The Late Bloomer's Baby

She sighed heavily. “All right.”

“I need a pen.” Ethan had a pen, but he hoped this latest ploy would get him past the door.

“Just a minute.” When Isabel shut the door in his face, Ethan realized she intended to find a pen and bring it out. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. When he heard murmurs overhead, he realized that Callie and the kids must be hiding in Isabel’s attic storeroom.

That was fine. Strange, but fine. They wouldn’t stay up there long. Callie wouldn’t want the children to be frightened in the dark, stuffy space.

As he waited for Isabel, Ethan wandered into the living room. It was devoid of furniture, the carpeting had been stripped and the walls showed a dingy line of discoloration from the water. The wet wallboard would need to be replaced. The insulation, too.

When Isabel returned, she acted surprised to discover him inside. “Oh! Ethan, you’re in here,” she said in a loud voice that bounced off the bare walls.

He’d been announced, and he didn’t care. He frowned at Isabel and waved a hand at the room’s mess. “I’m sorry about all this, Izzy.”

“It’s hard to look at, isn’t it? Anything below three feet was ruined by the water, including every single thing in the basement. Mom’s old textbooks, the boxes of Christmas things.” She smiled sadly. “Remember that old cedar chest?”

Yes, he did. Ella had refused to tell Callie and her sisters about the old piece, so they believed it had belonged to their father. “Sure I do,” he said.

Isabel shrugged. “It came unglued. The pieces floated everywhere.”

Ethan took her hand briefly, offering a consoling squeeze. “Save the pieces,” he said. “It could probably be repaired.”

She offered him the pen. “Maybe.”

As he wrote, he asked, “What are you working on now?”

Isabel sighed. “We’re ready to tear out the wallboard and hire a crew to replace it.”

At least she was on the right track. “You have people helping you, then?”

“I have plenty of help.”

Isabel shot a glance at the ceiling, and Ethan knew Callie was behind her odd behavior. The Blume sisters stuck together no matter what. If he wanted to talk to Callie, he was going to have to entice her from the attic. Isabel wasn’t likely to help.

Ethan ripped out the check and handed it to Callie’s sister. “Excuse me, Izzy,” he said, moving into the hallway.

“Callie, come down,” he shouted toward the ceiling. “I know you’re in the attic and I’m not leaving until we talk.”

Silence. He returned his attention to the blushing Isabel, then crossed the hall to stare up the narrow stairway. “Callie, you’re being ridiculous.”

Silence. He rested a foot on the bottom step. “I can climb the confounded stairs, Cal.”

He heard the hiss of whispering voices, then the girl and boy came down, followed by Callie with the baby. She stopped at the bottom of the steps, ignoring Ethan and bouncing the little boy in her arms as if she was soothing him.

But the baby was already chortling. While Callie scowled.

Hoping to distract her, he gave the little boy a huge smile that prompted one in response. “Cute kid,” he said.

Callie’s eyes widened, then she glanced at the baby’s face and nodded.

Ethan sighed. He couldn’t talk to Callie if they spent the day admiring some baby.

“May I?” When he reached out to take the little boy, Callie held on tight.

“Aw, come on,” Ethan said, smiling at Isabel. “Would your boyfriend mind if I held the little tyke for a minute?”

“I doubt it.” Isabel shot a worried glance at Callie. “It’s okay,” she said, lifting her brows. “Ethan can hold the baby.”

Gray eyes turbulent, Callie handed the kid across.

Ethan talked softly to the baby as he crossed the room with Callie on his heels. He handed the little boy to Isabel, then whipped around and grabbed Callie’s wrist. “Let’s go somewhere to talk.”

She yanked her arm free, then turned around and walked out the front door.

After Ethan had followed his furious, sputtering wife out to the porch, he realized that her thin cotton T-shirt would do little to protect her from the chill.

She’d always been absentminded about dressing for the weather. He’d always enjoyed taking care of her. “Don’t you have a jacket?” he asked.

“No.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Let’s make this quick. I’m freezing.”

He was tempted to offer her his shirt, even if that meant going bare-chested. Undressing in front of her might be a problem, though. If she looked at him in a certain way, he might wonder what she was thinking. Hell, he might hope she was thinking about sex. Seeing her in his shirt might not help, either. She’d worn his shirts after sex when they were together. Sometimes during sex.

He had to keep his mind on his goal—which was to tell her about the divorce.

He couldn’t do that yet.

He’d thought he could greet Callie and her sisters as if they were no more than old friends, but reality had reminded him of some complicated feelings—protectiveness, desire, affection.

Rather than callously dropping his news, he wanted to let her get used to seeing him again. Apparently, he could use a little adjustment time himself.

He would tell her, though. Very soon.

Right now, he wanted to find out why she’d insisted on coming here to Isabel’s house with him when she was so set on avoiding him. “What’s going on, Callie?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want me here at all, do you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She glared at him. “We shouldn’t be around each other at all. Not even to talk privately.”

“We’re still married, Cal. Why not talk?”

“We have a certificate. We’re not exactly married,” she said. “You walked out on me, remember?”

Okay, that was true. But they were still married. Their strange situation had entered his thoughts at odd times over the past two years, causing near panic. He wasn’t the type to leave things undone.