Tender Loving Care

Chapter Six

The next night, as soon she came downstairs after putting the boys to bed, Rafe was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs with two pool cues in his hand. The balls had been racked, the game ready to play. They played, Zoe’s nerves hammering, but he never said a word about stakes or total dominion, nor did he protest when she announced that three games were enough and she was going to bed.

The next night, he set up a Trivial Pursuit board. The night after that, they watched a movie on television. She would have gone to sleep immediately afterward if Rafe hadn’t heated up two mugs of mulled cider and brought them into the living room. And Thursday night she was so tired; the boys had been pistols all day. Rafe insisted that she go for a walk with him. The night was pirate-black and crisp and special; starlight sparkled on snow. He never touched her.

He just talked and made her talk. Not about kids. Once a day, he affirmed that there was no possible way he could handle the children without her, but after that, the subject of kids was banned. They discussed more important issues. Like how many whimsical hats she owned. Whether Bogart or Tracy was the best actor of the forties. How serious her allergy to clams was. How many stars filled the night sky. How many feet there were in a fathom.

Gradually, against her will, she could feel her pulse leaping as soon as the kids were in bed. Knowing she’d be with Rafe was like the promise of an ice-cream sundae after a sweltering day. Even during the most harrowing hours with the fractious twins, she knew relief was coming. He’d seen reason…she was so glad. She needed him as a friend, and he was such a good friend; any deeper emotional relationship would have cluttered up everything, and she was relieved that he finally saw that.

Today, though, she was having a small problem.

She tried again to free her hand from Rafe’s. He wasn’t exactly holding her hand like a handcuff or a vise or a chain, but every time she tried to ease her fingers free from his, his grip tightened.

This morning he’d suggested bringing the boys to see his lab. It had seemed like a terrific idea. It still seemed that way. The boys were talking ten for a dozen; Sarah and another of Rafe’s coworkers were in the room; and his lab was frankly as conducive to romantic feelings as a bucketful of dead fish.

“And this particular instrument is the only one in the country, Zoe…”

Dutifully, she inspected his laser-ranging equipment, then his magnetometer, tiltmeter, scintillation counter and the dozen other technical tools of his trade. A sane woman did not respond to such an environment like a nymphomaniac to a free bed. A sane woman did not come apart at the seams simply because a man was holding her hand.

“We don’t face much danger of major quakes here, but the potential for disaster from a small earthquake in snow country is incredible. The smallest tremor can set off an avalanche of dangerous proportions. And in the past twenty years, populations have increased around ski resorts to such an extent that…”

Yes. She heard him, but she couldn’t seem to seriously listen. A lock of hair drooped boyishly over his forehead. He talked about his work with his hands, with his smile, with a vitality and fascination that spilled over into his voice. His jeans fit just right this morning; he was wearing a yellow-and-gray plaid shirt that revealed the shape of his shoulders and chest.

“…so the information we’re gathering here can be used in the Alps, in Aspen, at the California ski areas. Wherever fault lines…”

“Yes,” she murmured obediently. But she already knew about fault lines. The major source of her personal earth tremors had misled her all week into believing she was safe. How could she be less than safe here in his lab, where he was showing the boys his work? And she was so sure she’d drilled personal feelings right out of her head and substituted concern about childcare instead.

The boys finally detached themselves from Sarah in the far corner and bounded toward them. “Uncle Rafe, we’re hungry,” Parker announced.

Her heart warmed at the way they looked at Rafe. On every occasion when she’d tried to discuss the kids, he’d expressed increasing doubts about his ability ever to handle them, and then he’d cut her off. He needed more time, she kept thinking…but the urchins didn’t realize that. Parker already knew he could count on Rafe even if the whole rest of the world fell apart. Aaron sidled up to Rafe for the hug or casual squeeze he knew was coming-Aaron craved those touches. Whether Rafe realized it or not, he knew instinctively what each child needed.

Really, it wasn’t strictly her fault she couldn’t stop falling in love with the man.

Once the children claimed his attention, though, she had the sense to remove her hand from his. “I’ll take them home for lunch,” she said swiftly. “We never meant to take up this much of your morning. I know you’re busy-”

“Not too busy for a picnic lunch with you and the boys. Sarah?” Rafe motioned to let her know they were leaving, and then gave Zoe a pensive frown. “You’re not exactly going to fit into my spare snowmobile suit.”

She raised both eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be a major worry in my life?”

“Of course it is. You need to dress warmly if we’re going sledding.”

“What? And I don’t know what you meant about a picnic, but someone should have mentioned to you that it’s snowing outside.”

“Yes.”

“And this is a workday for you.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m taking the boys home for lunch.”

Poor Zoe, she still didn’t understand. Rafe zipped her into the huge old snowsuit she didn’t want to be zipped into, and had the boys in giggling fits when he had to fold and refold the cuffs to make it even marginally fit. He jammed a hat on her head and tucked in her hair possessively. She didn’t like that either.

“There is a lot of snow outside,” Zoe remarked.

“Hmm?”

“Picnics are for hot summer days. You need ants and lemonade for picnics. You need watermelon. You need sunshine.” It was like trying to explain to a brick wall. “I have lunch all ready for them at home…”

“Boys?” Rafe turned to the children. “Do you want to go home to plain old peanut butter, or do you want to cook hot dogs in the snow?”

On cue, the unanimous verdict was “Hot dogs in the snow! Come on, Snookums!”

She gave in-only because of the boys, of course. Rafe felt a moment’s guilt for using the urchins to win an argument, but it didn’t last long. Over the past week, he’d discovered that she was seriously prepared to play this silly “we can be friends” routine forever. He’d hoped that by defusing a little sexual tension, he could help her build trust and confidence in him, make her see that they had something special between them. But Zoe could apparently hide behind her best perky smiles and keep her distance from him forever if he let her. Which he wouldn’t.

It was a sun-dazzled day. Rafe parked the Jeep just off the road in a stand of snow-laden trees. Just beyond the heavy firs lay a long sloping hill, crusty with the sun’s diamonds and ideal for sledding. He’d found the private retreat months before. Ever since he’d come here, he’d wanted to share it with Zoe.

“Does it strike you even the least little bit that this is slightly nuts?” she asked politely.

It struck him very strongly that Zoe was the most giving woman he’d ever met. As far as he could see, she never took from anyone. Once she realized the kids wanted the picnic, she’d never seriously hesitated. If they wanted the Nile, he figured she’d probably have the river shipped from Egypt. She fussed with things, like putting a spoonful of sugar in his coffee for him when he could obviously do it himself. Bickering kids were herded out of his sight-she thought she was making sure he saw only the best side of the boys. What he saw was that she had the gift of caring for people, smoothing over all the rough spots a person could encounter in a day.

He’d never once caught her thinking of herself. And an example of that was now. From the back of the Jeep, she was loading her arms with the tarp, hot dogs, buns, two thermoses…

“Zoe?” he asked patiently.

She turned back.

“I really think I could carry a little something.”

“I don’t mind-oh, look at them, Rafe!” The boys were making angels in the snow and laughing, all red-cheeked. When her face tilted back toward him, her smile was mystically sweet and her eyes dancing. “How are we going to make a fire in the snow?”

“We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to make the fire, and you’re going to practice doing absolutely nothing.” He reached up to touch her cheek. She never moved away from his touch; she just looked at him as though he were an overgrown puppy who hadn’t learned to behave himself yet. “You’re here to play,” he informed her.

“That’s all I do, play all day. I can build a fire. If you-”

He took the gear from her and dropped it, then motioned her firmly toward the boys with a forefinger.

She propped her hands on her hips. “What is this macho nonsense? I’m not exactly helpless, you know.”

“Pity,” he murmured.

He was making her darned nervous, and she really had no intention of enjoying herself, but somehow it happened. Cold air burned her cheeks, and snow fell around her like confetti; she should have felt foolish in the oversized snowsuit, but somehow she didn’t. Building the little fire was fun, because they were all part of it; the twins raved over the burned hot dogs and so did Zoe. Rafe had brought one thermos of soup and another of hot cider. Veal cordon bleu and champagne couldn’t have tasted better.

With her fingers wrapped around the cider mug and her legs curled under her, she watched the kids shake branches and chortle when mountains of snow tumbled down on them. At home, she would have been worried about spills and spats. Outside like this, there was nothing to worry about. With Rafe around, nothing bad was going to happen.

“Zoe…”

Her eyes swiveled to meet his across the last of the spitting, bright fire. His snowsuit was open at the throat; he didn’t seem to feel the cold. His smile was warm, and the irony of the situation swamped her. With Rafe, she felt safe. With Rafe, she also felt as if she were sitting on rotten timbers. A logical woman couldn’t possibly feel both sensations in equal measure, and she was extraordinarily grateful when the boys came hurtling toward them.

“When?” Aaron demanded for the fifteenth time.

“I thought you promised to give us a full five minutes to finish our lunch,” Rafe reminded him.

“We’ve given you hours,” Parker said sternly. “We were done with lunch practically yesterday. What’s taking you guys so long?”

“Digestion,” Rafe murmured, but he stood up with a long-suffering expression that made Zoe laugh. “I should have settled for just lunch instead of mentioning the sleds,” he whispered darkly.

“I saw the hill,” she told him.

“It’s long.”

“And both sleds look heavy.”

Her first time down the hill, she tipped over the sled, rolled twenty feet and came up laughing. In seconds, all three males in her life were there to dust her off. The next time, she went down with Aaron on her back, and the third time she took both laughing boys, who insisted they could win a race against Uncle Rafe only if they had “ballast”-a new word for the day, and one they repeated over and over as if it were magic.

“More ballast, Snookums. More ballast!”

“Uncle Rafe’s beating us! If he wasn’t so ballaster-”

On her fourth trek up the hill, she was still laughing, heaven knew why. Snow had crept down her neck, she’d lost her hat and every leg muscle protested the fierce climb. Still, the boys were so obviously happy. Rafe’s hideaway was so crystal-lovely, so private and special. And uncomplicated fun hadn’t been part of her life in so long.

At the top of the hill, Rafe announced, “All right. The big kids against the little ones this time. Parker and I will be on the bottom. Zoe, you climb on top of me, and Aaron, you climb on top of Parker. Last one down the hill is the last one to get cider!”

She should have known. She did know that climbing on top of Rafe wasn’t the wisest of choices, but this was sledding, and they were just playing, and there were pounds of clothes between them.

They took off at a racing speed that sent snow stinging in her face and made her stomach thrill for the ride, but there was suddenly more. There was having to hold on to him, and an awareness of the length of him beneath her. The chemistry that had been on hold suddenly exploded in a burst of exhilaration. Dammit, did she have to love being near him?

“Keel!” he suddenly yelled.

Keel? “What?”

“The trees! Damna-”

As far as she could tell, he deliberately threw her off the sled. She landed on a sun-crusted patch of sheer ice that sent her sliding several feet. When she finally stopped, stars were dancing in front of her eyes in broad daylight. Snow was everywhere-in her mouth, in her hair, in her eyes.

“You’re all right?” Rafe was beside her in seconds. He knelt down and ripped off his glove. Cold, firm fingers brushed the snow from her face and hair.

“I’m…fine.” She thought she was, anyway.

“We wiped out. Damned trees,” he said disgustedly.

She laughed. “I thought we were flying. Maybe Parker’s right about your being ‘ballaster.’ Don’t blame the trees, you big lug.”

She wasn’t sure what happened then. She was trying to rise, and he was still brushing the snow from her cheeks. His face suddenly blocked the sunlight, and she saw his eyes. What had been clear and bright became hazy and soft. A cold day turned hot. And there was no one there on earth but the two of them.

She never saw the kiss coming. His lips were suddenly there, cool and smooth on hers, in total contrast to the damp warmth of his tongue. He took no time for a tentative exploration, but claimed, now, with a hunger that wouldn’t wait, an urgency as naked and bold as a man’s desire.

The sun shone in her eyes and she had to close them. For hours, her whole body had been geared up for energy; suddenly, every muscle and pore felt sapped of will, languid and lazy. He was a thief. A kiss thief. A man who’d take advantage of a woman when she was down, and she had no excuse for letting her arms slide around his neck. The tumble must have addled her wits, but his breath was so clean and fresh. His need touched something so purely feminine inside her…

“Snookums was hurt pretty bad, right?” Parker’s tone was knowing, as sage as an old-timer’s.

Rafe’s head lifted just inches from hers. He didn’t appear to notice either boy. His eyes swept over her face, her lips. “She had the wind knocked right out of her,” he confirmed. “My best guess is that she needs lots of kisses.”

Both boys were familiar with the therapy. Shortly thereafter, Zoe was drowned in kisses-most of them wet smackers delivered enthusiastically from very small lips. Above the boys’ heads, she could still see Rafe looking at her. She’d had the wind knocked out of her, all right.

Carting sleds and picnic gear back to his Jeep, she would have avoided looking at him altogether if he hadn’t grabbed her arm. “Where’s my lecture about not behaving myself?” he murmured.

She shook her head.

His look was watchful, even wary. “You’re starting to see?” he asked softly. “You must see, Zoe. We have something special between us. I’m not going to let it go. I don’t think you even want me to let it go. We’ll find some way to work out everything else.” At her continued silence, he released a harsh sigh. “Dammit, what are you thinking?”

“That the children must be beginning to believe I’m accident-prone,” she said mildly, and turned away from him to climb into the Jeep.

Arguing with him was pointless. He really didn’t seem to understand that the closer he got to the children, the more impossible a relationship was for the two of them. He was a born father. Day by day, she was increasingly aware that she was a less than an adequate mother in instincts and judgment. She was too constantly afraid of doing wrong, too afraid the complex emotional baggage from her past would affect the kids in a negative way. Those feelings weren’t going away but only intensifying as she was thrown together with them day after day. Rafe always did the right thing. She always seemed to do the wrong one.

Loving him couldn’t make any difference. She wouldn’t let it. The children had to come first, and the best thing for them was obviously Rafe. Just Rafe. Not Rafe and flawed Zoe.

She wanted to be home. She so badly wanted to be home. In a couple of weeks, she could be there. She’d be able to hear the gulls and smell the sea. In Washington, she’d feel more rational. She’d built a fine life around her whales and her friends and her apartment, a life that so carefully didn’t include children. Or a man who came with kids.

Rafe would have her believe he needed and wanted her. What he really needed and wanted was a strong woman prepared to climb mountains with him. She wasn’t that woman. Once upon a time, yes; once upon a time, she’d had an ego healthy enough to believe she was really something, and that a little curve life threw her was not going to get her down. It had gotten her down, from the time she’d hurt Steven. To risk being less than adequate as a mother-and to risk failing Rafe as a woman-those were risks she simply couldn’t take.

From snow to sea was a heady transition. The jet, the rented car and, last, the ferry, had brought her home to her island in Puget Sound. Zoe’s pulse pounded exuberantly those last miles. If she couldn’t see them yet, she could imagine the grape-winged gulls soaring overhead in search of their dinner, the jeweled colors of a sunset over the roar and pound of waves, the smell and flavor of a Pacific salt wind.

There’d been some question in her mind whether she’d survive the last two weeks in Montana. The answer was obvious. She had, and she was here. Home, where everything would be fine. She stole a glance at Rafe as he whisked a napping Aaron off her lap to carry him up to her door. In a denim jacket, the salt wind tangling in his hair, Rafe looked elementally male, and the tight-lipped look he shot her was unmistakably irritated.

Anger, she thought fleetingly, was really a marvelous emotion. The next best thing to chicken soup for curing a few difficult aches and pains. When a man was angry, he kept his distance. In the meantime, she had absolutely no doubt he was growing attached to the kids, and she was home.

“Come on, Parker. Can you carry this little box for me?”

“This is where you live?” Parker was busy staring all around him. Her place was an old, huge, white-frame house that had been converted to three apartments. Two chestnuts and a fat cottonwood shaded the lawn, and a totally unorganized garden of lady’s slippers and primroses and morning glories sprawled around the edges of the yard. “But where are your whales, Snookums? I’ve been waiting and waiting.”

“They’re a little too big to keep in the apartment, sweetheart.” Par for the course, she had her arms loaded before she thought to take the key out of her purse.

“Where are the mountains?”

“Sorry, love, I don’t have mountains.”

“No snow either?” Parker asked mournfully.

“No snow either,” she had to confirm. It stung, just for an instant, that the boys could never like her place as much as Rafe’s. But then she reminded herself that that was exactly what she wanted, for all three males to realize that they were happier in Montana. “There’s a park a few blocks away, though, and a movie theater. Seawind isn’t a very big town, but we’re close by the water. You can collect stones and shells and stuff…”

At last she found the key and slid it into the lock. Jay, who lived in the upstairs apartment, had promised to take care of her plants and make sure there was milk in the refrigerator when she returned. She’d done the same for him when he’d vacationed, but still, she suddenly couldn’t remember exactly what shape she’d left the place in, and her eyes jumped up to Rafe’s again.

“It’s nowhere as large as your house,” she warned. “You have to remember that when I left here, I didn’t know I was coming back with three extra people. I can’t imagine where we’re going to fit everyone…”

As they all stepped inside, she rambled on. Paying no attention, Rafe took the heavy box she’d insisted on carrying, and then grabbed the suitcase before she could reach for it. The woman was driving him nuts, which she damn well knew. Radiating confidence, wearing a sassy smile, blithe as a spring breeze, she could probably benefit from a slight shaking. The problem was that he could never stay angry with her for long.

Zoe was a master of stubbornness. Arguing with her was like fighting with the wind: The gusts just kept coming, strong, cool and relentless. He’d argued with her when he’d found her rocking Aaron at four in the morning. He’d argued with her when she’d claimed she’d broken the needle on his stereo, when very obviously Parker had done it, and Rafe didn’t care about the damn thing anyway. He’d argued with her over spending part of her life’s savings on children’s books.

She was wearing herself out caring for the twins, but he couldn’t make her see it. She refused to recognize that she was fantastic with them, and she’d done her level best to get out of spending three weeks with them on her turf. Even last night, she’d still been arguing that there was no point in their coming here; the kids obviously belonged with him.

Where the damn woman belonged was with him, where he could protect her and love her and take care of her and love her…and more things like that.

Instead, she figured she had everything all set. He’d be with the monsters all day forming the attachment she was so anxious for him to feel, and she’d be off at her job, busy being emotionally uninvolved. He knew she felt she had to protect herself. He understood about that emotional brick wall she’d built up. He was just at an increasing loss as to how to convince her that he wasn’t going to hurt her. All he wanted to do was love her.

“Hold on, Geronimo!”

Both boys halted in midair with guilty expressions.

“We’re not going to touch anything until we have Zoe’s permission, are we, boys?”

“Rafe, it’s all right-”

“Is that clear?” he demanded of the boys.

It was clear; they even bounded off to explore at a reasonably sedate space.

“I’m afraid they’ll have to sleep in a double bed. That’s all I’ve got in the spare room.”

“It’ll do just fine.”

“I don’t have that much closet space. I’ll move things to make space for your clothes just as soon as-”

“Yes,” he clipped out, but he wasn’t really listening. Tossing his jacket on a chair, he glanced around the room, and every ounce of irritation and frustration slowly faded from his system.

Her living room wouldn’t survive a five-minute assault by the four-year-olds. She had four similar lamps. He thought they were called Tiffany-style lamps; they had stained-glass shades that gleamed like jewels when switched on. A whimsical collection of pewter candlesnuffers sat on a cherry table that had been varnished to a high gleam. Near the door stood a hat rack festooned with a dozen of those crazy hats she loved.

She must have started with a neutral color scheme-at least the couch and rug were of a muted sand color. It had been silly of her, really; bland colors weren’t Zoe. A cluster of peacock feathers waved brightly from a brass umbrella stand in the corner. Fat couch pillows displayed more rainbow colors, so did a handmade afghan crocheted in bright squares. Her bookcase was another catchall for color…polished stones she must have picked up at the beach, a hand-painted cup and saucer, a crystal dangling where it caught the light. Plants hung in the windows. Maybe they’d been tame at one time, but the greenery had long since taken to sprawling wildly in search of every ray of available light. Like Zoe, who so indomitably reached for zest and life, and who was so damned sure she was happy settling for tameness and safety.

“Oh, God, it’s a mess,” she said distractedly, and immediately hid a crocheting bag behind the couch, started to gather up magazines.

“It’s not a mess. It’s just like you,” he said gently.

“I’m a sucker for clutter,” she agreed with a laugh, and then stood with her hands on her hips, wearing an expression he knew well. “This time, you take the bed and I’ll take the couch, and I refuse to hear any arguments about it. You wouldn’t fit on my couch if we sawed you off at the knees.”

“True.” His tone was wry.

“Well…” For some ridiculous reason, she suddenly felt uncertain. This was her home, where she’d always had control of her life. If Rafe would just stop looking at her with that soft smile…“I’d better show you where everything is,” she said briskly.

She showed him everything in her coral kitchen from soup bowls to peanut butter, then revealed the secrets of her washing machine, then toured the bath and spare room where the kids would sleep. Everything went fine until they reached her bedroom, where he was going to sleep.

She slipped inside while he stayed rooted in the doorway, and that quiet smile of his blossomed into a full-fledged grin. Darn it, she’d had no time to prepare for company, and certainly not in here. With her hand behind her at the dresser, she rapidly shoved earrings, a nightgown and bra into the drawer. “Now, I know it looks a little crowded, but the closet in the spare room is less crowded, and I’ll take some of my stuff out of the drawers…”

He simply refused to pay attention. His gaze was dawdling over the dozen half-filled vials of perfume-she loved scent-the collection of framed butterflies on the wall, the pink satin spread with its soft fringe, the trinkets spilling out of her jewelry box.

“Know something, Zoe?” he murmured.

“What?”

His blue eyes alit on her the way a bee settles on nectar. “You’re pure female right down to the smallest cell in your body.”

Frustration coiled in Zoe’s stomach. She was going to feel safe, sound and immune from that man’s eyes if it killed her.