Baby, Oh Baby! (16 page)

"My legs feel like a couple of wet sponges." She took another hesitant step. "Sorry I'm acting like such a wimp. I promise not be so high maintenance once I get inside."

"You'd better be. The instruction sheet the nurse gave me says you're not supposed to walk without help for forty-eight hours."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll be able to get around just fine after a little rest."

"Not by yourself, you won't. I intend to see to it that you follow instructions."

Annie shot him a look. "Oh, no. You're not one of those follow-every-instruction-to-a- kind of people, are you?"

"When it comes to some things, I am." And apparently you're a bend-the-rules-all-over-the-place kind of woman. Jake thought grimly, pulling the key to the door from his pocket. Great, just great. Just the trait I'd have handpicked for the mother of my child.

The thought made him look for Madeline. She was doing a bow-legged strut down the porch, heading for the hanging wooden swing in the yard.

"Come on, Madeline."

The child ignored him.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's go inside," he called again.

The baby started to climb up into the swing. Jake hesitated, unsure what to do. He couldn't relinquish his hold on Annie—she was about as steady as a toothpick in a tornado. On the other hand, he didn't know how to get the child to cooperate, and he didn't dare leave her outside unattended.

Annie smiled over at the baby and motioned with her hand. "Come with Mommy, sweetheart."

"Ma-ma-ma-ma" Grinning broadly, the baby obediently tottered over to Annie's side.

"How the heck did you do that?" Jake grumbled, opening the door.

"You have to have the Mommy touch."

A low brown streak came charging out the door, startling Jake so much that he nearly bumped into the doorjamb. He turned around and realized it was Hot Dog, making a mad dash for the bushes to relieve himself.

"Looks like poor Hot Dog was practically crossing his legs, waiting for us to get home."

"Guess I don't have a Mommy touch-with animals, either," Jake muttered. The fact of the matter was, it had been such a struggle to get Madeline dressed and out the door that morning that he'd completely forgotten about the dog. He realized Annie was probably expecting a modicum of remorse. If he expected to make her believe he could be a responsible parent, he'd better show a little.

"Sorry, there, pooch," he said as the dog came loping back, its skinny rat tail thumping. He glanced apologetically at Annie. "I, uh, don't know much about taking care of pets. I never had one."

"Never?"

"No."

"Not even as a child?"

Jake shook his head.

"Not even a guinea pig? Or hamster?"

'No „

"A lizard, maybe?"

He shook his head, then brightened. "I had some tropical fish in my office. But they all died."

Annie shot him a pitying look.

Damn. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied. "Can't say that I ever missed having pets," he said gruffly. "Animals are just a nuisance."

"You'd change your mind if you spent any time around them."

The matter-of-fact, assured way she made the statement grated on his nerves. So did the appealing way her waist indented and her hips flared under his arm. She lurched against him as she stumbled on the threshold.

He tightened his grip to steady her. His hand brushed her breast—a breast that felt surprisingly lush and full.

She gazed up at him, her blue eyes wide. A flicker of sexual awareness flashed between them, as sudden and bright as a just-struck match in a pitch-black room. A burst of desire shot through him, intense and unexpected.

Good grief. What a time and place to have his libido pull a Lazarus. He drew his hand back as if it had been burned.

Annie steadied herself on the door frame. "Sorry. The medicine seems to have made me a little dizzy." "Well, then, we'd better get you to bed."

Crimony. It was a completely normal thing to say to someone just released from the hospital, but it sounded so suggestive.

"My room is the one next to Madeline's."

"The one with the covered wagon?"

Jake had seen it last night when he'd walked through the house after putting the baby to bed. The house was filled with curious antiques, but none were more curious than Annie's bed.

"Isn't it great?" Annie said.

"It's certainly unusual," Jake said cautiously, guiding her through the foyer.

"The canopy is made from the frame of a real Conestoga. And not just any old Conestoga, either. It's the very one my great-great grandfather used when he moved from Missouri to Kansas."

"It must have looked pretty odd moving across the prairie, covered with all that pink and green floral fabric," Jake said dryly, helping her through the doorway of her room.

Annie grinned. "I'm not a purist when it comes to antiques. I like to add my own special touch to things."

She sure did, Jake thought, as he helped her toward the bed—and her touch was more than a tad eccentric. It wasn't without its charm, though. The room brought to mind a gypsy tent, romantic and exotic and cozy. It smelled like Annie—soft and powdery. It looked like her, too-a colorful mix of rosy cinnamon and sage green, done in a hodge-podge.of florals and stripes and plaids. Nothing in the room matched, but it somehow all went together. If anything could actually go with a Conestoga top.

The bed creaked softly as Annie sat on the edge of it.

Her brow furrowed and her eyes creased with pain. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, but she was clearly hurting. Jake hauled the sheet of medical instructions out of his pocket and scanned it. "It's time for your pain medicine. It says you need to take it with food. And it looks like you're on clear liquids for the rest of the day."

"There's some chicken broth in the freezer." "Frozen soup?"

"It's homemade."

Jake didn't know anyone who made homemade soup. It seemed like a waste of time, considering you could just open a can.

"What do I do with it?"

"Just take off the lid and zap it in the microwave." She winced as she turned and reached for a pillow.

"Here." He reached out and adjusted the pillows against the headboard, accidently brushing close against her, close enough to inhale the soft scent of her hair. Once again, a flash of sexual awareness flickered through him, fast and hot as lightning.

He cleared his throat. "Do you need anything else?"

She gingerly leaned back against the pillows. "Could you get me a nightgown? They're in the top drawer of the dresser."

"Sure." He strode to the bureau against the wall and opened it, then swallowed hard. It was filled with sachet-scented lingerie—silky panties and matching bras in all the colors of the rainbow. Good grief—it looked like a Victoria's Secret catalogue. It was enough to make his mouth go dry, thinking of her in that exotic lingerie.

"The nightgowns are on the right," she said.

He awkwardly pawed through the lacy stuff, feeling like a voyeur, and pulled out something that looked like a gown. It was dusky rose, and when he pulled it out, he saw that it was short, no longer than mid-thigh, held together with the narrowest of straps. He felt like an idiot, handling it as she watched. He tossed it to her.

"My robe is on a hook on the back of the closet door. Could you get it, too?"

Nodding, he strode to the closet and pulled out a silk floral kimono.

"Thanks," she said as he handed it to her.

"No problem." The thought of her changing into the skimpy clothes made his voice come out husky and low. He couldn't wait to escape from the room. "Well, I'll go see to the soup." He turned toward the door.

"There's, uh, one more thing."

He turned back around. Her expression was oddly embarrassed, and she didn't meet his eyes. "I hate to ask, but I don't think I can undo my dress. It buttons up the back. The nurse had to help me get it on."

Jake blew out a slow breath. "Okay." She shifted on the bed, and he moved behind her. He had to lift her hair to reach the top button. It was silky and thick, and the clean, herbal scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils. His fingers seemed large and clumsy as he fumbled with the button.

He realized he was holding his breath. He breathed deeply, and felt her shoulders fall and rise as he undid the next button. Either she'd been holding her breath, too, or she was breathing in sync with him. Either thought was decidedly disconcerting.

Her skin was smooth and fair. He tried not to touch it, but as he struggled with the button, his fingers brushed against her flesh. It was even warmer and softer than he'd imagined. Frowning, he tried to focus his attention on unfastening the next button, then the next. The pink-flowered fabric gapped open, low enough to reveal that she wasn't wearing a bra.

He slowly undid the fifth, then the sixth buttons. The opening now revealed the curve of her waist, the bow of her hips. His mouth went dry. , Good heavens, but she was beautiful. Maybe it was the way the light filtered over her, making her skin look as if it were glowing, or the way the fabric played hide-and-seek with her curves. He'd never realized that a woman's back was such a feminine, seductive part of her body.

One more button—his upper lip beaded with sweat as his hands awkwardly worked to free it. Oh, dear heavens. She wasn't wearing any underwear! Under the thin linen sheath, she was completely naked.

Well, it was no wonder. He hadn't thought to bring her any clean clothes while she was in the hospital. It was his fault.

The thought should have made him feel guilty, but the fact that he was the cause of her nakedness only heightened his arousal.

He heard a hitch in her breath. Was she feeling it, too? It seemed impossible that she wouldn't. Sexual awareness lay thick and heavy over the room, like fog over a summer lake. He saw her tremble, and reached out to rub her arms to warm her. He stopped himself abruptly. Hell; he'd be the one to heat up if he touched her again, and he was overheated as it was.

He dropped his hands. "You seem cold. You'd better get changed and under the covers."

Holy Moses. What the hell was the matter with him, getting all turned on by this woman? Especially under the circumstances. She was fresh out of surgery, in pain from her incision, for God's sake.

He turned to the baby, who was still sitting on the floor, batting at the dog's tail. "Come on, Madeline."

The baby ignored him.

He motioned to the door. "Let's go, sport. Let's go fix Mommy some lunch."

The child looked up and grinned, then turned her attention back to the dog. Not knowing what else to do, he bent down and picked her up.

Madeline burst out with a shriek of protest, her face growing red as a tomato.

"Put her down and call the dog," Annie suggested. "Huh?"

"Hot Dog will follow you more readily than Madeline."

Jake stared at her blankly. He was having a hard time getting past the fact her dress was drooping over one shoulder and he knew for a fact she was stark naked underneath it. "I don't care about the dog. It's Madeline I need to keep an eye on."

Annie gave a maddeningly patient smile, the kind one might use with a half-wit. "Madeline will scream bloody murder for half an hour if you move her against her will. She's very stubborn. But if Hot Dog follows you, Madeline will, too. And she'll think it's her idea."

"Oh." It was such a clever plan, it irritated him he hadn't thought of it himself. Jake released the protesting baby and strode slowly to the door. "Hey, Hot Dog— let's go."

The dog eagerly followed him out of the room. Sure enough, Madeline scampered along behind.

There were a lot of tricks to this parenting thing, Jake thought, and Annie seemed to know them all. He had to hand it to her—she had a real knack for keeping the baby calm. The problem was, he thought ruefully, she apparently had an equal talent for getting him overly excited.

Madeline was crying. Annie opened her eyes, surprised to find morning light streaming through her bedroom window. The bedside clock was directly in her line of vision.

Nine o'clock. Dear heavens, she hadn't slept this late since Madeline had been born! The baby usually woke at six. The poor dear must be starving to death. In fact, it sounded like she'd somehow already made her way to the kitchen.

Annie tried to sit up, only to be slammed back against the pillow by a hard fist of pain. It all came flooding back. Appendicitis. Surgery.

Jake.

The thought of him made her pulse skip a beat. She heard the dog bark, heard the deep rumble of his voice. Madeline's crying quieted. A second later, she heard the baby's squeal of delight.

Annie leaned back on the pillows and closed her eyes. He was surprisingly good with the child. And with her, she silently admitted. Her stomach did a loopy little free-fall. He'd tended to her during the night. Her memory was foggy from the pain medication, but she remembered him by her bedside, handing her pills and water. He'd been wearing sweatpants and no shirt, and at first she'd thought she was dreaming. Then he'd leaned forward and helped her sit up, and his touch had jolted her fully awake. She'd been keenly aware that his bare arms were hard and muscled, his chest covered with dark hair, his face beard-shadowed and soap-scented.

Annie tossed back the covers and slowly pulled her self upright, despite the. pain. She rested a moment, letting herself adjust to the new position, then swung her legs off the bed. Her stomach was sore—so very sore. But she didn't want to lie around and feel helpless. Besides, the doctor had said she was supposed to get up and move around.

She haltingly made her way to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair. Taking care to cinch her robe high above her incision, she padded barefoot to the kitchen.

She found Jake at the sink, rinsing off a plate, and Madeline seated in her high chair, polishing off a banana. The baby spotted Annie in the doorway and banged the tray loudly with her fist, grinning hugely. "Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma!"

Annie smiled at the child. "Good morning, sweetheart."

Jake turned from the sink, his eyes startled, as if he'd thought she'd been talking to him.