Jill Limber - Secrets Of An Old Flame

Think of something besides the flare of pain. Think about what you will do tomorrow. She had to contact the man who ran the exclusive antiques shop on West Lewis Street. If Mr. Denny didn’t want to handle her things, he could probably recommend someone else.

She felt like someone had buried a hatchet in her forehead. Tears blurred her eyes so much she stumbled over a uneven spot in the sidewalk. All she had to do was get around the next curve and up her front walk.

Home. King’s X. Ollie, Ollie, in free.

For today, at least, it was her home.

Home and Joe. Dreams of him coming to her bed had awakened her during the night, with her nightgown twisted up and her body drenched in sweat.

Her mind knew she couldn’t trust him, that he was no good for her, but her body refused to get the message.

Just as she came around the corner, she saw Joe’s car in front of her house.

He stood by his car, his hands on his hips, sport coat drawn back so that she could see the weapon strapped under his arm. She wondered vaguely if he had practiced the intimidating pose in front of a mirror. He was very good at it.

“Where did you go?” Chin jutting forward, he had the body language of an angry man.

She squinted up at him, the sunlight unbearably harsh. “For a walk.”

“Do you always dress up in a suit and heels to take the baby for a walk?” He scowled at her clothes.

Nikki ignored him as she walked by and pushed the stroller through the gate and up the long front walk, bumping over the rough flagstones. It was none of his business where she went or who she saw.

Her stomach roiled with nausea. If she stood out here and argued with him she might disgrace herself in the front yard.

She didn’t have to turn around to know he was right behind her. She could hear him breathing.

She tipped the stroller on its back wheels to maneuver it up the porch steps. Joe stepped past her and picked up the whole thing, setting it gently on the porch. His calm handling of the stroller did not hide the tension in his shoulders. Carefully he set the brake.

She fumbled in her bag and fished out her house key. It slid from her fingers and bounced off her shoe. She looked down in dismay, knowing if she bent over to pick it up the pain in her head would double.

Joe reached down and scooped the key up, then inserted it in the lock, his arm brushing against hers as she stumbled out of his way, attempting to avoid contact.

“What’s the matter, Nikki?” he said sharply, his hand on the door handle.

He just stood there, blocking the way. “I don’t want you here. Go away.” Instead of the sharp command she had intended, her voice sounded thin and whiney, something she couldn’t stand, especially in herself.

He turned and stared at her and she fought the urge to squirm under his direct gaze. She knew how pathetic she looked when she had a migraine.

He held the door open a few inches and stared at her. Just let me in so I can lie down, she thought, unwilling to plead aloud for what she needed most.

“Nikki, what’s the matter?” he repeated.

This time the words were the same but his tone was soft and concerned. He let go of the door and slid his big warm hand around her elbow, rubbing his thumb over her sleeve.

Oh, she thought, don’t be nice. She couldn’t handle nice from him right now.

“Nothing,” she muttered.

He ran his hand up her arm. “Don’t tell me nothing. You look terrible.” He leaned toward her.

God, how she missed his touch. The feel of his breath against her face as he coaxed her with his soft voice made her knees weak. Even his unflattering words sounded good when he said them like that. Self defense had her pulling her arm out of his grasp.

“I’m fine, just tired. Get back so I can bring the baby in,” she said, fighting the urge to forget the past and melt against him, take strength from him.

He frowned at her answer and ran his finger down her cheek. “You’re pale and—”

She had to stop him before he wore down her resistance. “I said I’m fine,” she said sharply.

The pain in her head stabbed and the nausea roiled. She shoved past him and bolted into the downstairs powder room.

Joe stepped back as she pushed past him and stared after her. She must really be upset. She’d left him alone with the baby. He hadn’t missed the fact that she acted as if she had to protect his own son from him.

He turned and released the brake on the stroller and wheeled his sleeping son into the house. He closed the front door and then stared down at the baby’s tiny hand, curled against his cheek.

Michael, he thought. My son Michael. The wonder of it struck him anew.

He reached to unhook the safety belt around the baby’s middle, aching to pick him up. It would piss her off to come back and find him holding the baby, but he didn’t care. She was just going to have to get used to the idea, because he’d given her all the time he was going to.

Before he could unclasp the belt, he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

Damn, he’d been right. He’d known something was wrong the minute he spotted her pushing the stroller up the street. He could tell something was wrong from her hunched-up shoulders and the careful way she’d been walking.

Joe left the sleeping baby and found Nikki sitting on the floor of the guest bathroom, her skirt hiked up her thighs and her forehead resting on the rim of the toilet.

He wrung out a hand towel in cold water and slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to an upright position. Gently he wiped her face and frowned at her moan. She was as white as the porcelain of the toilet. “Pick up a bug?”

“Migraine.” She whispered the word.

Since when did she have migraines? He helped her out of her jacket. Maybe she didn’t get them very often. Their relationship had only lasted two weeks, and as she had pointed out last night, there was a lot he didn’t know about her.

“Can you stand up?” He threw the towel into the sink and hooked his hands under her arms, pulling her gently to her feet.

Unresisting, she allowed him to lead her out of the bathroom. “Come on, you need to be in bed.”

Her step faltered and she squinted into the entry where the stroller stood. “Michael—”

“Michael is asleep. Let’s worry about you for now.” He turned her toward the stairs and caught her as she stumbled. She hadn’t lifted her foot high enough to clear the first riser. Trying not to jostle her, he slid one arm around her shoulders and the other behind her knees, picking her up and holding her against his chest.

It felt too good to have her in his arms.

She held herself with an odd stiffness, as if she was afraid he might drop her. “Relax, I’ve got you.”

She didn’t say anything, nor did she loosen up. He climbed the stairs and deposited her gently on her bed. She struggled to sit up and he put his hand on her chest, forcing her back down on the mattress.

“Just tell me what you need.” God, she was stubborn.

“Close the drapes,” she whispered.

He left her to pull the curtains across the windows and the French doors. By the time he got back to the bed she was lying down, eyes closed, tears seeping from under her eyelids.

It killed him to see her in such pain. “Do you have medication?”

“Bathroom,” came the whispered reply.

Joe found the prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, noted the Canadian address. He quickly scanned the dosage and shook two red-and-white capsules into his palm. He filled a glass with water, wet another washcloth, and headed back to the bedroom.

She lay as still as a mummy on the satin comforter. “Nikki, I’m going to sit you up so you can take these.”