Lisa Kleypas - Smooth Talking Stranger

"He's cranky from being out in the heat."

"Look at all that dark hair… he must take after his daddy."

"I think so," I said.

"How have you been?" Jack asked me. "Settling in okay?"

"We couldn't be better. Your sister has been great-I don't know what we would have done without her."

"She says the two of you have been getting along."

As Sonya listened to the brief conversation, she gave me a quick, wary glance, as if she were assessing what kind of connection I might have with Jack. I saw the exact second that she decided I was no competition. With my face shiny-clean, my hair cut in a plain bob, and my figure obscured by an oversized T-shirt, my fashion look screamed "new mom."

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor, and Jack held the door while I pushed the stroller out. "I'll take the bags," I said, reaching for the groceries. "Thanks for the help."

"We'll walk you to your door," Jack insisted, keeping hold of the bags.

"Have you moved in recently?" Sonya asked me as we proceeded down the hallway.

"Yes, about a week ago."

"You're so lucky to live here," she said. "What does your husband do?"

"I'm not married, actually."

"Oh." She frowned.

"I have a boyfriend in Austin," I volunteered. "I'm moving back there in about three months."

Sonya's frown cleared. "Oh, that's wonderful."

We reached my door, and I pushed the combination on the keypad. While Jack held open the door, I wheeled the stroller inside and lifted Luke out. "Thanks again," I said, watching Jack set the grocery bags on the coffee table.

Sonya cast an admiring glance around the apartment. "Great decorating."

"I can't take any credit for that," I said. "But Luke and I are making our contribution." With a wry grin, I gestured to the corner of the room, where a large cardboard box and rows of wooden and metal pieces had been laid out.

"What are you putting together?" Jack asked.

"A crib with a changing table attachment. I bought it at Rice Village the other day when I was out with Haven. Unfortunately, they charge a hundred bucks extra if you want it assembled, so I said I'd rather do it myself. The delivery guys brought this box of parts with some instructions, and so far I'm still trying to figure it out. I think it would be easier if I could read the manual. So far I've found the Japanese, French, and German pages, but nothing in English. Now I sort of wish I'd gone ahead and paid the extra hundred bucks." Realizing I was chattering, I smiled and shrugged. "But I like a challenge."

"Let's go, Jack," Sonya urged.

"Right." But he didn't move, just looked from me and Luke to the pile of crib parts. The odd moment of expectant silence caused my heart to lurch with an extra thud. His gaze returned to mine, and he gave me a brief nod that held an implicit promise: Later.

I didn't want that. "You two go on," I said brightly. "Have fun."

Sonya smiled. "Bye." Taking Jack's arm, she tugged him from the apartment.

Three hours later luke watched from an infant bouncy seat while I sat on the floor surrounded by crib parts. I was finished with dinner, which had consisted of spaghetti with tomato sauce, ground beef, and fresh basil. When the leftovers were cool, I was going to freeze them in individual-size portions.

Having grown tired of Mozart and the sock puppets, I had hooked up my iPod to the speakers. The air was filled with the raw, sexy purr of Etta James. "The thing that's great about the blues," I told Luke, pausing to sip from my glass of wine, "is that it's about feeling, loving, wanting without the brakes on. No one's brave enough to live that way. Except maybe musicians."

I heard a knock at the door. "Who could that be? Did you invite someone without telling me?" Rising with my wineglass in hand, I padded barefoot to the apartment entrance. I was wearing a set of pajamas the color of pink cotton candy. I had taken out my contacts and put on my glasses. Standing on my toes, I looked through the peephole. My breath quickened as I saw the familiar outline of a man's head.

"I'm not dressed for company," I said through the door.

"Let me in anyway."

I unlatched the door and opened it to reveal Jack Travis, now wearing jeans and a white shirt, holding a small canvas case that was frayed from heavy use. His gaze coursed slowly over me. "Got that crib put together yet? "

"Still working on it." I tried to ignore the heavy pounding of my heart. "Where's Sonya?"

"We had dinner. I just took her back home."

"Already? Why didn't you stay out later?"

He shrugged a little, staring at me. "Can I come in?"

I wanted to refuse him. I sensed there was something between us, something that required negotiation, compromise… but I wasn't ready for it. I couldn't think of a reason to keep him out. I took an uncertain step back. "What's in the bag?"

"Tools." Jack walked inside the apartment and closed the door. His movements seemed cautious, as if he were venturing into some new environment that might present hidden dangers. "Hey, Luke," he murmured, lowering beside the baby. Gently he set the bouncy seat bobbing, and Luke gurgled and kicked enthusiastically. With his attention remaining on the baby, Jack said, "You're listening to Etta James."

I tried to sound flippant. "In assembly-required situations, I always play the blues. John Lee Hooker, Bonnie Raitt…"

"You ever listen to any of the Deep Ellum boys? Texas blues… Blind Lemon Jefferson, Leadbelly, T-Bone Walker?"

I was slow to respond, my attention snared by the way his shirt had tightened across his broad shoulders and powerful back. "I've heard of T-Bone Walker, but not the others."

Jack glanced up at me. "Ever heard 'See That My Grave Is Kept Clean'? "

"I thought that was a Bob Dylan song."

"No, that was just a cover. It came from Blind Lemon. I'll burn a CD for you-he's not always easy to find."

"I wouldn't have thought a River Oaks boy would know so much about the blues."

"Ella, darlin'… the blues is all about a good man feelin' bad. Plenty of that in River Oaks."

It was crazy, how much I loved his voice. The baritone drawl seemed to reach inside and linger in impossible-to-reach places. I wanted to sit on the floor beside him and run my hand over the thick, efficiently short layers of his hair and let my fingers rest against the hard nape of his neck. Tell me everything, I would say. All about the blues, and the time your heart was broken, and what scares you the most, and the thing you 'v e always wanted to do but haven 't yet.

"Something smells good," he said.

"I made spaghetti earlier."

"Is there any left?"

"You just went out to dinner."

Jack looked aggrieved. "It was one of those fancy places. I got a piece of fish the size of a domino, and maybe a spoonful of risotto. I'm starving."

I laughed at his pitiful expression. "I'll fix you a plate."

"While you do that, I'll work on the crib."

"Thanks. I laid out all the pieces according to the diagram, but without the directions in English-"

"No need for directions." Jack glanced at the diagram briefly, tossed it aside, and began sorting through the painted wood pieces. "This is pretty straightforward."

"Straightforward? Did you see how many different kinds of screws are in that plastic bag?"

"We'll figure it out." He opened the canvas bag and pulled out a cordless power drill.

I frowned. "Do you know that forty-seven percent of all hand injuries are caused by using power tools at home?"

Jack expertly inserted a drill bit into the chuck. "A lot of people get hurt getting their hand closed in the door, too. But that doesn't mean you should stop using doors."

"If Luke starts crying because of the noise," I said sternly, "you'll have to use a regular screwdriver."