One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays (13 page)

E
ric listened to the murmur of voices as he restlessly roamed around Kate's living room. He couldn't distinguish the words, but he could guess what they were talking about. Sarah's last remark had clearly embarrassed Kate. And probably upset her, as well. He suspected that she'd done everything she could to make Jack as real as possible for Sarah. But it was a hard thing to do when the little girl had no memory of him. To her he was only an image, like the characters in her storybooks, with no basis in reality. What she wanted was a real daddy—someone who could hold her hand and share her life. Kate was fighting a losing battle, Eric thought with a sigh. Sarah was too young to be comforted by stories of a father she had never known.

Eric wandered into the kitchen, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he glanced around. The room was small but homey, with several of Sarah's drawings displayed on the refrigerator. The remains of a hardly touched dinner lay strewn next to the sink—macaroni and cheese, green beans, salad. Sarah must
have started to feel badly before they ate more than a few bites.

His gaze swept over the eat-in counter that separated the living room and kitchen, taking in the pile of half-graded school papers, a copy of the church bulletin—and a loan statement at his elbow reflecting a balance of nearly six figures. Eric frowned and quickly glanced away. The latter was obviously private business. But he knew what the debt most likely represented: Jack's medical bills—probably for the extended-care facility where he'd spent his last months. Eric had seen too many instances where insurance covered only certain expenses in situations like that, leaving the survivors deep in debt. He could make a reasonable guess at Kate's salary, and he knew it would take her years to repay the loan. It just didn't seem fair, he reflected, his frown deepening as his eyes strayed back to the statement. He could write a check for the entire amount and not even miss it. To Kate, it was obviously a fortune.

“She's sleeping now.”

Eric's gaze flew guiltily to hers and hot color stole up his neck. Kate glanced down at the counter, and a flush reddened her cheeks as she moved to gather up the papers, putting the statement at the bottom of the stack.

“Sorry. The place isn't usually so cluttered.”

“I wasn't looking, Kate. It was just lying there,” Eric said quietly. To pretend he hadn't seen the piece of paper would be foolish.

She sighed and her hands stilled, but she kept her eyes averted. “I know.”

“For Jack's care, I assume?”

She hesitated briefly, then nodded. “The health insurance covered a lot, and the life insurance helped—later.
But the expenses piled up so quickly. The debt was absolutely staggering. It still is. And with nothing to show for it,” she added wearily, her voice catching in a way that tugged at his heart.

There was silence for a moment, and then she straightened her shoulders and looked up at him. “But you didn't come here tonight to hear about my problems. Let me get you that cup of coffee and cake I promised.”

Actually, he wished she
would
share her problems with him. But he understood her reluctance. Their acquaintance was still too new. So he let it drop, nodding instead toward the sink. “It looks like you haven't even had dinner yet.”

She glanced disinterestedly at the remains of the meal. “I had enough. I haven't been that hungry lately, anyway.”

Eric frowned as she moved to the stove to fill the kettle, his gaze sweeping over her too-thin figure. “You can't afford to skip too many meals, Kate.”

She shrugged as she set out two plates. “I eat when I'm hungry.”

“Do you rest when you're tired?”

She paused in surprise, holding the knife motionless above the cinnamon coffee cake, and sent him a startled look. Then she turned back to her task. “I rest when there's time.”

“Why do I think that's never?”

She turned to face him again, the smile on her face tinged with sadness. “You sound like my mother.” Eric didn't
feel
like her mother. Far from it. As his gaze took in her ebony hair tumbling around her face, her dark eyes shadowed with fatigue, her slender, deceptively fragile-looking form, he felt a fierce surge of pro
tectiveness sweep over him—as well as something else he tried to ignore. He cleared his throat.

“You're the only mother in this room, Kate. And father, too, for that matter. It can't be easy, raising a child alone, trying to play both roles.”

Her eyes grew troubled, and she turned away to reach for the kettle as it began to whistle. “Listen, Eric, I'm sorry about what Sarah said. She has a way of coming out with things that aren't always…well, discreet.”

He waved her apology aside. “Don't worry about it, Kate. I hear all kinds of things from kids. Most of it I don't take seriously.”

She placed their cake on the counter, then reached for her tea and his coffee, pushing aside the school papers as she sat on a stool next to him.

“Looks like you have some work ahead of you,” he commented, nodding toward the pile.

“That's the lot of a teacher, I suppose. A never-ending stream of papers to grade. I usually work on them after Sarah goes to bed so I don't have to give up any of my time with her.”

He looked at her. She was seated only inches away from him—so close he could clearly discern the faint lines of strain around her mouth. “Does sleep enter into the equation anywhere?” he asked gently. “You look tired, Kate.”

The concern in his voice touched her, and her throat tightened as an unaccustomed warmth swept over her. “I catch up on my sleep in the summer,” she replied, striving for a light tone. The truth was, she needed to take a summer job as well, at least something part-time.

“I have a feeling you're the kind of woman who never gives herself a break.”

She propped her chin in her hand and played with her
tea bag, swirling it in the amber liquid. “Jack always said I was too intense,” she admitted quietly. “That I took everything too seriously. But that's just the way I am. If I commit to something, I can't do it halfway. Like teaching. I didn't want to go back to it. I wanted to stay home with Sarah. But that wasn't to be. So as long as I have to work, I intend to give one hundred percent. The same with raising Sarah. I want to be the very best mother possible under the circumstances. That's why I spend every spare minute with her. It's why I grade papers and do lesson plans at night.” She paused and looked over at him speculatively. “You strike me as being equally committed to your profession, Eric. I can't imagine you ever doing anything halfway.”

He conceded the point with a nod. “You're right. But maybe that's not the best way to be. Sometimes I wonder if…” His voice trailed off and he stared down pensively into his coffee.

Kate knew he was thinking about his failed marriage, and impulsively she reached over and lightly touched his hand. The simple contact jolted him. “I have a feeling you're being too hard on yourself about…the past,” she said quietly.

He stared down at her delicate hand as its warmth seeped into his very pores. It took only this simple innocent touch, filled with tender compassion, to remind him how lonely and empty his life had become. That reminder left a feeling of bleakness in its wake. Carefully he removed his hand on the pretext of reaching for his fork.

“How did we get into such a heavy discussion?” he asked, forcing his lips up into the semblance of a smile as he speared a bite of cake.

“I don't know. I think we started off talking about food.”

“Well, then, let's get back to that topic,” he declared, “because this cake is wonderful. Did you make it?”

“Uh-huh.”

He devoured another large bite, clearly savoring the dessert. “You know, the only time I ever have home baking anymore is at Mom's. I could live on this cake. What it is?”

“Sour-cream cinnamon streusel coffee cake,” she recited with a smile. “It was one of my mom's favorite recipes. Kind of a family standard.”

“Well, you can bake this for me anytime. I'd make more house calls if I always got treats like this in return.”

“Do you actually make house calls?”

“Once in a great while.”

“Well, I'm glad you did tonight. Although my checkbook might not be,” she teased with a smile.

Eric stopped eating for a moment and looked at her. “There's no charge for this, Kate.”

Her smile faded. “Wait a minute. This was a professional call, Eric. I expect to be billed. You don't owe me any favors. And I always pay my debts.”

He finished off the last of the cake, then stood. “Okay, then bake me one of these sometime and we'll be even.”

“That's not…”

“Kate.” He picked up his bag and turned to her. “I know you pay your debts. I saw evidence of that tonight. If you want to repay me, then do me a favor. Bake me one of these—” he tapped on the cake plate, then turned to look at her “—and get more rest. You're doing a great
job taking care of Sarah. Now you need to take care of yourself.”

She followed him to the door, prepared to continue the argument, but when he turned there was something in his cobalt-blue eyes that made her protest die in her throat. Their expression was unreadable, but the warmth in their depths was unmistakable. And when he spoke, his voice was slightly husky.

“Good night, Kate. Call me if Sarah isn't a lot better by tomorrow.”

She swallowed, with difficulty. “I will. And thank you, Eric.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze intense, and her breath got stuck somewhere in her chest. Slowly he reached up and touched her face, and she felt every muscle in her body begin to quiver. His fingers were gentle, the contact brief and unplanned, but as their gazes locked for an instant, Kate saw a flame leap to life in his eyes. Her stomach fluttered strangely, and she remembered Sarah's words to her earlier—
“I think you should get to know him better.”

Her mouth went dry and she seemed unable to move. Eric's gaze seared into her soul—assessing, discerning, seeking. She stopped breathing, not at all sure what was happening. Or if she could stop it. Or—most disturbing of all—if she even
wanted
to.

And then, abruptly, he turned away, striding quickly down the stairs. Kate stared after him, her heart hammering painfully in her chest as she thought about what had just happened. Had Eric been thinking about kissing her? Or had she only imagined it? But she hadn't imagined his touch. Her cheek was still tingling where his hand had rested.

And what did that touch mean? she wondered with a troubled frown as she slowly closed the door. And why had he done it?

 

Why did you do that? Eric berated himself as he strode angrily toward his car. He tossed his bag onto the passenger side and slid behind the wheel, his fingers gripping its curved edge as he stared into the darkness, struggling to understand what had just happened.

The self-control he'd carefully honed through the years had slipped badly tonight, he admitted. He wasn't normally an impulsive man. But as he'd looked at Kate's willowy form silhouetted in the doorway, he had been overwhelmed by a powerful urge to touch her, to reassure her in a tactile way that she wasn't as alone as she seemed to feel. He had wanted to tell her that she could always call on him, for anything. Had wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. Had wanted to kiss her, to taste her sweet lips beneath his.

Eric let out a ragged breath and closed his eyes. Thank heaven he hadn't given in to that impulse; that he'd resisted his instincts and confined himself to a simple touch. But it hadn't been easy. And he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the next time, it would be even more difficult.

Eric knew that he should strengthen his resolve to keep their contact to a minimum. He knew that just being around Kate was a dangerous temptation he didn't need. But he also knew it was a risk he was going to take—as soon as he regained his equilibrium and self-control. He figured that would take a week, maybe two. It wouldn't be easy to wait that long to see her again, he acknowledged. But he would manage it.

 

Three days later, Eric was already trying to think of an excuse to call Kate. So much for resolve, he thought grimly as he pulled into the attached garage of his modest bungalow, then headed down the driveway to retrieve the mail. She hadn't contacted him, so he'd assumed Sarah was feeling much better. Which had meant no more house calls. That was good, of course. For Sarah, anyway.

Eric reached into the mailbox and withdrew the usual assortment of bills and ads, flipping through the stack disinterestedly until a letter with his former sister-in-law's return address caught his eye. He frowned. Odd. He hadn't heard from Elaine since the divorce, more than four years ago. He closed the garage door and entered the kitchen, tossing the bulk of the mail on the counter and loosening his tie before slitting open the envelope and scanning the letter.