details, but I have a little idea what you two have had to take on.” She shook her head sympathetically. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when he called from Detroit and said he was coming back with…” She cast a tactful eye toward the twins.
“Yes.” Zoe set a mug in front of her.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. I come from a family of nine, so I’ve been around kids all my life.” She bent down to peek under the table. “Hi, boys,” she said casually, and then straightened, winking at Zoe. “I brought them something else. There are two packages wrapped in yellow sitting on the washing machine. For when they get around to deciding I’m not such a terrifying stranger.”
The twins decided that in three seconds flat. While with blissful grins they unwrapped their shiny new action figures Zoe analyzed everything about Rafe’s lady that she could conceivably analyze in the space of a few minutes.
Sarah wasn’t exactly a beauty, but her smile was darn near breathtaking, and her voice had vibrations that Zoe figured a man would pant for. That Rafe would pant for. She radiated an easy confidence; Zoe figured Rafe would like that, too.
Zoe searched harder for a fault, and found only maturity, a subtle sense of humor and a warmth that was completely natural. On top of that, Sarah obviously liked kids-and the kids were warming up to her as though they’d just discovered candy.
She was a little top-heavy, but altogether, if Zoe had had nothing to do all day but pick out a woman who might suit Rafe, Sarah was it. Intellectually, she was pleased that he showed such good taste in women. And Zoe was well aware that building a relationship between Sarah and Rafe could solve the problem of the twins in very short order.
But emotionally, the woman grated on her nerves.
“I know this was early for a visit, but I figured Rafe would be heading to work around eight. If I picked him up, I thought that might leave you the Jeep if you needed it. You must be feeling pretty stranded out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Actually, I absolutely love it here. Would you like some breakfast?” Zoe asked politely. Sarah was a marvel of consideration. She also certainly knew all kinds of things about Rafe’s private life, and was tactfully making sure Zoe understood she didn’t care that another woman was living in Rafe’s house.
“Well, good morning, sleepyhead!” Sarah said teasingly. Her instant smile could have lit up a sky, and all because a certain man was standing in the doorway.
Zoe lanced a searing look at that smile before her head whipped toward Rafe.
“I heard voices in here, but I thought it was just Zoe and the kids.” Rafe’s gaze slid from Sarah to Zoe and stayed there. Last night, she’d been as warm and responsive as any woman he’d ever met. This morning, her body was rigid with tension, she was moving at the speed of light around the kitchen and her smile could have frozen the Amazon River.
He swung the boys up for a good-morning hug and listened to Sarah’s easy chatter, never taking his eyes off Zoe. The lady more than fascinated him. Life had handed her such a blow, and maybe he’d initially been affected by a blend of chemistry and compassion. Unfortunately, hour by hour, his feelings were growing into more than that.
Caring about her could only complicate their predicament. He knew that, but advising himself to keep things merely friendly was about as effective as cautioning iron filings not to gather around a magnet. He wanted to know about that man in her past; he wanted to know how on earth she’d managed to delude herself into believing she was selfish. He wanted to hold her. Touch, claim, comfort, understand.
From the crisp way she slammed his coffee mug on the counter, he figured she’d be happier if he took off for the North Pole.
“…so I thought you’d probably leave the Jeep here and I’d just drive you in. No problem if that doesn’t suit you, Rafe, I just thought I’d offer…”
Rafe swung his gaze back to Sarah. “Fine, I appreciate it,” he agreed thoughtfully.
Both boys got a goodbye hug. Zoe got a list of phone numbers, the keys to the Jeep, and instructions on how to get to town. Sarah considerately added her work phone number in case Zoe couldn’t reach Rafe in an emergency, adding that her family lived in the area and would be glad to help out if Zoe got in a pinch. He still hadn’t gotten her to look at him.
Fifteen minutes later, Rafe and Sarah headed for her truck. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and Sarah handed him the keys. She said something to him; he didn’t hear. His gaze was fixedon Zoe’s face at the kitchen window.
“Just a minute,” he murmured to Sarah, and stalked back toward the house with his hands jammed in his pockets.
She didn’t even look up when he walked in. Her head was lowered in total concentration on the soapsuds in the sink.
“Are you the kind of woman to jump to conclusions, Zoe?” he asked casually.
She shot him her best bewildered frown. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
“No? Well, we’ll discuss it later.”
“There’s absolutely nothing to discuss,” she started to say, but the back door had already closed with a snap.
Busily mixing cookie batter, Zoe glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Three minutes past three. Exactly three minutes had passed since the last time she’d looked. Her back, neck, knees, hands and nerves felt as if she’d been through a war. This had to be the longest day she could ever remember.
Every task had taken ages to accomplish. She’d spent an hour making a snowman, and approximately five hours getting the kids in and out of their snowsuits. At home, she could have tossed in a wash and made a few beds in minutes; those simple projects had stretched to an hour because of little boy-type interruptions. Four games of Go Fish had lasted forever. She’d pushed Magneto around in a mock battle with Wolverine on the living room rug for at least a lifetime, but of course all of that was an exaggeration. She knew darn well she’d never been out of the kitchen for more than four minutes between drinks, spills, lunches, cocoa and cookie baking.
She glanced at the clock again. Four minutes past three. Rafe wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She certainly didn’t want him home; she wanted him busy at work building a serious relationship with Sarah, but she felt so…stranded.
Was it normal for two four-year-old boys to try to kill each other every fifteen minutes? What was the appropriate thing to say when one discovered them practicing their aim from three feet away from the toilet? Had Janet
She’d die if the kids got sick.
“How’s
She glanced at the cookie sheet. Some of the blobs of batter would have filled a teaspoon; others would have filled half a cup. “Wonderful,” she said.
“What are we going to do after this, Snookums?”
Die. Nap. “I could read you a story,” she suggested.
Reading a story, she discovered, was a ritual. Thumbs went in mouths; each boy glued himself to one side of her; and since she had to put her arms around both of them, the boys took turns holding the book. Interruptions like oven buzzers for burned cookies were followed by a vigorous resettling in the same spot on the couch. They were so quiet that she vaguely worried that they’d both gone into a catatonic state, but that posed yet another question to ask Rafe. Where was the nearest children’s bookstore?
At four forty-five, the kids seemed reasonably settled in front of the television, and Zoe slipped into the bathroom to wash her face. Her appearance in the mirror appalled her. She not only felt as if she’d been through a war, she looked it. Hastily, she washed, tucked, brushed and was just reaching for her mascara wand and lipstick when both boys showed up at the door.
