect her scattered thoughts and deal with the implications. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Ready for that six weeks’ exam, aren’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Lisa nudged her arm. “You know. The one where the doctor clears you to have sex again.”

  Flustered, Lanie slid her hair behind her ear. “Lisa, believe me, sex is the farthest thing from my mind.”

  “Yeah, right.” Her friend looked less than convinced. “I’ve seen y’all when it looked like you wouldn’t even make it off the dance floor.”

  Heat burned along Lanie’s cheekbones. Unwilling, she remembered a few of the nights Lisa alluded to. The baby in her arms had been conceived after one of those nights. They’d made it off the dance floor, but not past their foyer. She swallowed hard. “Things are different now.”

  Lisa sighed. “I gathered that from the way John looked at you.”

  Lanie shot a quick glance in her direction. “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, the way he looked at you before was hot, like he was always planning your next lovemaking session. Now…it’s still hot, but it’s different. I guess it’s that whole ‘mother of his child’ thing.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” A curious sense of despondency settled over her.

  Lisa didn’t seem to notice. “I mean, before you could tell by the way he watched you that he lusted after you. Now, you can tell by the way he looks at you that he loves you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lanie held her breath and forced her muscles into relaxation. Dr. Shaw removed the speculum and rolled the stool back before rising to her feet. “Okay, Lanie, you can sit up now.”

  When Lanie reached a seated position at the foot of the exam table, Alexandra Shaw smiled. “Everything l
ooks great. Your recovery is textbook perfect, which I think is wonderful, considering the circumstances.”

  Hands clenched in her sheet-draped lap, Lanie forced a smile. “Great.”

  “According to your neurologist, your scans look good, too. Still having trouble with numbers?” Alexandra looked up from scribbling on Lanie’s chart.

  Lanie nodded. “Yes, and some short-term memory issues. I walk into a room and can’t remember why. Put things down and forget them. The therapist tells me I can relearn the math and that the memory problems usually correct themselves in a few months.” She hoped so anyway. She hated the forgetfulness, the struggles with numbers.

  “Would it help to tell you I do the same thing sometimes?” Alexandra placed the chart on the counter. “The memory issues bother you, don’t they?”

  “Well, yeah.” Lanie’s laugh was harsh. “What if I go to the grocery story and forget to take the baby out of the basket? Or put his car seat on top of the car and forget to put him in the backseat?”

  A wry smile curved Alexandra’s mouth. “You wouldn’t believe how often I hear the same thing from new mothers who haven’t been through what you have. Those are really normal worries, you know.”

  Sure they were, but how many new mothers had to have someone else prepare bottles because she couldn’t keep the measurements straight? John never said a word, just prepared twenty-four hours’ worth of bottles every morning. Over the last three weeks, she’d slowly taken on more of the baby’s care, spent more time with him, surrendered more of her heart to him. Maybe that explained why her fears and insecurities had increased.

  “Do you have any other questions?” Alexandra made another note in the file.

  “No.” Lanie twisted her fingers together.

  “Well, you’re clear to resume all of your regular activities. I think you’re wise to take the extended leave from work, but around the house, as long as you’re careful, nothing is off limits.” She smiled. “And that includes intercourse. What method of birth control are you interested in?”