The Diaper Diaries. Abby Gaines

awake. If she wasn’t careful, Tyler would make one of his lightning raids on the house while she dozed.

      She didn’t know how he managed to figure out exactly when she’d be out taking Ben for a walk, or catching forty winks, or at the store stocking up on diapers. But at some stage every day she’d arrive home, or come downstairs into the kitchen, and there’d be…no actual evidence of his presence, just an indefinable sense of order shaken up. And, occasionally, the scent of citrus aftershave, freshly but not too liberally applied.

      Tyler wouldn’t elude her today, she promised herself as she hunted for a dropped stitch with little hope of rescuing it. No matter how much Bethany knitted, she never improved, probably because knitting was a means of relieving tension rather than a passion.

      Since she’d arrived at Tyler’s home, she’d knitted most of a sweater.

      Today, she would relieve her tension by delivering Tyler a brief but salient rundown on childhood kidney disease. Waiting on his bed meant he couldn’t sneak past her; she wouldn’t let him out of the house until she’d said her piece.

      Bethany yawned and leaned back into the pillows, letting her eyelids droop just for a moment. Her bed in Tyler’s guest room was very comfortable, but this one was in a different league. It was like floating on a cloud….

      THE NEAR-SILENT SWISH of a well-made drawer sliding stealthily closed woke Bethany. She jerked upright.

      And saw Tyler standing frozen next to the dresser, holding a plastic shopping bag, watching her watching him.

      Bethany roused her wits. “Who are you, and how dare you barge into this house?”

      She had the satisfaction of confusing him, but only briefly. Those full lips curved in irritated appreciation of her comment.

      “Sorry I haven’t been around, I’ve been busy.” He crossed the room, a picture of relaxed grace, and dropped the shopping bag onto the end of the bed. He stood, clad in Armani armor, looking down at her as if she were a territory he had to conquer before dinner.

      “I’ve been busy, too,” Bethany said. Unlike him, she bore the ravages of her day, evidenced in the baby-sick that blotted the shoulder of her sweater, in her lack of makeup, in the hair she hadn’t had time to wash this morning.

      “You mean, busy doing something other than snoozing on my bed?” He took a step closer. “Or are you here because you want…something?”

      “I want to talk to you.” She scowled. “You were hoping to sneak in and out without waking me, weren’t you?”

      “You looked so sweet,” he said blandly, “it seemed a crime to disturb you. Where’s Ben?” He glanced around with casual interest, as if she might have stowed the baby under a pillow. For all he knew, that was exactly what she did each day.

      “He’s sleeping.”

      Tyler sat on the other side of the bed from Bethany, and farther down so he was facing her. Still too close for her liking. She’d have liked to stand up, but one foot was still asleep, and she’d probably topple over if she tried. She settled for edging away from him.

      “That kid’s amazing,” he said. “Every time I come home, he’s fast asleep. I feel as if I’ve hardly seen him.” He must have noticed the anger kindle in her eyes, for he continued hastily, “So, how are you?” His gaze flicked over her from top to toe. “You look tired.”

      Didn’t every woman love to hear that?

      “I,” she said deliberately, “am exhausted. The reason Ben is asleep whenever you’re around—” she pointed her knitting needles at him for emphasis “—is because he’s awake every other minute of the day. And night.”

      “Careful, Zorro.” Tyler reached out and deflected the needles, which were almost stabbing him in the chest. “It’s not my fault if I don’t hear Ben at night.”

      “The only way you wouldn’t hear him is if you’re wearing those earplugs Olivia bought you.”

      He shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

      Bethany narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you can’t hear him because you’re sleeping somewhere else.”

      He appraised her through thick lashes. “I’ve been right here every night. In this bed.”

      She didn’t need to think about that.

      “Alone,” he added mournfully.

      With that newspaper article visible from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help saying, “Things not going well with Miss Georgia?”

      “That would be your business…how?”

      “It’s the whole city’s business, if you read the newspaper. Besides, if she dumped you,” Bethany said hopefully, “and you’re looking for an excuse to see her again, you can set me up to brief her about my research. She gets a lot of media coverage, she might be a useful spokesperson.”

      “Nice idea, but I think she has her hands full with world peace. And in the unlikely event of a woman dumping me, I won’t need your help in patching things up.” He leaned forward and grabbed the plastic shopping bag, which bore the logo of a local independent bookstore. He pulled out several books, stacked them on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Among them, Bethany recognized one that many of her patients’ parents recommended: What to Expect the First Year. He crowned the pile with Real Dads Change Diapers.

      He caught her watching him. “Obviously I’m philosophically opposed to this last one.”

      “I noticed,” she said. “Still, it looks as if you’re willing to be educated. So you’ll be interested to learn that if researchers could figure out how to control antibody-producing cells, kidney patients might be able to accommodate transplanted organs from incompatible donors.”

      “Who do you think Ben’s dad is?” Tyler asked.

      Bethany counted to five and managed an ungracious “How would I know? Has the private investigator come up with something?”

      “Nothing yet. I was just wondering…What if his dad is looking for him?”

      Bethany blinked. Tyler had noticed she did that whenever he disconcerted her…which wasn’t as often as he’d like. Too often it worked the other way around.

      “Good question, I’ve been thinking more about his mother,” she admitted.

      “That’s because you’re a woman,” he said smugly. “It’s hard for you to acknowledge that Ben’s dad has just as much claim on him.” It was a line he’d found when he’d skimmed Real Dads Change Diapers, a somewhat political tome, in the bookstore. He’d also skimmed the index of What to Expect the First Year and found no reference to rabies, which gave him another score to settle with Bethany.

      She frowned. “In my experience, fathers love their kids just as much as moms do, though they’re not always as good at showing it. But every kid needs a dad he can rely on. Maybe not so obviously at Ben’s age, but in a few years’ time he’ll need someone to show him what being a man is all about.”

      Tyler was sorely tempted to pull out a pen and make notes. Bethany was more useful than any number of books when it came to getting up to speed on baby issues.

      Bethany continued. “I’m not a guy—” stating the obvious, he thought, scoping out the fullness of her breasts in her thin, ribbed sweater “—but I’d bet being a father is the most rewarding, fulfilling, hope-giving experience a man can know. It’d beat those other coming-of-age experiences—first car, first girlfriend, graduation—hands down.”

      Enthusiasm lit Bethany’s face, emphasizing its pixieish quality. Very cute. Then she added, “If you talk to some of the fathers of children in the kidney ward at Children’s Healthcare of Atlanta—”

      Okay, now she’d gone past quotable and was riding