Debbie Macomber - Rainy Day Kisses

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Susannah changed her mind at one-thirty when a piercing wail startled her out of a sound sleep. Not knowing how long Michelle had been at it, Susannah nearly fell out of bed in her rush to reach her niece.

“Michelle,” she cried, stumbling blindly across the floor, her arms stretched out in front of her. “I’m coming…. There’s no need to panic.”

Michelle disagreed vehemently.

Turning on a light only made matters worse. Squinting to protect her eyes from the glare, Susannah groped her way to the crib, then let out a cry herself when she stubbed her toe on the leg of the coffee table.

Michelle was standing, holding on to the bars and looking as if she didn’t have a friend in the world.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Susannah asked softly, lifting the baby into her arms.

A wet bottom told part of the story. And the poor kid had probably woken and, finding herself in a strange place, felt scared. Susannah couldn’t blame her.

“All right, we’ll try this diapering business again.”

Susannah spread a thick towel on the bathroom counter, then gently placed Michelle on it. She was halfway through the changing process when the phone rang. Straightening, Susannah glanced around her, wondering what she should do. She couldn’t leave Michelle, and picking her up and carrying her into the kitchen would be difficult. Whoever was calling at this time of night should know better! If it was important they could leave a message on her answering machine.

But after three rings, the phone stopped, followed almost immediately by a firm knock at her door.

Hauling Michelle, newly diapered, Susannah squinted and checked the peephole to discover a disgruntled Nate on the other side.

“Nate,” she said in surprise as she opened the door. She couldn’t even guess what he wanted. And she wasn’t too keen about letting him into her apartment at this hour.

He stood just inside the condo, barefoot and dressed in a red plaid housecoat. His hair was mussed, which made Susannah wonder about her own disheveled appearance. She suspected she looked like someone who’d walked out of a swamp.

“Is Michelle all right?” he barked, despite the evidence before him. Not waiting for a reply, he continued in an accusing tone, “You didn’t answer the phone.”

“I couldn’t. I was changing her diaper.”

Nate hesitated, then studied her closely. “In that case, are you all right?”

She nodded and managed to raise one hand. It was difficult when her arms were occupied with a baby. “I lived to tell about it.”

“Good. What happened? Why was Michelle crying?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe when she woke up and didn’t recognize her surroundings, she suffered an anxiety attack.”

“And, from the look of us, caused a couple more.”

Susannah would rather he hadn’t mentioned that. Her long, tangled hair spilled over her shoulders and she, too, was barefoot. She’d been so anxious to get to Michelle that she hadn’t bothered to reach for her slippers or her robe.

Michelle, it seemed, was pleased with all the unexpected attention, and when she leaned toward Nate, arms outstretched, Susannah marveled at how fickle an infant could be. After all, she was the one who’d fed and diapered her. Not Nate.

“It’s my male charm,” he explained delightedly.

“More likely, it’s your red housecoat.”

Whatever it was, Michelle went into his arms as if he were a long-lost friend. Susannah excused herself to retrieve her robe from the foot of her bed. By the time she got back, Nate was sitting on the sofa with his feet stretched out, supported by Susannah’s mahogany coffee table.

“Make yourself at home,” she muttered. Her mood wasn’t always the best when she’d been abruptly wakened from a sound sleep.

He glanced up at her and grinned. “No need to be testy.”

“Yes, there is,” she said, but destroyed what remained of her argument by yawning loudly. Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she slumped down on the chair across from him and flipped her hair away from her face.

His gaze followed the action. “You should wear your hair down more often.”

She glared at him. “I always wear my hair up.”

“I noticed. And frankly, it’s much more flattering down.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she cried, “are you going to tell me how to dress next?”

“I might.”

He said it with such a charming smile that any sting there might have been in his statement was diluted.

“You don’t have to stick with business suits every day, do you? Try jeans sometime. With a T-shirt.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him, then decided not to bother. The arrogance he displayed seemed to be characteristic of handsome men in general, she’d noted. Because a man happened to possess lean good looks and could smile beguilingly, he figured he had the right to say anything he pleased to a woman—to comment on how she styled her hair, how she chose to dress or anything else. These were things he wouldn’t dream of discussing if he were talking to another man.

“You aren’t going to argue?”

“No,” she said, and for emphasis shook her head.

That stopped him short. He paused and blinked, then sent her another of his captivating smiles. “I find that refreshing.”

“I’m gratified to hear there’s something about me you approve of.” There were probably plenty of other things that didn’t please him. Given any encouragement, he’d probably be glad to list them for her.

Sweet little traitor that she was, Michelle had curled up in Nate’s arms, utterly content just to sit there and study his handsome face, which no doubt had fascinated numerous other females before her. The least Michelle could do was show some signs of going back to sleep so Susannah could return her to the crib and usher Nate out the door.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did about your hair and clothes.”

“Hey,” she returned flippantly, “you don’t need to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m strong. I’ve got a lot of emotional fortitude.”

“Strong,” he repeated. “You make yourself sound like an all-weather tire.”

“I’ve had to be tougher than that.”

His face relaxed into a look of sympathy. “Why?”

“I work with men just like you every day.”

“Men just like me?”

“It’s true. For the past seven years, I’ve found myself up against the old double standard, but I’ve learned to keep my cool.”

He frowned as if he didn’t understand what she was talking about. Susannah felt it was her obligation to tell him. Apparently Nate had never been involved in office politics. “Let me give you a few examples. If a male coworker has a cluttered desk, then everyone assumes he’s a hard worker. If my desk is a mess, it’s a sign of disorganization.”

Nate looked as if he wanted to argue with her, but Susannah was just warming to her subject and she forged ahead before he had a chance to speak. “If a man in an office marries, it’s good for the company because he’ll settle down and become a more productive employee. If a woman marries, it’s almost the kiss of death because management figures she’ll get pregnant and quit. If a man leaves because he’s been offered a better job, everyone’s pleased for him because he’s taking advantage of an excellent career opportunity. But if the same position is offered to a woman and she takes it, then upper management shrugs and claims women aren’t dependable.”

When she’d finished there was a short pause. “You have very definite feelings on the subject,” he said at last.

“If you were a woman, you would, too.”

His nod of agreement was a long time coming. “You’re right, I probably would.”