Secrets Of An Old Flame. Jill Limber
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his sleeping son into the house. He closed the front door and then stared down at the baby’s tiny hand, curled against his cheek.
Michael, he thought. My son Michael. The wonder of it struck him anew.
He reached to unhook the safety belt around the baby’s middle, aching to pick him up. It would piss her off to come back and find him holding the baby, but he didn’t care. She was just going to have to get used to the idea, because he’d given her all the time he was going to.
Before he could unclasp the belt, he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.
Damn, he’d been right. He’d known something was wrong the minute he spotted her pushing the stroller up the street. He could tell something was wrong from her hunched-up shoulders and the careful way she’d been walking.
Joe left the sleeping baby and found Nikki sitting on the floor of the guest bathroom, her skirt hiked up her thighs and her forehead resting on the rim of the toilet.
He wrung out a hand towel in cold water and slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to an upright position. Gently he wiped her face and frowned at her moan. She was as white as the porcelain of the toilet. “Pick up a bug?”
“Migraine.” She whispered the word.
Since when did she have migraines? He helped her out of her jacket. Maybe she didn’t get them very often. Their relationship had only lasted two weeks, and as she had pointed out last night, there was a lot he didn’t know about her.
“Can you stand up?” He threw the towel into the sink and hooked his hands under her arms, pulling her gently to her feet.
Unresisting, she allowed him to lead her out of the bathroom. “Come on, you need to be in bed.”
Her step faltered and she squinted into the entry where the stroller stood. “Michael—”
“Michael is asleep. Let’s worry about you for now.” He turned her toward the stairs and caught her as she stumbled. She hadn’t lifted her foot high enough to clear the first riser. Trying not to jostle her, he slid one arm around her shoulders and the other behind her knees, picking her up and holding her against his chest.
It felt too good to have her in his arms.
She held herself with an odd stiffness, as if she was afraid he might drop her. “Relax, I’ve got you.”
She didn’t say anything, nor did she loosen up. He climbed the stairs and deposited her gently on her bed. She struggled to sit up and he put his hand on her chest, forcing her back down on the mattress.
“Just tell me what you need.” God, she was stubborn.
“Close the drapes,” she whispered.
He left her to pull the curtains across the windows and the French doors. By the time he got back to the bed she was lying down, eyes closed, tears seeping from under her eyelids.
It killed him to see her in such pain. “Do you have medication?”
“Bathroom,” came the whispered reply.
Joe found the prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, noted the Canadian address. He quickly scanned the dosage and shook two red-and-white capsules into his palm. He filled a glass with water, wet another washcloth, and headed back to the bedroom.
She lay as still as a mummy on the satin comforter. “Nikki, I’m going to sit you up so you can take these.”
He sat on the side of her bed and helped her come up onto her elbow. She open her eyes a slit until she found his extended palm and took the pills one at a time, placing them in her mouth. He held the glass to her lips so she could wash them down. Then he lowered her back to the pillow and smoothed the cold cloth over her eyes and forehead. A small groan escaped from between her pinched lips.
“According to the bottle, you can have another painkiller in an hour. I’ll watch the time.” He frowned down at her clothing. She wouldn’t be very comfortable lying there in her clothes.
He unbuttoned the waistband of her skirt, eased the side zipper down and slid the garment off over her feet.
His hands shook. The last time he’d undressed her it had been to have hot sweaty sex.
Get a grip, Galtero. Even if she were perfectly healthy he didn’t stand a chance of ending up in bed with her.
His common sense told him he was nuts but his trembling hands and aching groin remembered the smooth warmth of her skin. He reached up under her slip and snagged the waistband of her panty hose, pulling them down her legs.
The familiar scent of her rose up and hit him like a fist. Joe struggled to keep his mind on the fact she was sick and uninterested, not particularly in that order.
Being careful to jostle her as little as possible, he peeled her blouse off each arm, slid his hand under her back to lift her slightly, and pulled the garment from under her unresisting body.
The utter lack of reaction from Nikki as he undressed her had him worried. If he had touched her last night she would have chewed his hand off at the wrist. She must feel really lousy.
With difficulty, he shifted his thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Nikki, when will the baby need to eat?”
He wanted to see his son at her breast again, to watch her feed him. Could she do that after she’d taken the pain killer?
“He’ll let you know,” she whispered.
He stood by the side of the bed and watched her, wishing there was more he could do. It twisted up his gut to see her in pain. Using the cloth on her forehead, he wiped at the tears on her face, then smoothed the cloth back in place.
“Okay. I’ll be back to check on you.” He glanced at his watch, flipped the edge of the comforter over her and left, hoping the prescription worked fast.
Joe headed downstairs, intent on finally getting acquainted with his son. The words still blew him away. His son. He wondered if he would ever get used to saying them, feeling the little burst of pride.
Michael still slept peacefully in the stroller by the front door. Joe unfastened the belt securing him and lifted his warm, relaxed body into his arms. The baby startled, opened his eyes, then quickly settled back to sleep.
He’d held his nieces and nephews when they were this small, but they had never felt so precious in his arms.
Joe carried the baby into the living room and settled on the couch. He laid the baby on his lap, Michael’s head at Joe’s knees.
Joe unzipped the bulky fuzzy suit and peeled it off the sleeping child much the way he had just undressed Nikki, gently, so as not to disturb his slumber. He tossed the garment on the couch beside him and looked at his son, dressed in a tiny shirt and a diaper. His small arms hung limply at his sides, and his legs were drawn up.
With one finger that looked rough and brown against the baby’s fair, smooth skin, Joe hooked a tiny foot and marveled at the perfect toes and tiny toenails.
He didn’t know exactly how old the child was. He didn’t know his own son’s birth date. He tamped down a spurt of anger. Missing out on Michael’s first months of life riled him. What right did Nikki think she had to keep the information about the baby to herself?
Did she think he wouldn’t believe her? They had both used birth control, but one look at this baby had told him all he needed to know. No DNA test was needed to identify Michael as a Galtero.
A Galtero. Part of him. Emotions welled up as he scooped the baby up against his chest and Michael nestled in against Joe’s heart.
The baby was his.
Galtero looks ran strong in the family. Auntie Rosie had baby pictures of Joe, his siblings and cousins. This baby looked like every other child on Auntie Rosie’s mantel.
How much had he already missed of his son’s life?