Heart of the Raven (8 page)

She sat on the sofa, leaving the overstuffed chair for Jamey, but after a few seconds she pushed herself off the couch and paced the length of the room. Jamey passed her a bottle. She didn't sit down. He did. Then he waited.

“I'm not being objective,” she said at last.

“About?”

“Heath.”

“Ah.”

She shared what happened—except for the kiss.

“Why did you leave?” he asked.

“Because he didn't need me there.”

“Sounds like he did. He asked you to stay.”

Cassie finally sat down. She took a long sip then leaned back, forcing her muscles to relax. “I don't want to get to know his parents.”

“Why?”

“It just pulls me closer and closer, and…” She shrugged.

“It makes for another opportunity to get hurt.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. And Eva could come back, changing everything, as well.

“Too many people have come and gone in your life already. Too few have stayed.”

She nodded. It was a painful admission. She had a hard time keeping people in her life, because she always tried to beat them to the punch and leave first.

“And your biological clock is ticking.”

“That clock has been striking midnight since I was about thirteen years old.”

“Is that part of the allure of Heath, do you think? He comes with a ready-made family?”

“Probably. But not completely. When he kissed—” She stopped.

“Ah.”

“I thought I might not see him again,” she muttered.

He laughed. “You don't do excuses well, Cass. A spade's a spade with you. Don't start now.”

“Okay.” She scraped the label on her bottle with her fingernail, avoiding Jamey's gaze. “He appeals to me. But you know what it's like being a P.I. It seems like an exotic job, so getting dates is easy. Building a relationship is hard.”

“Can't blame it all on the profession, although I agree with you for the most part. Anyone who doesn't do nine-to-five has a tough time being a partner. But some of your problem in relationships has to do with your past. Your abandonment issues, if you want to get psychological about it, and your fear of caring too much, because it means you would have more to lose.”

“I know. But knowing it doesn't seem to fix it. I have a social life. I have friends.”

“And people are fascinated by what you do. At parties you're expected to entertain with tales of your derring-do.”

“The problem is, we can't talk about our derring-do,” she said.

“Right. Being a P.I. opens some doors, because people are fascinated, but closes others, for whatever reasons. We never know who to trust, do we, never know
whether someone is interested in us or our jobs. I've been burned, too.”

“But you have stories to tell from your past, Jamey. Scars. I was a paper pusher until I came to work at ARC. A researcher.”

“And it's easy to be objective when you're dealing with facts. But this time you're dealing with a man and a baby. Give yourself a break, Cass. Relax. Do your job and see what happens from there.”

She knew he was right, but it didn't stop her from wishing she hadn't left Heath's house, even as she also knew she'd done the right thing, professionally, by leaving. “This is too much for my puny mind. Talk to me about something else.”

“My child turns eighteen this month.”

She met his gaze. “You're getting anxious.”

He nodded.

Cassie raised her bottle to him. “To the possibilities.”

“The possibilities.”

She stayed a little longer then made her way home. The daisies she'd bought on Friday brought a smile as she put away her clothes. She opened the sleeper sofa, straightened the bedding, then stacked pillows so that she could watch television for a few minutes in bed. Too late for Letterman, she settled on headline news. She picked up a piece of wood from her end table, a carved turtle, and ran her fingers over the surface. It wasn't smooth and polished, but primitive—and yet exquisite. At least to her.

She tucked it under her chin and pictured her grandfather sitting on the front stoop of his run-down old house, carving the turtle with the knife he sharpened
with a whetstone. She could still hear the raspy sound of the blade across the stone. She could see him test the blade against his thumb, smell the scent of the wood as he whittled and carved, all the while talking to her about his past, the lessons learned, her mother.

Cassie had a box of small wooden carvings, her grandfather's and hers. Pieces of her past, her way of staying sane and keeping memories alive when there was no one else to share that part of her life with. No blood relative that she knew of. No best friend for life because she'd moved so much.

She wanted a family. She wanted ties that bound. Because of that she knew she was vulnerable to Heath and Danny in a way she never had been before.

Now she just had to figure out what to do about it.

H
eath walked to the top of the driveway and eyed the long, bumpy road, now cleared of brush. Danny slept in his arms, having fallen asleep during their fifteen-minute walk around the property. Four men with chainsaws had spent the better part of the day getting rid of the overgrowth and hauling it away. The silence now soothed Heath, especially since his talkative mother was gone, too.

Which sounded harsh, he realized, when he'd actually enjoyed her more this time than ever before. He'd appreciated her spirit, her zest for life, her dive-right-in attitude. And his father had spoken up more. He and Heath had taken walks around the property, identifying what should be trimmed. He'd forgotten how much his father knew about such things.

But now Heath was waiting for Cassie. Although she'd come twice to visit during the week his parents had been there, he hadn't spoken to her alone, although he'd tried and she'd resisted, kindly but firmly. He'd started to push her a little until he saw something in her eyes that made him stop. She seemed nervous—or scared, he wasn't sure which.

So he made up reasons to call her at work, and she kept each conversation short and businesslike, except for a softening in her voice when she asked about Danny. And while she'd been sociable to his parents, she'd been aloof, too.

Or maybe just self-protective.

A complicated woman, Cassie Miranda. He'd caught her once—just once—watching him with what could only be called lust in her eyes. He'd just made a wish and blown out his birthday candles at an impromptu fortieth birthday party his parents put together. He'd looked at her, the object of his wish, and she'd looked back, as if his parents weren't there. As if they were a normal man and woman with normal attraction. Dream on.

He'd called her as soon as his parents announced they were leaving, hoping he wouldn't have to go over her head again to get her to return to…him. The job. But she'd said she would be back after work that evening, with no hesitation at all.

Heath turned to go back into his house when he heard a car heading up the driveway. Cassie. Adrenaline rushed through him, jump-starting his heart, his lungs, his muscles, and everything else that mattered.

Danny stirred as Heath went to meet her at the car.

“You got your forest tamed,” she said, after reaching for her briefcase.

She smelled good. Not like perfume but something totally unique. Maybe just her shampoo. Whatever it was, he wished he could wallow in it. “It's just the beginning,” he said calmly, as if he didn't want to sweep her into his arms and kiss the daylights out of her. “The crew will be back later to finish the rest of the property.”

“That's great. How's my Danny Boy?” she asked, bending over him and giving him a kiss. He turned his head toward her. Heath almost did the same.

“He survived his first week of Grammy Crystal.”

Cassie grinned. “And you?”

“I need meat.”

“Groceries are in the trunk.”

He passed Danny to her, not trying to avoid touching her as he had in the past. He wanted to touch. Needed to. She kept her focus on the baby, not giving Heath a hint about her feelings, but he didn't believe it was just a job to her anymore.

As he got the food and her belongings out of the car he watched her walk toward the house, her face close to Danny's as she whispered to him. They met up in the kitchen, where he set down her suitcase and garment bag so that he could put away the groceries.

“How's he been sleeping? Any pattern emerging?” Cassie asked.

“He likes Letterman,” Heath said.

“Yeah? Me, too. I'll take that shift. Otherwise, what does he do?”

“He's been taking a bottle every three hours, pretty regularly. As for sleep—you never know. The last cou
ple of days he's had a crying jag between four and seven in the evening.” He glanced at his watch. A half hour to go. “Nothing seems to help. Even Mom couldn't get him to stop.”

“Do you put him in his crib and let him cry or do you hold him?”

“Both. It's all guesswork, still. Are we having steak for dinner?”

She nodded. “And salad and baked potatoes.”

“Thank you for coming back.”

“You were that desperate for steak?”

He didn't know what to make of the distance she was keeping, physically and with her choice of words. For her to joke after he thanked her—well, it wasn't like her.

She shifted Danny into a new position, so that his head was tucked between her shoulder and neck. He looked so tiny that way, curled into her.

“Why are you avoiding looking at me?” he asked.

She closed her eyes briefly, then got up from the bar stool and walked to a window. The blinds were raised, as they had been since the first time she'd opened them more than a week ago.

“I don't trust myself,” she said after a minute.

“With me?”

She nodded. He came up behind her, not touching her, but the proximity alone arousing him.

He asked the question that had been on his mind all week. “How much of it is me, and how much is Danny?”

“You're a package.”

“You can't separate it out?”

“Do you mean would I be attracted to you without Danny?”

“Yeah.”

“We wouldn't have met without Danny.”

“That's not an answer.”

“Heath,” she said, a smile in her voice, “I think between us we have enough issues to keep a psychologist on retainer full-time.”

He agreed. “All right, Cassie. We won't talk about it.”

“How did your interview with the woman from the nanny agency go?” she asked.

“Fine.” He hadn't told the woman to send candidates. He wasn't ready. Not to have a nanny there, and not to give up Cassie.

She turned around, a slight smile on her face. He couldn't do it, couldn't not touch her, not kiss her. Maybe it was better that they get this out of the way. If she felt she couldn't stay, so be it. He wouldn't force her.

“Cassie.”

Her brows lifted.

He cupped her face. He felt her pull Danny a little closer to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He kissed her, not hard, not long, but enough to make the point that it was no simple greeting from friend to friend. Then just when she leaned into him he backed off. He had his answer. “I missed you,” he said.

She swallowed. “I missed you, too.”

The phone rang. The caller ID said Private Party, which he usually let go to the answering machine, but he grabbed it and said hello, his mood upbeat. He brushed a hand over Danny's silky hair. Every day his world got a little better, a little brighter.

“Heath?”

The voice was female and hesitant. “Eva?” He locked gazes with Cassie. “Where are you?”

“At a friend's house. I just wanted…I was wondering how the baby is.”

“He's fine. He's beautiful. Do you—” he forced the words “—want to see him?”

“No. I— No.”

“Where are you living? How can I get in touch with you?”

“Heath…”

“What?”

Silence. Heath waited for as long as he could stand it.

“Are you sure you want to give him up, Eva?”

“I'm sure.”

She hung up before he could coax an address out of her, but not before he heard the hitch in her voice. He cradled the receiver, left his hand on it.

“You are a good man,” Cassie said.

“What makes you say that?”

“You asked if she was sure.”

“Some people would argue that I was just looking out for my own interests.”

“Some people didn't see your face. Didn't see you look at Danny. Didn't know what it would cost you to give him up, even part-time.”

He shrugged. He didn't want a medal, just a chance to be a father again. A more involved one. One Danny could count on to keep him safe. Forever.

 

Cassie stepped into the shower late that night and closed her eyes. Exhaustion settled in her bones. She'd sent Heath to his office to work while Danny cried his
little heart out for his four o'clock to seven o'clock cry time. Even
itsy bitsy spider
hadn't helped, sung quietly in his room with his door shut.

She'd read baby-care books while she rocked and walked him, and decided he had colic. He finally took a bottle and fell asleep, worn-out. When he woke up he was his placid self again, undemanding and content while they had dinner. Heath had headed to his office again after dinner, prodded by Cassie, who did some work herself, until it was time to feed Danny again.

When she realized she was falling asleep standing up in the shower, she turned off the water and stepped out. A few minutes later she folded down the quilt. She found an envelope with her name on it. Inside was a short note:

What did they mean by that thing about regret? she wondered, even as she smiled at the note itself. She'd found them to be down-to-earth, fun and warm. Yes, she could see Heath's point—his mother talked a lot. But she told great stories and wasn't mean-spirited or gossipy. If things were different… Well, she was glad she hadn't spent more time with them than she had. She'd liked them both.

Cassie climbed into bed just as Danny's cry came over the intercom. She heard Heath walk down the hall
and decided to stay in bed. She would get Danny the next time.

She was almost asleep when there was a knock on her door. “Cassie?”

She sat up. “What?”

“Danny and I want to know if you'd like to watch Letterman with us.”

She stifled a yawn. “Sure. Give me a minute.”

“We'll be in my bedroom.”

He padded across to his room. Cassie sat staring at the opposite wall. In his bedroom? O-kay.

She'd remembered to bring a robe this time, so she put it on before crossing the hall. He was propped against his headboard with his knees raised, Danny nestled along his thighs. She looked for a chair to drag close to the bed. The only chair in the room was an overstuffed lounge chair, far too big to move.

“We won't bite,” he said, patting the bed beside him, his eyes on the television as the Letterman theme song started.

I might bite you, though, she thought with a smile. How he tempted her, tormented her. The way he'd kissed her that afternoon when she thought she'd been warning him off…she had to admit she liked it. Liked the way he took charge. Now here she was in his bedroom, albeit with Danny, too, but
he
was no threat to her equilibrium.

She shoved a few pillows against the headboard then sat, stretching out her legs, drawing her robe tighter. It would be a testament to her self-control if she resisted inching closer. How long had it been since she'd cuddled up with someone to watch television? Had she ever? She must have, but she couldn't remember when.

As the monologue began, Cassie let Danny grab her finger and hold tight. He turned his head toward her when she spoke.

“Does he watch the whole show?” she asked.

“He likes the Top Ten list.”

“Seriously?”

“I think it's the laughter. Maybe he's destined to be an actor.”

They lay there on the king-size bed. She closed her eyes and listened to the monologue, smiling at the jokes, hearing Heath laugh occasionally. It felt good. Nice…

She woke up with a start. Panic gripped her. Darkness surrounded her. She clutched her robe

“Easy,” she heard Heath say soothingly. “You're okay.”

“No.” She jackknifed up, started to scramble off the bed. She had to find light. She had to see.

“Cassie—”

“Turn on the light. Turn on the light.”

He did. Light flared from his bedside lamp across the bed. She saw the questioning concern in his eyes. Sweat pulled her pajamas closer to her skin.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. She was, now. “Sorry.”

“What happened?”

She didn't want to talk about it with him. Not now. Not yet. It was embarrassing that a twenty-nine-year-old woman had to have the light on to sleep.

“I put Danny to bed,” he said, filling up the silence. “I turned off the television. Then as soon as I turned off the light you woke up,” he said.

She said nothing. After a minute he put his arms around her and drew her close. She held herself stiff, her
arms tucked close to her chest as a barrier, not wanting to give in to his comfort.

“Rest,” he said, his breath dusting her hair.

“Don't turn off the light.”

“I won't.”

She let herself relax, taking several minutes before she nestled against him, both of them still sitting up.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I should go to my room.” But she didn't make a move to do so.

He tightened his hold. She liked the feel of his body, the scent of his skin and the warmth of him, top to bottom. She wanted to get closer, to lie down with him. She didn't dare to.

“You're afraid of the dark,” he said.

She didn't respond.

“I'm afraid of falling asleep,” he said. “I dream about my son. About Kyle. I hate falling asleep.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's been better since you've been here.”

“Since Danny,” she corrected.

“Both of you.”

She was too comfortable with him. She wanted too much to stay with him, to sleep in his arms. She couldn't. She could fall in love with him so easily, and he was just beginning to open up to the world. He had a lot of catching up to do. He couldn't be tied down again so soon.

And she had an ideal of a happy family, one that was probably impossible for her to attain. She would ruin things at some point. She always did.