Tender Loving Care

wanted it. Work she could concentrate on. Driving with both hands on the wheel instead of one adjusting a seat belt that a four-year-old had wriggled out of. Uninterrupted conversations between adults, spoken in adult language to people who’d never heard of X-Men. What more could a woman ask for?

Frustrated at a red light, she took a thorough look in four directions, discovered no other cars and guiltily ran the light. Three blocks later she jammed on the brake in her driveway, tugged her purse strap over her shoulder and hurled herself out of the car. Noting that Jay was offering a friendly wave from his second-floor apartment, she waved back. She knew she should stop to thank the older man for taking care of her place while she was gone, and she would…soon, but not now.

Belatedly aware that she was rushing hell-bent for leather for no reason at all, she slowed her pace to a sedate gallop. It’s that man’s fault. Before he came into your life, you were a sane, competent, rational, sensible…

…surprised woman, she qualified fleetingly as she opened the front door. At first glance, she wondered who was moving. Her four Tiffany-style lamps were grouped on top of the bookcase, along with her pewter candlesnuffers, her crocheting bag and every ornament she’d ever collected-some of which she hadn’t seen in years. Pillowcases were draped over her cherrywood tables like giant doilies. Her afghan was meticulously folded over a hanger in the front hall closet. The apartment hadn’t looked so neat since the last tenant had lived there. No noise, no chaos…no Rafe, no children…

Tossing her yellow felt hat on the rack, Zoe ran a hand through her hair and wandered through to the kitchen. “Where is everybody?”

Two angels with freshly brushed hair instantly scraped back chairs to barrel toward her. “Snookums!”

Her renegade heart turned over. She hadn’t exactly missed them all day, she’d just…missed them. Terribly. Still, one good look and she could see who was the better caretaker. No sticky fingers, no signs of tears; Rafe had found a miracle cure for little boys’ cowlicks, and their shirts were even tucked in! If her own particular failures at mothering assaulted her at that moment, she didn’t care. She could still be an aunt, couldn’t she? She could still love them.

Wet smacks delivered, they chattered thirteen to the dozen. She nodded gravely at intervals, and finally snatched a moment to look at Rafe.

Standing by the stove, he had a towel slung over his shoulder and a wooden spoon in his hand. “Good day?” he mouthed, and she nodded her reply with a sparkle of laughter for his efficient house-husband appearance, but then her smile wavered. His shirt was hanging out; he must have spent the day acquiring bags under his eyes; and his color brought to mind a man who’d just crossed a desert without food or water.

When the twins left the room, she straightened. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just sit down and relax. Dinner’s ready and waiting.”

It was. His meat loaf wasn’t bad, and the bakery-bought cheesecake was delicious. If Rafe didn’t say much, the two boys more than made up for his reticence with steady dinner-table conversation. Aaron only tried to climb on the table once, and Zoe watched in amazement as both boys took their plates to the counter when they finished. His control…she’d never once had that kind of control over the children, and when dinner was over he insisted she not help with the dishes. “Look, for a few weeks, our roles are reversed. While I was working, you had time for that stuff. Now you’re working, I’m the one with time to take over the house. You think I can’t handle it just because I’m a man?”

“Of course not.” She just wasn’t used to that belligerent tone, not from Rafe, nor could she keep her eyes off his ravaged face. It seemed politic to cart the kids out of his sight for a bath, which naturally turned into a long, wet, noisy process. After that, she read them a story and tucked them in.

Once the kids were in bed, she wandered back out. Noting that Rafe wasn’t in the kitchen, she poked her head into the living room. At first glance she saw no one there either; but then, at first glance, she hadn’t thought to look down.

Six feet three inches of spread-eagled man lay prostrate on the carpet. Wasted was the first word that came to her mind, and laughter her first reaction, but no smile touched her lips as she looked down at him. A nameless emotion welled inside her-something vulnerable and potent and fragile.

She reminded herself of the outstanding job she’d done over the past two weeks in avoiding physical contact with him. She reminded herself that it wouldn’t kill him to be a little tired. She reminded herself that his contact with the boys was exactly what was needed to create an emotional bond between them. She reminded herself of a lot of things, and then she quietly slipped off her shoes and tiptoed toward him.

Kneeling beside him, she leaned forward and gently applied her fingers to the nape of his neck. Contrary to appearances, the man was not dead. He groaned, quite loudly. She didn’t find tight muscles in his neck; she found shafts of ungiving sinew and just shook her head. “All right. So tell me what happened,” she ordered him.

It seemed to require a monumental amount of strength for him even to talk. “I took them grocery shopping.”

“Ah.”

“I will never make the mistake of doing that again.”

“I understand.” She rubbed and pulled and stretched those muscles.

“You know that park a couple blocks away?”

“Yes?”

“Aaron climbed to the top of the monkey bars and couldn’t get down.”

“Hmm.” Who would have guessed that a big, strong man could be turned into bread dough by a simple back rub?

“After we came home, Parker locked himself in the bathroom. I had to unhinge the door to get him out.”

“Hmm.”

“All of your perfumes are now in the medicine cabinet. I bought a lock for it. The key’s in my shoe. I couldn’t think of any other safe place to hide it.”

“Thank you.”

“The yarn in that bag…They figured it would be a neat idea to turn the entire living room into a huge spiderweb and-never mind. I’ll buy you some new yarn. See, when I told them it was okay, I had no idea…Zoe. I had no idea-”

“It’s okay.”

“I read them this story about a choo-choo train at least forty times. Want to hear it? Because by now I’m pretty sure I’ve got it memorized.”

“Not necessary,” she assured him.

“Zoe?”

“Yes?”

“I love them. But they’re animals.”

“Now, Rafe. Your first day was bound to be a little tough, but I think it’s possible they’re just normal four- year-olds.”

“Maybe. But they lie. I asked them why the curtain was down.” He motioned vaguely to the curtain which was now back up. “They said it was an ‘awesome miracle.’ I asked them why your room smelled like a perfume factory. They said a little man with green hair had come into the house and done it. And they talk, Zoe. They talk all day. They never stop talking.”

“I know,” she murmured. And at that exact moment, she knew something else: it was really too late to talk herself out of loving him.

She pushed up his shirt-the material was only in the way, anyway-and let her palms roam possessively over his warm skin. Her conscience registered all the warnings she already knew. A short-term intimate relationship was impossible because of the children. And a long-term relationship was equally impossible, not just because Rafe hadn’t mentioned marriage, but because marriage for the sake of the children had died out in medieval times. When and if she sought a long-term relationship, she would have to be absolutely certain that she mattered to him. However selfish that was, she simply couldn’t survive failing in another relationship because of expectations about children that she couldn’t fulfill.

So all relationships were impossible, but her hands kept kneading, and that feeling of love started in her toes and slowly filled her, engulfing her in its glow until her throat felt tight. It was the strangest thing. Sex should have been part of it. A bewilderingly strong sexual attraction had been part of her feelings for Rafe from the beginning,