Think About Love by Vanessa Grant Page B

swallowed. "Two days before Christmas."
    He shoved a hand through his hair. "You came back from your holidays and I asked you if you'd enjoyed yourself. You said it was good to be back. Just that. Your sister died, and you returned to work as if nothing happened?"
    With the exception of last Christmas with Dorothy, Samantha hadn't cried in front of anyone since she was ten years old. Tears threatened now, but she mustn't cry in front of Cal.
    "Why didn't you tell me?"
    "I... I just didn't."
    He raked his hand through his hair again, then picked up his mug and took a big swallow. "So—so, this baby? You're looking after her while your grandmother's sick?"
    "Maybe permanently. My grandmother might be going into a nursing home."
    He took long seconds to consider that. "Is there some reason you can't look after the baby in Seattle?"
    "It depends on the judge."
    "The judge ?"
    "I'm applying for custody, but right now I can't take Kippy out of the country. The judge gave permission for me to look after her, but I'm being... supervised. I have to stay here."
    He looked as if he wanted to pace. She wished he'd leave.
    "Supervised?" he demanded. "By whom?"
    "The Ministry of Children and Families. A social worker. They've applied for custody; there's another hearing in two weeks. I need to stay until it's settled, until I have custody, and I have to prove I'm a good mother for Kippy. Cal, it's obvious I can't give you a hundred percent, at least for a while. It might be best if I resign."
    "Is that what you want?"
    "No, it's not what I want. I want to keep things together. Dorothy thinks the doctor is wrong with his diagnosis, and I want to believe that, but... I also want to believe I'm important enough to Tremaine's that we can work around this… this involuntary absence."
    He shook his head. Then he walked past her, to the front door, opened it, and stepped through.
    Was he going to drive away without a word?
    She followed him and found him on the veranda, staring at the grassy slope below the house. Bewildered, she watched as he jumped lightly down to the ground and walked away from the house, away from the car he'd rented.  
    She couldn't believe she'd offered to resign. She should have asked for an unpaid leave, but that wouldn't solve the mess he'd be in if she walked out for an unspecified time.  
    He had a business to think about, employees and clients depending on its smooth operation. Leaving might be necessary, but she needed to assure him that she'd never go without finding her own replacement.
    He came back a moment later.
    "I assume you have a baby-sitter lined up for tomorrow afternoon?"
    "Diane, a neighbor."
    "I'll pick you up here at twelve-thirty."
    "I can drive into town in my rental. It's crazy for you to take the ferry over and back."
    "There's room here for me to land the chopper." He jumped back up onto the veranda, and she backed two steps away from him before she stopped herself. "Twelve-thirty. You'll be ready?"
    "Yes."
    Then she watched him drive away, wondering what was going to happen tomorrow.  
    She'd intended to tell him on the phone, using her business voice. Instead she'd worn jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair hanging around her face like a child's. As she turned to go back into the house, she stubbed her toe on the old wicker chair.
    And bare feet! She hadn't even had her shoes on.

Chapter Five

    Cal parked the rental car in the lot across from the hotel and locked it.
    Because he knew he'd go nuts pacing the anonymous hotel room, he headed downhill and found himself exploring a deserted waterfront mall sporting a closed cappuccino bar, art gallery, and souvenir shop.
    He finally emerged on a concrete walk bordered by grassy slopes and strode north along the curve of the harbor. He couldn't see another soul, although he heard the muted sound of vehicles up on Front Street where he'd parked the car.
    Sam....
    He couldn't get over the memory of Sam, barefoot and rumpled, holding a baby in her arms.