Page 16 of His Best Friend's Baby

A few minutes later the front door was opened and closed. Ryan had gone. She didn’t have to wonder if the pan and chair had been put away or the front door secured. Ryan would have taken care of that just like she knew she could rely on him to be there for her.

Ryan couldn’t sleep and any time he couldn’t do that he went to his workshop. What had he been thinking when he’d kissed Phoebe? That was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking but feeling. Something he couldn’t remember doing in a long time. The need to do more than touch her had pulled at him to the point he’d been unable to stand it any longer. When she’d raised those large questioning eyes …

How could he have done it? He had kissed his dead best friend’s wife. Someone who had trusted him. Could there be a greater betrayal? He’d stepped over the line. Way over. Both personally and professionally. It wouldn’t happen again. He could put his personal feelings aside and concentrate on the professional. That was enough of those thoughts.

He had the chest of drawers to finish and sand, and there was also the rocking chair to repair. Phoebe would be here in two days ready to work on them. Soon that baby’s room would be complete and the baby here. Then he could back out of Phoebe’s life. He would have done then what he could do to honor JT. Phoebe would no longer need him.

Had he seen a cradle at Phoebe’s? She would need a cradle for the first few months to keep the newborn close. He’d been given some pink silkwood by an associate who was moving out of town. It had been stored away for a special project. This was it.

Would he have time to get it done before the baby came? If he worked on it every chance he had, he might make it. He’d finish the chest and then start on the cradle. If he worked on the rocker while Phoebe was busy painting, he could keep the cradle a surprise.

He had plenty to do so there wouldn’t be time to think about Phoebe. The feel of her lips. The desire in her eyes. The need that was growing in him. With his mind and hands busy he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss her again. He had to get control of his emotions. In Iraq he’d been the king of control. He needed to summon some of that now. Compartmentalize when he was around Phoebe. Keep that door she was pushing open firmly closed.

On Saturday morning Ryan came home as the sun was coming up. He’d been gone all night, delivering a baby. Phoebe would be there in a few hours. He wanted to get some sleep before she arrived. Taking a quick bath, he crawled into bed.

He woke with a start. Something wasn’t right. The room was too bright. He groaned. He’d slept longer than he’d planned. But something else was off.

Music. His workshop. He had a radio there. Had he left it on?

Wearing only his boxer shorts, he headed for the kitchen. The music grew louder. The basement door stood wide open and a humming mixed with the song playing drifted up the stairs. He moved slowly down the steps, being careful not to make a noise. Halfway down, he bent over to see who was there.

Phoebe. She sat on a stool with her back to him, painting a side of the chest. She’d been smart enough to open the outside door to let out any fumes. Ryan trod on the next step hard enough that she would hear it. He didn’t want to scare her by calling her name.

She twisted around. “Hey.”

There was a tentative sound to her voice. Was she thinking about what had happened the last time they had seen each other? Was she worried he might try to kiss her again? He needed to put her at ease. “Hey, yourself. You’re not afraid of being hurt when you come into someone’s house while they’re sleeping?”

“I knocked and knocked. I tried the front door and it was open. I came in and saw you were sleeping. I figured you’d had a late night and had left it open for me.”

He nodded. Some of that was true, except he had planned to be up when she arrived. “I had a delivery early this morning.”

“How’s the mother and baby?”

He moved down the stairs going to stand beside her. “Great. Beautiful girl named Margaret.”

“Nice. What do you think?” She indicated the work she’d been doing.

Phoebe had left the wood a natural color and was painting a vine with flowers down the side. “Looks great. What’re your plans for the rest of it?”

“I’m going to paint the drawers different colors and paint the other side like this one.”

“Sounds nice. Well, I’m going up and see if I can find some breakfast. Then I’ll be back down.”

He was headed up the stairs when Phoebe said in a bright voice, “Hey, Ryan. I like those boxers. Very sexy.”

There was the straightforward Phoebe he’d come to appreciate. Ryan glanced down and shook his head. He’d forgotten all about what he was wearing. “Thanks. I do try.”

Phoebe laughed. Ryan did have a good sense of humor. She liked that about him. In fact, she liked too much. He was sexy man and a good kisser, as well. He hadn’t mention the kiss or even acted as if he would try again. She couldn’t let that happen. Her life was already too complicated. She wouldn’t add another emotional turn to it. If he didn’t say something, she would have to.

A harsh word filled the air.

She heaved herself off the stool and walked to the door. Another harsh word and pounding on the floor filled the air. She climbed the stairs.

Ryan stood at the sink with the water running.

She moved to his side. “What happened?”

“I burned my finger.”

Phoebe smirked at his whiny tone. She went to the refrigerator and opened the freezer compartment. Taking out an ice cube, she handed it to him. “Here, hold this over it.”

With a chagrined twist to his mouth he took it. Phoebe looked around the kitchen, found a napkin from a fast-food restaurant and handed that to him, as well. He placed the ice in it and put it on his finger.

“Nothing like the big strong medic needing a medic.”

“Hey, taking care of someone hurt is different than being hurt yourself.”

She grinned. “Or cooking. Looks like you were having eggs and bacon.”

Phoebe pulled the pan that looked as if it had been hastily pushed to the back burner forward and turned on the stove. The bacon was half-cooked.

“I didn’t mean for you to come up and cook for me. I’m interrupting your painting.”

“It can wait.”

She picked up the two eggs sitting on the counter. Cracking them, she let them drop into the pan. There was a ding. The toast popped up.

Ryan pulled the slices out and placed them on a plate. “See, I can make toast without hurting myself.”

“You get a gold star for that.”

“Is that what you give your students when they’re good?”

“Fifth years are too old for that sort of thing. Mostly they are happy to get to be first in line to lunch.”

He stood nearer than she was comfortable with, but there was nowhere for her to go and still see what she was cooking. It made her body hum just to have him close. This was not what she’d told herself should happen.

“JT was very proud of the fact you’re a teacher.”

“Really? I always felt like he resented me having to go to work when he was home.” Phoebe lifted the bacon, then the two fried eggs out of the pan, placing them beside the toast. She put the frying pan on the back burner and turned off the stove.

Ryan took the plate and sat down at the table. “Maybe that was because he wanted to spend as much normal time with you as possible. Nothing was normal where we were. People thought differently, ate differently, dressed differently. Everything was different. When I had leave I just wanted as much normalcy as I could get.”

She slid into the chair across from him. “Then why did he always look forward to going back?”

“I don’t know if I can really answer that question. Because it was his job. Because you feel like you’re doing something bigger than yourself, something important. You’re helping people who can’t help themselves. Then there’s the excitement. The adrenaline rush can be addictive.

“What I do know is that JT was good at his job. He was good to his men, protected them at any cost, even to himself.”

She nodded. Some of the ache over their last words left her. “Thanks for telling me. Now I better understand why he always seemed so eager to return. Sometimes I worried it was more to get away from me. If you think you can finish up your breakfast without injuring yourself, I’ll go and work on the chest.”

Half an hour later Ryan went down the stairs. “I’m just going to work over here, out of your way.”

“You’re not going to be in my way.”

Over the next hour they said little to each other as they both concentrated on their own projects. Every once in a while she glanced at Ryan. It appeared as if he was drawing off a pattern onto a plank of wood once when she looked. Another time he looked like he was studying a pattern he had spread across the workbench. There was something easy and comfortable about the two of them doing their own things together. It was the companionship she had been missing in her marriage.

Phoebe rubbed her hand over the baby as she looked at the painting she’d just completed. The world would be a good place for him or her. She felt more confident about that now. Glancing at Ryan, she found him with his butt leaning against the bench looking at her.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I was just enjoying watching you.”

Warmth flooded her. She had to stop this now or their new-found friendship might be damaged. She needed it too much to let that happen. “Uh, Ryan, about the other night …”

Ryan tensed slightly, as if he was unsure what she was going to say next.

“Why did you kiss me?”

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