Mad About You (26 page)

A shiver ran up her spine. Bailey was treading on memories that were too dear. She pulled back and dropped the pendant into hiding beneath her jacket. The locket still radiated with warmth from his fingers as it settled between her breasts.

He pushed his bowl aside and brought his hand up to scratch the stubble of his beard. Then a grin split his face, and he leaned forward to cover her hand with his. "They found our son, Ginny.
Our son.
It's pretty incredible, isn't it?"

As always, his smile was infectious. She smiled too, and nodded. "Unbelievable."

His eyes shone like two dark sapphires. "What do you think he's like? Which one of us do you think he takes after?"

She shook her head, her laughter bubbling up at his enthusiasm. "I can't imagine."

"Do you think he plays baseball or rides horses?"

She could see his mind clicking with all the father-son activities he had planned—plans he'd laid within seconds of their son drawing his first breath. Virginia fought the panic rolling in her stomach. How was she going to forge a bond with her eight-year-old son? She'd never been very good with children; since the kidnapping the mere sound of a child crying made her hyperventilate.

What if she wasn't a good mother? What if her own child didn't want her?

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern crinkling his eyes and mouth.

She felt the tears coming on and closed her eyes. "It's just the shock—it's been a very long day, and I doubt if I'll get much sleep tonight."

"I'll follow you home," he offered, waving for the check.

"It's all the way across town," she protested.

"But it's on the way to Rita's, so I'll drive over to her place and spend the night there, and meet you at the airport in the morning."

"But—"

"It'll give us more time to talk."

She wanted to inject that talking had never been a strong aspect of their marriage, but she stopped short, afraid the conversation would lead to what
had
been. Relenting with a nod, she followed him out onto the sidewalk, noting his familiar old-fashioned manners as he stepped to place himself between her and the curb as they walked.

Bright streetlamps broke the intermittent darkness into slices of near daylight. The heels of Bailey's black leather boots scraped against the cement, punctuating the quick light tap of her high heels. Bailey was one of few men who made her feel small in her five-foot-seven-inch body. Although only five inches taller, his dark looks and broad shoulders were so imposing, she'd seen him dwarf larger men when he entered a room.

"What time is your flight tomorrow?" he asked. "I'll try to book the same one, or an earlier one if I have to."

"Ten-thirty. I reserved a seat for you in case you wanted to go, just to be sure we all arrived together."

"Great. I'll write you a check—"

"That's not necessary—"

"Yes, it is."

His voice brooked no argument, and Virginia retreated gracefully. Bailey had never suffered from a shortage of pride. She gave him the airline and flight number.

"How are your folks?" he asked, his tone cautious.

Virginia smiled. "Ecstatic."

He nodded. "I'm sure they are. Do they know I'm going too?"

She hesitated. There hadn't been a great deal of love lost between her parents and Bailey when she'd divorced him. "They know I planned to ask you, but even I wasn't sure what your reaction would be."

He
pursed his lips and anger flickered in his expression. "They decided
to
go in case
I
bailed
so you wouldn't be alone."

She slowed her step, then stopped, tilting her head back to look at him. "They've always been there for me."

He chewed on the inside of his jaw, then said, "And I haven't, right, Ginny?"

Typical defensive Bailey behavior, she thought, checking her own anger. "Bailey, I wasn't even sure I would find you in time. Mom and Dad would have gone regardless. Don't you think it's best for our son to meet his grandparents and know how eager we all are to be with him?"

He sighed, bobbing his head in concession. "You're right, of course. I would want my parents to be there if they were still living."

"I didn't mean to exclude Rita and her family."

He resumed walking. "That's all right, it would be hard for her to get away on short notice anyway. But I'm sure she'll want to meet us at the airport when we get back." He turned to her, frowning slightly. "When are we returning?"

"The following day. Detective Lance is going too. He said we should expect to spend some of tomorrow talking with social workers and other authorities."

"Has Bailey, Jr., been told?"

"He was told this evening."

"Can we call him?"

"I wanted to, but Detective Lance said it was best to wait and let the news sink in for all of us. He said Bailey, Jr., would be told we're coming tomorrow."

Bailey grunted. "Poor kid. In a matter of weeks his mother dies, then he finds out he really belongs to someone else."

Her defenses reared and she stopped again.
"I'm
his mother. That woman who took him
—
"

"Hey," he said quietly, placing a hand on each shoulder. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

She felt penned in by his arms, and pinned down by his troubled gaze. Her breathing became shallow and she was thankful the darkness cloaked her warring emotions. "I know. And you're right—even if he can't remember it all, he's been through a lot."

He murmured agreement and they fell into a companionable silence. Virginia wanted to bottle the moment and keep it, because visions of the bumpy road ahead of them terrified her. He'd turned his back on her years before in the most devastating of circumstances.

What about this time? When the going got tough, would Bailey get gone?

Her mind still swirled with uncertainties when she inserted a key into the door of her sporty sedan. Bailey whistled low in appreciation. He was standing so close, she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

"Nice wheels."

Bailey used to say he could size up people just by the car they drove. In fact, he'd admitted it had been the faded blue Mustang Virginia had been driving in college that he'd noticed first. She glanced at him as she swung into the gray leather bucket seat. "Thanks."

He stood with his arm on the open door, looking as if he were about to say something. Most of his face was cast in shadow, and Virginia felt vulnerable beneath the bright interior light. She met his gaze and waited. Had he changed his mind?

"Virginia, I..."

If he didn't have the stomach for what lay ahead, she needed to know now. "What is it, Bailey?"

The muscles in his forearm bunched as he shifted his weight and leaned forward. He opened his mouth to speak, his white teeth glistening. "I... I'll be right behind you." Stepping away from the car, he closed the door with a solid
thunk.

She exhaled in relief, then waited until he drove up behind her before pulling out. On the forty-minute drive to her town home, she glanced often in the rearview mirror, expecting him to bail any second. He stuck with her, though, and the presence of his headlights was ridiculously comforting. Her small driveway provided a snug fit for two cars, but Bailey maneuvered in behind her expertly.

Soft landscaping lights outlined her short walkway and led them to a cobblestone stoop. As Bailey climbed the steps, she watched him peer at the bushes and flowers on either side with a trained eye and silently dared him to pass judgment on her tiny home.

Neither of them spoke as she unlocked her front door with a shaky hand and dismantled the security system from a keypad in the entry hall. The flashing "okay" light did little to settle her nerves regarding the near stranger who'd followed her inside. Virginia flipped on lights and turned to find Bailey surveying his surroundings with an impassive face. She knew him well enough to realize he would be more impressed by the hand-rubbed wood floors than by the luxurious rugs that lay upon them, and more taken by the ornate molding along the ceiling than by the chandelier glimmering above their heads.

"Coffee?" she asked, laying her keys on a slim marble-topped table, then moving through the hall toward the kitchen.

"Sure," he murmured, following her at a slower pace.

She felt self-conscious as she flooded her small, frilly kitchen with light. The wallpaper was blatantly feminine in its soft flower-and-fruit pattern, every detail of the room reflecting her bent for country English decor. She pulled a coffeemaker from a cubbyhole and scooped up fresh grounds, then added water. At last she turned to face Bailey, her heart pounding.

He balanced on a highback wicker barstool like a predator against the backdrop of a flowered meadow. Nevertheless, he looked casual and comfortable, able to charm a room full of furniture into accommodating him.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked.

"Going on four years."

He pointed to the porcelain sink and antique faucet. "This place has character."

She smiled. "All the old houses do."

"Can I get a tour?"

She hesitated, but he was already unfolding himself to explore. She went from room to room, her pride growing as she illuminated a dining room, living room, and small library accented sparingly with lustrous antiques and plush fabrics. She couldn't help but compare her hand-picked treasures to the blue-light specials they'd lived on in the aged farmhouse. But they'd been
happy...
for a while....

Slowly they circled the first floor, making their way back to the entry hall. He paused before the staircase and asked, "Are the bedrooms upstairs?"

Virginia nodded, but made no move toward the second floor.

Bailey shifted his weight to his other foot. "Do you have a room for Bailey, Jr.?"

"Well, my guest room isn't exactly a boy's dream, but I guess it'll do for now."

"Oh?" Bailey's eyebrows shot up. "Are you planning to move?"

"No. I meant the room will do until I can redecorate it for him." She experienced a niggling of awareness, a dawning of the implications of discussing bedrooms with her handsome ex-husband. In the next instant she discarded the thought. He simply wanted to know where his son would be sleeping, that's all.

"Maybe I can do something to help," he offered. "Build some bookshelves or something?"

She nodded, the silent seconds stretching into a cavernous minute. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Want to take a look?"

"Sure."

She gripped the banister tightly, her feet automatically landing on the spots where the floorboards did not creak or complain as she climbed. At the top of the stairs she turned left and led him to a small bedroom draped with pink and cream curtains, and a comforter, complete with lacy pillows. Bailey winced.

"I know," she said in an apologetic voice. "But it'll suffice."

"He could stay with me—"

"No!" At his startled glance, Virginia amended hurriedly, "I mean, no, there couldn't be room at your place."

His frown confirmed her statement, then he offered a halfhearted grin. "But I do have a nice, plain brown couch that sleeps pretty good. Do you work at home?" he asked, effectively tabling the issue of his living accommodations. He pointed into the room across the hall. A desk and computer workstation dominated the shadowed room.

"Sometimes." She walked over and switched on the office light.

Following, he peered in. "Nice setup." Something caught his eye, and Virginia's heart vaulted when he entered the room and picked up a framed photograph from a credenza. He smoothed a finger across the glass. "I remember taking this picture," he said, his voice scratchy.

Virginia blinked rapidly. She didn't have to see it—she'd memorized every detail in the photo of her holding Bailey, Jr., in her arms outside the hospital, just before they'd driven him home. She'd worn a loose yellow jump suit, and he'd been bundled in pale blue. Her heart had been full to bursting. But even more vivid than her emotions on that day had been the splitting grin of happiness on Bailey's face as he adjusted the camera lens.
Smile. Wave to Daddy. Smile, Mommy.

"Did you keep other pictures?" he asked, his voice stronger.

She hesitated, then walked to a closet in the converted bedroom and withdrew a large photo album. Carefully, she wiped and blew the dust from the cover, its faded golden letters proclaiming "Our Son." With trembling hands she opened the album, vaguely aware that Bailey stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder.

Memories slammed into her, leaving her shaken, but with fewer tears than the last few hundred times she'd thumbed through the pages. A younger, smiling Bailey feeding the baby a bottle, giving him a bath, changing his diaper—breaking all the macho-daddy rules. How long had it been since she'd tortured herself with the faded pictures of her infant son, so beautiful and trusting?

From the pages, a sheet of folded paper escaped, floating to the floor. As Bailey bent to retrieve it, Virginia realized with a nervous jolt it was the letter he'd sent her two years before. She remembered now... that night had been the last time she'd looked through the baby album.

Her heart thumped against her chest at the implication of her keeping the letter. Bailey retrieved the sheet, straightening as he unfolded it, his face transforming from confusion to... something...
when he
recognized what he held in
his
hand.
His
gaze met hers, and long-slumbering emotions stirred in her heart with the fierceness of a drowsy giant awakening.

"I wondered if you'd gotten my letter."

She swallowed hard. "I got it."

He opened his mouth to speak, but the shrill beep of the coffee-maker downstairs interrupted. Suddenly exhaustion weakened her limbs. She lifted her gaze to Bailey, and attempted a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Bailey, but I have to get some rest."