Page 39 of Unwanted Vows

“Yours,” she whispers back, “I’ve got to be up at six tomorrow.”

We hug each other and stand for just a minute, watching Paul and the kitten sleep, pillowed against the giant guard dog. Then we go across the hall, and quietly close the door behind us.

OLD TIMES AND NEW TIMES

MADDY

The kiss in the living room was not only just as good as I remembered, it is better. Andrew gave it all his attention, and is responding to it, yet does not protest when I say I need to check on Paul.

We stand together, there in the hall, watching Paul sleep. He is curled up around that darned orange kitten that bit Cece. A week of good food and loving attention had tamed the little beast. Despite Cece’s daring rescue, Carousel had taken to my son, and he to him.

“Your room or mine,” Andrew whispers in my ear, sending delicious shivers down my spine.

“Yours,” I whisper back. “I need to get up at six tomorrow.”

It was an excuse for how I felt. I wanted to test the waters, but I wasn’t quite ready to let him into my personal space, even if it had been mine for less than six hours.

A part of me wanted to just bed down on the floor in my son’s room to make certain he was safe. But that would prove embarrassing if Andrew and I went beyond kissing. Nor would my son be happy to find me on the floor beside his bed in the morning. He is at an age where an overprotective mom is an embarrassing mom. He gave drive-by hugs when he was in the notion, and ducked out of the way of kisses— even on top of his head.

Andrew ushered me gently across the hall and closed the door behind us. “Austin put alarms on all the doors and windows,” he said. “And he has a patrol outside. A bedside watch won’t make your son safer, it will just rob you of sleep.”

It was almost as if he had read my mind or something.

I wasn’t sure what to say or do next. Then Andrew opened his arms to me, inviting, not demanding. I went into them, melting up against his solid frame.

There was not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He’s not built like a bodybuilder. He has lean, hard muscles developed by hiking and working outside. His hands are a surgeon’s hands — long, supple, and skilled as he finds the strained knots of tense muscles in my back.

“That’s amazing,” I say. “I’m surprised you don’t have girls lined up around the block.”

“Not many girls where I was,” he says. “And the few that were there, were professional women who didn’t have time for a greenhorn doctor. I’m just amazed that you’re still single.”

“What was it you said, ‘You gave me high standards’?” I return.

“I can’t imagine that a callow twenty-something gave you much of a standard,” he says.

“Oh, but you did,” I say. “You were intriguing. I didn’t even blame you for being gone, because you were reported dead.” I felt another of those traitor tears trickle down the side of my nose.

“Oh, Maddy,” he says, his arms encircling me. “Weep no more, my Maddy,” he sings, paraphrasing. “I’m home from that distant shore, I was so very glad to see you, standing at my door . . .”

I start humming a tune and we move to its beat.

We waltzed the beginning, then jitter-bugged the upbeat part of the song. At last we collapse on the bed, laughing.

“Will you stay with me, Maddy?” he asks. “Will you at least give me the year and a day?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Will you stay with me?”

“If you will let me,” he says. “I have it on good authority that I snore.”

“I don’t care about snoring,” I say. “Mrs. Quinn has a snoring remedy that she swears by.”

“She’s an authority on snoring?” he asks, tracing his thumb down the corner of my mouth.

“She’s been married to Pops Quinn for thirty-five years,” I say. “That’s got to count for something.”

“Pops Quinn is an old-school gentleman,” he says. “I’m a rapscallion fresh out of the bush.”

“That’s all right,” I say. “Mimi will be glad to give lessons in how to civilize rapscallions if I think you need them.”

---