Charlie took the pajamas, then tried to wriggle out of the jacket he still had over his shoulders and one arm.
“I’ll help you tonight,” Daisy said. “But you’re going to have to figure out how to do it yourself, too.” She eased off the jacket, then lifted the hem of his shirt and began to slide it up and over his good arm and his head.
“Maybe Alex could teach me.”
“What?” She jerked back, then stared at the pair of bright eyes that popped into view as the shirt came off. “Why would he?”
“‘Cause he broke his arm,” Charlie said simply. “He’d know how.”
“Oh. Well …” Daisy made a noncommittal sound. “I’m pretty sure you can figure it out without Alex’s help.” She finished getting his clothes off and his pajamas on. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth.”
Charlie flopped back on the bed. “But I’m tired. Do I hafta?”
“Yes. Even boys who fall off bunk beds have to maintain a minimum of civil decorum.”
“I didn’t fall,” Charlie protested. But he allowed her to pull him up. “I jumped. An’ what’s ‘civil deck-somethin’?” Charlie loved big words.
“Civil decorum,” Daisy repeated. It was what she had tried to maintain for the past hour and a half. She said, “Behaving like a well-brought-up clean child.”
“Ugh.” But Charlie slid off the bed and padded toward the bathroom while Daisy gathered up his clothes. “Oh!” she heard him say brightly. “Hi.”
“Hi.” The unexpected sound of Alex’s voice right outside the door sent Daisy hurrying out. She skidded to a halt a second before she collided with his chest.
“You didn’t leave.”
“No.” He had propped a shoulder against the wall outside Charlie’s bedroom door and stood there meeting her gaze, then his eyes dropped to Charlie, and Daisy felt more than a flicker of unease.
He didn’t say anything. But even quiet and unmoving, his presence seemed to overpower everything else. He was too big. Too close. The space was too intimate. And the situation didn’t bear thinking about. She didn’t want him here.
But she didn’t know how to get rid of him without causing Charlie to wonder what was going on. He already had to wonder. No man but Cal had ever been upstairs.
But Alex was, right here in the hallway, his dark hair disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it. He looked incongruous here in his formal evening wear, but even as she thought it, she realized the formal evening wear wasn’t so formal anymore. He’d removed his tie—it dangled from his pocket—and he’d undone the top two buttons of his shirt.
It had the effect of making him look more masculine and primal than ever—with the added misfortune of reminding her of how he’d looked five years ago when she’d brought him into her tiny apartment after the wedding. He was all the things he’d been then and all the things she’d been at pains to resist earlier this evening—too broad-shouldered, too imposing and too damned predatorily male.
“I came to say good night to Charlie.” His tone was measured, his words easy, understandable and, to Charlie, unthreatening.
But Daisy knew a threat when she heard one. She took a quick breath. “Say good night, Charlie.”
Charlie tipped his head back to look up at Alex, but instead of saying good night, he said, “Can you teach me to get my shirt on an’ off over my cast?”
Alex nodded. “I can.”
“No, he can’t. It’s after one in the morning. You need to go to bed,” Daisy said firmly.
“I’ll show you,” Alex promised smoothly. “Tomorrow.”
“But—” Charlie began.
“Your mother’s right,” Alex said firmly. “You need to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep. My arm hurts,” Charlie argued.
“But you’re tough,” Alex reminded him. The two of them looked at each other. Two men understanding each other—even though one of them was only four.
“Teeth, Charlie,” Daisy said firmly. “And wash your face. Now.” She took hold of his shoulders and steered him past Alex, doing her best not to brush against him in the narrow hallway. If she’d hoped he’d take the hint and go, she was out of luck.
He didn’t budge, just waited until Charlie had brushed his teeth—awkwardly because he had to do it left-handed—and scrubbed at his face with a washcloth. He didn’t use soap, but Daisy didn’t make him do it again. She just wanted him in bed.
“Right,” she said briskly. “Off to bed.”
Obediently Charlie headed back down the hall, but stopped directly in front of Alex. He looked up again. “G’night.”
And Daisy remembered when she’d seen the photo of Charlie looking up at Cal’s father and had realized how similar her son’s profile was to Alex’s. They were indeed remarkably alike.
Was that how Alex had known? Or was it some scary primal innate recognition between father and son? She didn’t know. She only knew that the still-deep emotion that she could sense simmering in Alex was more elemental than just a response to discovering she had a child she hadn’t told him about.
The question was no longer: Did he know?
The question was: What was he going to do now?
He reached out a hand and brushed the top of Charlie’s head once more. “Good night,” he said gravely. “It was nice meeting you, Charlie.” His fingers lingered for a moment, then he withdrew them and tucked them into the pocket of his trousers and brought his gaze up to meet Daisy’s. “At last.”
She suppressed a shiver, then swallowed. With her eyes she beseeched him to be silent, and was relieved when he didn’t say anything else. Giving him a fleeting grateful smile, she slipped past him to follow Charlie into his bedroom where she shut the door with a solid click.
Whatever Alex might have to say to her—and she had no doubt he had plenty to say—he could say it tomorrow. Or next month. Not now.
Her priority was Charlie. It was the middle of the night and he’d been hurt, and it didn’t matter that her brain was whirling a million miles a minute. If she pushed him, he would balk and take even longer.
So she did everything in his bedtime routine. She tucked him in, then read him a bedtime story. She listened as he told her about his day, including a long involved account of everything he’d done at Rip and Crash’s house, what he didn’t like about the emergency room, and ultimately, as she’d feared, questions about Alex.
“Do you think he’ll ride bikes with me?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He’s a busy man.”
“He said he would.”
“Yes. And maybe he will.”
“Remind him.”
Daisy made a noncommittal sound. “Prayers,” she reminded him, and when he’d finished, she added a desperate silent one of her own. Then she kissed her son good-night.
Charlie clutched her hand when she got up to leave. “Stay.”
“Charlie.”
“My arm hurts. Sing to me,” he pleaded.
That wasn’t part of the regular nightly routine, but sometimes when he was sick and irritable, she could calm him with some silly songs. “You’re tired.”
His big eyes drooped even as he nodded. “I’ll sleep. Sing.”
So Daisy