The Paternity Factor

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She looked excessively pleased. “Wudy gibbed it to me. Wudy has lotsa goadpishes.”

He looked inquiringly over at Jessy.

“Rudy Markovich,” she clarified, leaning over and picking up his briefcase. She started toward the front door and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to fall into step beside her. “He lives on the point—the big gray Colonial with the flag. He’s retired and into fish. Mostly tropical, but he also has a goldfish pond.”

He considered the healthy flush in her smooth cheeks. “I take it you guys have been for a walk?”

“That’s right.”

Leave it to Jessy to go for a stroll and wind up making a friend. With his luck, she’d be on a first-name basis with the entire neighborhood by the end of the summer, ruining any chance of totally reclaiming his privacy once she was gone.

Yet as he glanced down at Chloe’s glowing face, he had to admit his irritation suddenly seemed petty. Besides, what could he do? Ask Jessy to stay in the house with the blinds closed?

He could imagine her reaction to that.

With a caustic twist to his mouth, he murmured his thanks as she opened the door for him and they proceeded inside, continuing on into the living area after he’d set his suitcase in the hall.

He paused in the doorway, struck by how different the room looked. Part of it was due to the new furniture, no doubt. But there was also no denying that Jessy’s presence had brought an infusion of life and color to the place.

A fuzzy pink pastel baby blanket was draped over the back of the couch; a jumble of red, blue and green blocks were piled next to the entertainment center, and there was a pair of women’s sandals lying in front of a sliding glass door. There were three brilliantly hued fingerpaintings taped to the refrigerator; a half-dozen pillows in rainbow colors piled across one end of the couch, and a child’s yellow plastic pail sat on one end of the breakfast bar, filled to overflowing with a bouquet of summer flowers in crimson, maroon and magenta.

The lived-in look didn’t end there, either. Out on his formerly pristine deck, there was now a pair of patio chairs with electric blue cushions, a matching chaise longue and a bright turquoise wading pool. A trio of rubber ducks bobbed on the pool’s shallow surface, as did a hot pink beach ball, while a pair of red-and-white beach towels that had been tossed over the rail gently flapped in the breeze.

It looked like a home. And it smelled like one, too, thanks to the rich, tantalizing scent of roast beef that was wafting from the oven. Against his better judgment, he heard himself say, “Something smells good.”

Jessy gave a dismissive little shrug. “Pot roast.”

He glanced at her sharply. Like waffles and Star Wars, pot roast was one of his favorites and he was struck by the sudden thought that she was deliberately trying to please him. For an instant he felt uneasy, wondering what she wanted from him, and then he caught himself. After all, this was Jessy—not Marissa.

She headed into the kitchen. “So, were you able to get things straightened out with your supplier?”

“Yeah.” He turned to keep her in sight. “Things are still shaky, but we managed to come up with some interim financing.”

“That’s good.” She began to search through the cupboards. Finally finding what she wanted, she went up on tiptoe and lifted down a heavy glass bowl. He frowned as he found himself thinking that she wasn’t quite as skinny as he remembered.

She started toward the sink, only to hesitate as she glanced over and found him staring at her. “Shane? Is something wrong?”

He jerked his gaze from her fanny to her face. What the hell was wrong with him? he wondered impatiently. “No. No, I just—whers’d that come from?” Hoping he didn’t sound as lame as he felt, he indicated the bowl.

“Oh. It’s mine.” She turned on the tap and rinsed it out, then filled it with water and set it on the counter. “Chloe, sweetie, why don’t you come with me—” she walked around the end of the counter to where he stood and held out her arms “—and we’ll put your fishie in his new home.”

“’Kay.”

She leaned in and he handed her the toddler. For a moment before the transfer was complete, he could feel the soft pressure of her hand as it grazed his chest, and smell her light scent, a pleasing combination of soap and carnations.

She straightened and walked away. He stared after her. For a few disconcerting seconds there, he could have sworn he’d felt something that bore an alarming resemblance to...awareness.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. After all, this was Jessy he was talking about. Jessy, who was practically one of the guys, whom he’d known since she was nine, who—although her effort was misguided—was just trying to make his life a little easier by being here.

He must be more tired than he’d thought, he decided. Either that or he was just plain mistaken, and had simply confused a belated appreciation for her warmth and kindness toward Chloe for something more elemental.

Yeah. That must be it. Because thanks to what Marissa had done, he didn’t want to be aware of anybody. And even if he changed his mind in the future, the last person he’d consider would be Jess, who was too young and too naive to be expected to cope with the kind of baggage he carried.

At the counter, she helped Chloe lay the bag on the water, floating the fish the way that was proper. “There. Mr. Fish should be ready to go in the water after dinner.” She glanced over at him. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Good. Right after I clean up a certain person—” she tapped Chloe on her button nose “—I’ll fix the salad and then we’ll eat.”

He shook his head. “You two go ahead. I’m going to shower and change first.” Mistaken or not, he saw no reason to push it.

“No problem,” she said pleasantly. “We’ll wait. The truth is, I’d really appreciate the company. As much as I like the munchkin here—” she glanced affectionately at Chloe, then flashed him an apologetic smile “—I’ve had about all the baby talk at meals I can handle. I’d really like to hear about what’s going on in the outside world.”

He stared at her. Despite her light tone, there was the slightest note of strain in her face and he suddenly felt ashamed. Here she’d taken care of Chloe for nine days without a word of complaint, and he was too selfish to even stick around for a meal. “All right. Thanks. I won’t be long.” He headed for the hall.

“Hey, Shane?”

“What?”

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Remembering the vow he’d made four days ago to try to cut her some slack, he said gruffly, “Yeah. So am I.”

It wasn’t the truth, of course.

Yet for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t quite a lie, either.

Four

“Want wadey pool,” Chloe said plaintively.

“I know, sweetie.” Jessy slid the last batch of chocolate chip cookies into the oven. She straightened, then glanced over at the little girl who was standing at the sliding glass door, with her nose pressed against the glass, staring wistfully out at the inflatable pool Jessy had bought her. “I’ll take you out just as soon as the cookies are done. I promise.”

Chloe shook her head. “Want wadey pool,” she repeated, her little face the picture of entreaty.

“You don’t want to go out there now,” Jessy said patiently. “Daddy’s still mowing the lawn. It’s too noisy.”

As if to prove her point, Shane came striding up the slight slope from the lake, the steady hum of the lawn mower growing louder the closer he came to the house. The afternoon sunlight glittered on his ebony hair, while large patches of sweat dampened his pale gray T-shirt, molding it to the muscled planes of his chest and stomach.

“Jeddy?”

“Hmm?” She dragged her gaze away from Shane, perplexed as the hollow feeling that had plagued her off and on lately returned to the pit of her stomach. She must have eaten one too many dollops of cookie dough, she decided, as she met Chloe’s pleading gaze.

“Want wadey pool. Pwease?”

“In a little while, cupcake,” she said, even though she knew darn well it wouldn’t help. If there was one thing the past two weeks had taught her, it was that twoyear-olds had no sense of time, didn’t know what waiting meant, and that sweet, shy little Chloe could be absolutely relentless when she wanted something. True to her fairylike looks, the child didn’t cry or pitch fits; she simply repeated what she wanted, over and over again.

It was, Jessy thought wryly, the toddler equivalent of Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip, and pretty soon you were reduced to a quivering heap who would do anything for a few minutes of peace and quiet.

“Pwease, Jeddy?”

Her only hope was distraction. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take Belle and see if you can find her swimsuit? I think it’s in your room, in your toy basket. That way she can go with you in the pool when it’s time.”

The child’s eyes lit up. “Belle wim, too?”

“Yep. Belle can swim, too. But first she has to get out of her clothes and into her swimsuit like you.”

“’Kay!” Chloe took off like a shot, clearly happy to have something to do.

Jessy picked up the spatula and began transferring the cookies she’d already baked from a sheet of wax paper on the counter to a plate.

Things were looking up, she thought happily. Not only did she have a moment to herself, but Shane was actually home for a change. She had to admit that his gruff announcement that he planned to be around for most of the weekend, made while they were watching the second Star Wars movie last night, had caught her by surprise. But it was a good kind of surprise—as was the recent improvement in his manner.

Ever since his return from Dallas, he’d seemed a little more forthcoming, a little more at ease, a lot less tense. Jessy wasn’t sure whether he’d simply become resigned to her presence or if he was actually beginning to accept that she was going to be his friend no matter what he said or did, but she was certainly relieved. For a while there she’d begun to think she was kidding herself by thinking she could improve his situation.

She gave a start as the buzzer on the oven rang, jolting her from her reverie. She turned it off, picked up a hot pad and opened the oven. The room seemed oddly quiet until it dawned on her that she could no longer hear the lawn mower. Shane must be done, she decided, setting the cookie sheet on top of the stove.