Gwynneth Ever After (8 page)

Sandy, who had never had chicken pox, groaned. “I’d forgotten about that. I can’t even help out.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s temporary, and I’ve been through it before with Katie, so at least I know what to expect. I’m sure we’ll manage.”

“Call me later. At least I can commiserate with you.”

Gwyn laughed, said goodbye, and regarded her daughter ruefully. “Well, munchkin,” she said. “That’ll teach me to brag about being ahead of schedule, won’t it?”

* * *
 

Gareth slammed the telephone receiver into its cradle. His curse echoed off Sean’s beige living room walls and rang in his own ears. Damn it to hell, but that woman could be frustrating. His fingers tightened on the hapless instrument still in his grasp. Only with an effort did he refrain from ripping the cord cord from its jack and throwing the whole damned thing through the glass balcony door.
 

After all this time,
knowing
he was coming here, knowing what it meant to him – bloody hell, how
could
she?

He threw the phone onto a chair. Watched it bounce apart. Scowled at the faint dial tone.

He should have seen it coming. He paced the width of the black and white area rug between leather couch and balcony doors. After the sixteen years of hell she’d put him through, knowing how her mind worked, he should have expected her to throw some kind of curve at him.

But even if he had – this? Who would have expected this?

He stopped the expanse of glass overlooking the Ottawa River, ten stories below and across the Western Parkway, slate gray in its reflection of a sullen November sky. Pictured the sixteen wrapped packages filling a second suitcase in his bedroom. One for each birthday he’d missed. Waiting, as he had, for a date that had just been ripped away from him.

Damn Catherine’s vicious hide, he thought grimly. She would
not
get away with this.

He turned and snatched up the telephone again, stabbing the re-dial button with his thumb. He listened to the ringing and steeled himself for Catherine’s melodic, slightly husky greeting.

“It’s me,” he announced without preamble. “We had a deal. I’m here for ten more days. I don’t care how you do it, but you have exactly five of those to get her home. After that, so help me God, I’ll cut you out of the picture and do this my way, Catherine. You know I will. Call me when you know her arrival date.”

He hung up again without waiting for her response. She wouldn’t like it, but she’d cooperate. She’d wait until the last possible minute, not wanting to believe he’d called her bluff, but in the end, she’d do it. She’d bring Amy home because she knew she couldn’t stand in his way any longer, and because she couldn’t bear the thought of not controlling their daughter’s first meeting with her father.

Leaning against the sliding doors, he ran his free hand over the back of his neck, rubbing at the tension there. Typical. A three-minute conversation with his ex-wife had him tied in absolute knots. The complete antithesis to how he felt after a conversation with Gwyn –
 

His hand stilled at the sudden intrusion of Gwyn in his thoughts. Then he resumed his massage. Who was he trying to kid? Gwyn Jacobs hadn’t been more than a few seconds away from his thoughts all morning. Or most of the night, for that matter.

In fact, after only two dates, the woman occupied entirely too much of his mind. Not a good thing when he’d meant what he’d told Sean about not getting involved.

His gaze wandered to the wall clock hanging over the dining room table. Two-thirty. The afternoon stretched before him. He could phone his agent, he supposed. Knowing Angela, she’d have worked herself into a complete lather because he hadn’t returned her calls yet. He’d probably catch her at lunch, but she’d be waiting to hear from him -
 

And Gwyn would be waiting for her oldest to get home from school...

Hell, there he went again. He sighed. His timing could have been worse if he’d tried. The first time in nearly forever he’d felt more than a passing interest in a woman, and here he sat, embroiled in circumstances that precluded involvement of any kind. It just bloody figured.

His mouth twisted. No liaisons. Nothing that might draw attention to his presence in Ottawa or make people wonder why he was here. Catherine’s instructions had been clear, and he’d had no qualms about agreeing to them. Especially given the stakes, because it wasn’t every day that a man got to meet his grown-up daughter for the first time in sixteen years.

He’d have promised the stars if he’d thought it would smooth the way to that meeting.

Recognizing the past tense of his thoughts, he brought himself up short. He still
would
promise the stars. Even now. Because as much as he enjoyed Gwyn’s company – and as much unexplored potential as there might be between them – he wouldn’t jeopardize his reunion with Amy. Not for anything.

Gaze sliding to the phone he hadn’t put down yet, he thought of his promise to call and see how Maggie was doing. One phone call to check on a little girl. How dangerous could that be?

Chapter 10

Gwyn had installed an increasingly uncomfortable Maggie in an oatmeal bath while Nicholas wandered between the bathroom and the television, looking lost and forlorn.

“How come I can’t take a bath with Maggie?” he asked for the fourteenth time, pausing in Gwyn’s bedroom doorway where she folded laundry on the bed.

“Maggie doesn’t want company today, sweetheart,” Gwyn explained, also for the fourteenth time. She listened for the tell-tale splashes signaling Maggie’s continued presence in the tub. Then she picked another t-shirt out of the basket. “She’s not feeling well, and she just wants to be alone for a little while. You can have a bath with her another day.”

“When’s Katie coming home?”

It was only the tenth time for that question.

Gwyn ruffled her son’s hair. “Soon, love. Can you go see if Maggie’s all right for me?”

Nicholas scuffed out of the room, head hanging. Gwyn rubbed a hand over gritty eyes. Lord, this week was shaping up to be a long one. And if Nicholas came down with -

The phone rang, intruding on her self-pity. She reached across her bed to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“How’s your patient doing?” Gareth asked.

The sound of his voice triggered the now familiar twisting sensation in her stomach. She ignored it.

“Remember how I said I’d probably jinxed myself?” she replied.

“It’s serious?”

“Just miserable. She has chicken pox.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Oh, I wish I was, but no, unfortunately I’m quite serious.” Gwyn stretched the telephone cord to its limits so she could peer out her door and into the bathroom. Maggie still sat in the tub, squeezing the oatmeal-filled sock and watching the milky liquid trickle out. Nicholas stood in the hallway outside the bathroom door, slumped against the wall and looking for all the world like he hadn’t a friend on the planet. A sudden thought occurred to Gwyn. “Gareth...”

“Yes?”

“Please tell me you’ve had them.”

“Chicken pox? Relax. Sean and I both had them in the middle of the summer when he was two and I was seven. I remember being really ticked with him for giving them to me - I couldn’t go swimming for an entire week.”

“Thank God. I would’ve felt awful if you’d caught them from the kids now.”

“So are Nicholas and Katie next in line?”

“Only Nicholas. Katie had them well over three years ago.”

“How long will all this take?”

“That depends on when Nicholas gets them. At worst, four to six days for Maggie’s to crust over, then up to three weeks’ incubation for Nicholas. Plus the week after the rash starts when he’s still contagious, of course. So that’s what, just over a month?”

Gwyn’s heart sank as she made the calculations aloud. Lord, she hadn’t stopped to total it up like that. Even if she worked during the three-week incubation, she’d lose almost two full weeks away from her desk. How in the world would she manage?

As if plugged in to her thoughts, Gareth asked, “What are you going to do about work? Is your babysitter available during the day for you?”

“She’s in university.” Running a hand through her hair, she sank down onto the bed. Was this what it was like to have your life flash before your eyes?

“As far as work goes, I can put some of it on hold,” she said, thinking aloud. “The town home developer might squawk a bit, but once Maggie’s over the worst of it I can work in the evenings and while she naps – ”

“What time does Katie get off school?”

She blinked at the sudden change in subject. “In about a half-hour, why?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“What?” Startled, Gwyn nearly dropped the telephone.

“You can argue with me then.”

“But – ” The line went dead, clicked, then resumed its steady dial tone. Lowering the receiver, she stared at the pile of laundry beside her.

Twenty minutes later she was still trying to come up with an argument.

“I can’t ask you to do this,” she said weakly, watching Gareth hang his coat beside hers in the closet. Maggie lay against her shoulder, little arms clinging to her neck.

“You didn’t ask,” Gareth pointed out. “I offered.” He touched Maggie’s hand gently. “Hey, kiddo, how are you doing?”

Maggie shrugged, but she didn’t turn away as Gwyn expected. In fact, for the first time all day she seemed to take an interest in something other than imitating a burr. She even gave Gareth a small smile.

Gwyn raised her eyebrow. “I haven’t been able to coax one of those out of her all day,” she commented.

“It must be that effect I have on women,” Gareth drawled. He held his hands out to Maggie. “How about it, Magpie, shall we let Mummy go fetch Katie?”

“Hey, that’s what Auntie Sandy calls Maggie!” Nicholas exclaimed from his seat on the bottom stair.

“Does she? Then I think I like Auntie Sandy already.”

Nicholas giggled. Gareth returned his attention to Maggie, who eyed his hands but hadn’t yet moved to accept the change of venue. He turned back to the closet and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a package of washable markers.

“Know what these are for?”

Maggie shook her head.

“They’re for playing dot-to-dot.” He leaned in closer and added in a whisper, “On you!”

In a quick aside to Gwyn, he said, “A co-worker had a son with chicken pox once – I thought her idea very creative.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. Nicholas bounced off the stair and into the hall, tugging at Gareth’s pant leg.

“Can I play too?” he demanded.

“Maggie?” Gareth asked.

After a small hesitation, Maggie nodded her blonde curls. She held her arms out to Gareth. “We can all play,” she said. “Me first, then Nich’las. You have to be last ‘cause you’re bigger.”

Gareth settled Maggie on his hip, then handed the markers to Nicholas to carry. “There,” he said to Gwyn. “You’re free. Now go fetch your eldest.”

She would have objected again, but a sudden shrill intruded. Gareth reached for the cell phone in the holder clipped to his belt. He glanced at the display, then flipped the mouthpiece open, shrugging an apology in her direction and effectively ending her argument.

“Hey, Sean.”

His cousin’s name. With a shake of her head, Gwyn reached into the closet for her coat. In the three brief days she’d known Gareth Connor, she had yet to win so much as the smallest victory in a discussion. Stubborn, he’d said his mother called him. She was beginning to think the woman was a master of understatement. She slid her arms into her coat and reached for her scarf.

She tried not to eavesdrop, but even with Gareth carrying Maggie into the living room and pitching his voice low, his words still reached her. So did his anger.

“I don’t give a – ” he paused, then finished coldly, “I don’t care what her message said. And I don’t care how many times she’s called. I’ve said everything I intend to for the moment, and she can go hang if she thinks she can sweet talk her way out of this one. What? No, I don’t want you to give her my cell phone number, just don’t answer. Let your machine screen the calls.”

Gwyn glanced from the front entry into the living room. In stark contrast to the chill in his voice, Gareth grinned and reached out to lightly tap Maggie’s nose as he set her on the sofa. He patted the cushion beside Maggie in silent invitation, and Nicholas clambered up as well.

“Your concern is touching,” he informed his cousin, “but it’s none of your business.”

Gwyn left, the word
she
still ringing in her ears.

Chapter 11

Peering over the wire rim of her glasses, Gwyn looked out through the French doors of her office into the kitchen. Maggie and Nicholas both sat on the counter before Gareth, and the three of them appeared to be consulting over something. Nicholas nodded. Maggie shook her head. Gareth looked thoughtful. He spoke again and both blonde heads nodded vigorously.

All three turned to Katie, who also nodded, looking pleased. Muffled giggles reached Gwyn through the French doors. Curiosity got the better of her. She pushed away from her desk and crossed her office to open the door.