She slipped her key into the door, unlocked it and stepped inside. “Hello,” she called. “I’m home.”At last,she thought with a sigh.
Ami could hear Nicholas squealing with delight even before Mrs. Perry rounded the corner into the entry hall, sixteen-month-old Nicholas toddling along beside her, his arms outstretched for his mommy. Ami didn’t feel whole until he was in her arms. She hugged him as tightly as she dared and inhaled the sweet baby scents of lotion and powder.
“He’s had his dinner and his bath,” Mrs. Perry reported as she did every day she cared for Nicholas. “I hope you had a nice day, Miss Donovan.”
Ami kept her pleasant smile in place in spite of a jab of irritation. She preferred to give Nicholas his bath. She’d told Mrs. Perry that time and again, to no avail. “It was fine, Mrs. Perry. And how were things here?”
“Oh, we had a marvelous day.”
The woman literally beamed, the sincerity of it banishing Ami’s irritation. How could she be angry with a woman who took such joy in caring for Nicholas? She and Robert were very fortunate to have found her. Most of the children on this street went to day-care centers—good ones, but centers nonetheless. Nicholas received one-on-one care from the grandmotherly type. A friend of Robert’s whose child had just entered elementary school had highly recommended her. Her other references had been impeccable, as well. She wasperfect.
“We took a stroll in the park,” Mrs. Perry continued. “We watchedSesame Street,then read Dr. Seuss until nap time.”
Ami adopted a wowed expression for her son. “My, my, young man.” She kissed his chubby cheek. “It sounds like you’ve had a full day. Do you have any fun left in you for Mommy?” His answering gurgle and chorus ofda-dawarmed her heart.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Mrs. Perry gathered her purse and all-weather jacket from the hall closet. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Donovan.”
“You, too. Thank you, Mrs. Perry.”
Ami waited until the older woman had settled into her car before she closed the door. She smiled at Nicholas who was engrossed with the ID badge pinned to her nurse’s smock. “How about another bath?”
Nicholas’s dark eyes brightened at the prospect. He grinned, a wide, gap-toothed gesture, then babbledda-daagain.
“Want to play in the water?” His eager bounce in her arms was all the encouragement she needed. “We just won’t tell, Mrs. Perry,” Ami whispered. “It’ll be our secret. And while we’re at it, let’s practicema-ma.”
LATER, Ami stood next to Nicholas’s crib and watched him sleep. She glanced at the Winnie the Pooh clock. Seven already and Robert still wasn’t home. He’d probably had a last-minute consultation that ran longer than he expected, or maybe an emergency at the hospital. Psychiatric patients were even more prone to full moon dementia, she supposed.
Her attention refocused on her sleeping child. She trailed a finger over one silky, rose-colored cheek. Her heart squeezed. She loved him so much. He was the only part of the real her. The one she couldn’t remember. Ami studied his features for a time. The thick, dark hair. The long, almost feminine lashes splayed against his olive skin. Those equally dark eyes, which were almost black.
“Where did you get those?” she murmured softly. Her own hair was a light brown with so many gold streaks that it looked more blond than brown. And her eyes were blue. Ami closed her eyes and tried to imagine a man with Nicholas’s features, but she could only call to mind the shadowy image that haunted her dreams far too often.
She sighed and peered down at her baby. “Doesn’t matter,” she answered herself. “You’re my son. No matter who your father was, you’re all mine now.”
By ten-thirty Ami had grown seriously worried. Robert always called when he was going to be this late.
She clicked off the television. The newscaster had reported this morning’s shooting as an assassination attempt on American Economic Advisor Frank Lowden. Mr. Olment had inadvertently stepped into the path of the bullet intended for Mr. Lowden. The images the cameras had captured made Ami shiver. Why did they have to show such graphic scenes on television? She frowned. Where was Robert?
Feeling more alone than she had in a very long time, she reached for the telephone to call his cellular number, but a sound downstairs stopped her. She held her breath and listened, her fingers still clutching the cordless receiver, an uncharacteristic hint of fear trickling through her. This was a secure neighborhood. She never worried about intruders.
The front door opened, then closed. She tensed, ready to dial 9-1-1. The sound of the dead bolt being set into place and the clink of keys hitting the hall table announced that Robert was home.
Ami exhaled the breath she’d been holding and dropped the receiver back into its cradle. The familiar rhythm of Robert’s footfalls on the stairs chased away any lingering anxiety. She shook her head at how foolishly she was behaving. What was wrong with her tonight?
The episode with Mr. Olment in the ER, she admitted. It had shaken her far too deeply. She turned on her bedside lamp and sat up. Discussing her feelings with Robert never failed to help. He would be able to explain everything. He always did. He was her knight in tailored Armani.
“You’re still up,” he commented, surprise as well as concern marring his handsome brow as he strode through the door. He draped his suit jacket over the nearest chair and tugged at his tie, his expectant gaze searching hers.
“I was worried.” She clasped her arms around her bent legs, propped her chin on her knees and waited for him to realize he hadn’t called.
A frown pulled his lips downward. “Why would—?” He swore, something he rarely did. “I didn’t call,” he realized out loud. He sat on the edge of the bed, next to her, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I am so sorry, baby. It was an emergency meeting of the board. They’re stressing over that lawsuit against Jacobs. I didn’t have time to think of anything else. I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
She kissed his nose. “Forgiven.” Then she fixed him with a firm look. “But don’t ever do it again.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Shall I make it up to you tonight?” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “It might be late, but I’m not that tired.”
She studied his teasing gray eyes, worry twisting unreasonably in her stomach. She did care so for this man. She just wasn’t quite sure that what she felt was love, which was why she still hadn’t agreed to become Mrs. Robert Allen. But she did care deeply for him. “Maybe,” she offered in an attempt to hang on to the playful moment a little bit longer. “But first we have to talk.”
He arched a skeptical brow. “Talk?” He stood and pulled his shirt from his slacks, then began to unbutton it. “This sounds serious. Did Josh Cowden leave his bicycle in the driveway again?”
