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  Jonathon looked between her and the bathroom, not appearing entirely convinced.

  “Besides, if you pick me up, you could hurt my leg more,” she said, starting to feel desperate to get him going so she could be on her way before it was too late.

  He eyed her then nodded his head. “Well, if you need me just yell.”

  He left her alone, and she waited until she heard the door to the garage open then close. Afterward she reached for her crutches. The damn things were useless, she had no coordination with them. She slid from the bed, braced her weight on them, and forced herself up. Pain shot through her lower body, and she gasped, falling back on the bed. Cold sweat broke out on her brow, and she shook with muscle weakness.

  She needed Barb, not Jonathon. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough having her longtime friend help her to the toilet, but Barb had been a nurse once upon a time. The idea of Jonathon doing the same felt humiliating.

  Phoebe took a deep breath and tried again, this time sparing her useless right leg as much as she could. Her left leg shook as she shoved the crutches beneath her arms. She took a tiny hop forward, paused to catch her breath, then another hop. An inch-by-inch journey when once she would’ve been there in ten seconds flat. By the time she made it to her bedroom door she felt woozy, and she licked salty sweat from her top lip.

  “I’m almost there,” she mumbled.

  She took another hop forward, but her ankle twisted, lurching her sideways. The crutches shot from beneath her and she crashed to the floor. She screamed as jagged pain lanced through her leg.

  “Phoebe?” Jonathon shouted, rushing toward her. “Oh my God, are you okay?” He knelt down.

  She choked back sobs which pushed her toward hyperventilation. Jonathon stroked her hair back from her face.

  “I’ll call an ambulance.” He dug inside his pocket, pulling out his cellphone.

  “No,” she said through her teeth. “Just. Give me a minute. Catch my breath.”

  He stayed with her, stroking her hair, until she finally had the worst of the pain under control. When she’d swallowed back the nausea she had no choice but to reach up to him. Jonathon took hold of her, carefully pulling her upright. She winced and he did too.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t call an ambulance?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. The pain is subsiding now.”

  It didn’t feel like she’d done further damage to her leg as he guided her to her feet. With no other choice she let him help her into the bathroom where he left her some privacy by standing outside the closed door. Afterward he stayed with her as she hobbled back to the bed.

  “See, I’m useful after all,” he said once she was propped safely against her pillows.

  She glared at her cast, thinking if he hadn’t shown up Barb would’ve been there to help her to the bathroom and she wouldn’t have fallen in the first place. She grabbed some extra strength ibuprofen off her nightstand that her doctor had prescribed. Not that it did much, but it’d take the edge off.

  Jonathon left her alone to finish the laundry, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of how awkward it was to have him in her home. After all, why should he care about her or Sarah? They were strangers to him, and what claim he had to her daughter lay in the genes he’d contributed. Not much to declare himself a father in her opinion. Then again, she had to recognize at least a bit of her biases after her ill-fated attempts to get to know her own father. Her world was skewed with his rejection.

  The afternoon wore on into evening. Barb and her husband returned with Jonathon’s muddied car in tow. They spent some time with her and questioned Jonathon at length to make sure he had good intentions for intruding into Phoebe’s life. She appreciated their concern over her and Sarah’s welfare. Friends like them were hard to come by.

  Once they’d left, the house seemed small with Jonathon there. He made them dinner—chicken breast, steamed veggies, and mac and cheese—and they ate together in silence while watching the evening news in her bedroom. It felt almost cozy with his companionship, a feeling she didn’t want to get attached to, and she breathed a sigh of relief when he took their plates and left the room.

  She listened to him put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher then heard the soft hum of its motor.

  He returned and said, “I’ll crash on the sofa. Do you have a pillow and blanket to spare?”

  “The sofa folds out into a bed, and on the top shelf in my closet you’ll find what you need.”

  He retrieved the items and left to make up his bed, only to return a few minutes later. He had no other excuses to leave her alone as he settled into his chair.

  “Shall we watch TV or find another way to entertain ourselves?” he asked with his lazy smile and playful eyes.

  Another way? His innuendo wasn’t a door to open for her fickle hormones to peep through.

  “I’ve always been a fan of board games myself, but I’m a poor loser,” he continued.

  “Like I said, you can watch television in the living room,” she said, suddenly grouchy. She hated to admit the awkwardness had faded and a part of her liked his presence. He made the house less empty. Since her injury she’d let Sarah stay at her friend’s home quite a bit, she got bored at home while her mother recovered. Once Barb left in the evenings the place felt abandoned with her being stuck in bed.

  “I’d rather stay in here. I like the company,” Jonathon told her.

  She thought of the island, and of them huddled around the fire for warmth. She’d missed the intimacy, but now in her home, she didn’t know how to swallow it.

  Phoebe flipped the television over to some old black-and-white flick, letting it play in the background of her thoughts. She watched Jonathon from the corner of her eye. He leaned back in the chair, an ankle crossed over his knee, his ever-present grin in place. Phoebe shifted and squirmed, feeling the butterflies of awareness tickle her insides. Even the constant irritating itch beneath her cast couldn’t squash those damned butterflies.

  So she sat, with her hands balled on her blanket, staring at the TV but not seeing the action while she tried to force away memories of Jonathon naked. The way he’d made her come so easily. How amazing it’d felt in his arms. So many memories she didn’t want to deal with.

  “Was I any good at least?”

  His voice jolted her from her illicit wonderings.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “When we, er, made Sarah, was I any good?”

  She shot him a hard look, but he stared at the television. She certainly didn’t want to have this conversation, considering she couldn’t get her mind off of sex.

  “Why does it matter?” she asked. “It happened a long time ago.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Call it my ego.”

  He seemed almost uncomfortable. He sat up straighter.

  You were great. “It was okay I guess,” she said. “I was a bit tipsy and you were pretty drunk.”

  “I won’t admit to setting a high moral standard back in those days, but I wish I hadn’t woken up alone that morning.” He looked to her, and their gazes locked. “I would’ve loved the opportunity to know you better beyond some sloppy groping in the dark.”

  We weren’t in the dark. She fiddled with the blanket, her agitation funneling down into her fingertips. “You were graduating, I still had a year and a half left in college. There would have been no getting to know one another better, we both know that.” Not after you learned of my pregnancy.

  “I would’ve tried,” he insisted. “If I’d known about Sarah, I would’ve tried.”

  That raised her ire. “Tried? There’s no trying when you become a parent. You do it, Jonathon, you do it because your child deserves it.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. He held her gaze a moment longer then looked away. He rose and walked toward the doorway. “Goodnight, Phoebe,” he said over his shoulder before leaving her alone.

  Chapter 21

  Jonathon tossed and turned on the
lumpy sofa bed the rest of the night. How will I make this work? he asked himself over and over. He wanted to run away from Phoebe’s home, find some solace in his old lifestyle. Casual affairs, parties, and more parties. But he knew if he tried, he’d have the ghosts of what happened between them hanging over his head. Phoebe, and his daughter, would always be at the back of his thoughts. Regardless of how much he dated, no woman would ever compare to Phoebe.

  He’d stick it out. He had to stay with Phoebe until she’d healed enough she could take care of herself. He’d learn about his daughter, and maybe even become friends with her. At least he hoped he could form a bond with the girl. And if at all possible, her suspicious mother.

  He rolled onto his stomach, thinking about Phoebe in the next room. In bed. Jonathon groaned as he grew hard with the mental image. The woman was nearly an invalid, and certainly didn’t need him lusting after her. But his dick wouldn’t listen and his erection throbbed, driving sleep even farther away. He rolled onto his back and grasped his shaft, giving in to some light petting as he stared at the dark ceiling. The ceiling fan whirled, its hum meditative, making him think of the waves crashing on their island shore. Then of Phoebe’s willing body and lips.

  Tired and frustrated, he rose and walked down the hall and into the bathroom. He felt guilty of his lewd behavior as he jerked off then cleaned up before returning to his bed. When the sun peeked through the blinds he went to his car and retrieved his suitcase. By the time he heard Phoebe stirring, he’d shaved and showered. He went to see if she needed help to the bathroom. She growled and complained, but accepted his assistance.

  Once he had her settled back in bed, he made coffee and a couple of omelets for them. He burned the bacon, setting off the fire alarms in the house, and also Phoebe’s annoyance. She yelled at him for trying to burn her home down while he waved towels and opened windows to let the burnt smell and smoke out. To be fair, the skillet had actually flamed up, ruining it, so he couldn’t blame her for being mad.

  With things back in control, Jonathon joined Phoebe for breakfast in her bedroom. The omelets were edible, that much he was grateful for. While eating they spoke lightly on the weather and local news topics. A stilted conversation, glossing over the deeper issue neither wanted to discuss. Later he decided to do some cleaning, though the house was near spotless. Barb had done her job well.

  Jonathon heard a car engine, and he looked through the front window. Sarah jumped out of the backseat, waved at the driver and another young girl in the back then dashed across the yard. She barreled into the house then stopped when she spotted him. She smiled up in a way much too familiar. He only needed to look in the mirror to view the same smile.

  “Hi,” Sarah said in a sweet eleven year old’s voice. “You’re the man from the hospital.”

  “I am,” he answered, transfixed. The resemblance struck him again as it had when he’d first laid eyes on her in the hospital. Or in the photograph. “My name is Jonathon, and I’ll be staying a few days to help your mom out. I hope that’s okay with you.” He stared down to her. It was eerie to see himself recreated in a little girl. Eerie, and…special.

  The little girl lifted her shoulders, her silvery gray gaze holding curiosity. Does she see it, how much we look alike? Jonathon waited for questions, but how would he answer them? His heart beat a hard rhythm in his chest, waiting for Sarah to break the silence. Panic welled.

  “Sure you can stay,” she said before disappearing down the hall.

  Jonathon sagged, bracing a hand against the wall, needing the support. He heard Phoebe call out to her, and Sarah went into her room.

  He did some dusting. Sarah went into her bedroom then he heard her radio come on. Some terrible young boy singer blasted too loud.

  “Turn it down, you’ll wreck your ears,” Phoebe called above the racket.

  The volume dropped.

  “Jonathon.”

  He went to Phoebe. Her gaze was cool, protective. “What we discussed before I want to make clear again, do not say a word about who you are to her,” she warned.

  “Right.” He nodded. “I swear I won’t.”

  “The moment I say leave, you have to leave.”

  He hoped it didn’t come to that. If he had to walk on eggshells he would, because he couldn’t go the rest of his life without at least trying to fit into the role Sarah deserved from him. That Phoebe deserved of him. Do I only want to be a father, or do I want more out of this? He thought of his three oldest sisters, happily married and settled down. Only he and Maggie were still single.

  “I promise I’ll leave if you want me to, but, Phoebe, please, trust me. I don’t mean any harm, I only want to get to know…” He lowered his voice so it wouldn’t carry out of the room. “I want to get to know Sarah.”

  He wanted to reach out and take her hand. Kiss her fingers, and her lips. Make her see the genuine need to be there. He faced hard work getting around her mistrust.

  “I’m not saying you have any malicious intent,” Phoebe explained. “But when I see stuff like this…” She clicked on the television and pulled a program up from the DVR. A gossip report from the day before he’d arrived. She’d saved it, and he wondered why as she hit play.

  He watched the smiling reporter chat happily about a supposed romance between him and some actress he’d met only once the past month. He stood next to her, but they’d chopped out the other half of the photo. The telling portion showing who stood close on her other side. He’d sworn to keep Maggie’s secret, and he would no matter what. He had admitted it to Phoebe while in the sinkhole in a desperate attempt to keep her awake, but doubted she had any recollection of it now.

  “I assure you, there’s nothing going on between me and that woman,” he said. He could see Phoebe didn’t entirely believe him, leaving him in an awkward position. “I’m not her type.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “So you admit to at least trying?”

  No, it hadn’t even occurred to him to try anything. Not with Phoebe always in his thoughts, and considering who the actress had actually been with at the benefit auction, he would’ve never crossed that line. “No, Phoebe, I didn’t try, because I’ve had someone else on my mind. A woman I don’t know that I deserve, but I’m going to try really hard to prove otherwise.”

  Her eyes widened and her anger withered. He didn’t dare believe he saw his own hope reflecting in the depths of her brown gaze.

  “It’s too soon to talk like that, Jonathon,” she said, moving her attention back to her blanket. He watched her fingers trace the floral design.

  He licked his lips. Phoebe was right, it was too soon. But we had all that time on the island. We survived the sinkhole. We have a daughter.

  He’d thought he’d fallen for her while waiting for her to recover in the hospital, but what did he feel now? Fear, confusion, longing, but did those add up to love? She made up nearly every waking moment of his life, but was it love or infatuation?

  “We were thrown together under impossible circumstances, even beyond what the show producers had planned,” she went on. “And that can breed feelings which aren’t true. What we…” She cleared her throat. “What you may think you feel, if it’s anything beyond physical attraction, is probably temporary.”

  Wise words to consider, but a few sentences didn’t even begin to cover his ramble of emotions.

  Sarah appeared in the bedroom, giving Jonathon her curious gaze.

  “Mom, can I have some cookies?” she asked.

  Jonathon grinned.

  “You can have one, Sarah,” Phoebe replied.

  She looked to her mom and said a thank you before she stared at Jonathon. “What kind of music do you like?” she asked him.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I like lots of music. Even opera.” He winked and she giggled.

  “Opera? Grandma took me to an opera once.” She feigned a shiver that made Jonathon laugh. “Grandma is a famous singer. Have you ever heard of Cybil Heart?”

  “
I have,” he replied.

  She reached out, and to his surprise, took his hand. “Come listen to music with me. My favorite singer is Mikey Mike. He’s awesome.”

  Jonathon shot a glance at Phoebe. She appeared uncomfortable. “Now, Sarah, I’m not sure if Mikey Mike is Jonathon’s cup of tea.”

  “Is he the boy on the radio now?” The one with the cracking post-pubescent voice?

  “Yes, isn’t he fantastic? I own all his stuff.” She tried to tug him forward.

  He peered back at Phoebe. Distrust shown in her concerned eyes, and her hands balled on her lap.

  “Can I have a minute more with your mom?”

  Sarah pursed her lips in a pout that mirrored Maggie’s before she released his hand and trotted back out.

  “She’s never known a stranger,” Phoebe said after Sarah got her cookie then her bedroom door clicked closed. “Can you see why I’m so careful? I’ve always had a suspicious mind when it came to people I didn’t know, but Sarah is open with everyone.”

  “She’s incredible.” While his feelings for Phoebe were confused and clouded, he felt certain he needed no more time to fall for this little girl. His little girl. Perhaps Sarah hadn’t been handed to him as a squalling newborn gripping his thumb, but she’d taken his hand with nothing but absolute trust in her eyes. Had he honestly had much more preparation than any other new dad? One day you’re on your own, the next you’re viewing yourself in a child’s face.

  He felt a profound shift. He’d missed eleven years of her life, and he wanted to make up for lost time. An overwhelming need leaving him weak in the knees with its impact.

  A terrible guitar solo sounded from Sarah’s room, and he winced. Phoebe chuckled. “Mikey Mike is eye candy for the girls, but God he’s terrible. I’ve listened to this album every day for months.”

  He didn’t care what music Sarah liked, he’d endure anything if it made her happy. “Do you mind if I spend some time with her?” he asked Phoebe. “Just she and I? Within your boundaries, of course.”