Emily folded her arms across her waist. “Have you been well?”
“As well as can be expected.”
She cocked her head. “What does that mean?”
He ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair, which needed a trim. “Nothing.” He glanced over her shoulder. “It’s slow tonight.”
“Yes. Sit at my table. I’ll bring your food. It’s fried chicken. Your favorite.”
Damn, he wished she wouldn’t do that—keep track of him, try to please him. It made resisting her all the harder. He took a seat at the table she indicated. Max, who was a recovering alcoholic and on unemployment, nodded. “How’s it goin’, Ben?”
“Just fine. You?”
“Twenty weeks and countin’.” The man sipped his coffee.
Ben gave him the thumbs-up.
Across from Max was Lorena. Every week she sat in the same chair and spoke to no one but Emily. She wore hats no matter what the weather and covered herself, albeit in tattered clothes, from head to foot. She also stowed most of her food in plastic bags, odd containers and napkins. He nodded to her, but she looked away. The only others at the table were a family of five he’d seen here occasionally, but didn’t know personally. The man—the father?—had gone to get some giveaways, and the woman was frantically trying to seat her three children. “Here, let me help.” Ben hefted one of the toddlers, who appeared to be about two. “What’s his name?”
“Mohammed,” the woman told him in accented English. Ben guessed they were one of the many refugee families who frequented Cassidy Place. “And this is Anwar and Tidi.” The youngest curled into her chest, secured by a long scarf. The woman herself was dressed in matching colorful robes.
Ben seated the boy, who began to bang on the tray.
“Thank you.” The woman’s smile was weary.
The father returned carrying a plastic bag. Periodically, when the soup kitchen had extra, vegetables and bread were set out for the guests on a long table. When Ben had been in charge, if there had been no donations for a week, he’d supplied them out of his own pocket.
“I was able to obtain bread and carrots and lettuce,” the man said.
His wife sighed. Most people had no idea what it was like to live hand to mouth, Ben thought. Many of the impoverished would work but couldn’t find jobs. Ben hadn’t known any of this, not really, until he’d experienced his own downslide. His heart went out to them.
The meal was served and Ben tried hard not to watch Emily, but his gaze kept tracking her as she glided over the floor like the dancer that she was. He wondered what she did for a living—not dance, he knew that. Did she like her job? Who were her friends? Did she have a guy in her life?
When she brought his meal, her arm brushed against him and he felt it all the way to his toes. “Thanks,” he muttered hoarsely.
She placed plates in front of the family and asked what to do with Mohammed’s dinner. “Set it here,” the mother said. “I’ll feed him first.”
“No need.” Emily pulled up a chair. “I’ve got a few minutes.”
The boy looked up at her. He babbled something in his native language. “Hungry, aren’t you, little guy?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ben could see her cut the boy’s food. She fed him some chicken and let him spoon up his own mashed potatoes. The few minutes she spent with the child gave the mother an opportunity to eat. When the second boy, Anwar, started to whine, Ben leaned over. “What do you need, buddy?”
He pointed to his milk.
The mother tried to adjust the baby in the front makeshift knapsack. “Wait for a minute, Ani.”
“I’ll get it.” Ben helped the four-year-old sip. Over the child’s head, he caught Emily’s gaze. The approval there warmed him. He smiled, genuinely, without holding back. Her eyes darkened and she focused on his mouth.
He glanced away, affected by that look. So when he finished his dessert, he decided to head out. He preferred to wait until the evening was over to help close up, but he needed to get away from Emily. Unfortunately, she caught his arm when he was halfway to the door.
“Leaving already?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you’d stay. Talk a while.”
“I told you two weeks ago that kind of thing wasn’t a good idea.”
Her cute little chin tilted. “Says you.”
“Yep. Says me. Night, ma’am.”
On his way out, he heard some rustling in the alcove where the dog was resting. Lady was up, pacing. Ben frowned. “Hey, girl, you all right?” As he petted her head, he noticed she was shivering. Uh-oh. On the other side of the room, Ben saw Emily at the counter and motioned her over.
She hurried to him. “What’s going on?”
He nodded down to the dog, who’d begun to pant. “I think you’re about to become a grandmother.”
“Oh, dear. It’s too early. What should I do?”
“Hopefully, we won’t have to do anything. But find some newspapers.” He rolled up his sleeves. “It’s okay, girl, I’m here. And I’ve done this before.”
EMILY STRETCHED OUT on her couch in the great room of her house and watched Lady feed her five puppies in a nest set up for them by the fireplace. Exhausted, she yawned. She knew she should take a nap, but she didn’t want to leave them just yet. What a night! It had taken five hours for the pups to make their debut. And there had been complications. Thankfully Ben was there. He’d had to tug one puppy out and clean two from their sacs. She knew from what she’d read they could have died without his help.
Alice had stayed, too, and they’d loaded Lady and her pups into Emily’s car at about 3:00 a.m.
Before she’d left, Emily had stood by her Taurus in the parking lot with Ben. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked truly happy.
“I’m glad I was here.” He leaned against the side of the car, a genuine smile on his face. “It’s a thrill, isn’t it, to see new life into the world?”
“Yes.” They shared that bond now. “I wish you’d take one of the puppies when they’re weaned.”
“I’d like nothing better. But my situation precludes that.” There was that extensive vocabulary again.
Apparently riding high from adrenaline, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Take good care of them.”
Before she thought better about it, she stood on tiptoes and slid her arms around his neck. He stilled for a minute, then his arms encircled her waist and he drew her closer. He was all muscle and steely strength. His lips brushed her hair. “You’d better go.”
She stepped back.
“Good night,” he’d said and walked away into the darkness….
Sighing, Emily curled up on her side. The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed ten times, but still, she stayed where she was, fascinated by the pups burrowing into their mother, snoozing, stretching. The doorbell intruded on the moment. Reluctantly she got off the couch, crossed to the foyer, checked through the window and opened the door. “Hi, Dad.”
“Well, you don’t look sick.” He looked worried.
“I told Donna I wasn’t when I called in. Just that I’d been up all night.”