Husband for a Weekend
Maybe it was piqued pride that made him say, “Kim?”
She paused at the door. “Yes?”
“If we ever end up in a bed together again? It won’t be quite so platonic. Just thought you should know.”
She blinked a few times, then whirled and let herself quietly out of the room, closing the door almost silently behind her. So why did he have the feeling she would rather have slammed it?
Frowning in bemusement at his own odd behavior, he sat up against the headboard, giving up any possibility of sleep as he vigilantly guarded his temporary charge.
* * *
Towel-drying her hair into damp waves, Kim tiptoed across the hall to the bedroom after showering and dressing. Another hot afternoon lay ahead, so she wore a red cotton top with fluttery sleeves and colorful embroidery around the scooped neck and slim, cropped pants. Casual, but one of her favorite summer weekend outfits; she assumed it was suitable for a gathering at her grandmother’s house.
She hadn’t dawdled, but she’d been gone closer to fifteen minutes than the ten she’d promised. She had needed the extra few moments to compose herself after that unsettling interlude with Tate.
He’d been teasing. Of course he had, she had decided while standing beneath a deliberately chilly shower. Tate had a quirky sense of humor. He was probably getting back at her for everything he’d been put through with her family last night. He’d probably been amused that she’d been so flustered, and he would likely tease her about it later, maybe even in front of their friends.
As for that comment about the next time they were in a bed together—well, that had to have been part of the joke. Right?
At least, that was the way she was going to have to regard it if she was going to make it through the rest of this day with him. Once she was back in Little Rock, back in the privacy of her own home, she could acknowledge if only to herself that kissing Tate in that bed had almost turned her world upside down.
Tate sat on the edge of the bed when she slipped into the room, a pile of folded clothing beside him as he waited for his own chance at the shower. A quick glance assured her that Daryn hadn’t stirred. That must have been a relief to Tate. He’d looked alarmed at the very prospect of having to actually interact with the baby, she reminded herself.
“Shower’s free,” she told him as she entered the room, her expression carefully bland.
“Thanks.”
Though he didn’t exactly bolt from the room, he wasted no time making his escape. Rubbing the towel over her hair one more time, Kim thought that Tate’s careful lack of interaction with Daryn made it very clear he wasn’t interested in taking on a ready-made family. Which was hardly relevant to her, of course, but it could be disappointing for any single mom who was naive enough to fall for his teasing flirtation.
She scowled and tossed the towel aside, wondering why she had allowed her thoughts to drift along those lines. She would not let one kiss scramble her carefully cultivated common sense, darn it. Okay, two kisses—she hadn’t forgotten the unexpected effects of that first time. But still, kissing Tate was a mistake, and she wasn’t going to forget that again.
Daryn was just starting to stir when Tate returned. Like Kim, he’d left his hair damp, finger-combed away from his freshly shaven face. Having been assured by her that the reunion was a very casual affair, he wore dark jeans with one of the short-sleeved polo shirts that seemed to make up most of his casual wardrobe, this one in a leaf-green that nicely complemented his tan.
He looked great, of course—but then, he always did. She suspected her cousins would flirt like crazy with him that afternoon, as they did any attractive man who came within their reach, single or otherwise. Maybe she should warn him about Patty and Cara Lynn—or maybe he would just have to meet her extended family to believe what she would tell him about them.
“Just got a whiff of coffee brewing downstairs,” he announced, stuffing his sleepwear into a bag. “Guess we’re not the only early risers. Or maybe we woke someone with our stirring around.”
Daryn opened her eyes with a couple of sleepy blinks, then grinned, babbled and kicked her feet when she saw Kim looking down at her.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Smiling back at the child, Kim reached for the diaper bag.
Tate took a couple of steps closer to the crib, eyeing the baby curiously. “Does she always wake up so happy?”
Kim tickled Daryn’s tummy to elicit a trill of giggles. “Almost always. She’s really a very good baby.”
“I’ve hardly heard her fuss since we left yesterday. My very limited experience with babies and toddlers on airplanes and in the supermarket made me think they’re usually screaming about something.”
“Babies cry to communicate. They’re hungry or wet or frightened or overwhelmed or in pain. Some are naturally fussier than others, just as a result of personality differences. Parents learn from experience to interpret those cries, for the most part. As for toddlers—well, then you start getting into behavior that requires firmer guidelines. Those kids throwing themselves into the floor of the store and screaming because they’ve been told no? That’s on the parents more than the kids.”
“So you’re saying little Daryn here isn’t going to throw any of those I-want-it-I-want-it tantrums?”
“I’m sure she’ll try a few times. I don’t expect her to be a model child. But I figure my job as a mother is to teach her how to behave in polite society, and if I fail in that, then I’ve let her down.”
Realizing she’d unwittingly climbed onto one of her favorite soapboxes while changing Daryn, she flushed a little as she picked up the baby. “I didn’t mean to sound like the perfect parent. I’m sure most parents are doing the best they can.”
“Mmm.” Tate expressed quite a bit of skepticism with that brief murmur, but he let the subject drop. He seemed to become aware that Daryn was studying him intently. “Um, good morning, Daryn.”
Bouncing in Kim’s arms, Daryn babbled a happy, if unintelligible, response.