present.
She moved from the African violets to her bromeliads, and by the time she’d finished dividing, she decided Stella was going to get one of these, too. Pleased, she worked another hour, then shifted to check the spring bulbs she was forcing. She’d have narcissus blooming in another week.
When she was satisfied, she carted everything she wanted in the house inside, arranging, as she preferred them, a forest of plants in the solarium, then placing other pots throughout the house.
Last, she carried a trio of bulbs in forcing bottles to the kitchen.
“And what have you brought me?” David asked.
“David, I despair of teaching you anything about horticulture. They’re very obviously tulips.” She arranged them on the windowsill beside the banquette. “They’ll bloom in a few weeks.”
“I despair of teaching you anything about the choices of stylish gardening wear. How long have you owned that shirt?”
“I have no idea. What are you doing in here?” She pulled open the refrigerator, took out the pitcher of cold tea that was always there. “Shouldn’t you be starting your primping marathon for tonight’s party?”
“I’m making you up a nice platter of cold cuts and sides, as you refuse to come out and play with us tonight. And as I treated myself to a few hours at the day spa today while you were grubbing in dirt, my primping has already started.”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble with platters, David. I can find the makings for a sandwich myself.”
“Nicer this way, especially when you have company.” He chuckled. “The professor’s in the library, and I put a couple of bottles of champagne in to chill so the two of you can—let’s say—pop a cork.”
“David.” She gave him a light cuff on the side of the head before she poured the tea. “I’m not popping anything with anyone. I’m minding the baby.”
“Babies sleep. Roz, my treasure, he’s
“I’m certainly not wearing white cashmere, skintight pants—which I’d never have bought if you hadn’t hypnotized me or something—or a pair of five-inch heels when I’m babysitting for a seven-month-old. It’s not even a date.”
“Don’t you just love those horn-rims? What is it about a man in horn-rim glasses?”
She took an olive out of the bowl he’d filled. “You’re certainly wound up tonight.”
He covered the bowls and the tray he’d prepared with plastic. “There now. You’re going to have yourself a nice New Year’s Eve picnic with the horn-rimmed hunk.”
“David, why in the world do you think I need a man?”
“My darling Roz, we
SHE DID CHANGE, but brutally rejected David’s choices in favor of a simple cotton shirt and jeans, and her favored wool socks in lieu of shoes. Still, she had enough vanity to do her makeup.
In the nursery, she listened patiently to all of Hayley’s nervous-mother instructions, assured, and reassured, swore an oath she would call if there was any sort of a problem. And finally nudged the girl out and on her way.
She waited, watching from the window until she saw the car drive away. Then, grinning, she turned to where Lily gurgled in her bouncy chair.
“I’ve got you all to myself now. Come on up here to Aunt Roz, ’cause I’ve just got to eat you right up like a bowl of sugar.”
In the library, Mitch pretended to read, took sketchy notes, and listened to the baby monitor that stood on a table on the lower level.
Every room had one, at least every room he’d been in, he thought. Since the experiences last spring, he thought that was a wise and basic precaution.
But he wasn’t thinking of safety or precautions now. He was simply charmed and amused, listening first to Hayley’s anxiety-filled departure, and now Roz’s verbal love affair with the baby.
He’d never heard that tone in her voice before, hadn’t known it could soften like that, like fragrant wax under low heat. Nor had he expected her to dote, as she so obviously doted, on a child.
She talked nonsense, cooed, laughed, made the silly noises adults habitually made around babies and, from the sounds of Lily’s response, made the baby as happy as the sitter.
It was another angle to a woman he’d seen as formidable, confident, a little aloof, and oddly direct. All those facets had already combined into a woman he found smoothly sexy. Now this . . . softness, he supposed, was a surprising icing on an already desirable cake.
He heard her laugh, a long, lovely roll, and gave up even the pretense of working.
He heard the music and banging of toys, the child’s burbling and giggles, and the undiluted pleasure in the woman’s voice. Later, he heard her singing as she rocked the baby to sleep.
Soon after, he heard her murmured words, her quiet sigh, then the monitor was silent.
He sighed himself, sorry the interlude was over. Then reaching for his coffeepot, found it empty. Again.
He carried it into the kitchen to brew another pot, and was just measuring out the coffee when Roz came in.
“Hi,” he said. “Be out of your way in a minute. David said I should just make myself coffee whenever.”
“Of course. I was about to make use of the cold cuts he put together earlier, if you’d like something to eat.”
“I would, thanks. He mentioned there’d be makings when he showed me where I could find what I needed for coffee. And . . .” He widened his eyes as Roz took out the tray, the bowls. “I see he meant it.”
“He’s constantly afraid I’ll starve to death if he doesn’t leave me enough food for six people.” She glanced over. “And?”
“Sorry?”
“You started to say something else? Regarding David?”
“Oh well, just that I think he was hitting on me.”
She got long, fresh rolls from the bread drawer. “Not very hard, I’m sure.”
“No, not hard. Just . . . charmingly actually.”
“I hope you weren’t offended.”
“No, I was, well, sort of flattered, really. Considering the age difference.”
“He likes the way you look in your glasses.”
“In my . . . what?”
“Horn-rims. They just turn him to mush, apparently. You want me to just pile everything on here, or would you rather pick and choose?”
“Just pile, thanks. I appreciate it.”
“It’s no trouble as I’m making some for myself as it is.” She looked up sharply, as a voice, Amelia’s voice, began to sing through the monitor.
“It’s a jolt, isn’t it?” Mitch said. “Every time.”
“She doesn’t go into Lily’s room every night, not like she did with the boys. She favors boys. I suppose she knows Hayley’s out, and wants to . . .”
She trailed off, her fingers fumbling, as they rarely did, with the sandwiches as she recalled the monitor in the library. And her own session with Lily.
“I hadn’t thought about the monitor where you were working, disturbing you.”
“It didn’t—you didn’t—in the least.”
“In any case, feel free to switch it off in there when you’re working. God knows we have them everywhere. Hayley went out and bought one that has video, too, for her room. Amazing the sorts of things they have now, to make life a bit easier for new mothers.”
“You must’ve been a good one. It came through,” he added, “when you were up there with her.”
“I was. Am. It’s my most important job.” But her interlude with Lily had been private—or so she’d thought. Just how many times had she sang the hokeypokey along with Elmo?
Best not to think about it.
“Would you like to take this back in, eat while you work, or take a break, and eat in here?”
