Whose Baby Part 11

She'd already pushed back her chair. "This is a one-cook kitchen. We'd be tripping over each other."

Instead of going to the living room for his briefcase and laptop computer, Adam watched as she ran hot water into the sink. No dishwasher. He'd vaguely thought everybody had one.

In the past twenty-four hours, he had become shockingly aware of how near to the bone LynnChanak must live. The furniture was all secondhand. No, third- or fourth-hand. The linoleum in the bathroom and kitchen were both worn to the point where the pattern had become a memory and seams were peeling. She and Sh.e.l.ly had two bedrooms if you could call Sh.e.l.ly's eight-by- eight feet with a slanting ceiling a room. Crummy bathroom. Creaky plumbing. A small eating s.p.a.ce in the kitchen and a living room no bigger than his den. Woodwork and floors needed stripping or replacing, windows were single pane, and he wondered about the building's wiring.

It appalled him to think about the reaction of Jennifer's parents, if they could see where their granddaughter was growing up.

Funny thing was,the only uncomfortable part of this apartment was the couch. The place was tiny, too small for two adults and two children, but probably fine for just a mom and toddler. With the same imagination she'd used in creating the dress-up box,Lynnhad managed to give the old house charm on a shoestring.

She'd rag-rolled paint on plaster walls to subtle effect and used bright enamel on wood furniture. Posters of far-off places and wreaths of dried flowers brightened bare spots. The tiny hall was hung with family photos. He'd lingered that morning to study them. Bright pillows were probably hand-sewn rather than bought; he'd bet she had crocheted the afghan, as well. She had an eye for color, he thought, an ability to bring cheer to the drabbest room.

His own house could use a little.

"I'm done," she said briskly, whisking a dishcloth across the table. "It's all yours."

"Thanks."

He tried to concentrate after that, but it was hard when the girls kept popping out for an opinion on the latest ensemble or to ask the words to a song. And he remained conscious of Lynn, who murmured apologetically when she slipped into the kitchen for stamps or a cold drink,who eventually heated soup and made sandwiches for everyone. When the girls at last teetered through their dances in gowns worthy ofVanna White and heels high enough to do a swan dive from, it wasLynnhe noticed most. Her delight was so genuine, her laughs in the right place, her clapping endearingly enthusiastic.

She had that magical ability to see through a child's eyes. In that, she reminded him of Jenny, who had never seemed quite grown-up to him.

But unlike Jenny, who had never worked,Lynnsuccessfully ran a small business and coped with a young child. On the way to the bathroom this morning, he'd seen her worry as she wrote checks, sighed, laid an envelope aside, then changed her mind and opened it again. She must have nothing put away. What kind of health insurance did she carry?he wondered, when he should have been thinking about the alarming, precipitate drop in the price per share of a small software company that had recently gone public and which he'd recommended to his clients.

Did he have a right to askLynnabout her finances? If she was anxious now, what would her checking account look like in March after the winter slowdown in the tourist trade? Would she take help from him?

Instead of suggesting that he and Rose leave right after lunch, Adam letLynnput both girls down for a nap. Maybe he'd take them all out to dinner.

Lynncame into the kitchen. "Well, they're giggling in there, so I can't guarantee they'll actually get any sleep, but it seems worth a try."

"Rose can catch up on the way home," he said indifferently.

"I'll leave you to work." She had some bright catalogs in her hand.

"Publishers' lists?" he asked, nodding at them.

"Yeah. I enjoy choosing what books we'll carry as much as I do selling them. Of course the reps try to push certain ones, but a bookseller needs to know her own market."

"What do you look for?" he asked with real curiosity.

"Um..." She was still hovering in the doorway.

"Why don't you sit down?"

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"I'll take a cup of coffee." He couldn't remember the last time he'd had instant, but it wasn't bad stuff. The caffeine kick was the same.

While she boiled water, he thumbed through spring catalogs from Little, Brown, Simon & Schuster and Scholastic. Every single book looked bright and appealing.

As they drank coffee,Lynntalked about what she found did well for her: local history and flora and fauna, of course, fiction set in the Northwest, a few paperback bestsellers, children's books. "When it rains," she said with a quick grin, "the kids suddenly need indoor entertainment." Gardening books, she continued; something about going on vacation in an ambience likeOtterBeachinspired people to think they'd go home and transform their yards into cottage or j.a.panese gardens.

"I have some sidelines, too, including a few needlework and latch-hook rug kits. Vacation makes people dream."

"And you don't have to worry about a Barnes & n.o.ble opening in the next block."

"Right." Her pretty, round face looked rueful. "Of course, the reason I don't have to worry is that there isn't enough volume of business here to attract one.Which also limits any possibility of expansion or growth for me, too. "

"How about a second store? Say inCannonBeachorLincolnCity?"

"I've thought about it. They each have independents now, and it doesn't make sense for two of us to compete. And with Sh.e.l.ly a preschooler, the travel and headaches don't seem very appealing. But maybe someday..." She shrugged. "If one of those stores should come up for sale..."

Adam drummed his fingers on his thigh. "What do you do about health insurance?"

"I have coverage." Her formerly artless tone became wary. "Were you worried about Sh.e.l.ly?"

"I want her well taken care of." Even he recognized how tactless that sounded, but too late.

Gentle green eyes became fiery. "Are you suggesting Idon't take adequate care of her?"

"No." He grimaced. "I'm sorry. I don't always express myself well. I know you're doing the best you can. It's probably better than I do. I just got to worrying about whether you make enough to manage."

"Well, don't," she said stiffly. "I'll let you know before Sh.e.l.ly and I are out on the street."

Irked, he said, "I was trying to offer help."

Brows lifted, she said coolly, "Were you?"

"Clumsily."

"Then thank you." She gathered up her catalogs. "But we're doing just fine. I happen to believe that luxurious surroundings aren't essential to emotional well-being."

"I won't argue." Although he'd never forgive himself if he left Sh.e.l.ly with her and they both died some night in a fire started by antique wiring.

She stood, tiny curls escaping the severe braid to frame her face. Instead of leaving the kitchen immediately,Lynnhesitated. "I know today wasn't what you had in mind."

"Actually," he said, "I didn't have anything in particular in mind."

"You would have preferred a movie or a day at the beach."

"I thought the girls might," he corrected her, knowing he was lying.

"Real life, remember?"

"What about you?" he challenged. "Was this a good visit?"

"Yes." She sounded surprised. "I'm not totally comfortable with you sometimes, but otherwise ... yes."

"Will things get better between us?"

"I'm sure they will." But she wasn't meeting his eyes. "Once I'm sure you won't try to take Sh.e.l.ly from me."

Adam felt an instant of disappointment that irritated him like h.e.l.l when he realized its source: he'd wanted her to admit she felt an attraction to him that was a problem. Either she was being less than honest, or she didn't feel any of that edgy awareness that had him concentrating on her face so he didn't stare at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s under a tight T-s.h.i.+rt or imagine wrapping his hands around her small waist.

"We have an agreement, don't we?" he said.

"We have nothing in writing. Nothing that will keep us out of court."

"Goodwill."

"I don't trust it. I want to trust you, but I don't completely. How can I?"

He did trust her, he realized somewhat to his shock. LynnChanak didn't have a deceitful bone in her body.

"We could do a written parenting plan."

She sighed. "No. I just need time. And ... and a routine. I'm happiest when I know what's coming."

"Like a child."

"I suppose." She tried to smile. "Living on the edge is not for me."

"And yet," he said softly, "you must feel as if you are all the time."

"Financially, maybe."

"Is your ex-husband helping?"

"He was. Until this happened." She gestured toward the bedroom, where silence had finally settled.

Adam frowned. "He quit paying child support?"

"I'm okay without it."

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Took the words out of my mouth." Another of her almost-smiles hid a world of hurt. "He figured you wouldn't want his child-support checks."

"I'd shove 'em down his throat," Adam growled.

"Obviously, I made a mistake there. Except..."

"For Rose."

"Yes. I wouldn't change things if I could."

"Do you have a picture of him?"

"Sure. There's one in the hall. After all, he's Sh.e.l.ly's dad. Or she thinks he is."

Adam wanted, violently, for his daughter to knowhe was Daddy. Always and forever. Patience, he counseled himself.

Lynncame back in a moment with a framed photograph of a handsome young man with a confident grin, Nordic blond hair and vivid blue eyes. Although he had noticed it earlier, Adam took it from her and studied it closely.

"Not much of him in Rose," he decided, glad.

"Except his eyes. No,"Lynnagreed, "there's even less of his personality in her. I always thought Sh.e.l.ly took after him. Hemountain climbs and does that dangerous freestyle skiing and rides motocross. Unlike me, he enjoys taking his life in his hands. Sh.e.l.ly can be so reckless. At eighteen months old, I heard her sobbing in her bedroom. When I raced in there, I found she'd managed to climb out of her crib and scale her dresser. She was perched on top, finally scared."

"Rose never did get out of her crib. After I bought her a twin bed, I had to sit next to her until she'd gone to sleep the first few nights, because she was sure she'd fall out." He had tried to hide his impatience, not understanding her timidity. He'd tried to justify it by the loss of her mother. She hadn't gotten it from either him or Jenny.

"She sounds so much like me,"Lynnsaid quietly. "Finding our daughters the way we have, I keep being hit by how much is innate instead of environmental. Rose is mine and Sh.e.l.ly yours, no matter how much we want it otherwise."

A clamp squeezed his chest. He couldn't deny a word she'd said, however desperately he would have liked to.Rose is mine and Sh.e.l.ly yours . He adored his Rosebud. He wouldn't let her be someone else's.

"We'd better go as soon as Rose wakes up," he said with brusqueness calculated to hide his disquiet. Staying was no longer an option. He needed distance to think about this. To figure out whether he really did trust this woman.

"Sure,"Lynnsaid, with a faint ironic smile. "I a.s.sumed you would."

"But you'll bring her over in two weeks? And stay?"

"Of course I will."

"We have each other over a barrel, don't we?"

Their eyesmet, stark honesty between them for once. "You could say that." Was it bitterness or fright that made her voice momentarilytremulous. "You have Rose, and I have Sh.e.l.ly."

"A balance of power."

"I don't feel balanced." She pressed her lips together. "You and I both know,I could never come up with the money to fight you."

"But I'd never hurt Sh.e.l.ly by destroying you."

"I have to believe that. Don't I?" She backed away. "Now, I'll leave you to ... to do whatever..."

Whirling, she was gone, and Adam was left to wonder whether those were tears clogging her throat.

Chapter 8.

Although not more than a few months old, this library book was already well read, the pages opening easily to the beginning.

"Not all princesses are beautiful,"Lynnread. "In fact, some are plain. A few are even ugly."

A child curled on each side of her. Rose sucked her thumb; Sh.e.l.ly held tight to her flannelblankie . Both were rapt on the simple watercolor drawing of a truly ugly princess whose tiara crowned a head of lank brown hair.