Daddy On The Doorstep. Judy Christenberry

emerged from the bath to find Nick stretched out on Bess’s big bed, his hands folded behind his head. She fought to pull her gaze from his muscular length. “Sorry if I took too long.”

      “Nope. It gave me time to warm the bed for you.”

      She almost choked as she took in his words. “W-warm the bed for me?” Swallowing, she added, “I thought you’d want this bed. After all, Bess is your aunt. I’ll take the other bedroom.”

      “I guess you haven’t looked in there yet,” he said nonchalantly as he sat up.

      Foreboding ran through her. “No. Is there a problem?”

      “Yeah. A leak in the roof.”

      “Where?”

      “Right over the middle of the bed. Lucky break, though. The mattress was ruined, but the carpet didn’t suffer. I dragged the mattress out to the garage and put a pot under the leak to catch the drip.”

      Lucky break. Yeah, right. She gathered her scattered wits around her and turned toward the door.

      “Where are you going?”

      “To find some blankets and make up a bed on the sofa.”

      “I don’t see the need for that, Andy. After all, we’re not divorced yet. We can share this bed.”

      He stood and walked toward her, but she knew, come hell or high water, and the latter was a real possibility, she wasn’t sharing a bed with Nick.

      Chapter Three

      Nick followed her from the bedroom to the linen closet filled with Bess’s beautiful quilts.

      “Andy? There’s plenty of cover on the bed. It’s not going to be that cold tonight.”

      “Good,” she said as she pulled a sheet and several quilts from different shelves. “I’ll need one of your pillows, please. Would you get it for me?”

      “Where do you think you’re going to sleep?” he demanded, his hands on his hips when she turned around.

      “On the sofa.”

      She shut the closet door and headed toward the living room, with Nick following right behind her. She would’ve run if she’d thought it would do her any good. But he’d always been faster than her.

      Feeling his glare in the middle of her back as she reached the sofa, she tried to send him away. “The pillow, Nick? Would you get it for me?”

      “No!” he roared, frustration lacing his voice. “I won’t get the damned pillow for you. Andy, you’re being ridiculous, thinking you’re going to sleep here on an uncomfortable sofa when there’s an entire king-size bed in the other room.”

      “Thinking I’m going to sleep here?” she repeated, her voice rising. “How are you going to stop me, Nick? Unless you learned some kidnapping techniques from your jaunt to Africa.”

      Too many times in their marriage, she’d given in to his dominance, wanting to please him, to keep their marriage strong. All it had done was encourage him to take advantage of her, she’d finally decided during the past lonely month. No longer would she allow him to order her around.

      Her response seemed to dumbfound him. Finally, after shifting his weight several times, he muttered, “I’m trying to take care of you, Andy. You look like a small puff of wind would blow you away. You need your rest.”

      She stiffened her backbone against his tenderness. “Thank you, Nick, but I’ll be fine on the sofa.”

      Turning her back to him, she began to make a bed for herself. If she worked hard at it, she could pretend she was alone, that the man she adored more than any other wasn’t watching her, trying to persuade her to share his bed.

      When his hands seized her shoulders and inexorably pulled her away from the sofa, she struggled against him. “Nick, what—”

      “Relax. I’m going to sleep here. You go get in bed.” Stepping around her, he bent over the sofa to arrange the bedding.

      Tears gathered in her eyes. How could she resist such caring? Just as she was about to agree to their sharing a bed, under certain conditions, of course, a suspicion crossed her mind. Was that his plan? Charm her and get his way? Not this time, Nick.

      “I don’t think you’ll fit, Nick. The sofa isn’t long enough for you,” she reminded him, giving a little shove with her hip as she moved to the sofa.

      Unfortunately her hip didn’t connect with his. Instead, it brushed against the front of his jeans and his arms surrounded her. He buried his face in her hair and muttered, “Andy.”

      “No!” she protested, pulling away before her desire could overpower her. She’d learned six months ago that a woman’s desire could be just as powerful as a man’s.

      They stood there staring at each other.

      “Come on, Andy,” he finally whispered.

      “No, I won’t. We’re not husband and wife anymore and—”

      “Damn it, would you stop saying that?”

      The pain in his voice almost awakened her sympathy, her matching suffering. Almost. “No, I can’t stop saying that because it’s true. And I mustn’t forget it.”

      “Why? What did I do that was so terrible? You muttered a lot of mumbo-jumbo that last night. Crazy things about your freedom, your time. What do you want, Andy?”

      What did she want? She couldn’t tell him the truth, because she couldn’t have what she wanted. She already knew that. So she only told him part of the truth.

      “I want me, Nick. That’s all I want.”

      “Another cryptic message, I suppose,” he replied with sarcasm. “Is this another test, like coming after you? Because I don’t like to be tested, Andy. I expect my wife to trust me. Of all the people in the world, she’s the one person who must trust me.”

      Andy almost laughed, but she was working too hard to hold back the tears. “I know,” she whispered. “I know. Go to bed, Nick.”

      He didn’t move. “Come with me, Andy. I’ll even promise not to touch you.”

      From his voice she could tell that promise hadn’t been his original intention when he’d first invited her to his bed. The shiver that coursed through her had nothing to do with the coldness. “No, Nick. Go to bed.”

      This time he did as she asked, stalking from the room as if he were a six-year-old unfairly punished. Again, Andy covered her stomach with her hands. Perhaps one day she’d see the same reaction again, with a real six-year-old.

      With a faint smile, she continued preparing her bed, trying to think about the future, not the past.

      A soft thud pulled her from her thoughts and she saw the white pillow as it landed on the other end of the sofa. She looked up to discover Nick glaring at her from the doorway.

      “Thank you for remembering,” she called softly.

      “You’re welcome,” he muttered, and closed the door with extra emphasis.

      Andrea settled among the covers, her head resting on the pillow, and smiled again. Yes, definitely a six-year-old. But one who was well nigh irresistible. She’d be well advised to keep her distance.

      Andrea awakened the next morning with the covers twisted around her and one foot exposed, her toes feeling frozen. She sat up to cover the poor cold foot and realized she hadn’t brought any crackers to bed with her.

      “Rats!” she moaned, and made a run for the kitchen sink.

      The next few moments were unpleasant, but she’d grown used to the morning routine. It served her right for not remembering the crackers. When she did, she was