For Their Baby. Kathleen O'Brien

noticed it was set to the recessed mood lighting, which didn’t compete with the view of the ocean through the big picture window.

      He deposited her on the wide leather sofa, then fiddled a few minutes in the wet bar behind her. When he returned, he had a plain brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide, some gauze and a bandage.

      She stared. “You keep a first aid kit in the bar?”

      He laughed, but he was already down on one knee in front of her, gently cleaning off the cut. “Yeah, well, I put a gash in my own leg the first week I was here. Apparently I still can’t surf worth a darn.” He smiled up at her. “Ten stitches. Just came out a week or so ago.”

      She smiled in spite of herself. He didn’t seem clumsy. His hands felt sure. And kind.

      He went through several pieces of gauze, all of which came away bloody and crumpled. He used the peroxide liberally, and thin, pink blood inched down her calf in dotted lines. He wiped it clean, with light strokes that made her feel strangely warm and tingly.

      God. Just how weak was she tonight? Was she actually letting this Boy Scout routine turn her on?

      It took a while, as he was clearly conscientious. But it wasn’t all vaguely erotic TLC. Some of it was pure, sensible first aid business. She flinched as he scrubbed away a few last grains of sand.

      “Sorry,” he said. He bent closer and probed with careful fingers. Then he dabbed one last time and started peeling the plastic backing from a large square bandage.

      “It’s not as bad as it looked. No need for stitches, probably. But you’re going to want to get a tetanus shot.”

      “I had one a few months ago,” she said. Her voice sounded husky, and she cleared her throat. “When you work around here, you don’t take risks.”

      He nodded. “Good.” He wadded up the used gauze and got up to put it in the trash can behind the bar. Then he ran water to wash his hands.

      “How about you?”

      She swiveled.

      He was pointing to the military lineup of booze along the glass wall. The standard new-guest stock that came with the cottage. It didn’t seem to have been touched, though David had been here several weeks. “Want something to take the edge off?”

      For a minute, she didn’t answer. Surrounded by sparkling crystal, he looked like the suave, unattainable hero of every movie she’d ever seen. So easy, so comfortable in his own skin, dressed casually in khakis and blue polo shirt, which probably hadn’t been chosen to set off his taut chest and sexy hips, but did anyhow.

      Something inside her stirred. It shifted restlessly. Something that had been asleep for a long, long time.

      She tried to ignore it. He was too good-looking. She didn’t trust such handsome men. His blond hair seemed to gleam, and his perfect profile was both manly and beautiful. And, yet, in some indescribable way, he didn’t seem like…like the rest of them.

      But that was ridiculous. Green-haired bartenders with edgy pasts were undoubtedly not his type, and Boy Scout gods weren’t hers. And yet…that restless spot inside her felt odd, as if it were being tugged toward him. She wondered if he felt it, too. Something in his eyes made her think he might.

      “No, thanks,” she said. “I don’t drink.”

      “Water, then.” He brought over two glasses straight from the subzero fridge and sat beside her on the sofa. “Here’s to a little peace and quiet for the rest of tonight. You’ve certainly earned it.”

      They both unscrewed their caps and drank a toast. She found herself watching the column of his throat as he swallowed. His neck was bronze and manly, but without that thick, muscled look she hated. The Jim Oliphant look. In fact, he had the kind of body she was usually attracted to. Lean, simple, graceful. As if he would be good at tennis.

      Or sex.

      He was watching her, too. She felt a blush creep over her cheeks, and she was suddenly aware that their bodies were only inches apart, and that this sofa had obviously been designed for nights of impulsive passion. She wondered whether he’d brought her here with casual sex in mind.

      If only he knew how long it had been since sex had been casual for her. She could tell him—almost to the day. Eight years. Of all the things Jim Oliphant had stolen from her, the easy acceptance of her sexuality was the thing she missed the most.

      Since the day Jim had pulled his disgusting stunt, she’d had one lover. Just one, a quiet law student she’d met at her first waitressing job. In Atlanta, where she’d settled after she’d come to the end of nearly two years of running. She’d stayed there a whole year, letting Allen erase the memory of Jim’s grabbing hands.

      Then Allen graduated, she had moved on…and she’d passed into a long, lonely five years, avoiding intimacy of any kind.

      She turned away awkwardly and focused on the picture window. It framed a magical view. Just yards away, the ocean waves angled in, rolling toward the shore. Just before they broke, moonlight created a flashing vein of silver along the glassy curls.

      She felt something silver winking deep inside her, as if a shaft of moonlight had penetrated her own murky layers of numbness and fear. It was almost as if somewhere, way down deep, below the scars, below the memory of Jim Oliphant, the real Kitty Hemmings still survived.

      “You know, I didn’t thank you. For tonight. It was nice of you to…to step in.” She looked down at her water bottle, then risked a glance up at David. “Usually I handle jerks like that much more smoothly. It’s just that—I was rattled. You see, I got some bad news tonight.”

      If he’d asked her what the news was, she probably would have clammed up. But he didn’t. He just waited. Serious. Attentive.

      “I found out my mother is going to marry a guy I can’t stand. A very bad guy. I’ve told her about him, but she doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t want to believe me.”

      David frowned slightly, but he still had the sense not to speak.

      “The hard part is…just tonight I’d been thinking maybe I could go home soon. I’ve been here—or somewhere—for eight years now. I’ve started to get homesick. But now…now that he’s going to be there permanently, I can’t go home. Not ever.”

      He was silent for a minute longer.

      “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That must be hard.”

      She nodded, wondering why she was unburdening herself like this. He couldn’t care. He didn’t even know her last name, which they never printed on the name tags, for “security” purposes.

      But maybe that was why it was possible to speak the truth. He didn’t know her. He couldn’t judge her. And he didn’t seem the judgmental type, anyhow. He actually seemed surprisingly kind.

      “It’s even more painful than I thought it would be,” she went on. “I don’t know why. I knew my mother didn’t believe me about Jim. I knew he was still in her life. Logically, this engagement thing shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

      He shrugged. “I don’t think pain responds very well to logic. I—” He smiled over at her, a strangely sad smile. “It hasn’t been the best day in my world, either.”

      Now it was her turn to wait. She wondered whether this was it…the answer to the question the staff had all been asking. Why did such a hunky, gorgeous guy always look so haunted and alone?

      He turned his glass, watching the light glimmer on the water. “A woman I used to be in love with married another man today. We broke up a long time ago, and it’s far from a shock. He’s a great guy, actually. We’re all friends now, and I’m actually even happy for her. I thought I could go, but at the last minute I couldn’t. I just…couldn’t.”

      He let the explanation taper off. Their gazes held, though, and something invisible arced between them.