Adventures In Parenthood

“They’re four, Aubrey. Give them a few years before they wrestle alligators or wing-walk a biplane.”

“I’m not saying that. Don’t exaggerate.”

“You can be their role model without being their guardian. You’ll visit a lot. Later on, you can take them on trips.”

She stared at him, breathing hard, fighting to be sensible, to not make promises she might not be able to keep.

“Look, we’re both upset,” Dixon said, sounding suddenly exhausted. “We want to do all we can for the girls, but we can’t get too ambitious, because if the plan flops, the girls will pay the price.” His eyes searched hers for agreement. “My plan’s easy. Yours is hard. How much of your schedule can you actually clear? Don’t things change a lot?”

All the time. Even before the ALT endorsement was a possibility, she’d been swamped. When she wasn’t on an adventure, she was planning one, or doing a podcast, booking guests, doing research, on and on. The simple promise she’d made to herself to visit more often would have been tough enough to manage without ALT in the picture.

And now she thought she could share custody?

The truth finally cut through her muddy thoughts. She was fighting Dixon out of guilt and ego, not in the best interests of the girls.

That was wrong.

The girls trusted Dixon. He knew them better than she did. He knew their routines. Aubrey could learn, but in the meantime, she would disappoint them, and they’d had more disappointment today than anyone should have in a lifetime.

“You’re right. You should be their guardian,” she said softly. “That’s best for the girls. I’ll stay as long as I can after the funeral.” She’d see if she could slow down things with ALT. Maybe they could use an adventure race later in the year to test the sponsorship. “Like you said, I’ll visit a lot. Take them on trips.” She would be a bright light, a shot of fun. She would open their eyes to the world.

“I think it’s the right thing to do,” Dixon said, sympathy in his gaze.

So why does it feel so wrong? She felt like she was letting everyone down—the girls, her sister, herself. Embarrassed by her emotions, she jumped up from the sofa. “I need water. You?”

“No, thanks.”

In the kitchen, she grabbed a water glass, then threw open the freezer door for ice. Spotting a bag, she tugged at it, which caused a casserole dish to fall out. Clumsy from exhaustion, she didn’t get out of the way in time and the corner slammed onto her foot. Her instep and toes shared the brunt of the blow. She yelped as pain shot through her, grabbing her foot.

Dixon was there in a second. “What happened?”

“A casserole attacked me,” she ground out.

“Let me take a look.”

She started to hobble toward the kitchen table, but Dixon swung her into his arms like he had that night in Mexico. For an instant, she felt the same thrill, her pain erased.

Dixon carried her to the sofa and lowered her to the cushion. He sat and set her injured foot on his lap, then clicked on the high-intensity reading lamp on the side table. He touched her instep, which had puffed up and was turning purple.

“Ouch.”

“Can you flex your foot?”

She did. “Ow. Damn. That hurts.”

“Doesn’t seem broken,” Dixon said, then touched her big toe.

“Ouch. Stop. You have no bedside manner.”

“It’s hard to know with toes. I’ll tape it and get ice for the swelling.” He slid out from under her injured foot and went to the kitchen.

While she waited, their time in Mexico filled her mind.

It had been a cliché—the best man and maid of honor hooking up after the wedding, but he was hot and she was totally into it. He chased her along the beach until she turned for the water and ran in, gasping at the cold, totally exhilarated, high on the ocean, the moment, the man. They were both in their wedding clothes and she carried most of a bottle of good bubbly.

Once they were chest-deep in the water, she wrapped her legs around him and kissed him. He had generous lips that tasted of champagne and cold saltwater.

They kissed until she began to shake from excitement more than cold. “Let’s warm up,” he’d said in that sexy voice of his, but she had a better idea. She ran toward the cliff, taking the steep stone path to the rocky ledge where they’d watched skin divers perform the night before.

It was scary as hell up there. The water seemed miles away, but she refused to be intimidated. She dared him to jump with her, never expecting him to do it. He was a serious guy, totally responsible, like his brother, except better-looking and with some sense of fun. She’d managed to captivate him, and that was a total rush.

“We’re drunk and we don’t know the bottom,” he’d said. He didn’t even sound like a wimp saying that. He had guts, but wouldn’t be goaded into proving it. That was very, very sexy.

When he winked at her, then jumped, she’d been so surprised, it took her a second to leap off, too. She pushed hard, running in the air to catch him, which was why she’d landed wrong, jamming her foot between two boulders near the bottom. She surfaced in agony, but hid it, proud she’d kept her thumb over the champagne bottle and hadn’t spilled a drop.

Dixon saw through her smile to her pain, and carried her in his arms to her room, as effortlessly as if she weighed nothing.

* * *

DIXON RETURNED WITH scissors, tape, a stretch bandage and a Baggie of ice. He taped her big toe to the one beside it and wrapped the bandage around the ice bag on her instep. “Feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s the same foot, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” The ankle had been weaker ever since Mexico, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“I warned you it was too rocky.”

“Come on. You didn’t say I told you so then. Don’t ruin it now.”

“It was my fault you got hurt.”

“It was all me. I was trying to catch up with you.”

“Again, my fault.” She liked his teasing tone. It reminded her of how he’d been that night. “Though hanging on to that bottle probably didn’t help you.”

“I wasn’t about to waste expensive champagne.”

“How did you manage that anyway?”

“Sorry. That’s a trade secret.”

He laughed.

She grinned, happy she’d amused him.

He examined her leg, which gave her a thrill, until she realized he was studying the scabs showing below her shorts. “What happened here?”

“I was in a reindeer race.”

“You rode a reindeer?” His eyebrows shot up. It was fun to surprise him.

“You don’t ride reindeer. Well, maybe Norwegian cowboys do, but in a reindeer race you wear short skis and the reindeer yank you down an iced-over trail. It’s like a standing bobsled ride. Very intense. I’ve got the ice rash and bruises to prove it.” She shifted to one hip, unzipped her shorts and showed him the spot.

“Ouch.” A complicated look came into his eyes—sympathy, amusement and a wisp of sexual interest.

“The footage is on my blog if you want to see.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Scout would agree. She bailed on me a hundred yards in.”

“Your cat was with you?”

“We don’t call her Adventure Cat for nothing. She loves to move.”

“And swim, right? Unusual for a cat.”

“Scout is totally intrepid. I found her on a hike in Yosemite, not far from the highway. She was sick. Someone had dumped her. She was terrified, hissing at this goofy retriever who’d cornered her.”

Dixon smiled.

“I nursed her back to health, and she’s been glued to my side ever since. My readers love Scout stories.”

“So what’s your blog like?” The amusement in his eyes made her wonder if Howard had mocked her career to him. Not that it mattered. She knew the value of her work.

“There are tons of outdoor recreation blogs. My niche is women. My tag line is ordinary girl on an extraordinary journey. The idea is to show women they don’t need to limit themselves. I talk about the scary parts and the mistakes, as well as the thrills and triumphs.”

“Yeah?”

“Take the reindeer race. I shrieked and fell, but I kept going anyway. That’s important for fans to see. Another time, I got lost in a Marrakesh marketplace, which is a very hinky place for a woman to be alone at night. I kind of panicked.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Maybe, but the point is that I shared that with my readers. If an ordinary girl like me can do it, anyone can.”

“You don’t seem ordinary to me.”

Pleasure sang in her veins at his praise. “Your brother thinks I’m crazy.”

Dixon didn’t react to that, making her surer she was right about Howard’s opinion. “You’ve tapped into a market if you can make a living at it,” he said.

“I make enough from web ads to live on, but travel costs have eaten up my savings. But I got great news today. My meeting in L.A. was with ALT Outdoors.”

“That’s a big outfit.”

“I know. And they’re close to offering me a sponsorship, which I really need.”

“Yeah?”

“If I can’t afford to travel, I might as well hang up my kayak. An old blog is a dead blog. I need ALT to stay in business.” She crossed her fingers, her stomach churning over all that was at stake. “They’re looking to reach my demographic—single females, 18–35—so it’ll benefit them, too.”

“When will you know?”

“ALT’s sending a camera crew with me for an adventure race in Utah next month. I’ll use their gear and talk about it on camera.”

“Do you have to win the race to get the nod?”

“We have to at least place. Last year, Neil and I took sixth. It’s a challenging race, but not brutal.”

“So you dumped the boyfriend you brought to the party? Rafe?”

“What? Wait. Neil and I aren’t together. Neil’s gay.” She stared at him. She could tell by his tone he hadn’t thought much of Rafe. “What makes you think I dumped Rafe?”

“Did you?”

“We broke up, yes. And it was my idea.” Not that it was his business. “Why do you ask?”

He colored. “I don’t know. You were different around him.”

“How?”

“Subdued. Preoccupied, I guess. You kept tracking him.”

“Hmm.” So her concern had been noticeable. That trip had showed her they wouldn’t work as a couple. An hour into the visit, Aubrey was having a blast with the girls when Rafe sent her a text from across the room: How much longer? He’d endured the visit for her sake, but he had no interest in her family, not even after a year of being a couple.

Rafe had never said he wanted to get serious, but they’d been so good together, had so much in common, she’d assumed that was where they were headed. She’d spun a cotton-candy story in her head—a sweet and fluffy cloud that melted to nothing the instant her tongue touched it. She’d felt like a fool.

“How’d he take it?” Dixon asked.

“Fine. We’re friends.” Aubrey, on the other hand, had been devastated. She hadn’t realized how attached to him she’d been. It took her months to recover, scaring her so much she’d vowed to think long and hard before she got involved with another man.

Dixon watched her, reading between lines she’d prefer to stay invisible.

“What about you?” she asked. “What happened to the girl you brought to that one birthday party. She was a reporter. Bobbi? No. Tommi. I liked her.”

“Tommi. Yeah.” His eyes went soft.

She’d been pretty—dramatic features, dark hair—and mouthy and lively and ambitious. She’d figured Dixon would go for someone more settled, mature, sedate. Boring?

That wasn’t fair, but it was kinda what she’d thought.

“So what happened?” she asked him.

“She wanted to work for a bigger paper. She’s in Chicago now.” His eyes flicked away. He’d been hurt by the breakup.

“You wanted her to stay?”

“Yeah.” He smiled sadly. “We’d settled into a groove and I thought she was as content as I was.”

He’d made up his own cotton-candy story. “That’s kind of what happened with Rafe. I thought we had more than we did.”

Dixon nodded.

“So you were serious about her?”

“Sure. I was thirty-one. It was time to get married and have kids.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m thirty-four.” He shrugged, but he was smiling.

“And you’ll be locked down with the girls.” She suffered a jolt of guilt for hanging on to her own freedom, while he got trapped.

“It’ll happen when it happens. What about you? You plan to settle down?”

“Maybe. I don’t think that far ahead.” She didn’t know how much time she had, after all. The countdown to breast cancer ticked away in her brain.

“What about a family?”

“I’m not the type,” she said. “When we were little, Brianna played house and I played Lara Croft.”

Dixon smiled. “People change.”

“Not that much. I’m not built for it. Mom said I was like our father, who was a total outdoors guy.”

“Outdoor guys have kids.”

He wanted more of an answer, so she gave him one. “It’s too easy to screw up with children. So much can go wrong.”

“Life is risk, Aubrey,” he said softly. “There are no guarantees.”

“You’re right. There are car wrecks and cancer.” The harsh words burned like a brand. “I’m not as brave as Brianna.” Her sister had been scared of cancer, but she’d married and had children all the same. And look what happened.

She swallowed hard, suddenly overcome by her sister’s tragedy.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you.”

“It’s okay. Everything reminds me.”

She remembered the last thing her mother had said to her before she died. Her mother had pushed herself out of her morphine fog to look straight at Aubrey, fire in her eyes: make your mark, Aubrey. Carry on for me. Don’t hold back.

Her mother had always claimed not to regret having had Aubrey and Brianna, but she’d given up the life she’d loved for them.

“How’s your foot? Need an aspirin?” Dixon asked.

“It’s fine.” She thought about Mexico again, relieved to change the subject. “It was fine that night, too.” She tilted her head, challenging him. “I didn’t need an X-ray.” Citing stats about untreated foot breaks, he’d wanted to take her to a hospital.

“Your ankle was the size of a watermelon.”

“More like a large peach. I wasn’t in that much pain.”

“Correction. You couldn’t feel that much pain, thanks to Tylenol 3 and champagne. That was a crazy stunt. I don’t know why I did it.” There was fondness in his tone.

“I do,” she said. They locked gazes and the air tightened, holding them, suspended, not breathing.

“Yeah. That.”

As if a starting gun had gone off inside her, sexual desire shot through her, like the adrenaline surge she experienced before a new challenge.

What was it about Dixon? He was not her type. He was serious, steady, careful...boring. It had to be the glint in his eye that said he could be tempted, that she could tempt him. Aubrey alone.

At that moment, she was glad to feel something besides sadness and exhaustion. In the back of her mind, cold shadows loomed—her sister’s death, her nieces’ fear and loss—but in the golden light of this room, with the sizzle of champagne in her veins, and this man looking at her that way, she was free of all that.

Behind the burn of desire in Dixon’s gaze, she caught flickers of the grief waiting to ambush him, too, but for now, he was drinking her in, wanting her, and that sent a flare from her belly to her brain, lighting her up inside. They were in this together—playing hooky from hell.

The seconds stretched, their breathing loud and uneven. She shifted her wrapped foot to the floor and leaned closer to him, fingers reaching across the back of the sofa to touch his. “Why did you leave me that night? Really?”

“It was late. You were hurt. I was drunk.” He paused. “By the way, did you throw something at the door after I left?”

“Yes. The ice bucket. I was mad.” She paused. “It was more than that, the reason you left.” She’d seen it in his face.

He didn’t answer right away, then seemed to see she wouldn’t back down, so he spoke. “Earlier that night, I’d made a decision and I wanted to stick with it.”

“What was it? To go celibate?”

Dixon laughed. “No. Howard asked me if I was happy. I realized I wasn’t even close. I made plenty of money, but I didn’t love my job or my life.”

“You managed property, right?”

“Yeah. I ran some major office complexes. But what I did didn’t matter. I spent my evenings and weekends hunting down distractions—parties, clubs, sports, women. I wanted more.”

“So having sex with me in a luxurious suite made you feel like your life had no meaning?” She’d joked, but she was still hurt. His rejection had stemmed from a lecture from his judgmental brother.

Dixon laughed, a big boisterous sound that made her smile. “That didn’t come out right. You were injured. You were being a good sport about it, but you were suffering. You could have been killed. That sobered me. We were following a script—best man and maid of honor hooking up after the reception—and it didn’t feel right. I knew if I was going to change my life it had to start then.” He blew out a breath.

“I should be offended, but I’m not.” He’d gotten to the heart of it all. She had been playing a part, following through on her dare, and her ankle had hurt like crazy. “At least I was tempting,” she said. “Even though I reeked of seaweed and had an ankle the size of a watermelon?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I was tempted. I hit the lobby and started back up until I realized the codeine had probably knocked you out by then.” He studied her, his gaze heating up again. “I wanted you, Aubrey. Badly.” His eyes settled on her mouth. “I still want you.”

He gripped the fingers she’d extended and pulled her close enough to feel his breath on her face. Her heart was beating so hard her ribs hurt. Electricity and desire poured through her, washing away everything else.

Their mouths met. His lips were warm and firm, and he tasted of champagne again. All they needed to complete the memory was cold saltwater.

He braced her head, guiding her onto her back, still kissing her. Once she lay flat, his lips moved more urgently, his tongue seeking hers. Her head began to spin.

He broke off, pressing his lips against her throat. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know, but it feels like that carnival ride—the centrifuge? The one where you’re plastered to the side of a drum and they drop the bottom and you know if they stop the ride, you’ll hit the ground like a stone.”

“So we want to keep going?”

“We do.”

This was exactly what she needed—to get lost in the arms of a man who would meet her intensity with his own.

She lifted her hips against his erection. His eyes closed in response, and when they opened, there was fire there. He seized her mouth with his own, covered her with his body. They moved against each other, slowly, but hungrily.

Aubrey was totally lost in the moment when Dixon froze. He raised his head to listen.

She listened, too, and heard crying. One of the girls was sobbing.

Dixon sprinted for the girls’ room. Aubrey followed, limping on her bruised foot, which throbbed again.

When she arrived, Dixon was sitting beside Ginger on her bed. “I want my mommy,” she wailed, her cheeks wet with tears.

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