Metallic. Small. In a day or two, it’d wedge to the surface, break through, and then he could try plucking it out like a sliver. But right now, it just plain hurt.
Which ticked him off. He didn’t have time for any damn fool weakness right now. He needed to look normal. He needed to be normal. It was one thing for his family to pester him and another for them to pester Phoebe.
“…baby’s name is Christine,” Phoebe was saying to his mom. By then she’d been settled in the kitchen rocker and looked like a mythic earth mother, with her arms loosely cuddling the snoozing baby on her stomach. “She was brought to the hospital several days ago. Abandoned, somewhere in the mountains.
She’ll go into the system—in fact, there’s a foster mom already waiting for her. But I’ve been working with Social Services for a while now on babies like this.”
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“You mean, babysitting them?”
“No, not babysitting exactly. More providing a kind of interim care before they’re placed in a normal home situation. Abandoned or neglected babies often fail to thrive or fail to bond or both. If they’ve been hurt that young, they develop an instinctive fear of touch. So I do touch therapy. Love therapy, the social worker calls it—”
“Oh, I love that term,” Georgia said delightedly. “What exactly is involved?”
“Different things, really, because every baby’s different. But in Christine’s case, we’re doing what I call a connecting technique. Except for eight hours at night—when I’ve got an aide to take over—I’ll literally keep her attached to me for a solid three days, either directly carried or in the front carrier like this.”
“And you do this because?”
“Because we’re not sure if she ever learned how to bond. This basically forces the human connection. A real foster or adoptive mom can’t do this, of course, but if the ability to bond is there…Mrs. Lockwood, you don’t have to go to all this trouble.” Phoebe looked stunned at the sweet tea and fresh sugar cookies and apple slices and lasagna being heaped on the table beside her.
“I’m fascinated,” Georgia insisted. “In fact, I’d love to hear more. So you—”
Fox cleared his throat. It was nice that the two women were getting along, and that his mom had completely dropped the judgmental kick about Phoebe being a masseuse. But it looked as if the women could talk through the next millennium without coming up for air.
Phoebe immediately looked up at him. There was something…shifty in her eyes. “You’re hurting, aren’t you?”
Damn woman, kiss her a few times and she thought she knew everything. “No, but—”
“I know, I know. I came to talk about a program for you, and so far all I’ve done is tie up everyone’s time.” Phoebe gently rubbed the baby’s back as she kept up a soft, steady rocking motion. “The reason I suggested your family listen to these ideas is so they could provide input. You may not go for this at all, Fox. But your family knows more about your health and life issues than I do. And we all need to be on the same team to figure out what motivates you.”
Fox frowned. She sounded real sweet, real sincere. Her voice alone aroused every suspicious bone in his body. Something sneaky was coming. Something he didn’t want to hear. He just knew it.
Five
Phoebe braced for an explosion. Judging from Fox’s thundercloud expression, he definitely hadn’t liked the idea that he needed to be motivated—much less that anyone had the power to do it. And if that teensy idea had him already bristling, the rest of her suggestions definitely weren’t going to go over well at all.
Phoebe directed smiles at her allies—Bear and Moose and, for sure, Georgia. Fox’s mom was adorable. Although her clothes were expensive, she was still wearing a tie-dyed shirt and jeans. And money or no money, she obviously still ruled the roost over her sons, as well.
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Phoebe had suffered knots in her stomach when she first walked in here…because, yeah, she’d overhead Mrs. Lockwood’s opinion of masseuses. Georgia didn’t have a mean bone; she was just expressing the stereotypes Phoebe had heard a zillion times. Masseuses were fine, just not someone you’d want your son to marry. You were happy to go to them for a sore neck, but they made a living touching people, for heaven’s sake, so naturally they were on the frayed hem side of respectability.
For two seconds it had hurt Phoebe to hear Fox and his mother talking—but that was foolish. It was one of the main reasons she’d wanted to include his family in Fox’s health discussion—so he’d see how a man’s mom was likely to treat her.
Christine let out a peep—a little breathy baby snore—and Phoebe rubbed and cuddled her. She’d also brought the baby deliberately. She could have asked her night sub to take over, but truthfully, she figured Fox seeing her with a baby would give him a big, fat, healthy jolt. Babies were a fabulous terror technique for bachelors. Just in case he’d harbored the idea of having wild, uninhibited sex with her, there was nothing like a baby to wilt theW right out of that wild. At least for men.
And for herself, she wanted to give up wild, uninhibited sex forever, anyway.
That embrace the other day was still haunting her mind. She simply had to give herself a slap upside the head. It was time to quit mooning over the darn guy and concentrate on her work. She didn’t heal well from heartache. Ergo, she needed to stay away from guys who were especially likely to hurt her. Her attraction and pull toward Fox—toward yet another guy who wasn’t likely to value or want her long-term—had to be put to bed. Pronto.
And tonight was a terrific chance to make
