If I Loved You. Leigh Riker
see her flushed face.
She had to get out of there. The small room had become suffocating, and if she stayed any longer, there was a very real danger that she’d be tempted to slip into his arms. So much for her promise just to look.
Briskly, she bustled around the room, rinsing the plastic tub and shutting down lights until, to her dismay, they were standing in the now-dark space, and Brig was whispering, as if he felt the same temptation, “Molly.”
Her name went through her like a welcome breeze and cooled her pink cheeks. No way would she let herself be lulled once more by Brig’s good looks and the newer, more tender side of him that she’d never encountered before. Soon enough she’d be seeing the back of him. Laila, too. So instead...
“I offered you some books on child care,” she said, walking toward the door, “but you’ll need more than that. Hands-on experience. If you’d like to avoid another mess in the crib, or at least lower the possibility, I could...give you a few lessons—for Laila—in diapering and so forth.”
“And so forth,” he echoed, following her out the door.
Molly hurried back to the house, to the light she saw still shining in her bedroom. She had to do at least some brainstorming before she went to sleep. She had to remind herself that too many years had gone by, with too many losses.
And she wasn’t about to risk another.
* * *
“THERE SHE IS AGAIN.”
At her father’s voice Molly turned the next afternoon from plumping the sofa cushions in the living room. He had just awoken from his nap—a new habit of his that worried her, when he’d always been full of energy—and for some reason was staring out the side window at the Colliers’ house next door.
The still-empty house, as far as Molly could tell.
Which was worse luck for her. Because after last night in the changing room at the center, she was trying to ignore her memory of Brig’s closeness and her foolish urge to glide into his arms.
She’d decided then that any baby-care lessons from her would be given during daytime hours with her entire staff present.
“That woman,” Thomas said. He was now looking out at the yard, taking care to stay out of sight, one hand pulling the curtains back just enough so he could see without being seen. “She’s a friend of Bess Collier’s.” He peered harder at their neighbors’ house. “Look, she’s ringing their bell again like some town crier. Maybe they stood her up like they did Brig.”
“Maybe,” Molly said, “but she might not know they’re away. Why don’t you go out and say something?”
His hand dropped from the curtain as if he’d been burned. “I’m not stepping foot out of this house. Every time she spots me, she comes over to talk.”
“Really,” Molly said, wishing he might welcome some company.
But Pop was on a roll. “Last month she tried to get me to some potluck dinner at the community center. The Colliers were going, she said, so I wouldn’t be a stranger—a ding dang double date, as if I couldn’t see that coming a mile away.” Molly noticed an odd expression on his face that looked to her a lot like...yearning? “Then only a week ago she had some notion I might like to join her senior bowling league.”
Molly grinned. “You’re a good bowler. I think she’s sweet on you, Pop.”
His face turned red. “That’s all I need.”
Molly wanted to say, Maybe that’s exactly what you need. But that hadn’t gone over well with Ann about Jeff Barlow. Molly was out of the matchmaking business.
Thomas eyed her as if she’d spoken anyway and didn’t get his point. “Your mother was the closest thing to a saint I ever knew. She had a gentle way about her. Never said a bad word about anyone.”
“I know, Pop.” Molly’s eyes stung. “I assume you said no to the potluck.”
His frown deepened. “You were making your special meat loaf that night. I bet that woman’s a terrible cook. She talks too much to pay attention to anything else.”
Molly bit back a smile. “What if she has hidden depths?”
“You think this is funny? What if she’s nothing but a man-hunting busybody?” he said, then stomped off into the kitchen for his afternoon snack.
Molly followed him. Unable to push just a little, she waited until he looked at her. “Pop, I know how much you loved Mom, but I don’t want to see you bury yourself in this house.”
“Hardly any chance of that,” he said, rooting in the fridge and coming up with a block of his favorite cheese. “Not with Brigham here, too, and that baby that’s not his.”
“Now you’re being unkind.”
“Well, I don’t see the good of it, Molly. If his parents aren’t coming home anytime soon—”
“We don’t know that.”
“Then why doesn’t he find an apartment or something?”
“For just a short stay?”
“And why isn’t there someone else who can take care of that child? Makes no sense for a man who’s little more than a drifter, a man who will likely head off tomorrow or next week for who knows where to play shoot ’em up.”
Molly’s stomach sank. She didn’t like to imagine Brig in a firefight somewhere, in danger far from home. Not that home was high on his priority list. But to imagine Brig wounded, or even gone like his teammate, Sean...?
“That’s Brig’s business,” she said, “not ours. All I can do is help him learn how to care for Laila properly—which I’ve promised to do while he’s here—and keep my ears open for any news of his folks.”
“Huh,” Thomas muttered. “Well, I’ve been keeping my eyes open with him, and I doubt baby care is the only thing on his mind.”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Molly cautioned him.
She was trying hard not to think about Brig, just as her father was trying hard not to acknowledge any interest in the woman still ringing the bell next door.
But, no. A glance out the window told Molly the woman was now steaming across the yard to Pop’s front door.
“Uh-oh. There’s no escape,” she told him.
And went to answer the bell.
Unlike Pop, Molly welcomed the chance to distract herself.
She could only hope she wasn’t occupying Brig’s mind.
MOLLY OPENED THE door—and any thought of Brig went flying out of her head.
Except for her red hair, the woman who’d been standing on the Colliers’ front porch hadn’t looked so...dazzling from a distance. Molly took in the purple sequined tracksuit and hot pink running shoes with their glittering silver reflectors. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the visitor’s shoes had sported those red lights that flashed when the wearer walked, as did some of the shoes the children at Little Darlings wore.
“Please. Come in,” she said, gesturing with one hand. “I’m Molly.”
“Natalie Brewster.”
They hadn’t officially met before, but Molly recognized the newest resident of the neighborhood. She had moved in last spring from across town, yet other than a wave or hello called from a distance, Molly had had no dealings with her.
Natalie Brewster’s sharp gaze went roaming—with obvious suspicion. The living room was empty, except for her