Darling obstacles (4 page)

"Does your new job pay better than your job with the airlines?" Greg asked politely. He was too gentlemanly to act as bored as he undoubtedly felt, Maggie decided. "I imagine it was difficult to give up those great travel benefits, regardless of pay," he added.

"The kids and I never went anywhere, anyway." The airlines might provide almost free passage, but they didn't pick up the tab for vacation expenses, and

Maggie couldn't afford to either. "The school pays less, but the hours make it worth it. I just take on more baby-sitting. We're managing all right/' she felt compelled to inform him.

"Well, I do envy you sleeping till eight." Greg smiled at her. "I've been up since a quarter to six. I've already made rounds at the hospital, and since the boys have a soccer game at ten, I thought I'd bring over Josh's uniform and clothes for Max and Wendy too."

Maggie suddenly noticed the canvas bag he was carrying. "I—I wasn't expecting you," she repeated inanely. He looked so vital, so strikingly, aggressively male. She drew back against the counter, horribly aware of her uncombed hair, her lack of makeup, and the faded, too-thin nightclothes. She knew she looked a wreck, probably worse than she'd looked the night before. His odd stare seemed to confirm her supposition. She swallowed hard. He was very near. Never had the kitchen seemed so small. "I'd planned to take the boys to the soccer game," she said, aware she was starting to babble again. "Josh was going to wear Kevin's spare uniform and I'd planned to outfit Wendy and Max in—Oh!"

The smell of burning pancakes drew her attention to the skillet, where the charred remains were beginning to smolder. "What a mess!" she groaned, dumping the contents into the sink. "I'm simply not my best in the morning, I'm afraid."

"Especially when you've been scared out of your wits by an unexpected visitor," Greg added dryly.

She began to scrub the skillet. He must think her an air-headed fool! "Itll just take me a few minutes to whip up another batch of batter and then 111 feed the kids." She hoped she sounded a little more competent. What was the matter with her this morning anyway? She'd been making pancakes for years and had never burnt them before. She knew the answer, of course. Greg Wilder was the cause of her nervous

bumbling. She was too aware of him to pay attention to anything else.

"Would I be overstepping my bounds if I asked if you had enough pancake batter to feed one more?" he asked ingenuously. "I know I lectured Josh about waiting until food was offered, but. . ."He gave her a disarming smile, and Maggie was totally disarmed.

"Would you like some pancakes, Dr. Wilder?" she asked in a breathless rush. "There's plenty of batter."

"Greg," he corrected, and settled himself in one of the vinyl-covered kitchen chairs. "And I accept your generous offer. I can't even remember the last time I had a home-cooked breakfast. I either eat some of the kids'junk cereal at home on the run or grab some of the hospital cafeteria's lethal donuts and coffee."

"I'm not much of a breakfast eater myself." Maggie mixed the eggs and flour and milk together, very aware that he was watching her work. She desperately wished she were dressed. Knowing that she was naked beneath her gown . . . She whipped the batter feverishly with a fork in an effort to distract herself from her thoughts. As if Greg Wilder noticed or even cared what she was—or wasn't—wearing. Particularly after his passionate night with the sexy Francine. He would hardly speculate about his children's baby-sitter, a widowed mother of three. The man was a doctor, a father!

"Josh will be delighted that you're coming to the game this morning, Dr. Wilder,'' she said with extreme brightness. "He—"

"Greg," he interrupted. "Remember?"

Maggie's cheeks grew warm. She remembered. She'd thought of him as Greg for a long time, but determinedly forced herself to maintain the distancing "Dr. Wilder." She didn't know why. Her hands were trembling as she poured the batter into the skillet. "Josh and Kevin were kicking the soccer ball around in the yard yesterday. They're determined to win their game today." She deliberately turned to the topic of the children in an attempt to dissipate

her ridiculous anxiety. She felt safe and comfortable in her mommy role. "Max was playing with them for a while too. You should see him kick the ball! He seems to have a natural flair for it. I guess you'll be signing him up for soccer next year when he turns five?"

"I'm sure I will."

She glanced at him, wondering at the odd note in his voice. Her eyes collided with his and she drew her breath in sharply. He had the most gorgeous eyes, she thought for perhaps the thousandth time. That rich, unusual color, those dark, thick lashes . . .

"Your eyes are really green," Greg said, and Maggie blinked in confusion. She had been thinking of his eyes. To hear him comment on her own totally flummoxed her.

"I don't think I've ever seen truly green eyes," he went on. "Usually what passes for green is a combination of green and hazel or blue or brown. But your eyes are definitely green, almost an emerald shade. Lovely," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Thank you." She turned her attention to the pancakes, aware that her heart was pounding. And she'd been worried about Kristin and Kari's reactions to a man! Her own were pitiable; she'd had more poise as a teenager in high school. Put a man in her kitchen today and she nearly fell apart. Add a compliment from him and she was reduced to a quivering mass of nerves. Maggie was thoroughly disgusted with herself.

"Green eyes and auburn hair," Greg said musingly. He was still studying her. Maggie was rigidly aware of his gaze upon her. "What was your maiden name, Maggie?"

"O'Reilly," she replied in a tight little voice. "It's Irish," she added unnecessarily.

"I see." Greg was smiling a smile that made her feel weak. "Mary Magdalene O'Reilly. When did your family begin to call you Maggie?"

"About fifteen seconds after birth, thank heavens." She piled a stack of pancakes onto a plate and

set it in front of Greg, along with the butter and five bottles of syrup.

"Strawberry, blueberry, raspberry, boysenberry, and maple," he said, reading each label. "What a choice! I'm impressed, Maggie. This is just like the House of Pancakes."

"Everyone in our family likes a different flavor." She was standing beside him at the table, close enough to smell his fresh, woodsy after-shave. She quickly backed away.

"Delicious," he said appreciatively, sampling a bite. He had unstacked his pancakes and poured a different syrup on each one.

"You eat your pancakes just like Max," she said, smiling at the similarity. "He likes to try all the flavors too."

"I wasn't aware that Max had ever eaten breakfast here before." Greg looked puzzled by his apparent memory lapse.

"Oh, he hasn't. But sometimes I make him pancakes for dinner when he hates what the rest of us are having. And occasionally he requests them for an after-school snack."

"And you indulge him? You're exceptionally kind, Maggie." Greg paused to stare up at her. "I . . . want to thank you for being so good to Max. And to Josh and Wendy too. You've been a stabilizing, positive influence in their lives and I appreciate it very much."

She flushed, uneasy with his praise and his thanks. "I'll take the plates into the kids." She was grateful for the diversion. "They like to eat in front of the TV so they don't miss a minute of the Smurfs." She left the kitchen carrying two plates of pancakes. To her surprise, Greg followed her with the third.

"Company first," Maggie said, giving Wendy and Max each a plate and a fork. She set up the syrup bottles on the coffee table.

"Ladies first," corrected Greg, bypassing Josh to

give the plate he held to Kari. Maggie was ridiculously pleased by the small gesture.

Kari beamed up at him. "I have a loose tooth/' she said shyly, wiggling her lower front tooth for him. It was the first time, to Maggie 's knowledge, that Kari had initiated a conversation with a man. In the light of her worries about her daughters, it was a welcome occurrence.

Greg felt the tooth. "It's loose all right," he said. "But not quite ready to come out." He flicked one of the little girl's long blond braids over her shoulder. "You have the longest pigtails I've ever seen. Haven't you ever had your hair cut?"

Kari shook her head. "Wendy wishes her hair was long." She stared up at him. "How come you make her get it cut so short?"

Maggie glanced at Wendy, who was sitting quietly eating her pancakes. The little girl's boyishly short bowl cut was not particularly flattering to her small, thin face. Maggie had long thought that Greg probably took Josh, Wendy, and Max to one barber who gave all three identical cuts.

"Wendy, you never told me you wanted your hair long," Greg said. He seemed bewildered by Kari's pronouncement. "You don't have to have it cut if you don't want to."

Wendy said nothing. "Mom, Josh and I are starving," complained Kevin. "Where's our pancakes?"

"I'll make yours next, right away," Maggie promised, smiling as Josh rolled around on the floor in a dramatic bout of mock hunger pangs. "I'll make yours a double batch."

"Better hurry, Mom. I don't know how long these poor starving fellows will last without food," kidded Greg. He fastened his hand around the nape of Maggie's neck and pointed her toward the kitchen. "Forward, march!"

Maggie's heart seemed to lurch, then ricochet wildly against her rib cage. The feel of the warm hand

on her neck, the touch of his fingers against her skin, had an alarming effect on her senses. The blood drummed madly in her head and she took a deep, steadying breath. What on earth was the matter with her? she thought. Greg was joking with her; he meant nothing by his casual touch.

But her physical response to that casual touch grew stronger. The taut fluttering in her abdomen was unmistakably sexual arousal, something that she hadn't experienced for ages. And a quick glance down at the front of her nightgown confirmed what she already knew. Her nipples were tingling and tightening and clearly visible under the thin cotton.

"Mom!" Kristin ran down the stairs, petite and cute in a pale blue leotard and jeans. Her hair, an auburn several shades lighter than Maggie's, was pulled into two short ponytails and tied with blue ribbons. She came to a screeching halt in front of her mother and Maggie had to stop suddenly, causing Greg, who was walking closely behind her, to collide with her.

The impact of his hard frame sent shock waves of sensation through her already sensitized body. His hand slid from her neck and both arms came around to encircle her in an attempt to restore their balance. Maggie felt the strength of his chest against her back, the muscular thighs against her bottom, his strong arms around her waist. He might be trying to balance her, but she had never felt more off balance in her entire life.

"I'm off, Mommy. Wish me luck," Kristin said blithely, seemingly oblivious to the sight of her mother in a man's arms.

But then, she wasn't really in Greg's arms, Maggie tried to assure herself. She had stopped suddenly and he had crashed into her. And being a gentleman—and a doctor and a father, she added in an attempt to calm herself—he had helped her to regain her equilibrium. That was the sight Kristin

saw. The Wilder kids' dad lending support to her mom.

"Where are you off to, Kristin?" Greg asked pleasantly. He had not yet released Maggie. He remained close behind her, their bodies touching, his arms firmly around her. He locked his hands together over the slight swell of her stomach. Her head didn't quite reach his shoulder and his breath ruffled her hair as he spoke.

"I have a gymnastic meet at ten," Kristin replied shyly. "But I'm leaving early to practice at the Community Center."

"Gymnastic meet, hmm? Who are you competing against?" he asked. Maggie wriggled slightly in an effort to break free, but he didn't release her. His big hands were warm against her abdomen, causing a throbbing within. There didn't seem to be a part of her not touching him. Her nipples were aching and became more pronounced, and there was a taut heat between her thighs.

"We're competing against the Columbia Community Center's team," Kristin was telling Greg. She seemed pleased by his interest. "A bus will take us over there and bring us back. Columbia is very good. They really beat us last year, but we've been practicing all summer and we've won our last two meets. I hope we beat them this time."

"I hope so too, Kristin," Greg said heartily. "And I wish you the best of luck."

Kristin blushed. "Thanks, Dr. Wilder."

"Kristin!" chorused three similarly attired young gymnasts who had arrived at the screen door. "Are you ready to go?"

Greg unlocked his hands and Maggie rushed to the door where Kristin had already admitted her friends. Maggie couldn't remember ever being so glad to see them. "Hi Jen, Hi Jenny, Hi Jennifer," she greeted them.

"Hi, Mrs. May," the girls answered in unison.

"Do you have time for a quick snack?" Maggie asked hopefully.

"Not now, Mom," replied Kristin.

"Well take you up on it later, Mrs. May," one of the Jennifers added.

Kristin gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek and the little group departed, calling their good-byes.

And leaving Maggie alone with Greg. "I hope they win today, they try so hard," she said, staring out the screen door.

"I hope they win too," Greg said. "I never realized how much Kristin looks like you, Maggie. The same wide-set green eyes, the same nose turned up with a smattering of freckles. And almost the same hair color. You—" He broke off and Maggie glanced over at him, only to find his gaze riveted to her body.

A quick glance down at herself revealed why. She was standing in the sunlight and every curve of her body was visible through her now translucent robe and nightgown. Her nipples pointed boldly outward and Greg stared at them. Maggie's mouth was dry and she wanted to sink with mortification. Darting from the revealing shaft of sunlight, she sought refuge in the shadow of the staircase.

Greg followed her to stand at the foot of the stairs as Maggie backed up a step. His gaze had shifted and she drew a shaky breath of relief. It was time to remind them both of their proper roles of mother and father. Their safe roles. "Can you believe that Kristin's three best friends are all named Jennifer?" she said. "We call two of them Jen and Jenny just to keep them straight."