BABY & THE BEAST Page 6

  "Right," Isabella said slowly, hating where this was going.

  "So why don't you and Emily come back and stay with me until then?"

  Reaching out, she eased her daughter from his powerful arms. It was a protective instinct, she knew. Emily was only an infant, but Isabella didn't want her getting even the tiniest bit attached to Michael Wulf. She knew how it felt to lose him. "No, we couldn't."

  "Why not? It's a comfortable place."

  Too comfortable, she wanted to tell him. Just being near him again had her wishing for things that would never come.

  He glanced at her with hooded eyes. "Staying with me a few more nights isn't that big of a deal, Bella."

  Yeah, maybe not for a man whose heart is locked up tighter than an oyster shell, she thought. Michael's past had taught him well. Her past had only intensified the yearning for the kind of life, and the kind of love, her parents had enjoyed.

  But what was the alternative? She wasn't going to call her friends, and the hotel wasn't going to grow another room.

  "I appreciate the offer, Michael. But why would you even want us there? You made it pretty clear that we were in the way."

  His jaw bunched. "What are you talking about?"

  "You hide away, bury yourself in work and hardly come out, unless it's to thank me for making a meal."

  "Work is what I do," he said, his voice distant. "It's the most important thing."

  "Is it?"

  His eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to say?"

  Isabella exhaled heavily. "It just seems to me like lately there's something else that's just as important to you as your work. And that's paying back what you perceive to be a debt." She looked up into those familiar dark eyes and said what had been on her mind almost every moment since their brief kiss. "This debt is paid. You don't have to do anything more for us out of gratitude."

  He shrugged. "I'm only doing what's right."

  Emily gave a soft little sneeze.

  Michael frowned. "And don't you think you should do what's best for Emily?"

  Her chin lifted indignantly as she pulled the blanket more snugly over her little girl. "I'll always do what's best for Emily."

  "Glad to hear it." He nodded as though her ire was exactly what he was aiming for. "First thing tomorrow, I'll have my housekeeper come and help you get this place—"

  "That's not necessary, I'm perfectly capable—"

  "Her name is Sara, and she's the best." Barely stopping for breath he continued. "I had your car towed to the shop, and you can borrow one of my SUVs until it's ready. And while you're cleaning and getting the store fixed up, I'll watch Emily. Except when she needs to be fed, of course."

  Her mouth dropped open. "Michael, you have work to—"

  "She's no trouble."

  Isabella was ready to refuse him again, but she stopped. Was the fight really worth it? Michael Wulf was being kind, being a friend. And she and Emily needed both right now. They were in a pickle Isabella hadn't planned for, and she couldn't allow her pride to override practicality.

  She sighed. She knew what he was offering was the best thing for her daughter. And she would sacrifice anything to keep her baby safe and healthy. Even her heart.

  He lifted a brow. "Deal?"

  She nodded slowly. "Deal."

  "My car's outside—with a car seat in it."

  "Where did you get a car seat?"

  "I stopped by Thomas's. He loaned me the one he had in his car. He said we could keep it for as long as we need it. His great-nephew's outgrown it now."

  We? We could keep it? As long as we need it? The words made her knees as weak as butter, but she wasn't going to allow her body to misinterpret the message. No matter how badly her heart wanted to follow suit. She had to be absolutely clear about his intentions, or lack thereof, going in if she was ever going to survive.

  "You were pretty sure I was going to say yes," she said finally.

  "I knew your good sense would prevail."

  "Well, you're hard to say no to, Michael."

  He nodded. "As long as you understand that, then you won't object to my taking the two of you shopping for a few things you need."

  *

  Michael ambled up to the counter at Molly's Mother and Child and added three more of what Bella called "onesies" to his already growing pile of clothing, blankets, toys and other baby accessories that looked essential. He could feel Bella watching every move he made. With Emily asleep in her arms, she stood there, aghast, shaking her head first at the pile, then at him.

  "I'm taking enough from you, Michael," she scolded for the fourth time in as many minutes as she unbuttoned the top button of her thick navy coat. "Staying at the house, borrowing the car, accepting help from your housekeeper. I won't accept this. I'm buying Emily what she needs."

  "This—" he pointed to the pile of clothes "—isn't a whim, Bella. This is a birthday present."

  Her pretty blue eyes narrowed. "Birthday present?"

  He wasn't about to let her win. He had millions and no one to spend it on. And this was the first time he'd ever felt pleasure in buying something for someone.

  "She's a week old today," he said simply.

  Bella just stared at him, but he saw an ounce of surrender lingering behind that indomitable gaze. So he moved in swiftly. "It's rude to refuse a gift. You don't want to be rude, do you?"

  "Of course I don't want to be rude, but—"

  "Good, because for a moment there I was starting to feel a little wounded." He touched his chest, where his heart was rumored to be. "Like I wasn't good enough to give Emily a present."

  At that she burst out laughing. "You could sell an egg to a chicken, couldn't you."

  His brow rose as he plunked down a bunch of baby bottles next to the cash register. "Quite possibly."

  "Are you finding everything okay, Isabella?"

  Apple-faced Molly Homney scooted around the desk and gave Bella a wide smile, her gaze flicking warily to Michael. He was used to looks like that. He rarely came to town, and when he did he didn't even pretend to be friendly. Hell, half the kids that had teased him way back when had stayed in Fielding as adults—including Molly Homney—and he wasn't interested in making nice with people who only wanted to get to know him now because he could buy the entire town if he had a mind to.

  But then again, this woman had been a friend of Bella's. So for her, he would be agreeable.

  "I think we've found more than enough," Bella said on a laugh.

  Molly sighed. "Did I say how good it is to see you again, Isabella?"

  "Yes, you did. But I don't mind hearing it again."

  "We missed you so much. The girls are going to be ecstatic when they see you and little Emily." Molly shook her head. "You're just so darn lucky. Since the day I opened this store, Herb and I have been trying and trying, but no baby yet."

  "It'll happen," Bella assured her. "When you least expect it."

  Molly leaned forward and whispered, "The fun's in the trying, right?"

  Bella's gaze flickered toward Michael, then she looked down at Emily and said softly, and not at all convincingly, "Right."

  Michael knew that Molly hadn't missed that glance, and he also knew that the implications of it would be all over town by morning.

  Most people already knew that he'd delivered her child. He wasn't looking to ruin her reputation. She'd just returned home, and the rumor of a romantic involvement with the Wulf was only going to hurt her standing in the community.

  Michael pulled out a credit card. "Since you left your wallet at the shop, let me get this and you can repay me later."

  Bella's eyes widened and her lips parted as though she was about to protest. Just then, Molly reached under the counter, and Michael took the opportunity to lean toward Bella and whisper in her ear, "Repay me in doughnuts. Every morning."

  He heard her sharp intake of breath, and something inside him shifted. Damn, she smelled good, he thought, breathing in her delicious scent one more time befor
e he straightened.

  After Molly had rung everything up and bagged it, she turned to Bella. "Is your apartment ready yet, or do you need a place to stay?"

  "I'm staying with a friend."

  Bella answered the question with no reserve and no embarrassment. She'd also had an out, Michael mused, but hadn't taken it.

  "Not Connie?" Molly asked.

  "Nope."

  "Or Wendy?"

  "No."

  Molly's gaze flickered toward Michael. He raised a brow at her. She quickly returned to her task of bagging up the merchandise.

  Bella was smart enough to know that Molly knew exactly who that friend was, yet she'd spoken with pride in her voice. Only one thing had really changed in fifteen years. Bella was still strong and principled, but today when they'd parted, he wasn't willing to let her go. Not yet.

  Molly smiled at Bella, then at Emily. "Call me and we'll get the gang together."

  Bella thanked her old friend, then gathered up Emily and left. Michael followed them out of the store.

  "Staying with a friend, huh?" he said as he opened the car door for her. "I think she knows exactly who you're staying with."

  "I didn't lie." Bella placed Emily in the car seat, then stood and met his gaze. "I am staying with a friend. Right?"

  Around them the wind picked up, swirling threads of snow into white tumbleweeds. Neither one of them seemed to notice. She was waiting for an answer to a simple question. But then again, nothing was simple between them as of late.

  "Let's go home," he muttered, unaccountably irritated.

  Her gaze remained on his for a moment, then she let him help her into the passenger side of the SUV.

  What was the truth?

  He didn't know. Jaw clenched, he put the shopping bags, changing table and crib in the back. He just didn't know.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  "Where should this go, hon?"

  Abandoning her grimy bathtub for a moment, Isabella glanced up. Sara Rogers, Michael's housekeeper, held out a small unmarked box for inspection.

  Isabella pulled off her latex gloves and reached for it. After a soft shake, a wave of comfort swept over her.

  "Something special?" Sara asked.

  "My mother's copper cookie cutters." A smile came to Isabella lips as she handed the box back to the Southern gentlewoman with her short gray bob, thin frame and big violet eyes.

  "Oh, my. Well, then, we'll have to be real careful with this." Sara tilted her head and winked. "How about that large drawer off the fridge? I just wiped it down."

  "That'll be perfect," Isabella said, reaching for her work gloves. "By the way, have I thanked you today?"

  "Yes, you have, hon. Twice in fact."

  "Well, they say that the third time's the charm. So, thank you."

  Sara placed her hands on her hips and studied Isabella for a moment. "Mr. Wulf's sure right about you."

  At the mention of Michael, Isabella's pulse quickened. "Right about what? What did … Mr. Wulf say?"

  A grin the size of Tennessee, her home state, broke out on Sara's face. "That you're a good one."

  Isabella's eyes widened. "What in the world does that mean?"

  Sara laughed. "Don't have a clue, hon, but in all the years I've worked for him, I've never heard him say anything like it." She winked again. "I'm going to put this away and start cleaning that stove."

  After Sara was gone, Isabella went back to scrubbing the tub, but her mind remained on Michael and their living arrangements.

  It had been a week since he'd invited her and Emily to stay with him, which she'd thought would be plenty of time to get her place in order. But she'd been wrong. Making the apartment livable and her father's old work space into a pastry shop was taking far more work than just surface cleaning and stocking shelves.

  Sara was a godsend, but she was only there for a limited time every day. Old neighbors from town came for a few hours to help out here and there, but most of them wanted to use that time to catch up and find out about Michael's inventions and his intentions toward her. So she'd started politely refusing the offers, extending her guest pass at the "glass house" for a while longer.

  But the reasons for the slow pace in finishing her apartment were more than her friends wanting to play catch-up or the amount of work to be done. The separation from Emily for more than a few hours at a time had been torture. Isabella had left bottles of breast milk in the refrigerator for Michael to give her, but she'd wanted to be there, too. So she'd started making excuses to come home and check on her, play with her and nurse her.

  Michael never seemed surprised to see her turn up several times a day. In fact, he almost seemed pleased to have her there. But at night, he'd always revert back to the lone wolf that he was. Taking his meals alone, staying up in his office, working late. He still slept in that chair by the fire every night, however. She never asked him why. She didn't want her questions to run him out, to drive him back upstairs. He did enough of that. From dusk till dawn, she felt protected and cared for, and Lord help her, she counted on it.

  The ring of the Fielding Elementary School bell several blocks away interrupted her thoughts, and she checked her watch. It was noon. Connie and Molly would probably be arriving anytime now, ready to "help." Somehow the two of them had convinced Isabella that they were geared up to clean her living-room floor.

  It felt good to be home now. As soon as Isabella had gotten the chance to explain to her friends what had happened over the past several years, she'd done it. And true to form, they had readily welcomed her back, even welcomed her into their homes if she had a mind to move from Michael's. But she didn't. With a "thanks, but no thanks" to her friends, she'd told them that she and Emily were content where they were and left it at that.

  Sighing, Isabella rinsed out the tub, took off her gloves, tossed them into the trash, then left the bathroom to find the pair, mops in hand, standing in the middle of the living-room floor.

  Connie gave her a smile. "Sara let us in."

  "She's Michael Wulf's housekeeper, isn't she?" Molly asked, fiddling with a bottle of wood soap.

  Isabella nodded. "Yes, she is."

  Molly had never understood the concept of leaving any juicy subject alone. "We were just talking about the day he moved back here."

  Connie rolled her eyes. "Not we, Molly. Just you."

  Molly snorted. "Don't think I didn't see those ears of yours perk up when I mentioned that Alan Olson said when he delivered that grand piano up there last year, he saw an elevator in Michael Wulf's house."

  When she turned to look at Isabella, Connie's brown eyes clearly telegraphed that what Molly said was true. "What is his place like, Isabella?"

  Molly snorted. "Forget his place, what's he like?"

  They both stared, waiting for her to give them a confirmation to all those "Wulf" headlines. "He's intelligent and serious and very patient."

  Molly grimaced, obviously not hearing what she wanted to hear. "Well, he's certainly gotten handsome over the years. I noticed that right off the day you two came into my shop. But his attitude's the same."

  Isabella bristled. "What are you talking about?"

  "He didn't want to fit in then and he sure doesn't want to fit in now."

  "That's not fair, Molly," Connie argued.

  Molly shrugged. "I call 'em like I see 'em."

  "He tried to fit in when he first came here," Isabella said, planting her fists on her hips. "And you all shut him out. Why should he be the one to bury a hatchet he never swung?"

  Connie looked down at her dustpan. "I was one of those kids that picked on him. And when your aunt couldn't take him in and he had to leave Fielding, I felt so bad about how I'd acted. But honestly, Isabella, I don't think he would even listen to an apology now, much less accept one." Her gaze lifted and so did her brow. "He doesn't need us anyway. He's rich and successful and probably has a ton of fashionable friends in New York and Los Angeles."


  "Well, he sure made friends with our little Isabella," Molly remarked, her lips curving into a Cheshire-cat grin. "And Emily, too. He watches her during the day, doesn't he?"

  Isabella lifted her chin. "Yes, he does."

  "That's very generous of him." Connie smiled at her, and Isabella appreciated her for it.

  "And who does he watch at night?" Molly asked, her eyes sparkling.

  Isabella's stomach clenched. Her friend's teasing was too close to home. "His computer, I imagine."

  "Seriously, though, it really doesn't worry you at all?" Molly asked. "That … well, that someone like that is taking care of Emily?"

  "Someone like what?" Isabella demanded.

  "You know, strange and a little frightening."

  Anger shot through Isabella's veins. White-hot anger. As much as she'd wanted to believe that the children of Fielding had grown into mature adults, her friend had just proved otherwise. She wasn't a bad person, just so uninformed. "Michael Wulf is an extraordinary man," she said, her tone ominous. "He has changed the world with his technology. I feel honored that he considers me a friend, and there is no one I trust more with my daughter."

  Molly blanched, her gaze shooting to the floor. "I'm sorry, Isabella. I didn't mean to offend you. You know me, I get started yapping and I can't stop."

  The fire in Isabella slowly abated. "It's all right."

  "I should get back to the store," Molly said, checking her watch before scurrying out the door, a trifle shamefaced. "I'll try and come over tomorrow to finish up the floor. Bye, all."

  Isabella shook her head at the floor that hadn't even been touched.

  Connie laughed. "She can be a pain in the butt sometimes, but she's relatively harmless. Unless you happen to eat one of her brown-sugar cookies, of course."

  Isabella laughed along with her. "Yeah, I remember." She regarded her friend. "You think I overreacted, don't you."

  Connie shrugged. "Maybe just a touch. But I have to say, if I ever need someone to defend me, I'm coming to you." Lifting a brow, she added, "So, does Michael have any idea that you're falling in love with him?"

  *

  The sound of splashing met Michael at the open bedroom door. He'd come to get the legal pad he'd left by the fireplace last night, but the sound diverted his attention. Bella was in the tub. His groin stirred at the vision of her naked and doused in suds. Driving a hand through his hair, he hoped to force that thought out. For God's sake, she'd just had a child two weeks ago. He shouldn't be having erotic thoughts about her. He shouldn't be having thoughts about her at all.