Baby By Chance

She dropped her shoulder bag and keys onto the brown bear figurine and picked up the squirming terrier. “Shower time for us both, little guy,” she said as she carried him up the stairs.

She would be lucky if she even had Honey dried by seven, much less herself. She hated being late, even if she wasn’t the one who’d set the schedule. Of course, men were seldom on time. David might not even show up until eight.

But whenever he did show, one thing was for sure. If he came around expecting food from her tonight, she’d hand him a bag of dog kibble.

DAVID RANG SUSAN’S doorbell at exactly seven. He knew she was home. He’d already glanced through the window of her garage and had seen her green SUV inside. Lights shone through the glass panels above the front door of her town house. A dog barked from somewhere within.

David let a minute go by before pressing the doorbell again.

Almost immediately the door flew open and a small, white terrier charged out. Since David had two dogs of his own, he was well versed in the proper etiquette when entering their territory. He stood still and let himself be sniffed. The dog efficiently circled his legs, wagged his tail happily and let out a welcoming bark. David leaned down to give him a pat.

The dog was a cute little guy and openly affectionate, if a little damp. He rubbed his head against David’s hand, obviously expecting a lot more than just a passing pat. David indulged him, rubbing his ears and back and getting a blissful little moan in response.

“You’re making a mistake,” Susan said. “He’s not going to let you alone for a minute now.”

David turned his head. The first thing he saw from his crouched position was her bare feet. Slowly his gaze followed the lovely curved bone of her ankles, long shins and cute knees. But when he got to the middle of the firm flesh on her slim thighs, the edge of a white terry-cloth robe suddenly intruded to spoil the rest of the view.

The robe was securely fastened around her waist and drawn closely over her chest. A white towel covered her hair. She was not happy he was here. The firm set to her mouth made that very clear. But as her eyes followed his hand still stroking her dog, there was a softness in her expression that he had not seen before.

She stepped back for him to enter. “Honey will have to entertain you while I get dressed.”

David stepped through the jungle of her entryway, the dog trotting happily at his heels. He noted the shiny hardwood floors, the large bear that held her shoulder bag and keys, the whimsical frog wastebasket.

When she stepped past him to close the door, he caught a whiff of her freshly washed skin and hair. He reminded himself that the sudden tightening of his stomach muscles was normal, natural, nothing to be concerned about.

“The living room is that way,” she said with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

She padded across the bare wood floor and easily sprinted up the spiral staircase to the second floor. She was lithe and agile and displayed none of the physical clumsiness that had plagued her that morning. He felt reassured. He didn’t want to worry about her, but he had.

He’d decided to meet with her at her home because he wanted to get a deeper sense of who she was. Understanding a client was important. A woman’s home often reflected her more strongly than any other aspect of her life. Especially a woman who lived alone.

He already knew of her struggle to be taken as a serious professional, her hard-held independence, her deep need for privacy. Still, he had a feeling there was a lot more to know.

David thought he’d prepared himself for whatever he’d find, but when he entered her living room, he hadn’t expected to be walking into a shrine. From floor to ceiling, the walls were covered in dramatic, larger-than-life photographs of wildlife, giving him the impression that he’d been transported into the wilderness.

A majestic eagle soared over a diamond-blue waterfall. An elk herd fed on dewy grass in the dawn light. Furry bobcats ran across snow-covered forests. White-tailed deer glided through golden meadows. A brown bear lunged at pink-bellied salmon leaping up an emerald stream. The room vibrated with movement, with wild beauty, with life.

He barely noticed the furnishings. A nondescript couch and chair, a coffee table and several throw rugs—all in muted greens, grays and umber. Nothing distracted the eye from the dramatic scenes on the walls.

And that was when he knew. This was the living room of a woman with a deep respect, reverence and love for nature. Those beautiful pictures were not an extension of her work. Her work was an extension of herself.

SUSAN SHOULD HAVE KNOWN that David would be one of those rare men who actually showed up when he said he would. She rubbed her wet hair with the towel, well aware the effort was futile. An hour under the blow dryer would be required to dry the long strands in the humid air. She didn’t have that kind of time.

She settled for rubbing the moisture out of her bangs, and swept the rest into a golden scarf, tied turban-style around her head. She pulled a pair of clean black sweats out of her closet and hurriedly put them on.

Just because he was in dark-blue slacks and the collar and cuffs of a dress shirt peeked out of his blue sweater, there was no reason for her to dress up.

Damn, he did look good, though.

Still, this was her home. She had a right to be comfortable. She was not going to change anything just because he had the bad manners to invite himself over. But instead of reaching for her comfy, beat-up slippers as she normally would have, she opted instead for a pair of socks and her new walking shoes.

When she came down the stairs a couple of minutes later, she found David sitting on the couch with Honey beside him. His face was turned toward the dog, so she couldn’t read his expression. But there was a relaxed set to his shoulders and his long legs were comfortably stretched out in front of him. He was stroking Honey.

She stood at the edge of the living room silently watching them. She wanted to be put out with David, but she found that difficult. He was being so nice and attentive to Honey. A man who liked her beloved pet couldn’t be all bad.

“Is he a good watchdog?” David asked, obviously aware she was standing there although he hadn’t taken his eyes off Honey.

She stepped into the room. “I doubt he’d do anything to a burglar except beg for attention.”

He glanced up at her, the look on his face almost friendly. The edge of his lip twitched. Was that the beginning of a smile?

She waited expectantly, suddenly very curious to see what a smile would do to his face. But none was forthcoming.

“He’s munching on my fingers,” David said. “I think he’s hungry.”

“We eat at this time,” she said, happy for the opportunity to bring up the subject.

“Then, you’d best eat,” he said, not a hint of apology in his voice.

“Come on, Honey,” she called, shaking her head. “Go get your dinner bowl.”

Honey didn’t have to be told a second time. He barked his excitement as he flew off the couch. She followed the dog into the kitchen. She heard David enter a moment later as she was taking Honey’s meal out of the refrigerator. She unwrapped the steak and placed it in the bowl Honey held in his mouth. Honey expertly lowered the bowl to the kitchen floor and dug in.

“Steak for dinner,” David said. “Honey’s a lucky dog.”

“He’s a loved one,” Susan said, staring down at the ball of fur.

“That’s what I meant,” he said. “Get your coat. You can take your pick of Italian, Chinese or a steakhouse. They’re all within a twenty-minute drive.”

“I’m not dressed to go out,” she said, looking up in surprise.

His impressive height and massive shoulders dwarfed her small kitchen. The overhead light played through the thick, rich brown of his hair.

“You look fine to me.”

There was absolutely no readable expression on his calm face, but his voice told her he meant those words.

She knew then that he had intended to take her out to dinner all along. Damn. She wished he had said something. She would have dried her hair and worn something suitable. How thoroughly annoying this man could be.

She looked away from him and turned toward a cupboard.

“I was going to have some soup and a salad,” she said. “There’s enough for two if you’re hungry.”

She fiddled with the dishes and waited through the stretching silence, slightly appalled at the sudden impulse that had her inviting him to share a dinner with her here.

“I’ll make the salad,” he said.

He hadn’t offered. He’d told her. She did not appreciate the caveman approach. A spark of annoyance skittered across nerve endings she recognized were already taut. A small, reasonable voice inside her tried to suggest that he might have offered to make the salad as a way of being helpful. But she didn’t really want to listen to that voice at the moment.

She felt him move behind her to the refrigerator. Felt the cool air as he opened the door. Felt the impressive breadth of him that blocked a lot of that cool air. He was crowding her, and she didn’t like to be crowded.

But what Susan really didn’t like was her sudden suspicion that David might actually be a considerate man. She hadn’t been prepared for that. The possibility threw her off balance in a most unexpected and disconcerting way.

SOUP AND SALAD, she’d said. Sounded simple enough to David. But as he was fast discovering, nothing about Susan was simple.

She’d added sliced apples, pears, grapes and then finely chopped almonds, walnuts and pecans to the assortment of greens he’d put into salad bowls. Instead of salad dressing, she topped off the blend with sharp, shredded cheddar. The combination turned out to be both unusual and quite delicious.

She’d put chicken broth to simmer on the stove. Then she’d chopped an assortment of springtime vegetables into the broth—asparagus tips, onions, garlic, snow peas, spin-ach—and added tender juicy chunks of freshly cooked chicken seasoned with ginger and ground pepper. The flavors blended well and tasted great with the warm corn bread she served right out of the oven.

David had planned from the beginning to take her out to dinner. He hadn’t dreamed she’d offer to make him a meal. But he was glad she had. And not just because the meal had turned out to be superior to what they could have gotten at a restaurant.

Watching her prepare the food, he’d discovered her penchant for neatness and for organization. Every inch of her small kitchen served a specific and useful function. He’d discovered some of her preferences, as well. Fresh fruits and vegetables were clearly major players in her diet. She was concerned about what she put in her body. He’d discovered her attention to detail in the way she sifted and measured and made sure quantities were correct. She was not a careless woman.

They had eaten at her country-style, cloth-covered kitchen table. Her town house had a small formal dining room, but he was certain she rarely ate there, because few photographs adorned the walls. Every inch of the kitchen was covered with them.

The photographs in the living room had told him a lot about her. These told him more. They were all of baby animals—a doe nursing her new speckled fawn, a mother bear playing with her twin cubs, a tiny hummingbird flittering protectively over her hatchlings. And whereas the living room scenes had been full of the bold vibrancy of wildlife, these were filled with the warm, cherished charm of new life.

When they finished eating, David helped her clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. “I have a few things I’d like to go over,” he said.

“All right,” she agreed as she led the way back into the living room. She took a seat on the chair. He sat across from her on the couch. Honey hopped up beside him and nudged his hand, clearly communicating his desire for more petting.

David gave in to the demands of the little terrier, unable to resist. But even as he looked at the dog snuggling against him, the woman sitting so silently across from him claimed his thoughts. He was more confused than ever by her and by the reason she had come to him.

She was not the kind of woman to casually have a fling with a stranger. Everything about her told him that. And yet, she had. He had to know why.

Susan watched Honey stretch out beside David, legs in the air, total trust shining out of his big brown eyes. David’s large hand gently rubbed the terrier’s tummy. The little dog sighed with delight. The expression on David’s face as he looked at Honey was that of a man fast becoming wrapped around the charming paws of a pooch.

She decided she could forgive David a lot when she saw that look. Maybe even forgive him for his intrusion into her home tonight.

“Your husband died two years and ten months ago,” he said, breaking the silence. “You went to the community center six weeks ago to attend a bereavement seminar, not one on self-improvement.”

So, he had checked up on her. Seemed odd he had done so after having turned down her case, and odder still that he was now willing to help her. There was so much about this man that was confusing.

But his voice had been surprisingly gentle when he made that statement. And so was his hand on Honey’s tummy.

“Being able to deal effectively with grief is a form of self-improvement,” she said, trying not to sound defensive.

His immediate response told her she had failed. “I’m not trying to corner you. I’m trying to understand. I’m well aware that losing a loved one can be devastating. Did attending the seminar help?”

She looked down at the gold band on her finger. “No.”

“Tell me how he died.”

“How will that help?”

“I’m not sure that it will. But I’d like you to tell me.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that caught her off guard. He really did sound as though he wanted to know. Yet when she looked up, she found his attention still focused on the dog, his hand stroking Honey’s tummy in a soft, circular motion that was almost hypnotic.

“Paul was a fireman,” she began. “He was a courageous man, dedicated to saving lives. He worked long hours. When he came home that day, he was very tired. But there was a game on TV he wanted to watch, so he decided to stay up for a while.”

The images from the past were clear. She saw Paul as he’d plopped on the couch in his striped boxer shorts, a beer in his hand. He had grinned at her over his bare shoulder, and she’d seen the familiar light stubble on his chin, his blond hair—as always—in need of a trim.

“I put some wash in the dryer, kissed him goodbye and went off to do the grocery shopping,” she continued. “When I got home, I found the block surrounded by fire engines and the house…Paul…everything was gone.”

She didn’t remember much of that part. Probably better that she didn’t.

“How did the fire start?” David asked.

“I’m not sure. Paul had fallen asleep on the couch. They found…him there.”

What was left of him. They had spared her the details—something for which she would always be grateful. She stared down at her walking shoes, concentrated on the gold and white stripes on the sides.

“I didn’t mean to bring it all back,” David said.

She looked up to find him watching her. His face was full of understanding. Strange she had thought his eyes cold. They were looking at her with the same warmth that was in his voice.

“Did you get grief counseling after his death?” he asked.

“I’ve never been one to go to other people for help. I was certain I could handle the grief, and I did. I accepted Paul’s death. I got on with my life. Everything was going well. But, then, a few months ago, the dreams started.”

“What kind of dreams?”

“Vivid,” she said. “I know people are supposed to dream every night. I suppose I must. But I’ve never remembered my dreams before.”

“What happens in these dreams?”

“Paul and I do everyday things together. I bring lemonade out to him while he’s digging the trench for our sprinkler system, and he suddenly tackles me, and we’re rolling in the mud laughing. Or we’re on a scary roller coaster together, and I’m holding on tightly and screaming my head off. Or we’re building sand castles on the beach just like we did on our honeymoon. I see him so clearly that when I wake up, I expect him to be beside me.”

“But he’s not,” David said after a moment of silence.

She stared at one of her favorite photographs—the one of the eagle soaring over the waterfall, powerful wings shimmering with sunlight, proud head rising above all the cares of the world.

“I faced the pain. I faced the grief. I put them both behind me. Only now the dreams have come, and I don’t know why.”

“What did they suggest you do at the seminar?” David asked.

“We were supposed to write a goodbye letter.”

“How far did you get?”

Dearest Paul— Why am I dreaming about you?

“Not very far,” she admitted. “I was staring at those empty white pages while everyone around me was scribbling away. I knew I was getting nowhere. I got up to leave and collided with Todd.”

“He was sitting beside you?”

She shook her head. “He was on the end of the row in the back. I was hurrying up the aisle toward the exit. I didn’t see him getting up to leave, and I ran into him. Literally.”

“And you two left together.”

“He suggested we walk to this bar that was a couple of blocks away, to get a drink. Sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“Do you remember the name of the bar?”

“No, most of the letters on the neon sign were burned out. All I remember clearly is that the waitress was sweet and the music was sad.”

“So you had a drink,” he said in that same soothing voice that had become so easy to respond to.

“I don’t even like alcohol,” she said, sighing in remembrance. “I hate the taste and the stuff kills brain cells. I’ve always figured I needed every one of mine. The last drink I had before that night was a sip of champagne at my wedding.”

“But that night you drank more than a sip.”

“Oh yeah. After four Screwdrivers, I was feeling no pain. Of course, that was the whole idea. I told Todd about losing Paul. He told me about losing his mother. She had died a couple of months before, in a plane crash. They’d been very close. He hadn’t been able to write the goodbye letter to her, either. Hearing that made me feel a lot less like a failure. I really liked him for telling me.”

“Enough to become intimate with him?”

“Hardly. Sex was the last thing on my mind. That only happened because…”

Dear heavens, how could she explain to David what she still didn’t understand herself? Why did she want to? She normally didn’t care what men thought of her. But for some reason, she was beginning to care what David thought.

“Whatever you can tell me will help,” he said.

“He walked me back to the community center sometime after eleven,” she said, doubting any of what she had to say would really help. “The lot was deserted except for my vehicle. Todd told me he’d arrived late for the seminar and had parked on a side street somewhere. Neither of us was in any condition to drive home. He offered to use his cell phone to call me a cab. But I couldn’t leave my vehicle parked there overnight. All my camera equipment was inside. I couldn’t risk someone breaking in and stealing something.”

“So you spent the night in your SUV?”

She nodded. “I always carry a sleeping bag. Part of a nature photographer’s essential equipment. Todd helped me to unroll the bag, and I was out like the proverbial light as soon as I lay my head down. Next thing I knew I was having one of those vivid dreams of Paul. I could feel him beside me. He was snoring away.”

She paused, clasped the wedding band on her finger, stared at it in the room’s soft lamplight.

“You can tell me what happened,” he said.

There was something so soothing and accepting in his voice that she suddenly believed she could.

“When Paul snored, I would kiss his cheek so he’d wake up, roll onto his side and go back to sleep. But when I kissed him that night, he woke up and kissed me back. Then he started to make love to me.”

“But it wasn’t Paul,” David said quietly. “When did you know?”

She wanted to say afterward. She wished she could say afterward. But she had done something for which she was ashamed, and she wasn’t going to make herself feel even more ashamed by lying.

“I was still pretty smashed. But at one point I sensed something was different, opened my eyes and saw Todd’s face. I realized then that he must have passed out beside me. When I kissed him, he must have awakened and thought…”

“That you wanted him,” David supplied when her voice faded.

She gave a long exhale. “Todd kept whispering my name over and over. I closed my eyes and let it happen.”

“And in the morning?”

“When I awoke, Todd was gone, much to my relief. I don’t think I could have faced him. Because the truth is, I don’t know why I slept with him.”

“Hard to know why we do things sometimes.”

She looked up to see he was watching her, that calm acceptance still on his face. He was telling her that he wasn’t judging her. She appreciated that, more than she could say. But she was judging herself.

“I’ve always known why I’ve done things,” she said. “I may not always have been thrilled with the reason, but at least I’ve known. Now, not knowing…not knowing is very unsettling. I can’t tell you how unsettling.”

“You don’t have to even try,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ve been there. Thank you for dinner and for your honesty.”

“You’re leaving?” she said, surprised.

He nodded. “I know what I asked of you tonight wasn’t easy to give. But what you’ve told me has been important, and will help me to find out about Todd. I hope that will be worth the pain you went through. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He headed toward the front door. She followed. When he paused to lean down and give Honey one last head pat, she smiled. David was turning out to be quite nice and not nearly as unapproachable as she’d imagined.

Maybe now was the time to ask the question that had plagued her since she first saw him in the White Knight offices.

“What bothers you about me?”

David straightened. “What do you mean?”

“When we first met,” she said, “I could tell you didn’t like me.”

He stared down at her. They were barely a foot apart. She was suddenly very aware of him.

“There is nothing about you that I don’t like,” he said in a soft whisper. “Good night.”

He pulled open the door, stepped out into the dark night and shut the door behind him.

The breath whooshed out of Susan’s lungs as she stood facing that closed door, stunned to her toes. She could barely believe what her senses were telling her. David had just said there was nothing about her he didn’t like. She’d seen the truth of his words in his eyes, heard that truth in his voice.

He was attracted to her.

She felt a sharp quickening of her pulse and an undeniable response deep inside her—a response she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.

CHAPTER FOUR

DAVID LAY IN BED that night thinking over what Susan had told him. When he’d checked into her background and discovered her husband had died, he’d visited the fire station where Paul Carter had worked. A memorial picture of him hung on the wall. Paul was blond, five-ten, slender, with light eyes. That was exactly how Susan had described Todd.

She’d gone to the seminar seeking closure to some unresolved issue that had her dreaming of her dead husband. Instead of a resolution, she had found herself under the lethal influences of a terrible sense of failure and a potent dose of alcohol. And there was Todd, a sympathetic, fellow sufferer, looking enough like Paul to pull all the right heartstrings.