The Paternity Factor. Caroline Cross

stick around for a meal. “All right. Thanks. I won’t be long.” He headed for the hall.

      “Hey, Shane?”

      “What?”

      “I’m glad you’re home.”

      Remembering the vow he’d made four days ago to try to cut her some slack, he said gruffly, “Yeah. So am I.”

      It wasn’t the truth, of course.

      Yet for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t quite a lie, either.

      Four

      “Want wadey pool,” Chloe said plaintively.

      “I know, sweetie.” Jessy slid the last batch of chocolate chip cookies into the oven. She straightened, then glanced over at the little girl who was standing at the sliding glass door, with her nose pressed against the glass, staring wistfully out at the inflatable pool Jessy had bought her. “I’ll take you out just as soon as the cookies are done. I promise.”

      Chloe shook her head. “Want wadey pool,” she repeated, her little face the picture of entreaty.

      “You don’t want to go out there now,” Jessy said patiently. “Daddy’s still mowing the lawn. It’s too noisy.”

      As if to prove her point, Shane came striding up the slight slope from the lake, the steady hum of the lawn mower growing louder the closer he came to the house. The afternoon sunlight glittered on his ebony hair, while large patches of sweat dampened his pale gray T-shirt, molding it to the muscled planes of his chest and stomach.

      “Jeddy?”

      “Hmm?” She dragged her gaze away from Shane, perplexed as the hollow feeling that had plagued her off and on lately returned to the pit of her stomach. She must have eaten one too many dollops of cookie dough, she decided, as she met Chloe’s pleading gaze.

      “Want wadey pool. Pwease?”

      “In a little while, cupcake,” she said, even though she knew darn well it wouldn’t help. If there was one thing the past two weeks had taught her, it was that twoyear-olds had no sense of time, didn’t know what waiting meant, and that sweet, shy little Chloe could be absolutely relentless when she wanted something. True to her fairylike looks, the child didn’t cry or pitch fits; she simply repeated what she wanted, over and over again.

      It was, Jessy thought wryly, the toddler equivalent of Chinese water torture. Drip, drip, drip, and pretty soon you were reduced to a quivering heap who would do anything for a few minutes of peace and quiet.

      “Pwease, Jeddy?”

      Her only hope was distraction. “Tell you what. Why don’t you take Belle and see if you can find her swimsuit? I think it’s in your room, in your toy basket. That way she can go with you in the pool when it’s time.”

      The child’s eyes lit up. “Belle wim, too?”

      “Yep. Belle can swim, too. But first she has to get out of her clothes and into her swimsuit like you.”

      “’Kay!” Chloe took off like a shot, clearly happy to have something to do.

      Jessy picked up the spatula and began transferring the cookies she’d already baked from a sheet of wax paper on the counter to a plate.

      Things were looking up, she thought happily. Not only did she have a moment to herself, but Shane was actually home for a change. She had to admit that his gruff announcement that he planned to be around for most of the weekend, made while they were watching the second Star Wars movie last night, had caught her by surprise. But it was a good kind of surprise—as was the recent improvement in his manner.

      Ever since his return from Dallas, he’d seemed a little more forthcoming, a little more at ease, a lot less tense. Jessy wasn’t sure whether he’d simply become resigned to her presence or if he was actually beginning to accept that she was going to be his friend no matter what he said or did, but she was certainly relieved. For a while there she’d begun to think she was kidding herself by thinking she could improve his situation.

      She gave a start as the buzzer on the oven rang, jolting her from her reverie. She turned it off, picked up a hot pad and opened the oven. The room seemed oddly quiet until it dawned on her that she could no longer hear the lawn mower. Shane must be done, she decided, setting the cookie sheet on top of the stove.