Warm Hearts (23 page)

“Caroline?”

Caroline whipped around at the sound of her name to see Shelley holding out the phone. She quickly retrieved it. “Hello?”

“Well, she sounds all right,” Elizabeth Plummer said without preamble.

“And she looks fine.”

“She says that she'd like to stay with Brendan for a few days. I know that his place is small, so it may be a problem, but he'll have to be the one to decide. Would you have him call me when he gets home?”

“Sure thing.”

“And you won't let Shelley budge from there until he does?”

“She's not going anywhere,” Caroline said with a mischievous grin for Shelley. “I'm lonely. I need company.” She shifted the phone away from her mouth to ask Shelley if she'd had dinner. When the girl shook her head, Caroline said into the phone, “We're both starved. Brendan has a London broil in the fridge that I think I'll do on the hibachi. If he times it right, he may walk in just in time for the feast.”

“Thank you, Caroline,” his mother said with sincerity. “Perhaps one day I'll be able to thank you in person.”

“I'd like that,” Caroline said with a gentle smile, then added a goodbye and hung up the phone.

Brendan did, indeed, time things right. He walked into the loft with just enough time to spare to give bear hugs to both Caroline and Shelley before sitting down to a feast of London broil, garlic bread and salad—all of which Caroline had picked up on her way home from work.

Shelley camped out on Brendan's sofa for five days, during which time Caroline stayed at her own loft. Though Caroline missed Brendan's loving and the feel of his long body beside her at night, the arrangements were for the best. Caroline's close relationship with Brendan was obvious enough to Shelley, who craved a little of her brother's attention. Granting Shelley that time alone with him minimized the possibility of jealousy.

Caroline and Shelley became friends. Ironically, while Shelley had thought Brendan would be the one to whom she would pour out her broken heart, she found that Caroline, being that much closer to her age and a woman, was even better for the role. Caroline had two other advantages: she was one step removed from family, and she knew what she was doing.

By the time Shelley left to return home—by plane this time—she had decided that her heart wasn't quite as badly broken as she'd originally thought. She had also decided that Caroline would make a perfect wife for Brendan, and she proceeded to tell it to her mother, who called and told it to Brendan himself, who said that he agreed with her and that he was working on it.

He was working on it. He was working on it. He'd told himself that so many times that he was sick of the words. Unfortunately, “working on it” most often meant sitting back and doing nothing but being himself in the hope that he could get far enough under Caroline's skin to force some kind of eruption of feeling. For a man who was used to action, the wait was tedious. But he had no choice.

Circumstance was on his side. The circumstance of Caroline's father's stroke had brought them to Milwaukee, where Brendan had been able to show Caroline not only that he could get along with her family but that life with them was easier for her when he was around. The circumstance of Shelley Plummer's broken heart had brought Caroline into contact with Brendan's family, with positive feelings all around.

But the circumstance of the birth of Karen's baby was the most emotionally enlightening for Caroline. The baby arrived, quite conveniently, on a Friday, three days after Shelley left. Caroline got the call from Dan at work and was beside herself with glee. She spent her lunch hour shopping for her new nephew, then insisted on dragging Brendan out that evening to pick up even more. Because he was so delighted that she was so delighted, he went without a peep.

The next morning, they drove to Philadelphia. Karen was ebullient. She'd found labor to be easier than pregnancy, and she and Dan were overjoyed with their son. They took well to Brendan, too, and the feelings were mutual. That helped Caroline, because with Brendan preoccupied with Karen and Dan, she had more time to spend on the phone reassuring her mother that the baby was healthy. When she wasn't doing that, she stood at the nursery window staring down at the small, snugly swathed bundle of life that was the product of the love between Karen and Dan.

Thin, purple eyelids shifting with each newborn dream. A tiny mouth that formed sweet shapes around nothing at all. Miniature fingers, like spider's legs, crawling idly across a pink cheek. A nose that was little more than a bump with two holes at the bottom.

He was precious, Caroline thought, and he touched her deeply. She recalled the time when her niece had been born four years before. She'd been excited then and a little frightened.

Now she was touched in a different way. It was no great mystery. She was a woman, with maternal instincts, and those instincts were making themselves known. She wanted to hold, to nurture and to love a baby that was every bit as small and helpless as this one. She wanted a baby of her own—one that was hers and Brendan's.

Caroline thought about that through what was left of the afternoon. She and Brendan took Dan out to dinner. Then, dropping him back at the hospital to be with his wife and son, they drove north into the country to the inn they'd picked from Caroline's book.

Brendan, too, was pensive. He was thinking many of the same things Caroline was, and he knew it. He'd seen her face—how could he have
helped
but see her face—when she'd been looking at that infant. He'd never seen such an exquisite expression, and while he marveled at the beauty behind it, he was annoyed that it wasn't
his
baby that she was looking at with such awe. She would make a magnificent mother; he'd known it even before he'd met her face-to-face, and his judgment hadn't changed. But, damn it, before they had kids they had to get married, and before they got married they had to declare that they were in love, and before they did that, Caroline had to realize that the relationship she'd
thought
she wanted wasn't enough!

Words and emotions swirled within him. Having no outlet, they coiled around themselves. By the time he and Caroline had reached their destination, a charming inn in Quakertown, he'd worked himself into a mood that was as lousy as it was uncharacteristic.

“I'm going for a run,” he told her as soon as they'd been shown to their room. He busied himself digging a pair of running shorts out of his bag.

Caroline had been aware of his mood from that moment when it had crossed the line from disturbed to angry. It was almost as though she'd felt invisible fingers tapping on her shoulder, telling her that something was brewing. But to know something was brewing was one thing; to act on that knowledge was something else. She had a vague idea what was on his mind. She just wasn't sure she was ready to discuss it.

“It's dark out,” she said.

“I often run at night.”

“These roads aren't lit like the ones at home.”

He'd pushed down his jeans and was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to work them over his sneakers. When the denim didn't budge, he gave an impatient growl. “There's a moon,” he said as he tugged off the sneakers, then the jeans, then pulled on the running shorts and went at relacing the sneakers.

Caroline hadn't ever seen him quite this way. She'd seen him when he'd been frustrated by something at work and had come home scowling. She'd seen him when he'd gone out one morning to find that the tires of his car had been slashed. She'd even seen him when Shelley had told him where she'd spent the night between Kansas City and Washington.

But he'd never scowled at
her
before—not that he was doing so now. He wasn't looking at her at all. And that was almost worse!

At a loss, she watched him finish with the sneakers, whip his shirt over his head and toss it aside, then leave the room. Turning out the light, she went to the window in time to see his shadowed form leave the shelter of the inn and take off at a rhythmic run down the drive.

She stood there long after he'd disappeared from sight, finally settling into a plush wing chair to await his return. After a while, it occurred to her that she was envious. He wasn't the only one in need of a little fresh air. Changing into her own shorts and sneakers, she nodded her way past the few guests who were sitting in the lobby and left the inn.

Once outside, she was faced with the dilemma of what to do and where to go. She wasn't a runner, and even if she were, she couldn't have known what direction Brendan had taken when he'd hit the main road.

She didn't want to miss him. Forget the business about getting fresh air; what she'd really come out for was to be with Brendan.

10

Caroline sat against the tall white pillar that was rooted to the front steps of the inn. Her hands were clasped between her knees, while her eyes systematically swept the darkened landscape for signs of life. She wondered where Brendan had gone and when he'd be back, but more, she wondered what he'd been thinking about when he'd taken off that way.

Nervously, she jumped up from the step and wandered into the yard, but the restless pacing she did there accomplished nothing. Minutes dragged by, and he didn't return.

The night was hot. Her skin was damp and sticky. She swatted at a bug, idly at first, then with greater determination when the bug persisted in hovering by her ear.

In a spurt of impatience, she marched down the broad walk to the drive, where she stood for several minutes, searching the night. Brendan had been gone, by her guess, for nearly an hour. She couldn't imagine that he'd been running the whole time. The air was nearly as humid as it had been in Washington, not ideal for a prolonged jog. Taking a page from her mother's book, she envisioned him passing out by the roadside and lying there unattended or, worse, being hit by a car. She went on to consider the possibility that he'd been accosted; violence was known to rise in the heat of the summer, and indeed, the moon was full.

All of which speculation was absurd, she scoffed silently. The man earned his livelihood tracking down terrorists.
That
was dangerous. There was no danger on a quiet country road on a peaceful night beneath the stars. Most likely he was in town drinking a nice, cool beer.

Retracing her steps to the front porch, she sat down again. Something was wrong. Somewhere, somehow, she and Brendan had stopped communicating. That had been one of the basic rules she'd set—that there be honesty and openness between them. But right now there wasn't. She had the distinct feeling that Brendan was angry, and she wasn't quite sure why.

Once again she left the front steps, this time to wander down the drive and, in sheer frustration, start along the street. She didn't have to go far. No more than a three-minute walk from the inn was a low stone wall. Straddling that wall was her man.

She felt relief, then trepidation, but there was no way she could have turned around and left him alone. So she approached slowly. Moonlight glistened on his sweaty skin, and his hair was tousled. His breathing was regular, though; she guessed that he'd been sitting there for a time.

“Did you run?” she asked lightly.

He shrugged. “A little.”

“Too hot?”

“Yeah.”

Three feet of thick night air separated them. While Caroline found the air to be oppressive, the separation was worse. This was Brendan … her dream lover … the man to whom she could say anything and everything … the friend with whom she could carry on the most exciting of silent talks.

But neither of them was talking now, and there was nothing comfortable about the silence. She wanted to cry. Instead, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“I'll bet you could use a cool drink.”

He didn't respond to that at all but looked down, breaking eye contact for the first time since she'd come along.

Caroline moved closer. “What's wrong, Brendan?”

It was a long time before he answered. He plucked at stray blades of grass that grew in spikes between the rocks, tossing each aside after he'd mangled it. She was beginning to wonder whether he planned to answer at all when his arms fell limply to his sides and he raised his eyes to the branches overhead. His voice came slowly and sounded distant.

“That was incredible today … seeing that little baby. I haven't ever seen a human being that small.”

Caroline was surprised. She hadn't expected that he'd still be thinking of the baby. She watched him closely as he frowned, then lowered his head and, still frowning, concentrated on the stone wall between his thighs.

“It struck me…” he said, then hesitated. “Well, lots of things struck me, but the first thing was that that little boy is totally helpless. Without his parents or a nurse or some kind of caretaker, he dies. That's it. He just dies. Totally helpless. Totally dependent on others for survival.”

He stopped talking. He brushed his thumb back and forth over the rock. His lower lip came out to cover its mate, sliding free at length. “And then I started thinking of survival, and it hit me that we really take having kids for granted. We don't think of it as propagating the species, but that's what it is. There's something primal about it, something raw … basic.”

He paused for a brief, pensive minute. “We're like animals in that way, and I don't mean it in a negative sense. People regard ‘animal behavior' as synonymous with lust, but the fact is that animals do what they have to, to keep their species from becoming extinct. The knowledge is built-in. Instinct tells them what to do and when to do it.” He gave a soft snort. “It's ironic. We have the superior ability to reason, and because of that our timing gets screwed up. Not that there's a risk of our becoming extinct.…”

His voice trailed off. He remained still for a bit, only his thumbs moving on the rock. Then, slowly and uncertainly, he lifted his gaze to Caroline's. “I was terrified when I saw that baby. I was terrified thinking of the responsibility involved—not only to feed it and clothe it but to love it and educate it and raise it to be a productive individual.” He took a breath, stopped, then asked, “Do you ever think of things like that?”