Husband for a Weekend

Even though they weren’t touching, he was aware of every inch of Kim beside him. He was wryly aware that the pajamas she wore were modest enough to satisfy a nun, but that didn’t stop him from finding her appealing in her jammies. He had no intention of doing anything about that attraction, of course—despite the urgings of certain parts of him. He was a healthy young male, after all, even if he was trying to be a gentleman during this often-awkward adventure.

To distract himself from thoughts of the sexy lady in bed with him, he focused his attention toward the crib. At first he went on alert whenever the baby squirmed or made a sound, but Kim slept on, and the baby quieted almost immediately each time. Normal nighttime noises, he decided. He guessed parents got used to them.

And then he found himself waiting for those noises, worrying when the baby was too quiet. Was she okay? She was still breathing over there, right? Scary stories drifted through his mind and he held his breath until he heard her sigh and wiggle again.

He thought of Kim’s comment that she was somewhat sensitive about her parenting because the full responsibility for Daryn fell on her shoulders. Must be terrifying. He couldn’t imagine having to make daily decisions about food and day care and medical choices for an infant. How did one decide about the best nutrition for a nine-month-old when there were so many conflicting opinions? How did she know the safest place for her child to stay during the weekday hours when Kim had to work to support them? How did she know when a sniffle was just a sniffle or a sign of something more serious? When a whimper in the night was something to respond to immediately or to let pass by?

This was exactly why he’d so far avoided parenthood. Even at thirty, he didn’t feel qualified for that responsibility. He hadn’t been around babies much, hadn’t even held one in almost longer than he could remember and he’d been in no hurry to change that status. He’d had an unspoken rule against dating single mothers. Even really cute ones with pretty whiskey eyes and enchanting freckles.

Still, it

felt a little too nice to have Kim lying beside him, snuggled into her pillow, her breathing slow and even. Should his ego be stung that she had found it so easy to ignore him and fall asleep? He thought it might be, at least a little.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he was jerked awake before dawn by a shriek from the crib. Startled and disoriented, he nearly leaped from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes wide and blurry. “What?”

Softly illuminated by the bluish night light, Kim was already at the crib, patting her daughter and making soothing sounds.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I guess she woke up and didn’t know where she was.”

“I know the feeling.” Pushing a hand through his tousled hair, Tate sank back onto his pillow, drawing a deep breath to steady his pulse. “She’s okay?”

“She’s fine.” Tentatively, Kim raised her hand and stepped back from the crib. Daryn gave a little sigh, but lay still, already asleep again.

Kim returned to the bed, sitting on her side and swinging her legs up before lying on her pillow again, carefully avoiding physical contact with him.

The way his body responded to having her beside him again, she might as well have wrapped herself around him. He shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. Stupid male hormones, he chided himself.

“I wasn’t sure she’d go back to sleep,” she whispered. “Sometimes when she wakes up like that she decides it’s time for breakfast. But now she’ll probably sleep another hour or so.”

Forcing his attention to the conversation, Tate checked the time, seeing that it was just before 5:00 a.m. “Is she always awake by 6:00?”

“Usually. But she’s been sleeping through the night since she was four months old, so I’m not complaining about her early rising.”

She shifted on the mattress, and her foot just barely brushed his. She drew back quickly, but not before he felt the little shock of response from the contact. “I’m sorry she woke you. I hope you can go back to sleep.”

He shrugged, accepting that as a lost cause. “I tend to be an early bird, myself. Comes from working outside in the South in summer—best to get out early before the heat sets in.”

“I worked in the gardening center of a home improvement store the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school. My job was to keep the displayed plants tidy and watered. I remember how hot those afternoons got here in Missouri. This has been such a brutal summer in Arkansas, I can’t help but feel sorry about anyone trying to work outside on those hundred-plus-degree days.”

He rolled on his side, propping his head on one arm. “You never told me you worked in a gardening center.”

“Only for one summer,” she reminded him, one hand beneath her cheek as she lay facing him. “My gardening experience hardly seemed worth mentioning compared to your and Evan’s horticulture degrees.”

“Did I ever mention that I thought about being a physical therapist? That was sort of my plan during high school, until I got a summer job with a landscaper and realized how much I liked working outdoors. I’ve always suspected Lynette was influenced by my talk of therapy careers to look into occupational therapy.”

She sounded intrigued by his confession. “I didn’t know you were ever interested in therapy. Funny, as much as we’ve talked during our lunches, there’s still quite a bit we don’t know about each other, isn’t there?”

Despite the very dim light in the predawn room, he could see her easy smile, which looked more natural than any smile he’d seen from her since they had arrived in Springfield. He couldn’t say whether it was because they were away from her family, or because the quiet, shadowy room and the sleeping baby nearby relaxed her innate guardedness or just because she was growing more comfortable with him again. Maybe all of the above, but he didn’t want to waste any more time sleeping when they could be enjoying their time together.

“There are still a lot of things I’d like to learn about you,” he said, still in that low, for-her-ears-only voice. “What made you decide to go into occupational therapy, for example?”

She chuckled. “Well, after that summer, I knew I wanted an indoor, air-conditioned job.”

He smiled, but prodded, “I’m sure there was more to it than that.”

She shrugged against her pillow. “My stepfather—the last stepfather before Bob,” she added with a wry twist in her voice. “The rancher?”

He nodded to indicate he remembered the hasty background she’d recited for him when they’d arrived in Springfield. “Stan, wasn’t it?”