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She made one last attempt to reassert her independence. “You don’t have to stay. It’s almost time for me to put Daryn down for her morning nap. I’ll rest while she does.”
“I can take care of that. And while she naps, I can take a quick shower and do some busywork on my computer. You need to give yourself time to fully recover, for Daryn’s sake and for your own.”
Maybe she could have continued to resist had her head not been threatening to explode. Fighting back the tears she refused to release, she nodded and stood. She hesitated another moment, looking at her daughter, but Daryn was preoccupied with a yellow plastic car and seemed content.
Tate rose, and through her fog of pain his expression appeared apologetic. “If I’m making things worse for you, just say so, Kim. I’ll leave. I can call someone else to come help you out, if you want me to. I wanted to help, but maybe I’ve overstepped my bounds.”
She drew a shaky breath. “I just need to lie down again for a few minutes. Daryn is happy with you here, so if you could stay a bit longer…”
He nodded. “Of course. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“No. Thanks, but I just need a little time for the headache meds to kick in. Wake me if you need help with Daryn, please.”
“I will, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He reached out to touch her flushed face. “Go rest, Kim. We’ll talk again later.”
She definitely needed rest before facing the next talk with him. Turning on one heel, she headed for the bedroom and the blissful oblivion of sleep.
* * *
Her dreams were chaotic, flashes of images and voices, memories and fantasies. People who had drifted in and out of her life, others she had deliberately pushed away. Her mother and brothers. Her grandmother. Coworkers and clients. Friends and enemies. Chris. Daryn. Tate.
The house was very quiet when she woke. Daryn must still be napping. Before glancing at the clock, she lay on her back staring up at the ceiling and trying to assess how she felt.
Better, she decided tentatively, feeling no pain shooting through her temples now. She swallowed experimentally, and her throat, while dry, seemed less inflamed. Even her joints ached less than before. Sleep really did have healing powers.
The last two days seemed almost like a dream themselves now that she was thinking a little more clearly. Had Tate really said he loved her?
She chewed her chapped lower lip, replaying everything he had said, every word of which suddenly stood out clearly amid the hazy other memories. He had professed his love for her. And his intention to be the one man who stayed, unlike the ones who had walked away.
Every cell of her longed to believe him. She had missed him so much during the past week and a half, even while she had so carefully avoided him. She’d had a glimpse of what her life would be like without Tate in it at all, and it had made her so sad. And that was before he’d offered her a chance at a serious relationship with him. If she took that chance, if she acknowledged her own love for him—to him and to herself—would she be opening herself up for yet another heartbreak?
Even worse, would she be setting Daryn up for bitter disappointment? Daryn was already growing attached to Tate, despite Kim’s efforts to protect her. To be fair, Tate seemed to be growing fond of Daryn, too. Of course, who wouldn’t? Not that she was at all objective. Still—could she trust that his affection for the baby would survive the daily challenges of family life? The day-to-day routines and grinds and difficulties of raising a child?
He’d had a taste of those difficulties during the past few hours, and she had to admit he’d handled it all beautifully. He’d even told her he loved her after a night that had to have been harrowing for him. But long-term?
Not in her experience.
Sighing lightly, she glanced at the clock, expecting to find that she’d slept for an hour or so. She gasped audibly when she saw that four hours had passed since she’d fallen onto the bed.
Four hours?
Climbing from the bed, she moved straight to the bathroom. Since Tate hadn’t disturbed her, she trusted he had everything under control, at least long enough for her to clean up. She was in and out of the shower in five minutes. Ten minutes later, her hair was blown mostly dry, her teeth were brushed and she was dressed in a pink T-shirt and black athletic pants with a narrow pink stripe down the side. Donning black slippers, she decided she looked more controlled and composed and less helpless and sickly than before. Better able to make critical decisions that could affect the rest of her life—and her daughter’s.
With her head held high and her confidence in place, at least outwardly, she walked toward the living room.
Dressed now in a dark green polo and jeans, looking as though he, too, had showered since they’d last parted, Tate sat on the couch, bouncing Daryn and Mr. Jingles on his knees. Daryn gurgled happily, still wearing the lavender romper, her headband bow arranged a bit more tidily now than it had been before. She looked clean, healthy, content and secure with this man who had saved her life, and had promised to be there for her for the rest of his own. Her little heart was open to love. Would it really be in Daryn’s best interest to teach her to spend her life hiding behind preemptive, self-protective emotional barriers?
Kim understood that she wasn’t like her mother. She would never subject Daryn to the chaos Betsy habitually created around her. Wasn’t it time for her to acknowledge that Tate wasn’t like her father, or any of the other men Betsy had been drawn to? As he’d said himself, Tate deserved to be judged on his own merits, not punished for the shortcomings of others.
As if sensing her standing there, he looked around, smiling in approval when he saw her. “I hope you’re feeling as much better as you look.”
“I love you, Tate.”
His legs stopped moving abruptly, so that Daryn bobbled a bit on his knees. Tate righted her instantly, gathering her into his arms as he rose slowly from the couch. “Sorry, monkette, your mom just knocked me for a loop. Um, Kim—am I coming down with your fever, or did you just say—?”
“I said I love you,” she repeated a bit
more clearly this time. “And it scares the stuffing out of me.”
