By nine o’clock, she could honestly claim exhaustion, and escaped to his bed with three books about earthquakes-not because that was his field, but because the reading material in the house consisted of nothing but seismology texts and the last three issues of Penthouse.
Propped against his pillows in a green nightgown, she read about fault lines and snagged bedrock and trench subduction. That had her yawning. The second book had a section on how winter snow loads and increased barometric pressure could trigger earthquakes, and how even the slightest tremor could ignite an avalanche of disastrous proportions. That had her frowning. The damn fool was in a dangerous profession. Seismological projects were particularly perilous in this area of Montana. An earthquake here in 1959 had jolted some 500,000 acres.
She turned off the light at eleven, punched her pillow a few times and settled down to worry about earthquakes and avalanches, not necessarily of the geological variety.
There was every chance, of course, that she was exaggerating the significance of this little attraction problem. People thrown together under adverse circumstances always felt some normal curiosity and interest in each other. But to acknowledge even a little tremor was to invite the most disastrous kind of emotional avalanche, with implications for the children that Zoe couldn’t begin to face. The thing was, to keep things honest and aboveboard.
The thing was, to control that hum.
The thing was, he should have hightailed it out of the bathroom instead of looking at her with those damned blue eyes.
She was turning the pillow to the cool side for the fourth time when she heard the faintest sound coming from the boys’ room. Pushing back the covers, she padded to the door and listened again. More muffled sounds. Crying?
She crossed the hall and hesitated in the boys’ doorway. Aaron was in the far bed, the pillow over his head, and his diminutive figure huddled in a tight ball under the covers. The muffled sobs wrenched her heart. She tiptoed closer and touched his cheek. “Aaron? Honey, are you having a nightmare?”
Two small arms grabbed for her neck and hung on like a vise. “I want Mommy. I want my Mommy, Zoe!”
“Oh, darling, I know…” Cradling him against her, she sat on the bed and just rocked him. In three seconds flat, she was crying as hard as he was. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. His little body was hot and tense, and he was crying so hard.
She rocked him back and forth and then from side to side, and when his nose started running she grabbed a tissue from the night table and told him to blow his nose. He blew, and then started crying again. So did she. She’d never felt more inadequate in her entire life.
In time, he was shuddering more than crying, and eventually even that stopped. His body turned to dead weight in her arms, and his damp lashes lay flush on his cheeks. He’d fallen asleep. Carefully, carefully, Zoe laid him back down and tucked the covers under his chin. She was moving to tuck Parker in when she saw Rafe in the doorway.
She finished tucking and then moved toward his shadowed form. At the door, Rafe reached out to touch her shoulder; she flinched away from his hand. Locking her arms across her chest, she stalked toward the stairs.
Rafe had been asleep until the sounds of Aaron’s crying wakened him, and the lights were off downstairs. He followed Zoe, watching her grope her way to the kitchen and snap on the light. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her face. Her skin was pale and her eyes emerald with anxiety. She was as tense as a coiled whip.
“There’s wine in the refrigerator,” he said quietly.
“The last thing I want is wine!”
“And I’ll pour.” He reached into the cupboard for two glasses.
She pushed back her hair in an exasperated gesture, and the words that lashed out of her tore at his heart. “Look, Rafe, you could see. I’m just no good at dealing with children. Already, I’m doing all the wrong things. They’re good kids, dammit; it’s just me…I made a mess of it this afternoon with them, I didn’t know how to handle the bath, and up there with Aaron just now, I couldn’t think of anything to say. He needed comfort, and I couldn’t think of one single thing to say!”
All Rafe wanted was to sweep her into his arms and erase that terrible look from her eyes. “Maybe there’s nothing anyone could have said, Zoe,” he said quietly. “And for the rest…don’t you think there’s a small possibility that you’re trying too hard?”
“How can anyone try too hard? They haven’t got anybody but us. And I keep trying to tell you that they’d be better off with you than with me.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Every time I turn around, you’re showing me how much you don’t like children. How selfish and cold-blooded you are. Come on, C.B.” He threaded the fingers of his right hand around the stems of two wineglasses and the bottle, and hooked his other arm around her neck.
She was in no mood to be gently nudged toward the back room. “Come on what? What are you doing?”
“It’s a cinch you’re not going to sleep. So we’re going to try a little eight ball. Ever played pool?”
He flicked on the hanging wicker lamp over the pool table. The green felt was spotless, and the balls were all set up. Zoe wasn’t interested.
“Look,” she said wearily.
“The cue looks about right for your size. The chalk’s over there.” He poured a glass of wine and set it on the rail of the pool table in front of her, then chose a cue from the rack on the far wall and started chalking it.
She looked at Rafe as if he were insane. He pushed up his sleeves, focusing his concentration on the cue ball, all business. Sooner or later it was bound to occur to Zoe that she was standing barefoot in a frayed nightgown in the middle of the night. He hoped it wouldn’t happen soon. He also hoped she didn’t make any reckless moves, like flying for the door, because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d let her go back to bed alone, upset as she was.
She sighed. He took that to mean she was resigned to a game of billiards. “So you have played before?”
“I know how.”
“Willing to play for some interesting stakes then?”
“Rafe…” She didn’t know what she was willing to do at the moment. She certainly had more sense than to encourage any closeness between them, but he was also the only other adult on this emotional island with her and the twins. Returning to her bed was the wisest choice, except that if she went back to bed she would undoubtedly think. About children. About emotional avalanches. About problems she couldn’t seem to solve.
She took a sip of the cool red wine and picked up the pool cue he’d chosen for her. “What are these ‘interesting stakes’?”
“Not money. We’ll play for total dominion-and you can break,” he offered generously.
“What’s ‘total dominion’ supposed to mean?”
“For every ball you sink, you get a minute of total dominion. A minute to ask for anything you want-within reason, of course. For instance, if you sink five balls, you win five minutes…five minutes with the kids completely off your hands whenever you choose, or five minutes in which you could order me to polish the silver or paint your toenails or…heck, I don’t know. Whatever you want.”
Whether she knew it or not, he held his breath while he waited for her answer. Seconds passed before he saw the unwilling spark of whimsical humor in her eyes, the first hint that she was relaxing. “Those are probably the silliest stakes I’ve ever heard,” she announced finally.
“Yes.”
“Eight ball?”
“That’ll do.”