The Baby They Both Loved. Nikki Benjamin
fled fast enough when confronted with proof of his irresponsibility—no big surprise there. But now he was back again, ready to talk to her. That was just fine and dandy with her. She had a lot to say to him, none of it good, and she knew she’d feel better once she’d gotten the bulk of the ill will she felt toward him off her chest.
Convinced that she had the upper hand, Kit had felt comfortable enough inviting Simon into her home. She’d been too smug, too soon, though, as she’d quickly discovered.
Climbing the staircase to the apartment, following along behind her in seeming docility, Simon Gilmore had neatly turned the tables on her. He had spouted absolute nonsense about collecting his son, as if Nathan were a parcel he’d forgotten at the post office. He had scared her so badly, she’d teetered on the wooden steps. And though he had caught her easily, saving her from a fall, his consideration offered her no reassurance at all.
Instead, the touch of Simon’s hands on her had triggered something even more frightening deep inside of her.
For the space of several heartbeats, Kit Davenport had been tempted to lean on Simon Gilmore. She’d had to be so strong for so long all on her own. She had nursed her mother through a terminal illness, and at the same time, she had managed to keep the Dinner Belle Diner open for business. Then she had taken on full responsibility for an orphaned toddler she truly loved.
The lure of Simon’s masculine strength—offered with seeming kindness and solicitude—had been almost more than she could resist. How easy she had found it in those few moments to believe that he meant her no harm. She had thought of him as a friend once, he had seemed to remind her. He could be her friend again if only she would let him.
But then Kit had remembered that he’d been no friend to Lucy, and wouldn’t be to her, either. Not as long as he thought he had the right to take Nathan away from her. Lucy had taken special care to name her as the little boy’s guardian. Surely that, alone, would negate any claim Simon attempted to make, and surely her attorney would agree.
Maybe she should tell Simon she’d rather not talk to him, after all. Maybe she should confer with Isaac first just to be certain of her rights. Better yet, maybe she should send Simon to see Isaac. As a family law attorney in practice for many years, Isaac Woodrow would know a lot more about her legal standing than she. He could speak not only with knowledge but also authority, and he could make sure Simon didn’t harass her in any way during the time he remained in Belle.
Having regained her confidence, Kit turned to face Simon as he closed the apartment door. She was fully prepared to ask him to leave, but the look he directed her way in the instant before Nathan distracted him was so resolute that her breath caught in her throat. He was a man with a mission, and he wouldn’t be easily deflected. Short of causing a scene that would embarrass them both, she doubted she’d be able to get rid of him until he, personally, was ready to go.
Talking to him would cost her little more than time, and she might even gain some peace of mind. Altruistic as he now seemed, Simon couldn’t possibly know all that was involved in raising a child. Once he realized how much time, energy and emotion good parenting required, odds were he’d bow out just like he had three years ago.
She would only pitch a fit if Simon tried to take Nathan away from her, Kit decided. Bonnie and George were close by. They would come to her rescue if need be.
Though watching Simon’s expression soften as he gazed at Nathan, Kit couldn’t believe he’d ever threaten her or harm her physically. He had always been a patient man. He had also treated everyone he knew with kindness and understanding—including Lucy, even when her behavior toward him had been careless and chaotic.
Running out on her, as he had the one time she’d really needed him, had seemed totally out of character to Kit. But the fact remained that he had—proof, as far as Kit was concerned, that he wasn’t nearly as good or kind or decent as she’d once believed him to be.
“It’s time for Nathan to have his lunch,” Kit said, maintaining a pragmatic tone, but only with great effort. “Why don’t you join us in the kitchen? We can talk while I feed him.”
Simon seemed to fill the apartment’s cozy living room with his masculine presence. Though nicely furnished and quite comfortable under normal circumstances, it certainly wasn’t spacious. At least not spacious enough for a woman, namely her, who would have rather not been in close quarters with a man, namely Simon, whom she considered more of an enemy than friend.
Unfortunately, the kitchen was smaller still. Kit’s mother had rarely used it, preferring, as she had, to cook in the diner’s larger and better-equipped facility. Kit didn’t cook there, either. She mostly just reheated whatever leftovers she brought up from the diner for herself and Nathan.
Giving the little boy his meals in the upstairs kitchen had become a part of their routine, though—one that Kit was loathe to disrupt. She had learned that any change in routine tended to make Nathan extremely fussy. Not unusual, considering he’d lost his mother, and certainly understandable. Upsetting him in order to keep Simon at a distance that would be nominal at best simply wasn’t necessary.
“Can I do anything to help?” Simon asked, following her as she headed for the kitchen doorway.
“I’m used to managing on my own,” she answered in a tart tone, bristling at him all over again before she could stop herself.
She didn’t like feeling crowded on any front, and just then Simon seemed to loom large—his broad shoulders and powerful physique making her feel ill at ease. He wasn’t being obnoxious about it, and he’d meant well, offering to help, but still…
“Of course, you are,” he said, pausing just inside the kitchen doorway, obviously aware of her discomfort. “I just thought you might be glad to have someone lend a hand for a change. But I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you’d prefer.”
She was making a difficult situation even more so by behaving in such a disdainful manner, Kit thought, drawing a calming breath as she settled Nathan into his high chair and fastened the safety straps. Simon was right. She regularly wished she had someone to help her.
“You can get one of the bottles out of the refrigerator and put it in the bottle warmer on the counter to heat up,” she said, her tone now slightly conciliatory.
“So he still takes a bottle?”
Simon seemed genuinely interested as he followed her instructions without any fumbling or bumbling.
“Only after he’s eaten lunch. It helps him settle down for a nap. He gave up his bedtime bottle about six weeks ago. He decided one night that he didn’t want it.”
Moving efficiently around the tiny kitchen, managing somehow not to bump into Simon, Kit took a container of chicken noodle soup out of the refrigerator, dumped it into a pan on the stove and lit the burner. She gave Nathan a cracker to tide him over, opened a fresh jar of apple juice and poured some into a sippy cup. He reached for it eagerly, babbling in a happy voice.
“He seems like a good baby,” Simon ventured, stirring the soup with the spoon she’d left in the pot.
Very domestic, she acknowledged to herself, stepping around him to get a bowl from one of the cabinets above the counter. He had only taken a few seconds to figure out how to work the bottle warmer, too. He certainly deserved an A for effort, but that didn’t change the fact that he’d treated her best friend like dirt.
Reminded that she owed Simon no appreciation at all, Kit reached up to open the cabinet, and much to her chagrin, brushed against him accidentally. The physical contact, slight as it was, sent a shaft of heat through her. Startled, she almost dropped the bowl as she spun away from him.
Seeming equally off-kilter, Simon winced and shifted to the side, away from her, as well. Embarrassed, Kit plunked the bowl on the counter and turned to take a spoon from the drawer by the sink.
“He’s very good…all things considered,” she said, not really caring that she sounded snappish again.
Kit