Cradle and All by M. J. Rodgers Page A

watched the Porsche’s headlights in her rearview mirror. She was a jumble of unwanted emotions. She was angry with Tom for pulling her out of the restaurant. And disappointed with herself for going. And worried at how good it felt to see him again.
    She didn’t know how she was going to handle this private conversation he seemed determined to have with her. She wanted so badly to be indifferent to him. But she wasn’t indifferent.
    Every time she had tried to concentrate on reading or gardening that day, images of him had crept in to steal away her thoughts. The shape of his mouth, his smile, the blue of his eyes, the deep timbre of his voice, the way he walked with such sinuous grace. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but him.
    Smart women did not make stupid mistakes about men. And damn it, she was a smart woman. It was time she started acting like one.
    She pulled into her garage and turned off the engine. She was just about to open the driver’s door when Tom appeared beside the car and opened it for her. Looking up at him, she wondered how he’d had time to park his car and make it here so quickly.
    Tom held out his hand to her once again. This time, however, she didn’t take it. She was going to keep her distance from this guy if it was the last thing she did. She got out of the car by herself and led the way into the house.
    Anne entered her kitchen, knowing Tom was just behind her. She dropped her shoulder bag and keys on the counter and headed for the living room, the most formal space in her home. She switched on a table lamp and rested her arm across the white marble mantel over the fireplace. It was her intention to keep this conversation short. She waited for him to begin.
    He stood in the middle of the room. His eyes roamed over the gleaming green marble floor, the profusion of healthy houseplants that adorned the windowsills and wicker planters, the light green and gold cushions of the softly tailored furniture, the bright splashes of colorful tulips in the paintings on the walls.
    Tom’s resulting smile was one of appreciation. “It’s warm and bright and very much you.”
    Anne didn’t want to be pleased with his approval of her home or her, but she was.
    His eyes searched hers. “Why did you leave so abruptly this morning?”
    Careful to project nothing but an impersonal tone, she replied, “I said goodbye.”
    “You walked up to the B and B, got in your car and just drove off,” Tom said. “Maureen told me you didn’t even come inside, but called her from your cell phone to ask her to pack up your things and hold your bags.”
    “I don’t see why it’s any of your—”
    “Anne, what’s wrong?”
    Tom’s normally calm features were creased with concern. His hands, usually relaxed by his sides, were rustling against his jeans. There was a palpable tension in him that Anne had never seen before. She felt the pressure in the room building, and it took an effort of will to remain calm.
    “Tommy’s fine now. You don’t need me.”
    He took a step toward her, his eyes like blue lasers, boring into her. “That’s not why you left.”
    Anne felt the mantel at her back. She had the overwhelming sense of being trapped. Not just physically, but emotionally. She needed to vent. And she needed to know.
    “Why were you pressuring Lindy to give up your child?” she asked.
    Tom stared at her, confusion in his eyes. When it cleared, he took another step toward her. “You found the note from Lindy this morning. And you left because the message in it hurt you.”
    Oh, no. He was not going to get her to admit that. Anne knew she couldn’t let him see how much her disappointment in him had hurt her.
    Once men knew you cared, they did their worst damage.
    “You told me a baby belonged with its mother, remember?” Anne challenged.
    “I remember.”
    “But you didn’t mean it. You didn’t want Lindy to keep Tommy.”
    “You don’t understand.”
    “You told me she was a good