From Doctor...to Daddy (11 page)

Erika shook her head. “She's being stubborn tonight. She wanted to dump out the whole bin of toys and I told her she had to pick two.”

“Can she count?” Dillon asked teasingly.

“That's the point. I'm trying to teach her,” Erika replied with a smile.

The wailing continued at a high pitch until Dillon set the chicken on a side table and crouched down to the almost two-year-old. “Hey there, little princess, what's this all about?” He held out his hands to her, not knowing what she would do.

Emilia gave her mom a baleful glance, then lifted her arms to Dillon, hiccuping.

He picked her up and rose to his feet. “So you think you can play with more than one toy at a time?” He scooped up a doll that was two-sided. One side was a plain little girl, the other side was a princess. He wiggled the doll at Emilia's tummy. “Don't you think this will keep you busy for a while? Especially if we cut up chicken into tiny little pieces so you can try to eat it.”

Now Emilia was smiling at him and grabbing for the doll. He turned it to the princess side. “A little princess always listens to her mommy, doesn't she?”

At the word
mommy
Emilia's gaze went to Erika.

Erika just shook her head, came over to the two of them and wiped a few tears from her daughter's cheek. “Okay, tell me your secret. I tried to get her interested
in the doll and she wanted no part of it. She just wanted to empty her toy bin.”

Dillon laughed. “Your daughter simply knows that I'm Dr. Prince Charming and I can do no wrong.”

As soon as he said the words, he wished he could draw them back. Because he could do some wrong. He could hurt Erika and himself in the process. And here he was, holding her daughter, liking the feeling of being here with both of them.

“I thought you'd run in the other direction if you heard her crying.”

“I don't scare that easily.” Their gazes held and the current that always danced between them was stronger than ever.

Erika licked her lips, then took a deep breath.

Dillon felt as if he could use a couple of breaths of that crisp, fall air outside.

Then she asked, “Could you bring her into the kitchen and put her into her high chair? I just finished warming the potatoes. I'll pop the vegetables in the microwave.”

Fifteen minutes later Erika had finely minced the vegetables with chicken and stirred it into the mashed potatoes. Dillon didn't want to start without her. “I can wrap the rest of the chicken and put it in the oven until you're finished feeding Emilia.”

“I'm used to cold food,” she joked.

He realized again how many sacrifices Erika had made for her daughter, and the ones she was still making. He was filled with the desire to make her life easier. Yet he knew she was too independent to accept help. He felt so protective of the two of them, and he still hadn't figured out why. He'd been around moms and kids and backed away from them before.

Was he finally ready to move forward with his life? And what exactly did that mean?

Going to the counter he poured two mugs of the coffee that Erika had brewed. He took his black but he knew she liked sugar and cream. He fixed hers, then took both the mugs to the table.

She glanced down at it with a look of surprise on her face.

“What?” he asked.

“I don't think I've ever had a man serve me coffee.”

He stopped by her chair and clasped her shoulder. “You deserve to be served coffee…and a lot more.”

The heat that rose in her cheeks seemed to rush through his whole body. They were stepping into dangerous territory, teetering on the edge of an attraction that could easily turn into an affair. He moved away from her and sat across from her at the table again and took a sip of scalding coffee.

Erika had returned her attention to Emilia again, giving her a last spoonful of potatoes, then shaking a colorful cereal onto her tray. Emilia reached for one of the little shapes and grinned at her mom.

Erika stood, went to the oven and removed the chicken with an oven mitt. She set it onto the table with the other casseroles. “Dig in.”

Dillon filled his plate and began eating. Erika did the same. The silence between them was comfortable until she asked blandly, “So…what was going on with you this afternoon?”

“You haven't guessed?”

She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “No. I thought maybe something happened while I was gone.”

Dillon took her hand across the table and linked his
fingers with hers. She didn't pull away. “What if I told you I was jealous of Bo Clifton?”

After a quiet moment of studying his face she asked, “Are you serious?”

He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her palm. “I suppose that's what it was. It was a foreign feeling, really. I just didn't like the fact that he was being so charming to you.”

“Oh, Dillon. Don't you think I recognize the difference between Bo giving me a compliment and you giving me a compliment?”

“I hope you do.”

“You need to give me a little more credit. You need to trust—” She stopped.

“I need to trust you? Do you trust me?”

For a moment he thought she was going to get up and run away, but then she admitted, “I'm beginning to.”

The phone on Erika's kitchen counter rang.

He reluctantly pulled his fingers from hers.

“I could let my machine take it, but if it's my mom she'll wonder why I'm not answering. She knows I'm home.”

He nodded, wishing they weren't constantly interrupted…wishing they'd have some quiet time just for the two of them, away from work and responsibilities.

Erika answered the phone. “Hi, Mom.” After she listened for a little while she said, “Dillon's here, having dinner with us.”

He didn't know if her mom went silent or if she did, but there seemed to be a long pause. Then Erika said brightly, “You can bring it over now. We don't mind. I'm positive. I'll be getting Emilia ready for bed soon. Okay.” She put down the receiver.

“Your mom's coming over?”

“Yes. I'm sorry. I don't know if she'll stay—”

“Don't apologize. She cares about the two of you. Do you want me to leave?”

“Don't be silly.”

He liked her immediate and spontaneous reaction. Rising from his chair, he crossed to her. “One of these days we're going to have time alone.”

She moved a little closer to him and almost whispered, “And what will we do with it when we do?”

He circled her waist with his arms and pulled her tighter against him. “That will depend on you.”

He rubbed his cheek against hers, kissed her sweetly and slowly, knowing he had to keep it light with Emilia sitting close by…with Erika's mother on the way over.

The doorbell rang and he broke away from her. She looked as if she wanted to stay in his arms and that's what he wanted, too. But wanting something and getting it were two different things. “I'll take Emilia from her high chair. Go ahead and get the door.”

Erika gave him a last longing glance before she opened the door to her mother.

Constance came in and took in the scene with one assessing look. “Hello, Dr. Traub,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

Dillon almost smiled at her formality. “Hello, Mrs. Rodriguez. It's good to see you again.” He'd taken Emilia from her high chair and was wiping her face with a napkin.

“There's still some chicken, Mom, if you'd like to have some,” Erika invited.

“Oh, no, I ate. I just wanted to give you this for Emilia. I finished it tonight.” She handed Erika the bag she'd brought along.

Erika peeked inside and took out a corduroy jumper
that was decorated with embroidered pumpkins. “Oh, it's adorable.” She hugged her mother. “Thank you so much. She'll look so cute in it.” She held it up to Emilia and said, “What do you think?”

Emilia took the jumper, brought it to her face and laid her little head against it. Erika and Dillon both laughed.

Dillon said, “You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you,” Constance returned. “Sewing is my favorite hobby.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Erika took Emilia from Dillon's arms. “I'm going to take her upstairs and put her to bed. It won't take long. I think she's already half asleep. Do you want to help?” Erika asked her mom.

“No, you go ahead. I'll have a cup of coffee with Dr. Traub.”

“Dillon,” Dillon said, hoping to make them both feel more comfortable.

After Erika went upstairs with a worried glance at the two of them, he poured a mug of coffee for Constance. She added milk and sugar and sat at the table across from him. “I suppose you and Erika work closely together…since she's your receptionist,” Constance began.

“Not so closely. Erika has other responsibilities that keep her busy, too. She met with one of the candidates running for mayor this afternoon.”

“You had work to discuss this evening?” her mother asked.

“No, we didn't.”

Constance frowned. “So you're becoming friendly outside of work?”

“I enjoy spending time with your daughter.”

“Erika told me you lost a child. That must have been terrible.”

“Yes, it was. At first I thought being around Emilia would be…hard. But each time I'm around her…” He shrugged. “I think about my son, Toby. But I also see Emilia for who she is, and she makes me smile.”

“And Erika? She makes you smile, too?”

“Erika is a very special woman.”

“Who is much younger than you are.”

This interrogation was getting uncomfortable but Dillon tried to keep his tone from becoming defensive. “After what she's been through, I think she's mature beyond her years.”

“And you think you have common ground?” Constance asked.

Erika was coming down the steps when Constance asked the question. She said to her mother, “Mom, what are you doing?”

Constance looked from her daughter to Dillon. “I'm just asking questions both of you should be thinking about.”

“No, you're prying.”

Just from seeing Erika and Constance together, Dillon already knew they were close. They depended on each other. He didn't want to come between them. He knew the best thing he could do was to let mother and daughter discuss this.

Rising to his feet, he said, “I'd better get back to the resort. I don't like to be away too long even when Ruthann is covering.”

“You don't have to go,” Erika insisted.

“Yes, I do.” Their gazes locked and Erika was the first to look away. “I'll walk you out,” she murmured.

She followed him to the door and outside onto the
small porch. “I'm sorry she gave you the third degree.”

He linked his arms around Erika and said simply, “Don't be. She's your mom and she cares what happens to you. That's a good thing.”

“Don't tell me her questions didn't annoy you.”

“They weren't questions I haven't already thought about.” He leaned down and gave Erika a sound, if short, kiss. Then he whispered against her hair, “One of these days we'll be together without interruption.”

But they both knew his time here was growing short. Erika hugged him as if she didn't want to let him go. That hug made tonight worthwhile. The memory of Emilia's smile made tonight worthwhile. Maybe he really was ready to move his life forward.

Maybe.

A
fter Dillon's patient left late Wednesday morning, Dillon closed his office door and went to his wall of windows, peering out. The problem was he wasn't seeing. The little boy, who was four, had reminded him so much of Toby. When would the gut-wrenching pain stop? When would he be able to just remember his son with joy instead of sadness?

When you stop feeling guilty,
a little voice in his head whispered.

He doubted he would ever stop feeling guilty. He doubted he would ever stop regretting what might have been.

The knock on his door startled him but he was glad to see Erika when she peeked in. She smiled as she waved a deli bag at him. “You have no appointments this afternoon and I have a lunch for two. How would you like to ride with me to the cabin I'm checking for Zane?
You can tell me if there's anything I should change or bring in.”

The idea of some time in Erika's company sounded like sweet relief from his troubled thoughts, though Dillon couldn't say why. Maybe it was her vibrant energy, or the sparkle in her eyes. Maybe it was the chemistry between them that seemed to supersede anything else. “How did you know I could use lunch away from my desk?”

“Because I noticed your last patient leave. He reminded me an awful lot of the picture you showed me of your son.”

“I'm not reminded of Toby every time I treat a four-year-old patient.”

“Maybe not, but it looks to me as if you were this time.”

Erika always gave him the truth and he couldn't fault her for that. “Do you always have to be so honest?”

“It's the way I live my life. I don't let anyone else try to pull the wool over my eyes and I don't do it to myself, either.”

Giving her the honesty she expected from him, he admitted, “Yes, he reminded me of Toby. But I really don't want to talk about it, so let's go check out the cabin and breathe in some healthy Montana air.”

They took a golf cart out to the cabin. The sun was absolutely brilliant in a perfectly blue sky. The mountains angled to the horizon. Wind pulled tendrils of Erika's hair free from her ponytail as Dillon glanced at her. The golf cart had more power behind it than he expected. It was great to be outdoors again, but it was even better to have Erika beside him, her arm brushing his, her smile as much of a balm to his soul as the sunshine.

When they came to a fork in the road, she directed him up a hill toward a grove of pines. Their scent rode the air and he almost felt as if he were driving into a forest. Soon the paved road gave way to packed gravel and stone. The cart jostled them as he drove at a lower speed. About a mile into the pines he caught his first glimpse of the cabin.

“Nice,” he remarked as they climbed out and stepped onto the flagstone walkway leading to the steps and the porch.

Erika suddenly stopped and turned to study him. “Do you have a house in Texas?”

“I used to.”

“You had the house when you were married?”

This was another subject he didn't really want to discuss. But he and Erika had reached a level where he had to if he wanted their bond to grow stronger. “It was a nice house, bigger than D.J.'s. I thought we rattled around in it, but Megan liked all the rooms and she said—” He stopped abruptly.

“What did she say?” Erika asked softly, as if she knew she was treading on sacred ground.

“She said Toby needed room to roam. I often wish—”

Erika waited.

“That I had played hide-and-seek in those rooms with him. That I could describe every one of his toys and exactly how he played with them. That I knew his preschool friends and the differences between them and which ones he particularly liked.”

“Dillon, don't.”

“Don't what? Beat myself up because I was a lousy father?”

“What would you have done differently?”

That stopped him cold because he had never asked himself that question. “I didn't have to become a doctor. I had a wife and a child and an oil fortune behind me.”

“But since your dad died your mission in life was to become a doctor. Isn't that what you told me?”

“Maybe I should have changed my mission.”

“And maybe you can't stop fate. Maybe you can't change the hand you're dealt, no matter how much you want to. Do you think if you hadn't become a doctor, if you hadn't been involved in your practice, Toby wouldn't have gotten sick?”

It was hard to hear his son's name on Erika's lips, yet he liked the fact she wasn't afraid to talk about his son with him. Did he believe that if the course of his life had been different the course of his son's would have been different? He knew that wasn't true. So why did he want that burden on his shoulders?

Erika must have seen the tumultuous thinking process her questions had stirred up, because she suddenly wrapped her arms around him, hugged him and said, “I didn't mean to start this here. I'm sorry.”

The hug was meant to be comforting. However, when his arms surrounded her, when she lifted her face to his, comfort took on a different meaning. With their bodies pressed tightly together, he didn't want her comfort—he wanted her passion. His lips came down hard on hers. He kissed her possessively, deeply, knowing exactly what he wanted and hoping she wanted the same. The kiss that had begun with words, questions, pain and desire shifted and turned, becoming alive…becoming need…becoming hunger that had been pent up too much for too long. He tore his lips from hers, staring down at her, hoping to see what he wanted to see.

Her breathing was as ragged as his and just as shallow. “Let's go inside,” she said, then took the key to the cabin from her pocket and handed it to him. He gripped it, clasped her hand, then walked up the porch steps with her.

The window in the door was a beautiful, thick, beveled glass that Dillon hardly noticed. After he inserted the key into the lock, his gaze was on Erika's.

When they stepped into the entryway, Dillon saw they'd really entered a small house, rather than a cabin. Everything was the quality Thunder Canyon Resort boasted of—terra-cotta tiles, handcrafted cabinetry, a native-rock fireplace extending from the floor to the ceiling. They'd entered the foyer between the kitchen and the living room and he could glimpse the doorways to the two bedrooms beyond.

After closing the door, he tugged Erika into his arms again, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. She slipped her hands under his suit jacket and held on to him.

“I know what I want,” he said. “How about you?”

“I want you to make love to me.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “I'm so glad you said that.”

She laughed. “Maybe I knew this would happen when I asked you to come here to have lunch with me.”

He swung her into his arms and carried her into one of the bedrooms. The look was meant to be rustic but the lavish wine-colored comforter, the Tiffany lamp, the finely crafted furniture was more luxurious than fit for a cabin. Not caring about anything as mundane as decor when he had Erika in his arms, Dillon carried her to the side of the bed.

As he discarded his suit jacket, the most practical,
realistic thought hammered his libido. “Are you on birth control?” he asked her.

She frowned and looked so disappointed. “No, I'm not. I haven't needed to be. Oh, Dillon. You don't have a condom in your wallet?” she asked with an attempt at wry humor.

“No, I don't,” he admitted. “I don't sleep around. In fact—” He stopped.

“Have you been with anyone since your divorce?” Erika asked gently.

“No.”

The word hung in the room like a pronouncement that was too hard to take in. Then he reached out to her and ran his finger slowly over her lips. “We can pleasure each other without putting you in danger of getting pregnant.”

Her beautiful, huge brown eyes searched his face and he knew she was trying to decide whether she could trust him or not. Could she trust him to keep her safe, not only from pregnancy, but from the hurt and pain of a short affair? He didn't know what might happen between them. He couldn't reassure her that everything would be all right. She had to make this decision on what she knew about him, and what they had right now.

She reached up and tugged open his tie. “The bed looks comfortable. Maybe we should try it out.”

His heart pounding against his chest, he pulled back the covers and they lay on the king-size bed. His gaze wandered up and down her body. Her suit jacket was open and his hand came to rest on the silky blouse underneath. She rolled toward him, and began unbuttoning his shirt. They didn't seem to need any words as Dillon let his fingers stray toward her breasts, and Erika softly moaned as if she were eager to have him touch her.

So he did. He was rewarded by a soft sigh, a smile and the dance of her fingers underneath his shirt. He'd barricaded his heart for so long that he suddenly realized intimate touching between them could connect them emotionally as well as physically. Was he ready for that? Was she?

“Erika?” It was a question.

Her thumb found his nipple, circled it and skidded over it. He was so aroused he couldn't think. Yet he held on to rationality until she answered his unspoken question.

“I just want to be with you,” she breathed.

As they removed each others' clothing, he found Erika to be a bit shy. She whispered, “I have a stretch mark.”

He kissed it, looking at it, making her restless. “That's a memento of Emilia's birth.”

He insisted on keeping on his briefs. He insisted on touching
her
everywhere, because that would be safer for both of them. When his fingers slid inside of her, she arched up and cried his name. Making sure her pleasure wasn't just momentary, his thumb glided over her most sensitive spot and she cried out again, her face flushed, her body awash in sensation and pleasure.

As she floated back to earth, he nibbled her neck and she wrapped her arms around him. “I want to do that for you, too,” she said.

But he shook his head. “No.”

“Just let me touch you,” she whispered.

He felt as if they were doing something forbidden and dangerous and therefore even more exciting. He let her fingers roam over him, stroke him, almost send him to heaven.

Suddenly, he closed his hand over hers and brought it
to his chest. “When we can really
be
together, you can touch me all you want.”

When he kissed her again, he showed her how much he wanted her, imitating with his tongue exactly what he wanted to do with his body. Her hands delved into his hair, and her kisses returned his fervor.

When they stopped to catch their breath, he rolled over on his back. “I could stay here with you like this all day. But I have to get back.”

“I know.” Her voice sounded sad and wistful. Then she propped up on her elbow. “Thank you, Dillon.”

“For what?”

“For not trying to take advantage of me.”

“You're welcome,” he said simply, glad she was finally learning who he was, pleased she was trusting him.

Erika's gaze slid over his body and saw that he was still aroused. She blushed. “I think there are spare sheets in the closet. I need to change these.”

She had her back to him now as she dressed, and he wondered if their make-out and petting session had unnerved her as much as it had unnerved him. He knew it raised a question in both their minds. What was next? Neither of them exactly knew the answer to that.

He climbed out on the other side of the bed, found his clothes and was dressed before she'd finished buttoning her blouse. “You wanted me to let you know what Zane might like here. He'd prefer the temperature to be kept down. He likes to light a fireplace. He takes his coffee black and drinks gallons of it, so stock up on that. And stock the refrigerator with bacon and eggs. He'd rather make his own breakfast instead of waiting for it to come from the resort. You also might want to put a chair out on the front porch. He often watches the sunrise.”

She undid her bun which had almost come undone and ran her fingers through her hair. “You do know him well. Does he know you as well?”

“He probably does. We haven't spent that much time together lately. But we did once.”

“Did you push all of your friends away after Toby died?”

Sometimes she absolutely unsettled him. “I guess after something traumatic happens in our lives we can either reach out for support or push everyone away. I pushed friends away. I needed Megan's support. But we weren't there for each other. Too much had happened before, during and after. At that point she wanted someone to blame. I was a doctor so she blamed me.”

“But it wasn't your fault. You have to know that.”

He didn't respond. “I guess it's natural to look for someone to blame when something so important goes wrong.”

“I blamed Scott at first when Emilia was born. But then I realized
I
made the choices that got me into the mess.”

“I did resent Megan because she didn't hold on after Toby died.”

“What do you do with the old baggage?” Erika asked.

“I guess we try to learn from it and hope we don't make the same mistakes again.”

She looked down at her hands rather than at him, and that was unlike her. Finally, her gaze lifted to his. “What happened here today scares me, Dillon.”

“Because of something I did?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. It's just, except for Emilia, I try not to feel too much about other things. I try not to
get too attached in case they slip away. Today with you I felt a
lot.
”

Crossing to her, he slipped his hands into her hair and tilted her chin up with his thumbs. “If you didn't feel a lot, I wouldn't want to make love to you.”

“You still want to do that?” she asked lightly.

“Oh, yeah.”

As if the intensity of the moment was too much, she looked away from him and checked her watch. “Oh, my gosh. I'd better get those sheets.”