A sheepish expression spread across his face. “I figured if you found me on your doorstep in the morning, you’d give me a lift home.”
She grinned. “Couldn’t find another taker for that fabulous Adams charm, huh?”
“Never even tried,” he admitted, then shrugged. “You’ve spoiled me for anyone else, Me…liss…a.”
She studied his face intently, looking for signs that the comment was no more than a glib, charming lie. He appeared to be dead serious. A little flutter of excitement stirred deep inside her. Was it possible that Cody really did intend to stick around through thick and thin, through good times and bad?
For the first time since he’d come home from Wyoming, she dared to hope that he really had changed. If he had…
No, she cautioned herself at once. It was too soon to leap to any conclusions at all about the future.
“Good night, Cody,” she whispered, her voice husky with a longing she would never have admitted.
“Good night, darlin’.”
* * *
Cody felt as if he’d slept on an old washboard. Every muscle ached like the dickens. Every vertebra in his back had either been compressed, twisted or otherwise maimed by Melissa’s sofa. He suspected she’d made him sleep there on purpose, knowing what it would do to him.
He also had the distinct impression that there was a tiny wanna-be drummer in his head flailing away without much sense of rhythm.
He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight streaming into the living room. That was when he realized that the loud clanging wasn’t in his head. It was coming from Sharon Lynn’s room. If that was the case, it just might be something he could stop before his head exploded.
Moving inch by careful inch, he eased to his feet and padded down the hall to the baby’s room. When he opened the door a crack, he found her bouncing in her crib, banging a wooden block on the railing. The instant she spied him, a smile spread across her face.
“Da,” she enthused, and held out her arms.
Cody wondered if he would ever get over the thrill that sweet, innocent gesture sent through him.
“Morning, pumpkin. I take it from all the commotion in here that you’re feeling better.”
“Ya…ya…ya.”
“That must mean yes,” he decided as he plucked her out of the crib and took the toy block from her as a precaution. His head was feeling marginally better, but another round of Sharon Lynn’s musical skills would be a killer.
Her temperature seemed to be gone. He quickly changed her, then carried her into the kitchen. Once there, he was stymied. Was she old enough for regular cereal? Or was there some sort of baby food she was supposed to have? He didn’t recall discussing breakfast when he and Melissa had shopped for groceries.
He settled Sharon Lynn into her high chair, found a soft toy bear to entertain her, and searched through the cabinets. Nothing conclusive there beyond an assortment of frosted cereals that seemed more likely to appeal to a one-year-old than her mother. Then again, he didn’t know much about Melissa’s breakfast habits, either. On the rare occasions when they’d slept in the same bed before he’d left for Wyoming, breakfast had been the last thing on their minds first thing in the morning.
A glance in the refrigerator suggested that juice might be a good place to start. He recalled buying an awful lot of apple juice at the store. He filled a bottle and handed it over. Sharon Lynn tossed her bear on the floor and accepted it eagerly.
Scrambled eggs struck him as a safe bet. Besides, he and Melissa could eat them, as well. Fixing one meal for all of them appealed to him. It struck him as cozy; a family tradition of sorts. Their very first.
He started the coffeemaker, popped four slices of bread into the toaster, put butter and jelly on the table, then broke half a dozen eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork until they were foamy. Suddenly he heard the faint sound of footsteps behind him. He pivoted around and discovered Melissa leaning against the doorjamb.
“My goodness, you’ve been busy,” she murmured, yawning and bending over to pick up the bear Sharon Lynn had tossed aside in favor of her juice. “How long have you been awake?”
Goose bumps chased down his spine at the sleepy sound of her voice and the sight of that cute little fanny draped in a very short, very revealing, silk robe.
“Our daughter’s better than any rooster I ever heard. She woke me at the crack of dawn.”
“Obviously she’s feeling better,” Melissa said, going over to touch her hand to the baby’s forehead. “No more temperature.”
“Seemed that way to me, too.”
“Did you take it?”
He shook his head, drawing a grin.
“Turning into an old hand already,” she teased. “No more panicking.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, shuddering at the memory of that icy fear that had washed through him in the wee hours of the morning. “But I am going to borrow that book of yours and read it from cover to cover.”
He reached for Melissa’s hand and pulled her toward him. He was vaguely surprised that she didn’t put up a struggle. Maybe he hadn’t imagined the closeness between them the night before.
When she was standing toe-to-toe with him, he had to resist the temptation to tug the belt of her robe free. Instead he brushed a strand of hair back from her face and gazed into her tired eyes.
“You were wonderful last night,” he said softly. “Not only were you good with Sharon Lynn, but you kept me from freaking out.”
Her lips curved slightly. “Having you here helped me, too,” she said, surprising him.
“Why?”
“Staying calm for your benefit kept me from freaking out myself,” she admitted.
He stared at her in astonishment. “You were scared?”
“Terrified,” she admitted. “But I knew I couldn’t let you see it or you’d have insisted
