Heat of the Moment (4 page)

“Okay.” She was hungry since she'd skipped dinner. She pulled the shirt on, and then buttoned it up. Janie was right, it was so big, the hem stopped just above her knees. She rolled the sleeves to her elbows, finger-combed her hair, and wished for a toothbrush. Well, she couldn't have everything.

Janie grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall. “Do you like pancakes? They're my favorite and Daddy said I could have anything I want for breakfast today. I want pancakes.”

“Sounds good to me.”

After a stop in Janie's bedroom to find her hat, she took possession of Erin's hand again. When they entered the kitchen, Cam was at the table reading the morning paper and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Daddy.” Janie released her hand and climbed onto Cam's lap, giving him a hug. “I found Erin sleeping in your bed. She helped me find my hat and now we want pancakes.”

“You do, huh?” He gave Janie a kiss and set her in the chair beside his before his gaze landed on Erin and took a slow cruise over her body from slouchy socks to her unbrushed hair. “Morning, Erin.”

“Good morning.” Did he just give her the up, down, and twice over? She tugged on the button band of the shirt she wore and prayed her face wasn't as red as it felt. “Janie insisted I borrow one of your shirts. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't mind at all. And I'm sorry again about Butch. I had no idea he'd come in like that. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, I'd love some. Just point me to the mugs.”

He set his paper aside and rose. “I'll get it. It's the least I can do after what Butch pulled last night. Have a seat.”

She slid into his chair, careful to tuck the shirt around her upper thighs. “It's not a big deal. He obviously didn't know I was here, and by the time I realized who he was, I didn't say anything. I wasn't dressed for company. I forgot my robe, or I would have worn it downstairs.”

Cam smiled at her and she looked away. A throat clearing behind her didn't cut the tension; it ramped it up.

Cam's gaze zeroed in on something over her shoulder and narrowed. She didn't bother to even look to see who it was.

“If I had known you were here, I would have shown up earlier. That's for damn sure.”

Cam stiffened and set a coffee mug on the table next to her. “Butch, this is Erin Crosby. Erin is the nurse I hired to stay and help Janie for the next month. You woke her when you stumbled in last night and then stole her bed.”

A slow smile crossed Butch's face. “I wondered why I dreamed I was sleeping in a cloud of lavender. I didn't think Cam started washing the sheets with lavender-scented detergent. I have to say, it was a real improvement. If I had known the bed was yours, I wouldn't have taken over the whole thing.” He winked at her. “I like sharing.”

Janie shook her head. “Erin just slept in Daddy's bed.”

Butch raised an eyebrow. “Lucky him.”

Cam slid a hand along Janie's shoulder. “Yes, when I got home this morning, I took the couch. Where's your car?”

“In Cambridge. I took a cab last night.” He examined his slightly swollen hand. “I was hoping you could give me a ride over there.”

“No can do. I'm on call. I'd be happy to give you bus fare if you're short on cash. The bus stops at the corner.” He checked his watch. “I think you have just under ten minutes to get there. You wouldn't want to miss it.”

Butch leaned closer and Erin slid back in her seat. “He's just mad that he had to sleep on the couch and he's taking it out on me. It's rough being the younger, better-looking brother, you know.” Butch snatched Cam's coffee cup right out of his hand, took a leisurely sip, let out a satisfied groan, and then brought his attention back to her. “Jealousy is such an ugly thing.”

When Erin spotted Cam's indulgent smile, she relaxed. “I wouldn't know. Are you finished upstairs?”

Butch nodded but stood in the doorway of the kitchen, so if she wanted to leave, she'd have to slide by him.

Erin looked from Cam to Butch, marveling at the fact that two men who looked so much alike could be so very different. Not that she knew Cam well, but she'd bet her last cent he'd never had such a laissez-faire attitude. “If you are done, I think I'll just head up. It was nice meeting you, Butch.”

“The pleasure's been all mine. Oh, and Erin? Was that toothbrush in the cup by the sink yours by any chance?”

Cam shook his head and blew out a stream of air tinged with strained irritation. “Of course it was hers. It was in her bathroom, you dolt.” Cam met her eyes apologetically. “I'm sorry. There's a spare in the drawer. I'll replace yours when we hit the store.” He took his coffee from his brother, set it down, and looked at Janie. “Say good-bye to Uncle Butch. He's leaving.”

“Bye, Uncle Butch.”

Butch feigned being dragged away by the throat, leaving Janie giggling.

Cam cupped his hand around Erin's elbow. “Why don't you sit and finish your coffee? I'll be right back to make you both breakfast after I walk Butch out. It won't take a minute.”

Erin returned to her seat and watched Cam usher his brother from the kitchen, the slam of the front door the only sign of any discontent.

Cam marched his brother out the door and slammed it behind him. “What in the hell were you thinking coming here, probably drunk based on the sound of your snores and the fact that Erin witnessed you fall flat on your face—”

“I didn't fall on my face, I fell backward—you really should do something about that mess next to the door.”

“You think it's okay to stroll into my house, drunk, in the middle of the night with no warning?”

Butch smiled at him like a kid at church with a frog in his pocket. “I believe the only thought I had was that taking a cab to your house was a lot easier than getting a train to Portsmouth and cheaper than a hotel room. If I had known nurse Ellen was warming your bed—”

“Her name is Erin and she was warming her own bed until you woke her and then passed out on it. It's a wonder she didn't call the police or take off. The only reason Erin slept in my room was to be close to Janie.”

Butch leaned against the garage and patted his pocket for a pack of nonexistent cigarettes. “Knowing your way with women, that's probably the God's honest truth.” He may have quit smoking three years ago but not the habit of searching for his pack. “I've always said you have all the luck—not that you take advantage of it. More's the pity, but damn, where in the hell did you find her? Fantasies “R” Us? Wasn't that your shirt she was wearing?”

“The only reason she's wearing my shirt is because she couldn't get her own clothes.”

“Like I said, you have all the luck. But now that she's met me—that might change.”

“Not if you value your life, it won't. Erin's here to take care of Janie and that's all.”

“So, you're calling dibs then?”

“She's my employee.”

“And she's living in your house for the next month.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Hell, even a guy like you should be able to crack that lock in a month.” He patted his other pocket and fished something out. “Here, looks like you might need these.” He palmed a string of condoms and shoved them in Cam's hand, forcing his fingers closed around them. “It's been so long, the ones you might have stashed away are probably past their expiration date. And as much as I adore my niece, the next time you have a kid, I'd prefer it if the mother hung around, you know? Especially with your predilection for having colicky babies. My sex life suffered immeasurably during those months of Janie's screaming.”

“Erin is a nurse, going for her master's.”

“Really? That's impressive. It's nice to know she has a brain as well as a wicked amazing body. Janie even seems to like her—and Lord knows she's a huge improvement over Mrs. Truman.”

Cam wanted to throttle him.

“So okay, you're good then? Need any dating advice from your little brother? Someone who has actually dated in the last few years.”

Cam blew out a breath, wondering why he bothered. Nothing he could say would make Butch believe he wasn't trying to get into Erin's pants—or boxers as the case may be. “If you don't get a move on, you're going to miss the bus, and I'm not driving your sorry ass back to Cambridge.”

Butch shot him a smile, muttering something about some guys having all the luck, and strolled down the lane, leaving Cam alone in the driveway holding a half a dozen condoms. Shit.

He stuffed them into his jeans pocket and shook his head. He definitely would not need condoms—not for the next month, at least, he promised himself, and returned to the kitchen to make breakfast for his tutu-clad princess wearing an ugly pink hat, and his new employee who made his shirt look more sinful than any red negligee could.

“Daddy, I want a Mickey Mouse, a bunny rabbit, and an elephant.”

“I'll do my best. Get the raisins out of the pantry to use for eyes and noses.” He wasn't sure he was up to fashioning an elephant out of pancake batter, but she was his little princess and he was just thankful her appetite had returned. He measured the dry ingredients while Janie ran to the pantry. “Erin, any requests?”

“Excuse me?”

Janie joined him at the stove. “Daddy makes Mickey Mouse, bunny rabbit, and elephant shaped pancakes. What do you want?”

“A pumpkin and a snowman, please.”

He looked up from the eggs he was beating and met Erin's eyes. “Going easy on me, are you?”

“Somebody should after what you've been through this morning. Did you get any sleep at all?”

“Enough. I'm tough.” He mixed the wet and dry ingredients and turned the sausage links he had frying.

Erin watched him with those serious green eyes of hers—it was unnerving.

“What?”

“Even Superman has to sleep sometime.”

He'd given up any hope of normal sleep hours when Janie was born. He didn't think he had gotten a full night's sleep for the first year of her life—or for the last two. She'd never been a good sleeper and since she'd gotten sick, neither was he. “My brother Adam, the artist of the family, started the animal-shaped pancake tradition when Janie was a toddler. When we moved down here from Portsmouth, I had to learn to make designer pancakes. It's a good thing Janie's okay with a loose interpretation. I'm more of a Picasso pancake maker than the Rembrandt variety like Adam.”

“Uncle Adam's pancakes look better,” Janie admitted, “but Daddy's taste better.”

Erin brought her cup to the counter. “And when it comes down to it, it's the taste that really counts, isn't it? I'd rather eat great-tasting plain round pancakes than fancy animal shapes that taste like cardboard.” She refilled her coffee and added two sugars and enough cream to make it look like a latte. “Cam, if you point me to the dishes, and the silverware, I'll set the table and throw together a fruit salad.”

He wasn't used to help in the kitchen. He especially wasn't used to help that smelled like flowers and coffee. It didn't sound like a great combination, but it worked for him. Lavender, his brother had said, although he wasn't sure how Butch knew. Maybe he'd seen the labels in her bathroom. “You don't have to.”

Erin didn't say anything; she just set those green eyes on him.

“The glasses are over the dishwasher, the plates are to the right of the sink, and the utensils are in that top drawer, just below the plates,” he acquiesced—setting a very bad precedent. There was definitely something about her eyes that had the power to change a man's mind about a multitude of things. He leaned against the counter and waited for the butter to melt on the griddle.

“You have a right-handed kitchen,” Erin commented as she removed the plates.

“I didn't know there was such a thing.”

Erin nodded and brushed by him on her way to the table.

He handed the pitcher of maple syrup to Janie. “Bring this over and fold the napkins for Erin.”

Erin set the plates on the table he'd taken from his dad's storage shed and refinished. It was the same table they'd used when he was a little kid. His mom was probably the last person to set that table. After she died, they'd just heaped food onto their plates at the stove.

“Would it be okay if I sit here?” Erin pointed to the seat he'd always occupied. “That way I won't be bumping elbows with anyone.”

“But that's where Daddy always sits.” Janie eyeballed him.

“It's fine with me,” he said. Not that he'd mind bumping elbows with Erin—or anything else for that matter. “Just move my coffee.”

“Thanks. I've been known to hurt people while eating.”

“How do you want me to fold the napkins, Daddy? Do you want me to wrap them around the silverware like they do in restaurants?”

Erin took a napkin from Janie and folded it in half like a rectangle. “You can fold it this way, or like a triangle—however you want. They go beneath the forks on the left side of the plate.”

Cam held his breath, catching the look that crossed his daughter's face. Like him, she didn't see the point of folding a napkin that—if he was lucky or he reminded her—would end up on her lap where it belonged.

“There,” Erin stood back and looked at the table. “Doesn't that look pretty?”

Janie looked from the table to him and back again. “I didn't know tables were supposed to look pretty. I thought they were just supposed to hold your plates.”

“Tables are kind of like shoes. They serve a purpose, but it doesn't mean they can't be pretty while they're doing their job, does it?”

“I like pretty shoes.”

Erin ran a hand over Janie's hat-covered head. “Me too, and I love pretty tables. This one is gorgeous.” She returned to the counter and started cutting up all the fruit they had on hand.

“Daddy and me sanded it and fixed it all up when we moved here when I was little, before I got sick.”

“Daddy and I,” he corrected.

Erin sliced a banana and tossed it in a bowl. “A family heirloom?”

“Nah, we just got it out of the shed at Grandpa's house.”

Cam flipped the elephant and the trunk and ears stayed attached—a minor miracle. “We hadn't used it for years—since my mom died.” Maybe the table had reminded his dad too much of Mom. Cam couldn't remember why they'd replaced it, but then he didn't remember much about the year or so after the accident. There had been nothing wrong with the table that he could see, and as Erin said, it was beautiful—nineteenth-century, hand-carved mahogany with four leaves. It was probably worth a small fortune now.

He made a snowman pancake and his version of a pumpkin for Erin, and then poured the rest of the batter out for himself. Plain circles worked for him. While they cooked, he rummaged through the cupboards for a serving platter and gave it a quick wash—he didn't think it had ever been used. He piled pancakes on the platter and brought it to the table.

Erin set the bowl of fruit salad in the center. Maybe there was something to be said for setting the table. Three plates and bowls were set with napkins, glasses of orange juice, cups of coffee, and a glass of milk for Janie. Erin had refilled his coffee when he wasn't looking. Quite a trick since Erin wearing his shirt was a sight he had trouble not paying very close attention to. It was amazing he hadn't burned their breakfast. Too bad it wasn't summer. He'd have the windows open to catch the breeze and lift the hem of her shirt.

He was too old for prepubescent thoughts, but those legs just kept going and tempted him beyond reason.

He took a seat across from Erin and sat back, coffee in hand. This was nice. He told himself it was because Mrs. Truman usually ate on her own, insisting she didn't want to intrude on his time with Janie. He had a feeling that was just an excuse.

Erin helped Janie fix her plate—something he'd always done himself—and gently stopped Janie from drowning her pancakes with syrup.

He had to hand it to her; Erin really had a way with kids. If anyone else had done the same, Janie would have insisted that if her pancakes weren't swimming in syrup, it wasn't enough. With Erin, though, she just smiled and chattered on while she cut off the elephant's trunk and stuffed it into her mouth.

He loaded his plate and watched Erin deftly move Janie's glass away from the edge of the table without missing a beat, narrowly avoiding a milk disaster. It looked like she'd done this a million times before. If he didn't know better, he'd think she had a few kids of her own. He cut a piece of sausage and asked, “Erin, do you have brothers and sisters?”

She looked surprised by the question. “No, I'm an only child.”

So much for his theory. Maybe she was so good with kids because she'd worked in the PICU at the hospital.

Janie dribbled syrup down the front of her nightgown. He was just about to reach over and wipe it up, but Erin beat him to it.

Janie allowed the napkin swipe. “Erin, you're just like me—I don't have any brothers or sisters either, but I'd like a little sister someday.”

Cam almost choked on his pancakes. Janie had never mentioned that before, and the way his love life was going, she was doomed to disappointment. Not that he wouldn't love to have more kids; he just seemed to attract women who didn't want anything to do with children. “You don't want a brother?”

Janie shook her head. “My friend Mary has a brother and he eats his boogers. Boys are gross.”

Cam cringed and did his best not to laugh. It was great to have Janie home. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this—or maybe he just refused to think about all they'd both missed over the last two years with Janie in and out of the hospital. This was what normal felt like, and as much as he agreed with her that eating snot was disgusting, it was hardly proper breakfast conversation. Emily Post was probably rolling over in her grave. “Janie, we don't talk about things like that while we're eating.”

“Why not?”

“It tends to kill the appetite. Like you said, it's gross.”

“Well, you asked.”

“I guess I walked right into that one, didn't I?” He shook his head and when he looked across the table, even though Erin kept a straight face, her eyes were laughing. She was dangerous. Definitely dangerous.

***

While Erin ate her breakfast she did her best to avoid disaster while sitting next to Janie, who had the bad habit of taking a drink and returning the glass to the edge of the table after every sip.

As promised, Cam's pancakes, while not looking much like the characters he was supposed to have made, were in fact quite delicious. Butter melted over her pancakes and the real maple syrup, dark and more mapley tasting than any other she'd ever had, soaked in with perfection. Even the sausage was done to a turn.

After the talk of siblings and gross boys ended, they ate in companionable silence. It was oddly comfortable. She wondered if this was what it felt like to eat with a traditional family. She had no experience with that—it had always been just her and her mother. It wasn't as if she'd never eaten dinner with a date, but eating at a restaurant was much different than sitting in a kitchen with a man and his daughter eating breakfast in her pajamas.