Page 542 of Summer Heat
Just like dear old Dad.
Playfully he patted her bottom, as if there was nothing wrong. As if he were the man she needed, rather than the worst thing that could possibly happen to her. “Cody will be up and around any minute. Better get dressed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tamara peeked in on Cody and saw that he still slept deeply in the snow-dimmed morning. She was relieved to have a little chance in which to collect herself before the day roared to a start.
She ran a very hot shower, letting the bathroom fill with steam. It was very cold, and she shivered in her thin bathrobe. As the room filled with steam, she let the full knowledge of the night that had just passed fill her. She let the rich memories glide through her, gild the edges of her mind.
And then, as she took off her robe and stepped into the hot spray, she let it go. As long as she lived, she would remember this night. It had been precious and she knew on some deep level that it had been right. As right as anything she’d ever done.
But now she needed to face reality.
First of all was that terrible moment when she had realized that she was way past being infatuated. She was in love with Lance Forrest, with his energy and cheer, with his sweetness and passion. Even, damn him, with his freedom.
She didn’t expect declarations of love this morning. She imagined he would be his usual cheery self when he emerged, and he would kiss her pleasantly, eat breakfast and be on his way. He might call her again— in fact, he probably would. He genuinely liked her. And last night, wounded and lonely, it had been to Tamara he’d come. She wasn’t foolish enough to discount that.
But as she dressed, she knew she couldn’t see him again. She couldn’t bear to be in some middle place with Lance, never knowing when he would tire of her. She would grow shrewish and jealous, and all the fine beauty they had shared last night would tarnish.
Far better to accept last night as the rare jewel it was.
She looked at her face in the mirror and saw how solemn she looked. Because she loved him, there was one more thing she had to do.
Lance had to know the truth about Cody. It was way past time to tell him, to give him a chance to be a part of his son’s life. She couldn’t lie to him anymore. Before he left this morning, she would take him aside and tell him.
Buoyed by the decision, she went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, shivering in the cold room. On the way to the living room, she turned up the furnace, then pulled the drapes.
And gasped. It was still snowing, thick, fat flakes that seemed in no hurry. They fell from a leaden sky, floating dreamily in the windless air.
But in spite of that airy look, everything was buried in the heavy, wet flakes—ground, street, houses. Her car was an unrecognizable lump. Trees drooped under the weight; the leaves that still clung to many branches held too much of the snow. Even as Tamara watched, a thick branch on the elm across the street gave way with a crack and joined several others on the ground nearby.
They called these storms tree breakers for a reason. Every couple of years, an early-winter or late-spring storm blew through the state before the leaves had had a chance to fall or, in the spring, after they’d leafed out. The leaves caught far too much of the wet snow, and entire branches snapped like twigs. The falling limbs would take down power lines, block streets, crush cars and break windows. It wasn’t much of a problem in the mountain communities, but the cities along the front range would clean up the mess for weeks.
“Wow!” said an awed four-year-old voice behind her. “Is it Christmas?”
Tamara chuckled. “Nope. But maybe we can have snow ice cream this afternoon. What do you think?”
“Okay! And can I go sledding?”
“This might be too wet for sledding, but we can try.” She kissed her son’s blond head. “Let’s go get you some breakfast, huh? How about waffles and sausage and hot chocolate to get you warmed up to play outside?”
“Cool,” Cody said, doing a little gleeful dance in his footed flannel pajamas. There was something searingly like Lance in the quick exuberance, and a sharp pain pierced Tamara. She should have told Lance the minute he appeared. He shouldn’t have to miss this boy’s growing up. She could think of few things crueler.
She was putting the first batch of waffles on the table for Cody when Lance ambled out. “Smells good in here.”
“Hi!” Cody said with delight. “Did you spend the night at our house?”
Lance grinned at the boy. “I sure did. It’s a secret though. Can you keep a secret?”
Tamara took a breath against the acute pleasure of having him there, in her kitchen, on a snowy morning. He looked appealingly rumpled, and for one tiny heartbeat, she allowed herself to imagine how it would be if he were her husband, if she had washed that shirt and folded it to put in a drawer in a bedroom they shared. If he were her husband, he would be with her every morning before work, and she would cook for him, and every morning he would give her that bright, mischievous look he was giving her now, and bend over, and say, “Good morning,” his mind clearly full of the night they had spent.
As he did now. She held the mixing bowl in her hands, against her stomach, and imagined his hand would always curl around her neck and he would always give her a husbandly peck before breakfast.
But the press of his lips was anything but a peck. He kissed her with more yearning that she would have expected to linger, with a heartbreaking sweetness. Slowly he lifted his head and she glimpsed in his eyes regret and longing in almost equal measures. “I always forget, between one minute and the next,” he said, brushing his knuckles over her cheek, “how very beautiful you are.”
Before she could speak, he was moving away, taking up a place at the table, snitching strawberries from Cody’s plate. Tamara stared at the wide expanse of his back beneath green-checked flannel and knew she had to get him out of her life as soon as possible. She had to find a way to rebuild her walls.
* * *
