BABY & THE BEAST Read online

  Guilt constricted his chest, heavy and imposing, and he forced his gaze to hers. Those magnetic sapphire eyes were filled to the brim with happiness. But love? He wasn't sure what love looked like. Still, there was a certain softness when she looked at him.

  What kind of man was he, bringing her into his life, his tortured little world?

  He was a selfish bastard, that's what he was.

  He raked a hand through his hair. He'd take this last day of holiday cheer, but then he had to give them up. Even if it killed what was left of his heart, he was going to make sure that he protected Bella and Emily from the town's nosy speculation—and from himself.

  *

  In front of the bay window in her living room sat the most beautiful tree Isabella had ever seen.

  Across the candlelit dinner table, she stared at the blue spruce Michael had picked out, dragged home, then set up while she made dinner. He'd been a bit distant when they'd left the Crafty Corner, but she'd just chalked that up to his being holiday-unfamiliar and coaxed him back into the spirit in time for their tree-buying excursion.

  Or, actually, Emily had. She'd been crying when they'd gotten to the tree lot, but as soon as Michael had taken her in his arms, that crying had turned into cooing. Quite proud of himself, Michael had told Isabella to follow him, that he and Emily were going to pick out the biggest and the best tree in the lot, even if they had to cut a hole in the ceiling to make it fit. The enthusiastic gesture had instantly reminded her of her father.

  "Remember the Christmas you spent here with me and Dad?" Isabella said, taking the last bite of her roast pork.

  He nodded, a forkful of apple stuffing on the way to his mouth. His eyes were hooded. "Yes."

  "The scent of pine filling the house, the naked tree just waiting for its dressing."

  "You didn't decorate until Christmas Eve, right?" She smiled. "Dad's tradition." She pointed to the base of the tree. "And there's Mom's tradition. She made that tree skirt the year I was born."

  He glanced over his shoulder. "It's beautiful." When he turned back to face her, his eyes had softened. "I know that's really important to you, Bella."

  "What?"

  "Family. Traditions."

  She took a sip of sparkling cider. "It is. And even more so now that I have Emily. I really feel that it's important to give a child a sense of her history, of the memories that made her home what it is, you know?"

  Michael chuckled bitterly. "I don't think a child would be interested in my history or my memories."

  His words stung. Isabella felt as though he'd just taken a giant step backward, and she didn't know why.

  "Well, there's always room to make some new ones," she offered quickly. "You could spend Christmas here with Emily and me. Just like old times, but with new memories."

  Silence filled the pine-scented air until Michael cleared his throat. "I appreciate the offer, Bella. But I won't be in Fielding for Christmas."

  Isabella's heart dipped in her chest. "Where will you be?"

  "Los Angeles. I'm going back to work with Micronic's programmers to customize the software."

  She just stared at him, trying to read what was behind those steel-gray eyes. But they gave away nothing. In fact, they looked exactly the way they had the day he'd left Fielding as a boy, the way they had the first few days she'd stayed at his house. "You're really going to work over Christmas?"

  "No. I'm actually going to stay and check out a few houses in the area."

  It was as though the breath had been sucked out of her lungs. For him to go away on business for a few weeks stank, but the possibility of his moving away…

  "Something for winter," he continued unemotionally. "The climate should be easier on my leg."

  Forcing herself to swallow the Sahara in her throat, Isabella tried not to show the intensity of the pain in her heart. "Well, if you're back for New Year's, Emily and I could come and pick you up at the airport. We could go—"

  "I'm not really sure how long I'm staying in California," he said quickly, dropping his napkin onto the table beside his plate.

  She tried to bite her tongue, to keep the desperation she felt out of her tone, but she couldn't seem to stop the words from coming. "Do you know where you'll be staying when you do come back?"

  He leaned forward in his chair and said quietly, "Bella, this isn't the way I live. And nothing's going to change that."

  Tears pricked at her eyes. "Living without love is not living, Michael."

  "To me, it is."

  "I really thought that maybe this weekend you saw something different."

  "I did see something."

  She shook her head. "But?"

  His eyes softened. "Did you really think that after a few dinners in town, a couple of days helping out in the bakery and a little Christmas shopping, I would all of sudden become Joe Citizen?"

  "No, Michael." Past tears now, she pressed on. She had words to say, words she'd been sitting on far too long. No doubt, they would fall on deaf ears, but if she had any hope of moving on with her life, Michael Wulf needed to know the truth in her heart. "I hoped that you would want a life with Emily and me." With every ounce of courage she had left, she met his gaze. "I hoped that you would learn to love me the way I love you."

  A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared at her. For a moment she imagined she saw something akin to tenderness in his shadowed gaze, but it was gone in an instant.

  "That's not possible for me."

  She nodded slowly, her heart breaking silently, the tiny sharp fragments of it scattering like dust. "All right, Michael."

  "But as for a friendship—"

  She held up her hand. "That's not possible for me." She came to her feet. "I'm going to check on my daughter. Please be gone by the time I get back."

  On legs made of water, Isabella turned and left the room. It was like walking in mud. Each step felt heavy, each breath caught as she tried to hold off the wrenching sob that ached to escape her throat.

  Nothing had prepared her for this—this mind-numbing moment when she walked away from the love of her life, knowing that her dream of being with him, of having him love her, had just died.

  But with a determination she hadn't known she possessed, she did just that.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

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  "Ladies and gentlemen, in preparation for our descent, please put away all electronic devices and fasten your seat belts. We will be landing in Minneapolis just before noon. Weather is looking promising for Christmas Eve. Mild windchill and a light snowfall. Happy holidays, everyone, and thank you for flying Northern Airlines."

  Michael shut his laptop computer.

  What was he supposed to do now? For the past two weeks, work had been the only thing that had kept him from thinking. About Bella, Emily and the damned holidays.

  He stared out the tiny window. Tonight was Christmas Eve. The night when Santa zipped down the chimney and gave presents to all the good girls and boys. Well, he'd never been a good boy. And the only presents he wanted were ones he couldn't have.

  The plane began its descent into the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, and Michael cursed the shot of excitement that rippled through him. He wasn't going to see her. He was going back to that empty glass fortress. The one he'd built to keep the world out.

  But Bella's face could haunt him there just as easily as it had in California. He couldn't work every moment, no matter how hard he tried. So whenever he was out, driving or eating, she and Emily would trample into his mind, mess up his sanity again. Whenever he saw a baby with those plastic keys or the book with the fuzzy bunny on the cover, his heart would lurch for Emily. When he fell into bed at night, he wanted Bella beside him. And when he went house-shopping, he couldn't help but wonder what she would think of the place. Especially the kitchen. Would she like it? Could she create in there?

  Rubbing a hand over his face, he groaned. He was a fool. He had once again realized that being miles away had only m
ade him want her more. But there was nothing to do except wait it out, let time heal if it could. All he had to do was overcome that feeling of loneliness, that need, that incredible ache. Hell, he'd gotten over it with his parents. He'd do it again.

  The plane touched down on the tarmac smoothly, then rolled to a stop. Around him, passengers jolted to their feet, grabbing bags and brightly wrapped packages from the overhead bins before filing out of the plane and rushing down the jetway. They were all, no doubt, anxious to see their loved ones, their families, anxious to start the holiday.

  Michael took his time. He had no driver waiting for him this time. He hadn't wanted to steal someone away from their family on Christmas Eve to drive him home. It was easy just to rent a car.

  But when he stepped into the terminal, he saw that he didn't have to. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Walking toward him, Thomas chuckled. "Well, that's just fine. I come all the way out here to pick you up, bring you back where you belong, and this is the thanks I get."

  Had he told Thomas when he'd be getting in today? Michael wondered, trying to ignore how good it felt to have the man here. "Thanks, Thomas, but you shouldn't have come. Tonight's Christmas Eve and your family—"

  "My family is fine. They're expecting me for dinner." Side by side, they walked down the concourse. "Don't tell me you'd rather have some strange limousine driver than a friendly face."

  "That depends."

  "On what?"

  "If that friendly face is going to give me a lecture all the way home."

  "Now what in the world would I have to lecture you about?" Thomas asked breezily. "You seem to be doing just fine."

  "I am." Michael sounded way too convincing, even to his own ears.

  "That's wonderful. Business is good?"

  They passed through the double doors and stepped out into a brisk winter afternoon. "Very good, in fact."

  "And I must say you look healthy as a jackass."

  "Don't you mean 'as a horse'?" Michael asked dryly.

  "No. I mean jackass."

  Shaking his head, Michael followed him to the car. "This is the beginning of that lecture, right?"

  "There's not going to be anything like that." Thomas opened the trunk and waited while Michael dropped his bags in. "No questions, no comments, no offering information on certain people in town. Nothing."

  Michael didn't answer right away. They were in the car, heading onto the highway before he couldn't stand it anymore. "All right, I'll bite. How are they?"

  "Who?"

  "Now which one of us is being the jackass?" Michael chuckled. "Bella and Emily. How are they doing?"

  "They're doing beautifully. Emily is sweet and growing bigger every day."

  Michael felt a strange little ping in the region of his heart. He'd missed almost two weeks of her life. "And Bella?"

  "Isabella's business is booming and she has her friends around her. She seems happy enough. She and Emily are coming to the house tomorrow for Christmas dinner. My wife is making ham and turkey this year, and of course her sage and onion stuffing. Kyle and Derek are going to be there, too." He tossed Michael a sly glance. "You know, I think my eldest might have a crush on Isabella."

  Michael frowned. "What?"

  The doctor shrugged. "Derek was the one who called and asked her to come."

  Anger seeped through Michael like an oil slick. What was she thinking, accepting Derek's invitation? She just had a baby—she wasn't ready to get involved. And Derek Pinta was … was… Oh, hell he was exactly the kind of man Michael wasn't. Upstanding, sociable, popular and mild-natured, a real citizen of the world.

  Dammit, he had no claim on Bella, no right even to want one. But the thought of her with another man made him nuts, and that man being a father to his—

  He stopped that thought midstride. He was no husband to Bella, and Emily wasn't his child. It didn't matter if he wanted that status changed. They deserved better than a defeated beast with a wounded leg and a caged heart.

  *

  Isabella turned her sign to "Mother and Child Done for the Day."

  She'd sold every last one of her silver bells, gingerbread men and red-nosed Rudolphs, and even though her adrenaline was still pumping, it was time to call it quits.

  In the past couple of weeks, it hadn't been difficult to move through those mad hours of early rising, baking, filling orders and caring for Emily. The activity had kept her mind occupied—and off Michael Wulf. A little trick she'd learned from him. Work was the answer to all ills, apparently.

  At night, she'd be so exhausted that she'd just fall into bed and into a dreamless sleep. And she'd awake before the sun each morning and do it all again. She ran on batteries, it seemed, quite unaware of the world around her at times.

  Except for her time with Emily, she thought, picking up her daughter and carrying her upstairs. Those were the magical times. Cuddling, reading to her, playing on the little ducky blanket that Michael had given them.

  Then her mind would lose its blessed numbness and fly to him again. What was he doing? Did he ever think of her? When was he coming back? Was he coming back?

  A strong hand fisted around her heart and squeezed, but she fought it. She had to. If it was just her, she could crawl under the covers and stay there for a week. But it wasn't just her. She had Emily to think of.

  Gently, Isabella placed Emily on the changing table and grabbed a clean diaper.

  She looked down at her daughter. These thoughts, this aching heart, all were dangerous. She would never get over Michael, she knew that. But for her daughter's sake, she had to find a way to keep trying.

  Tonight her friends were coming over for a girls' gab session, and she would put on a brave face, tell Molly again that she didn't know where Michael was and change the subject.

  She sure wasn't about to tell them the truth. How she'd told him to go. Not because she didn't love him, but because she loved him too much to pretend she didn't want more than friendship. And that for a short time, whether he'd wanted to admit it or not, they'd been so much more.

  They'd been a family.

  *

  "We'll have to hurry," Thomas said as he pulled up alongside the curb and switched off the engine. "It's going to be dark soon."

  Michael's hand gripped the car-door handle as his mind rioted over what to do next. This stop at the cemetery had been his idea. But as for the purpose, he wasn't exactly sure.

  Thomas put a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to go with you?"

  "No."

  "All right."

  "I don't know why I'm here."

  "Sure you do," Thomas said gently. "You want to wish Emmett a merry Christmas and ask him if he thinks you're worthy of his daughter."

  Michael turned to look at Thomas. "I know I'm not worthy."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "I don't want to… It's just that…" What? Why couldn't he put a name to this feeling? Why was he so damn afraid?

  "You love her."

  "Yes." The word came out in a rush. He stilled, letting it seep in, trying to understand how loving anyone was possible for a man like him. But it was true. He loved her. So much he ached with it. And he realized it now. Now, when it was too late. "I love her, Thomas. And that's exactly why I can't have her."

  "Excuse my French, but that's crap."

  "You know who I am, Thomas. How I am. I can't be a part of this town, part of life. I'm no good at it."

  "Again, crap."

  Frustrated, Michael banged his fist on the side of the door. "Bella and Emily need that good, upstanding citizen type who smiles and shouts hello to his neighbors every morning." He chuckled bitterly. "I know how to shout, but I barely know how to smile."

  "Look at me," Thomas demanded, and Michael grudgingly did as he asked. "Do you want Isabella and Emily? Do you want them to be your family?"

  "God, yes."

  "Then you'll learn how to smile, Michael Wulf."

  He snorted. "Simple as that
?"

  "Most everybody in this town has their arms out to you. They want to give you a chance." Thomas's gaze softened. "After what you've been through, I don't blame you for the doubt that's in your heart. But when's it going to end?"

  Michael turned back to the window, to his view of the cemetery. "I'm not sure it can end."

  "Michael," the old man said, reaching out his gnarled hand and laying it on the smooth wool of Michael's overcoat. "It's time to let go. You have to want them enough to let go of your demons."

  Outside, snow fell so softly against the tombstones that Michael almost felt he could hear them whispering.

  He had to admit it to himself, let himself feel the truth. There was nothing he wanted more than Isabella and Emily. Nothing. He loved her, loved her child, and he'd squash a thousand demons to have a chance to show them how deep his love ran. If she would still have him.

  Ever since his parents had taken off and left him, he'd declined to participate in the game of life and he'd blamed the world. His fear of being discarded again by someone he loved had imprisoned him, had made him take what he'd heard from Molly Homney and use it as a shield.

  Bella had opened the door to life and showed him what could be, what he could have. She'd shown him heaven and he'd chosen the comfort of hell.

  No more.

  Michael opened the car door, got out and walked over to the grave of Emmett Spencer, beloved husband and father, and said the words that would change him forever.

  "I love your daughter."

  *

  "I need more popcorn," Connie said, holding up her long string of popcorn and cranberry swag for the tree.

  "Why did she get the food decoration," Molly moaned, "and I get stuck with construction-paper links?"

  April Young rolled her eyes. "Because no one trusts you with a needle."

  Wendy snorted. "No one trusts you with the popcorn and cranberries."

  Everyone laughed, even Molly. Rid of their husbands, significant others and children for a few hours, the fivesome from high school had fallen easily into their old ways. Sitting around the coffee table, they'd scarfed down all the food they'd brought and talked about old times and old boyfriends.