Expecting His Baby. Sandra Field

don’t think you are,” Judd drawled. “Just as well, considering the way you kissed me.”

      “And how many women are you involved with, Judd?”

      “Platonically, several. But I don’t have a lover, if that’s what you mean. Haven’t had for some time.”

      His eyes were fastened on her face; he must have been aware of her quickened breathing. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

      “Yes,” he said in a hard voice, “as a matter of fact, I do.”

      “Then you’re clean out of luck.”

      “The media can make a hotbed of romance out of a handshake, it’s how they earn their keep—you might want to remember that.”

      She said coolly, “No smoke without a fire.”

      He had the audacity to laugh. “I shouldn’t argue with the expert—but there’s no fire without some basic chemistry. Until you came along, I’d been doing just fine without either one.”

      Into her mind flashed an image she’d never been able to forget: Judd and Angeline in the back garden in Outremont. Locked in each other’s arms, kissing in a way that had shattered her adolescent naiveté. “You and Angeline had chemistry.”

      “Initially, yes.”

      “So it doesn’t last.”

      “Not if there’s too little else to support it.”

      “Not if one of the partners transfers it elsewhere,” she flashed. “Even if I am arguing with the expert.”

      “You listen to me for a minute! I’m a very rich man—money equals power in our society, and power’s an aphrodisiac. So yes, there are women after me. All the time. But, like you, I prefer to exercise choice. And what’s easily available isn’t always what’s desired.”

      “I’m not playing some sort of hard-to-get game!”

      “I never thought you were.” Briefly Judd touched her cheek, removing his hand before she could back off. “I have the feeling you’re just being yourself. And you have no idea how refreshing that is, after the circles I move in.”

      “Who else would I be but myself?” she said with some asperity.

      “When we’re talking my kind of money, you’d be surprised what hoops people will jump through.” Restlessly he moved his shoulders. “Let’s go find Emmy—I’ll carry your bag.”

      She trailed up the stairs behind him, wondering if she’d ever had such a disturbing or inconclusive conversation. Had it been a drawing of battle lines? A stating of two mutually incompatible points of view? Or of Judd’s intention to pursue her regardless of her wishes?

      Did she want the answer?

      The stairs opened into another generous hallway with an exquisite Persian carpet in faded shades of red and blue. The two paintings, unless she was mistaken, were a Matisse and a Modigliani. She should be wearing something by Chanel or Dior, Lise thought with wry humor. Not khaki pants, a tangerine sweater and loafers, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Then Judd opened a paneled door. “Emmy?” he called. “Lise is here.” And Lise followed him into the room.

      It was a charming room, painted eggshell blue, with a child’s four-poster bed canopied in white muslin. Lise’s feet sank into the carpet. “Hello, Emmy,” she said.

      Emmy was dressed in denim overalls, her straight dark hair shining in the light. Her blue eyes—Angeline’s eyes, Lise thought with a twist of her heart—were fastened on the bear in her arms. Plush. Who still reeked of the smoke of her nightmares. “Hello,” Emmy said, and didn’t look up.

      Lise hadn’t rehearsed any course of action, trusting she’d know what to do when she got there. She watched Judd drop her bag on the carpet and walked over to Emmy, hunkering down beside her. “Your dad says you’re having nightmares about the fire.”

      “Mmm.”

      Still no eye contact. “I expect I looked very scary,” Lise said matter-of-factly. “So I brought my uniform with me, so you can see what it’s all for. Why I have to dress up in all that stuff.”

      Trying not to favor her sore arm too obviously, she pulled out her long waterproof pants with their silver braces, and the boots with the strips of fluorescent tape on them, and began talking about them in a quiet, uninflected voice. She moved to the jacket, the straps for the oxygen tank, and her helmet with its protective shield, trying them all on as she went; and was steadily aware that Emmy was listening, even though the child was giving nothing away. Then, finally, she took out her mask, and saw Emmy’s dark lashes flicker. “See, these are the head straps, they’re adjustable. And this black coil connects with the oxygen tank I carry on my back. Feel it, you can make it longer and shorter. Sort of like a Slinky toy, did you ever have one of those?”

      Tentatively Emmy reached out her hand, poking at the coil. “It changes the way I look,” Lise said, and held it up, putting her face behind it. “But it’s still me. Nobody scary. Nobody who needs to be in a nightmare.” Lowering the mask, she put all the reassurance she possibly could into her smile.

      “It’s too big for me,” Emmy said.

      “Yes, it is. It might fit Plush, though.”

      Emmy blinked. “Do you think he wants to wear it? Isn’t he scared of it, too?”

      “Why don’t we try it on and see?”

      With some reluctance, the little girl passed over her bear. Carefully Lise fastened the mask to his face, tightening the straps around his caramel colored fur. “There,” she said. “He doesn’t seem to mind it, does he? In fact, he looks rather dashing, don’t you think?”

      “Maryann wants to put Plush in the washing machine with lots of soap so he won’t smell of smoke,” Emmy said in a rush. “But I don’t want her to. I keep him around all the time. That’s why he was in the attic with me.”

      Emmy had given Lise the perfect opportunity to satisfy her curiosity. “Were you in the attic because you were running away from the fire?” she asked with a careful lack of emphasis.

      For the first time, Emmy looked right at her. “Oh, no. When my dad’s away and I’m lonesome, I sleep in the attic.”

      And does that happen often?

      Fortunately Lise hadn’t asked the question: merely thought it. But she was aware of a steady burn of anger that Judd could so cavalierly leave his daughter alone while he went off on business trips. Or so-called business trips, the ones where he was with a woman. How could he?

      “Well,” she said easily, “I’m really glad it was me who found you and Plush. You were both very brave to keep each other company. He’s earned a pot or two of honey for that, I’d say—if he’s anything like Pooh Bear.”

      As Emmy gave a small chuckle, Lise’s lips curved in response. “A little something at eleven,” Emmy said shyly.

      To her dismay, Lise wanted very badly to hug Emmy; and knew it would be the wrong move. Too soon. Too much. She said gently, “Would you like to take Plush’s mask off?”

      Her small fingers very nimble, Emmy loosened the clasps and eased the mask away from the bear. “He likes it better without it,” she said.

      Lise laughed. “So do I. It has its uses, but it’s not what you’d call comfortable.” With no ceremony, she started shoving all her gear back in the bag. “All these clothes make me as fat as Pooh the time he got stuck in Rabbit’s front door.”

      If she’d hoped for another of those sweet smiles from Emmy, Lise was disappointed. The child was clutching Plush to her chest, and in some very real way had retreated from her. Had she, Lise, reached Emmy? Helped in any way that would be lasting?

      A tap came at the door, and a plump elderly