Millionaire's Christmas Miracle (14 page)

Amy had opened her eyes to the low glow of the side lamp, and to Quint holding her. The electricity had come back on; she’d made love with Quint. She hadn’t noticed the one because of being so obsessed with Quint.

She listened, waiting, and when she heard nothing else, she closed her eyes and lay very still. But she couldn’t stop thinking. She couldn’t stop the reality of what she’d done coming to her full force. She’d made love to Quint. She’d let him make love to her. She’d given herself in a way she’d never thought she would again to a man she loved.

The world stopped. Time didn’t exist. Love? She trembled and felt Quint’s hold on her tighten a bit. That didn’t happen twice. It couldn’t. Not that love that came from your soul and was forever. No, she closed her eyes so tightly that colors exploded behind her eyes. No. She shifted, the need to escape a living thing in her.

But as soon as she tried to move, Quint held to her, his voice near her ear saying, “I thought you were asleep,” and the heat of his breath fanning her skin.

“I…I just woke up,” she said, hating the unsteadiness in her voice and the fact that she didn’t have the strength to just get up and leave.

“You heard Taylor?”

He’d been awake all this time, too? “I think she’s settled again.”

His hand moved on her, tracing the swell of her hip, moving around to circle her waist, and she trembled. “We need to talk,” he murmured, his mustache brushing softly against the skin on her shoulder.

She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to feel him against her back, his body angled to fit hers. She didn’t want to feel him touching her skin, or want him to keep touching her. She hated herself and she hated her weakness, and she hated it when she turned
in his embrace and whispered, “Don’t say anything. Please.”

She hated the need in her to touch his face with the soft light behind him, to feel the bristling of a new beard, the brush of his mustache and the softness of his lips. She was thankful that his face was a blur in the shadows. Just as well, she thought, not seeing clearly, and trembled when she felt his arousal against her. She shifted her hand lower and found him, circled him and felt him gasp.

There was no more talking. Just touching and feeling and being. She wanted him so much, and she’d have him one more time. She took what he offered, kissing and touching, being filled by him, and being given pleasure that knew no bounds. Later, she thought as she went with her feelings and arched to him, giving as good as she got, and losing herself in a world of ecstasy that was its own reality.

She climaxed with Quint, the sound of mutual pleasures given and taken mingling in her ears, then the slow descent into the peace and satiation of her entire being. She lay with him, her head on his shoulder, the beating of his heart echoing around her, and she waited for the pain. She waited for the regret to drive her out of his bed. But it didn’t come. It wasn’t there.

She didn’t move, almost not breathing, but nothing happened. Nothing took away that sense of rightness that came out of nowhere. She was doing it herself, she reasoned, making it seem right to convince herself, but amazingly, it was right. It was very right. All of the things she feared weren’t there. The pain, the
horror at betraying Rob, that horrible feeling of guilt at being alive and Rob not being there, too. All of them were gone.

That realization settled into her being, into her soul. All that sorrow that he would never be here again, but a joy that she was here…with Quint. And in that instant, the healing took place. Something let go inside her. A part of her let go of Rob, let him be her past, a good, wonderful past, a joy in her life for such a short time. But she could let it go and let it be her past. The stark reality that finally she could go on living was there.

Tears came, silently, making her shake, and she clung to Quint. She always cried at goodbyes, at moments when she knew that life was in front of her, and she had to put the past behind her. The past. She had loved Rob. She always would, but remarkably, she could still love now. The mourning was over, and her life stretched out in front of her. A life Quint had given back to her. And she cried.

Quint held on to Amy while she sobbed, and the faint hope that he’d held, dissolved with each sobbing breath she took. He’d been a fool in more ways than one. He wasn’t the man to stop her pain, to give her any happiness. The man she was crying for was that man. And as that thought solidified, he drew back from her, easing away until the contact was broken. He had a glimpse of her looking at him, her lashes spiked from tears and her skin flushed, and he knew if he stayed in that bed, he’d do the same thing over and over again. Just love her.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the
bed and just sat there for a long moment. When she touched him on the back, he jerked forward and stood, reaching for his jeans. He put them on before he turned, and he was thankful for the space he’d created between himself and Amy. Very thankful when she started to sit up and the sheets slipped, exposing her beauty to the softness of the light.

“You said we need to talk,” she said in a breathy whisper that ran riot over his frayed nerves. “We…we do, we really do.”

He narrowed his eyes to minimize her image, then he forced himself to do what he knew he had to do…for both their sakes. “I know, and I’m so sorry for this, for letting it happen at all.” The words all but choked him. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing.” Lie upon lie. “I’m still who I am, and you’re still…we’re just in way too different places. This never should have happened.”

He turned his back to her, finding it easier to talk without looking at her. Each word he said almost killed him. “Big mistake. Chalk it up to the storm, to cabin fever. Whatever.” He moved to the dresser, needing more distance, and he picked up the charged phone. When he turned, he was taken aback to find Amy standing by the bed, putting on her clothes, her back to him.

In silence she put on her jeans, followed by her sweatshirt, her actions jerky and fast. She reached for the T-shirt and bra she’d been wearing under her sweatshirt and his nerves felt ready to snap. “Did you hear what I said?”

She turned, and he didn’t know what he thought
would be there, but it wasn’t an almost glazed look on her face. “Yes, but I was waiting for you to get to how you’re too old for all of this. I bet you were just getting ready to say that, weren’t you?”

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just blame me for this. I should have—”

“Blame you?” she asked flatly. “I’m not some idiot who didn’t know what I was doing,” she muttered, fumbling with the zipper on her shirt. “And you don’t have to say anything else.”

No, he didn’t, but that didn’t stop this need to explain and explain and explain. A man of few words, and he felt overwhelmed with words that he couldn’t begin to sort out. All he could say was the truth that sat bitterly on his tongue. “You don’t want this. You’ve made that clear before. You’ve got your life.”

She zipped her sweatshirt and looked up at him. “And you’ve got yours.”

He didn’t even know what that life was anymore, but he’d figure that out after she was gone. “Yes,” he said.

“So you’ve said,” she murmured flatly, and he could see unsteadiness in her shoulders before she obliterated the distance between them. She came closer, looked at the phone, then took it from him. Without another word, she went to the door and left.

He stared at the spot where she’d been standing, then heard her door down the hallway close with a quiet click. He’d done the right thing. He knew that, but it was cold comfort when he went near the bed and almost tripped over the sheet Amy had wrapped around herself. It lay in a heap on the floor and when
he bent to pick it up, he was certain it held a hint of Amy on it. A subtle fragrance as unique as she was herself.

He tossed the sheet onto the bed, then turned away from it, went out into the hallway and walked barefoot past the closed door to her room. He never looked back as he went through the house, toward the den to find out if a good stiff drink could help him get through the rest of the night.

Amy crawled out of bed while both children were still asleep, looked outside to an amazingly clear sky, then got into the shower. She stood under the hot stream of water, horribly aware of the tenderness in her breasts and the ache deep inside that had started the moment Quint had turned to her and said,
Big mistake. Chalk it up to the storm, to cabin fever. Whatever.

Tears did no good. She had no right to them. He’d told her clearly enough what he did and didn’t want, and she’d gone on ahead anyway. It was her fault, and she’d get over it. At least a numbness that had started when Quint had faced her in his room was still lingering. She’d leave as soon as she could, go back and straighten out the mess with Travis, then get on with her life. She’d figure out what that meant when she had to. Right now, leaving was all she could manage.

She turned off the water, reached for a towel and dried, then slipped on her robe and stepped back into the bedroom. Travis was waking, slowly and easily, stirring and stretching, so precious it almost took her
breath away. She crossed to him, whispered, “Good morning, buddy,” then looked down at Taylor.

She was stunned to find the makeshift bed empty, and it was then that she realized the bedroom door was ajar. She scooped up Travis, went to the door and stepped out into the quiet hallway. She heard a squeal, saw Quint’s door was open, then Taylor came toddling out, still mussed from sleep, but wearing cowboy boots that went clean up to her thighs. She saw Amy, squealed with delight and headed for her, the boots making clunky sounds on the floor and slowing her progress.

Taylor was so serious about trying to walk in the boots that Amy smiled at her, then Quint came out of his room and her smile died. He was wearing jeans and nothing else. His hair was mussed and spiked, the beginnings of a beard darkening his jaw, and he looked as if he’d had a rough night. The sight of him brought everything back to her in a rush, and she tried desperately to hide her reaction, that instant response, the catch in her breathing and that explosive need. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

He saw her, narrowed his eyes and grabbed the doorjamb. “I thought I was being attacked by wild animals,” he muttered. “She got on the bed and used me as a trampoline.”

If she hadn’t been so tense, she would have laughed and felt a certain degree of satisfaction that Taylor had given him a Taylor-style wake-up call.

“Sorry,” she murmured at the same time as Travis started to squirm and cry. “The storm’s over. I need to leave.”

He frowned, then ran a hand roughly over his face. “I don’t know how the roads are.”

She wasn’t going to stay here any longer than she absolutely had to. “I’ll find out. Maybe I can call a cab or something.”

That made him start to smile, but the expression ended up being a grimace. “No cabs out here. I’ll take you back if it’s safe.”

Well, it wasn’t safe being here. “I’ll get the children changed and fed, then we can go. Okay?”

“Sure, sure,” he muttered and turned away from her, going back inside his room and closing the door behind him.

Taylor just barely made it to Amy before she stumbled and grabbed the hem of her robe for support. “Pop,” she said looking up at her mother.

“No, no popcorn for breakfast,” she said, turning and managing to get both kids back in the bedroom and the door closed before she realized she was shaking like a leaf.

I
N TWO HOURS
they were on their way back to Houston along roads that were still partially flooded, but Quint’s car took them well. He drove Amy, the two kids and Charlie the rat to her place, helped her get them out and up to the apartment. Neither adult talked beyond what was necessary until he was putting the diaper bags on the floor by the door of the tiny apartment.

He looked up at Amy who stood in the middle of the room holding Travis while Taylor dug into a toy
chest near the Christmas tree. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

“Just to say…I really appreciate all you did for us.”

How could he thank her for all she’d done for him; for the glimpse he’d had into what life might have been if they’d met in another time and another place? “No problem,” he murmured and he should have left, just turned and gone, but he didn’t. He seldom did the smart thing where Amy was concerned. “Listen, if you need help with Travis or…anything….”

“No, I don’t need help,” she said, her voice painfully flat. “You can go.”

“Just like that?” he heard himself ask.

She jiggled Travis as he started to fuss. “What else is there besides wishing you a happy birthday?”

He shrugged, happiness a foreign thought to him right then. “Nothing, I guess,” he murmured, and would have left if Taylor hadn’t come running at him, grabbing him around the legs.

He looked down into eyes the same as her mother’s eyes, then hunkered down in front of her. “Hey there, you’re home.”

She held out her arms to him. “Pop, spin, peeze?”

Her voice was tiny, as tiny as she was, and her face sober. He took her in his arms, hugged her, then said, “No popcorn or spinning. Why don’t you get Baby and spin with her?”

She was very still, then scooted out of his hold and went in search of her doll. Quint looked up at Amy, at eyes unblinking, watching him.

He’d found love, and right then he knew that love
didn’t matter. It didn’t fix anything. He saw by the way she held on to the love for her dead husband that it lasted, but it didn’t make anything easier. It only made it more difficult for him to straighten up, turn around and walk out the door.

Two days later

“I
DON
’
T KNOW
what to do,” Amy whispered, hugging the crying baby to her and trying to keep an eye on Taylor who was going through the bottom drawer of her desk at the center. “I just don’t know what to do for you.”

She tried to hold Travis the way Quint had. She tried to get him on her forearm, tummy-down like a football in the crook of her arm, and she tried to jiggle and get him to stop crying. But it didn’t work for her. When the crying bouts came, he wouldn’t be comforted. Her nerves were raw, and all she really wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed with the two kids and have all of them sleep for a week.

She’d stayed at LynTech as late as she could for the past few days, hoping against hope that a woman would show up looking for Travis. Or maybe it wasn’t hoping, it was trying to tie up that loose end to figure out what to do next. But no one had shown up except the guard checking on her—and Quint checking on her, too.

She gave up walking and jiggling and sank down in her chair and started swiveling back and forth. “Shhh, shhhh,” she said, frowning when Taylor tossed a package of envelopes out of the drawer, scattering
them everywhere on the carpeting. “Baby, no, Taylor, no, pick them up.”

Taylor looked at her, screwed up her nose and said, “No.”

“Great, just great,” she muttered, feeling so horribly alone at that moment that it made her eyes burn.

She hadn’t felt this sort of loneliness since Rob had died, but it had nothing to do with Rob now. When Quint had been there, she hadn’t felt it and that hurt her. She didn’t want him to be the one to hold back loneliness, because he wasn’t going to be here. Loving him had been easy, but letting go was just as hard as any goodbye she’d had to say in her life. She was still working on it, and it didn’t help when he kept stopping by.

He’d been coming into the center for a few minutes in the morning, and a few minutes at night, as if he was checking on her. Or more likely wanting to know if she’d called the police about Travis. But it was wearing her out. To see him, to have him not even look directly at her, to watch him talk to Taylor, check on Travis, then leave, was more than she could stand. He hadn’t been in this evening, but she was braced for the moment when he’d show up.

“Mama,” Taylor said, coming over to the chair, obviously sensing her mother’s distress. She laid her head on Amy’s lap and looked up at her. “Mama?”

“What, love?” she asked.

“Pop?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t have any popcorn. I’m sorry. I meant to get some, but I haven’t.” Taylor had been asking for popcorn since Quint walked out, and got
increasingly upset when Amy didn’t have any. If she’d had a bit of free time, she would have gone to the store for some, but she hadn’t had two minutes to string together for herself since New Year’s. With Jenn gone, she’d truly been on her own.

“Peeze. Pop, want pop,” Taylor whined, and her voice cut across Amy’s nerves.

She knew right then how foolish she was being. She wasn’t some super woman who could go on with life and take care of both kids and make everything right. She wasn’t even close. For the first time since Quint had appeared with Travis in his arms, she considered the fact that she might have to make that call to the police.

Tomorrow LynTech would return to normal. Lindsey and Zane would finally be home after being grounded by the storm and missing Matt and B.J.’s wedding. Matt and B.J. had taken Anthony along on their honeymoon, something that Amy hadn’t even questioned. Her own life was strange enough as it was. Most importantly, she’d have to explain Travis to everyone. And she couldn’t.

Not any more than she could figure out how to face Quint day in and day out the way she seemed destined to do. Maybe it was time to let go. She looked at the wall clock. Fifteen minutes to six. She looked down at her hand patting the baby’s back and saw her ring. Plain. Gold. She stared at it long and hard. Yes, it was time to let go.

She slipped off her ring, held it for a long moment, then reached to put it in the top drawer of the desk.
Sliding the drawer shut, she whispered, “Goodbye,” then sat back. Time to let go.

She looked at the clock again. In fifteen minutes, if a miracle didn’t occur and Travis’s mother didn’t call or show up, she knew that she’d have to make the call. She’d have to let go.

“I
DON
’
T APPRECIATE
you doing this again, Quint. New Year’s Day was bad enough, but right now I’m in the middle of something—”

Quint cut off Les Merin, his attorney from New York. “If I know you, you’re spending your last day of vacation the way you spent New Year’s Eve, in a hot tub with a couple of blondes.”

“She’s brunette and there’s just one,” Les muttered.

“Okay, tell her to wait ten minutes and tell me what you found out.”

“Well, since you called me yesterday, and remember it’s a holiday, and every sane person is having fun, I had to do some digging, but I found out what you wanted to know. I can’t give you specifics, because I don’t have my notes on me.” He chuckled at that, but Quint didn’t.

“Just give me the highlights.”

“Abandoned children go into Child Protective Services, are assigned to a foster-care-type situation until the courts can hear the case and then they’re put into official foster care for however long is necessary.”

Quint was impatient. “Just get to the bottom line about the child and the mother.”

“Okay, in a nutshell, the kid’s in the system for
anywhere from three months up until he turns eighteen, and the mother, if she’s found, gets arrested and depending on her age and circumstances, goes into youth authority, jail, rehab if drugs or alcohol are involved. You name it. In all probability, somewhere down the road, she gets the kid back, or she gives the kid up. She has to sign away all parental rights, and the father has to do it, too, if he’s known. That can take months, and the kid stays in the system while it’s done.”

Quint sank back in the chair and closed his eyes. “So, no matter what happens, the kid’s in the system for a minimum of three months? And a druggie mother could get him back if she did or said the right thing?”

“You’ve got it. Now, can I get back to the hot tub?”

“Okay, but could you get me the name of the best attorney out here that has full knowledge of child protection laws?”

“If you leave me alone for the rest of the night, I’ll look into it as soon as I get to work tomorrow and contact you.”

“It’s a deal,” Quint murmured.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you’re doing out there that has to do with abandoned kids, are you?”

“Maybe later,” Quint said and hit the Disconnect button, then stood and reached for his jacket. It was time to leave and this time he wasn’t going down to check on Amy and the kids first. He knew she was still here. The guard at the front desk had said she
hadn’t signed out yet, but just seeing her wasn’t working. He couldn’t continue spending a bit of time with Taylor and Travis, and then just walk away.

He shrugged into his jacket and turned out the lights, then left his office, heading for Zane’s office. Zane had come back from Aspen yesterday, gave him a call to touch base and that had been that. But he’d use Zane’s elevator to go down to the parking garage. When he had the name of an attorney, he’d let that attorney contact Amy and help her with Travis. He wasn’t getting into it anymore.

He went through Zane’s office to the executive elevator. As he got in, he quite literally had a sensation of moving away from Amy and the kids and heading toward nothing. He pushed the button for the parking garage, and, as the elevator headed down, he realized that the craziest part of all of this was that he was doing it because he loved her.

He just wished he wasn’t stumbling so badly over his own justification for what he was doing. If he was right, why was he feeling such loss? Why was he missing Amy’s voice? Her presence? Why was he missing a two-year-old obsessed with popcorn and a foundling who cried most of the time? More importantly, why was Amy alone with two children and he was alone with no one?

He stepped out of the elevator, and saw that the only two cars in the garage were Amy’s and his. He crossed to the SUV, gripped his briefcase, then took out his key and hit the Release button. He opened the door, tossed in his briefcase and would have gotten in, but stopped when he heard something. He looked
around, certain he couldn’t have heard someone crying. Seeing and hearing nothing he slipped inside his car. But just as he reached to close the door, he heard it again—a soft sobbing sound.