Accidental Family (8 page)

“What time?” he asked.

She rose to her feet, disconcerted by the nervous fluttering in her stomach. A fluttering she couldn’t attribute to the baby. “Around seven.”

He reached the door before she did and held it open for her. But as she started to leave, he touched her arm to detain her. “Rowena?”

She looked at his hand, lightly curled around her elbow, then into his face. It struck her that he could have been a star. He had the same natural charisma as any actor she’d ever worked with on television. The same overpowering presence. “Yes?”

His hand slid off her arm, the touch of his fingers sending delicious shivers through her. “Thank you for coming here tonight. I promise you won’t regret it.”

She gazed into his warm, toffee brown eyes, and warning bells rang in her head. Alan Rand had morphed into Mr. Charming again.

Which meant he was more dangerous than ever.

CHAPTER NINE

T
HE
NEXT
EVENING
, the knock on her front door made Rowena’s heart skip a beat. This was it—the beginning of their truce. Ever since she’d proposed it to Alan, she’d been wondering if it was the right decision.

She was about to find out.

Smoothing the recalcitrant curls in her hair, she walked quickly to the door and opened it. Alan stood on the other side in a black trench coat, holding a bottle of wine in his hands.

They stood staring at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, then began to speak at the same time.

“Hello—”

“Good even—” Alan’s voice trailed off.

“Please come in,” she said, hoping the rest of the evening wouldn’t be as awkward as this beginning.

He limped through the front door, then moved to the braided rug to wipe the snow off his shoes. That’s when she noticed the snow clinging to one leg of his slacks all the way to the knee.

“Did you fall?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, wiping the snow off his pant leg with one hand. “I just slipped on an icy patch on the sidewalk.”

“On my sidewalk?” she asked, moving to look out the window. “I just salted it again this afternoon.”

“I’m fine, really,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about it.”

She closed the front door, hoping this wasn’t a portent of the evening to come. When she turned, she saw his gaze taking in her small living room. The burgundy leather sofa and chair that she’d splurged on last winter. The thick, handwoven rug that lay on the polished hardwood floor in front of the crackling fire. Scented candles of varying heights flickering on the mantel.

Rowena had an eclectic decorating style. She chose items that caught her fancy rather than conformed to a certain period. Her house was small but cozy. She’d fallen in love with it the moment she saw it. She wondered what Alan thought of her home. And why she cared.

“Let me hang up your coat,” she said, taking the bottle of wine out of his hands and setting it on an end table.

“The windchill must be below zero tonight,” he said, unbuttoning his trench coat.

“At least there’s no snow predicted for a couple of days.” She hung his coat on the hall tree, then waved him into the living room.

“I used to love snow days when I was a kid.” Alan sat in the chair. “It meant snowball fights and time off school. Now it means driving to work on slippery streets and scraping ice off the car windows in subzero temperatures.”

She nodded, not sure what they would talk about when they exhausted the subject of the weather. Did Alan feel as uncomfortable as she did? If so, he wasn’t showing it. He settled into the chair, looking perfectly relaxed in his blue cable knit sweater and khaki slacks. A slight shadow of whiskers darkened his square jaw, and she could see the firelight reflected in his eyes.

“You look nice,” he said abruptly.

She blinked, realizing she’d been thinking the same thing about him. For some disconcerting reason, this evening felt more like a date than a truce.

“Thank you,” she stammered, her gaze falling to the amethyst sweater she wore, along with a pair of matching stretch pants. She’d chosen the outfit with deliberate care to look casual. So deliberate, in fact, that she’d changed clothes five times before his arrival.

Another awkward silence settled between them. Strange how they could find plenty to say when they were arguing about the baby. She knew the subject had to come up eventually.

She picked up a candy dish and held it toward him. “Chocolate?”

“Thanks,” he said, popping one into his mouth.

She took one, too, chewing as slowly as possible. In her line of work, Rowena was used to filling silences with easy chatter. But tonight, something about Alan made her tongue-tied. Her gaze strayed to the grandfather clock in the corner. Only ten minutes had gone by. Dinner wouldn’t be ready for at least another twenty. What could they possibly talk about un-til then?

Alan stood up and walked to the end table. “How about if I open the wine?”

“Good idea,” she said, moving to the armoire and taking out a corkscrew and a wineglass. She handed the corkscrew to him, then watched him deftly remove the cork from the bottle.

“Let me pour,” she said, taking the bottle from him. She filled the wineglass with the sparkling white wine, then handed it to him.

He frowned as she placed the cork in the bottle. “Aren’t you having any?”

She placed her hand lightly over her abdomen. “Alcohol is off-limits for the next few months. It’s not good for the baby.”

A mottled flush suffused his cheeks. “I never even thought....”

“Please don’t worry about it,” she assured him, oddly touched by his discomfiture. She’d seen Alan blustering, bullheaded and bossy, but never embarrassed.

He set his wineglass on the table. “If you’re not having any wine, then I won’t, either.”

“No, please go ahead,” she said, moving toward the doorway. “Sit down and relax. I need to check on dinner.”

Then she escaped into the kitchen, wondering how long she could linger before he started wondering what had happened to her.

Fifteen minutes down, an eternity to go.

But much to Rowena’s surprise, the time passed more quickly once they sat down to dinner. Her baked lasagna turned out just right, and the peach cobbler that happened to be one of Alan’s favorite dishes.

After a third helping, he placed his napkin on his plate, then pushed his chair back from the table. “That was a delicious meal, Rowena. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, starting to gather the empty dishes. Their dinner conversation had revolved around their favorite movies and books, including a spirited discussion of the subtext in Jane Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice.
But no controversial subjects like politics, religion or the baby.

Rowena knew they’d have to talk about the baby sometime, but she dreaded another argument with him. Surprisingly, she found Alan to be a witty, charming man when he wasn’t putting her on the defensive.

He rose to his feet and began carrying the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

“You don’t need to do that,” she said, following him with her hands full. “Especially with your sore knee.”

“My knee is fine,” he assured her, setting the dishes on the counter.

“I mean it, Alan, I can handle this. Besides, I was just going to clear the table.” Rowena placed the lid on the dessert pan. “I’ll wash dishes later.”

But Alan was already filling the sink with hot, soapy water. “Let me do them. You’re the one who’s pregnant. You should probably sit down and rest.”

She braced her hands on her hips. “I suppose if you had your way, I’d be spending the next six months in bed.” Too late, she realized he could take her comment the wrong way.

And judging by the way his eyes darkened to a burnished brown, he had. A blush burned in her cheeks. Turning, she grabbed a dish towel and frantically searched for another topic of conversation. “When I lived in New York City, I rarely cooked. There were too many great restaurants in my neighborhood.”

“Toronto is the same,” he replied, turning to drop the soiled silverware into the sink. He seemed grateful for the change of subject. “You can find anything from Thai food to Japanese to Egyptian. But after the meal we just had, I know you must have learned to cook somewhere.”

She moved beside him and leaned her back against the counter. “My grandfather was actually a fabulous cook. I spent two weeks with him every summer when I was growing up, and he put me in charge of preparing the evening meal. But he’d help me every step of the way.”

“Sounds like he meant a lot to you,” Alan said, rinsing the silverware and placing it in the drainer.

“He did.” She picked up the forks and began drying them, her throat suddenly tight. “He passed away two years ago.”

“My mom would have loved becoming a grandmother,” he mused. “She died five years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied softly. “What about your dad?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “He’s not around much. What about your parents?”

“My mother’s in Brazil, and my dad’s on the west coast, so I don’t see them often. They divorced when I was four. I think that’s one of the reasons I enjoyed spending time with my grandpa. I promised him once that if I ever had a boy, I’d name my son after him.”

“What was your grandpa’s name?”

“Ulysses Herman.”

She laughed at the horrified expression on his face. “Just kidding. His name was Joseph Aaron.”

He grinned. “And here I was thinking Ulysses Herman Rand had kind of a nice ring to it. But I like Joseph Aaron Rand, too.”

“I think you mean Joseph Aaron Dahl,” she countered, setting a dry plate on the counter and reaching for another one.

He started to say something, then shook his head. “We don’t have to decide on a name for months.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, not wanting to disrupt the temporary harmony between them. For a moment, she’d been having fun—forgotten she didn’t want him involved in decisions like naming her baby. Time to change the subject again.

“So tell me more about your family,” she said. “Any brothers or sisters?”

“No.” He added more hot water to the sink. “I’m an only child.”

“Does your father live in Toronto, too?”

For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her question. He bent over the sink to scrub at a stubborn spot on a saucepan, then placed it in the dish drainer. “Not anymore. He moved to Albany shortly after my mother passed away. He was never a big part of my life.”

Was that the reason Alan was so insistent about being a father to this baby?

“I spent my summers with a friend of mine, Brad Haley. His family has a cabin at Lake Temagami.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It’s the perfect place for kids,” he said. “Great fishing and rock climbing. Brad’s father taught me how to do both.”

Rowena could hear the affection in his voice. So different from the remote, indifferent way he’d spoken about his own father. “Sounds like the perfect summer vacation.”

“It was.” He swirled the soapy dishrag inside a glass. “That’s the childhood I want for my son or daughter, Rowena. Or as close to it as possible.”

She wanted a perfect childhood for her baby, too, but she couldn’t imagine spending the summers or any part of the year away from her child.

“I just hope I can be as good a father as Bradford Haley, Senior.” A reminiscent smile curved his firm mouth. “He could discipline me without even raising his voice. He had this way of looking at a kid that made you feel about two inches tall. But then he’d tell me what I did wrong and help me figure out how I should have handled the situation.”

“So how would he assess our situation?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m not sure. Although I can just imagine his expression when I try to explain it to him.”

“I think we should keep it a secret,” she said, hoping he’d understand her concern. “This pregnancy occurred because of a mistake, but I don’t ever want my baby to know it.”

He gave a slow nod. “You’re right. I never thought about that.”

“So you agree?”

He turned to her. “Absolutely. It will be our secret.”

She tilted her head to meet his gaze, realizing she’d never really looked at him this closely before. He had long, dark eyelashes that any woman would envy. A straight, aquiline nose, solid cheekbones and a firm mouth. His brown eyes reminded her of warm toffee, and she felt something melt inside her. Somehow she knew that her intended donor, the French Canadian, just didn’t compare to Alan Rand.

A platter slipped out of Alan’s fingers and landed in the soapy water with a splash. Another flush crept up his cheeks as he turned to retrieve it. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” she said with a smile as she wiped the soapsuds off the front of her sweater.

He cleared his throat, then handed her the wet platter. “Speaking of the Orr Clinic, you never mentioned why you decided to go all the way to Canada for the procedure.”

She slowly wiped the dish towel over the surface of the platter. “My doctor recommended it.”

Alan searched the soapy water for more dishes, but came up empty. “He must feel awful about it now.”

“You have no idea,” Rowena murmured, reaching across him to pull the rubber stopper out of the sink. Her arm brushed his broad chest, but he didn’t shy away from the contact. Instead, he turned toward her again, and their gazes locked, the only sound in the kitchen that of water swirling down the drain.

“Thank you for helping with the dishes,” she said at last.

He took a step closer to her, his eyes never leaving her face. “You’re welcome.”

She drew in a breath, wondering if he was going to kiss her. She watched his hand come up and lightly cup her chin. Her mind told her to back away, but her feet stayed firmly planted on the floor.

Then his thumb gently swiped across the tip of her nose. He held his thumb up for her to see the soapsuds clinging to it. “You missed some.”

A shaky smile rose to her lips, and her heart beat unnecessarily fast. “Thanks.”

The kitchen clock chimed, breaking the invisible tether between them. Had he really been about to kiss her? Or was that just wishful thinking?

“It’s getting late,” he said, returning to the sink and wringing out the wet dishcloth. “I think I’d better go.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

They both lingered at the front door, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. “Well, good night, Rowena. And thank you again for dinner.”

“Thank you for coming,” she replied as he walked out the door. “And watch out for that slippery spot.”

He waved, then headed for his car, one foot sliding on the sidewalk before he regained his balance. She waited until he drove away from the curb before she closed the front door.

Their first evening together had gone better than she’d expected. Alan could be warm and witty. The stories he’d told about his childhood and his distant father had touched her. And made her understand a little bit better why this baby was so important to him.

But how long could their truce last? For the most part, they’d steered clear of any in-depth discussion about the baby. That couldn’t last forever. Even the subject of a name had caused a moment of tension between them.