The Paternity Factor. Caroline Cross

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СКАЧАТЬ Looking up through her lashes, she nodded.

      Jessy’s heart melted, while her resolve hardened. Don’t worry, baby. One way or another, whether he likes it or not, I’m going to chase those shadows from your daddy’s eyes. After all, as Shane himself had taught her, that was what friends were for.

      She smiled down at his daughter. “Come on, kiddo. We’re going to have some fun. I promise.”

      

      “Good morning,” Jessy said cheerfully.

      She watched with distinct satisfaction as Shane rocked to a halt in the doorway that led from the hall into the kitchen. In the split second before his expression smoothed out, his dismay at finding her already up at such an early hour was obvious.

      His lack of composure didn’t last long. “Good morning,” he returned brusquely. Resplendent in a crisp white shirt and a beautifully cut gray linen suit that set off his inky hair and his olive-toned skin to perfection, he came the rest of the way into the room. He set the morning newspaper on the breakfast bar. “What are you doing up?”

      She gave a little shrug. “I heard you come in from your run, and since I was wide-awake, I decided I might as well get up and put the coffee on.”

      “Huh.” He pulled out a stool, sat and opened the newspaper, effectively dismissing her.

      So what else was new? she asked herself, struck once again by the immense change in him. It had been after midnight when he finally came home that first night, and he’d been gone again before seven the next morning, a pattern that had repeated itself in the three days since. Except for a photocopy of his schedule that he left her each morning, Jessy’s chief contact with him was by phone. As if to prove he wasn’t completely irresponsible, he called every day to ask how things were going.

      She swallowed a rude sound and turned to watch the coffee as it slowly filled the pot. Although she hadn’t expected him to suddenly decide he was overjoyed by her presence, neither had she expected him to avoid his own home as if it were infested by the plague just because she was in it.

      But he had. He was. And she’d had enough. After three days of thinking about it, she’d decided it was time to get tough.

      In the nicest possible way, of course.

      The coffeepot gave a last sputter, indicating it was done. She looked over at Shane. “The coffee’s ready. Would you like a cup?”

      He was silent a moment, then glanced up. “Sure.”

      She got a mug from the cupboard, filled it with coffee, added some creamer and set it down beside him.

      “Thanks.” He went back to the paper.

      “You’re welcome.” She took a moment to study him, taking in the firm line of his freshly shaven jaw, the inky blackness of his thick eyelashes, the latent sensuality of his mouth.

      He shifted, raising the paper higher and she glanced away, feeling the oddest little ache. Giving herself a mental shake—what was that all about?—she crossed to the other counter and went back to the batter she’d been putting together when he walked in. She checked the recipe, added the last few ingredients, then picked up the bowl and a wire whisk and began to stir. After a few moments, she turned. Resting her backside against the counter, she glanced at Shane. “I hate to bother you,” she lied, “but I have a favor to ask.”

      “Yeah? What?”

      Although she couldn’t see anything except his hands and the top of his dark head, she sensed his sudden tension. “Well...I wondered if you’d mind if I got my table and chairs out of storage and brought them over. It’s not that I don’t like eating at the counter,” she explained. “It’s just that it’s the wrong height for Chloe’s high chair and meals would be so much easier if—”

      “Jessy.” The paper came down and he regarded her impatiently. “You want a table? Fine. Call Robinson’s. Tell them to send something out and have them put it on my account.”

      He had an account at the furniture store? She bit her lip, resisting an impish urge to ask him why, if that was the case, the house was emptier than a pauper’s wallet. While the old Shane would have come back with a smart remark of his own, she was pretty sure the new one would stiffen up like a starched sheet hung out in a hot breeze, and she wasn’t quite done with him yet.

      “Really?”

      “Really.”

      “Would it also be all right to get one of those rocker-recliners so I’d have someplace to read to Chloe?”

      “Get whatever you want,” he said flatly.

      “Okay. Great. I’ll do that.”

      “Good.” As quickly as that, the paper went back up.

      Thoughtfully she set the bowl down on the counter, got the margarine out of the fridge and the syrup out of the cupboard. She poured the latter into a measuring cup, then checked the light on the waffle iron, which indicated it wasn’t quite ready. Picking up her coffee mug, she once more faced the breakfast bar, “Shane?”

      “What?”

      “There’s something else I’d like to ask.” She smothered a smile as she heard him sigh a second before he lowered the paper again.

      One straight black eyebrow slashed up in question. “What is it now?”

      “How would you feel about painting Chloe’s room?”

      He frowned. “What’s the matter with it the way it is now?”

      “It’s just so...bland. I’d like to add some color, maybe do a wallpaper border, just...brighten things up. Make it more suitable for a small child.”

      For a moment he looked as if he were going to balk. Just as quickly, however, his face smoothed out, returning to its usual indifferent mask. “Fine. Pick out the paint and I’ll get somebody in to do it.”

      “Don’t be silly,” she protested. “I’ll take care of it. I like to paint.”

      He shrugged. “Do whatever you want.”

      She smiled at him sweetly. “Great. I’ll do it Saturday then—if you’re free to watch Chloe?”

      His expression grew even more shuttered. “Sure.” He started to go back to the paper, then reconsidered. “Is there anything else?”

      “Well... As a matter of fact...”

      “What?”

      “Would you like some breakfast?”

      He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

      “Oh. Okay.”

      With a rustle of newspaper, he returned to the day’s headlines.

      Jessy didn’t say a word. On the contrary, she turned serenely around, set down her mug, flipped up the top of the waffle iron and poured in a puddle of batter. She replaced the top, picked up СКАЧАТЬ