Emma shut the screen quietly. “Fine. Sleeping at the moment.”
He nodded, glanced at the blank wall opposite the couch. “Why did you get rid of the piano?”
Emma frowned. “How do you know I had a piano?”
He walked over to the spot where her upright had stood for three years. He brushed a leather boot over the permanent indentations the heavy instrument had made in her taupe-colored carpet. “I noticed the marks on the rug earlier. Why, Emma?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve already come to your own conclusion.”
“You needed the money.”
“I had other payments that were more important,” she corrected.
“How long have you played?”
“The piano?” Not long enough. “Since I was thirteen.” She’d been caught sneaking into the church back in Dooley, Tennessee. But instead of hauling her back to her mother with a few strong words, Reverend Harold Chandler had decided Emma could use the piano twice a week in the afternoons after school. They couldn’t afford lessons, but Emma had used the music books at the church, and by the time she’d graduated from high school, she’d taught herself enough to earn a modest music scholarship.
She owed a lot to Reverend Chandler.
“I envy you,” he said.
She lifted her eyebrows. “Whatever for?”
He shrugged. “I took piano lessons when I was sixteen. Never did get the hang of it. I could play the notes, I guess. Just not…the music.”
Oh, she really didn’t want to hear anything like that from this man. It bespoke a sensitivity in him she didn’t want to acknowledge. It was easier, safer, casting him as the rich man intent on doing a business deal no matter what.
After all, it wasn’t as if her one foray into the man-woman arena had been a terrific success. Her judgment had been faulty, her sensibility nonexistent.
Emma nibbled the inside of her lip and sat down on the couch. “Isn’t it a workday, Kyle? Shouldn’t you be out running your business rather than discussing the finer aspects of being a musician?”
“That’s what I like about you, Emma. You get right to the point.”
“Which is?”
He sat down on the other end of the couch and stretched his arm along the back. His jacket gaped, exposing more of the shirt he wore beneath.
Emma turned her eyes from the sight of his strong brown throat rising from the open collar.
“This is business for me, Emma. You know that.” He looked toward the bassinet situated near the table, presenting Emma with his profile.
It was as perfect as the rest of him. All sharp angles and utterly masculine.
“I was invited to Payton Cummings’s dinner party on Sunday evening. I’ve told him I can’t join them because I’ve other commitments. Family commitments. I’d prefer to back up that statement with some semblance of truth.”
His fingertips were inches from her shoulder and she shifted, putting more distance between them. “You’ve said you have sisters. Make plans with them. It’s less of a lie than using Chandler and me.”
Kyle shook his head. “Tell me what you need in life, Emma Valentine, and I’ll do my damnedest to make it so, if you’ll just help me with this. Forget about this buying notion you’ve got in your head and look at it as one favor for another.”
“I need my son,” she said, exasperated, “but I need no favors from you or any other man.” She pushed to her feet, pacing to the bassinet and back again.
“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” Kyle’s gaze followed her. “The jerk who was stupid enough to leave you alone and pregnant.”
“You know nothing about it.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “No, I don’t. It’s your business entirely. But I can protect you from him.”
Emma swallowed. Little did he know she didn’t need protection from anyone, least of all the St. James family. They wanted nothing to do with her. Had ensured it. And she didn’t need Kyle Montgomery coming in here, smelling like a dream, reminding her how foolish she’d been.
Kyle rose and stepped close to her, bringing with him his addictive scent. He touched her chin with his finger. “I can protect Chandler.”
There was no wheedling in his voice. Only the simple utterly confident assurance of a man who’d been around long enough to know his abilities. One who’d been around enough to pinpoint the one thing that would penetrate her defenses.
“Come on, Emma. Help me.”
She hesitated. He was so close she could see the darker rim of green around his irises. “Kyle, I—”
“Yoo-hoo, anybody up there?” Footsteps pounded up the stairs outside and Emma blinked, stepping back. She cleared her throat and crossed to the screen door, looking out to see Millie Johnson, her boss at the diner, coming up. “I’ve brought food,” she said when she saw Emma. She lifted the cardboard box that was filled to the brim with foam containers and foil-wrapped packages. “It’ll last you a few days, and then I’ll replace it with more while I try to talk you into taking more than two weeks off with the baby. You need six weeks, and that’s that.”
Emma just shook her head. Her boss, her friend, had a heart wider than the Colorado sky. “Come on in, Millie. I’m not sure where I’ll put the food, though. Penny’s been keeping the fridge stocked, too.” She smiled wryly. “Apparently my friends think I’m in danger of starving to death on my own.”
“Oh, shush.” Millie brushed past her, stopping in surprise at the sight of a man inside. She recovered quickly, though, introducing herself as she strode across to the small kitchen.
Kyle raked his fingers through his hair, squelching an impatient sigh at this latest interruption. He’d been reaching her, dammit. He knew it. He’d seen it in her chocolate-brown eyes. He slid a business card from the inner pocket on his jacket and handed it to Emma. “I can be reached anytime, anywhere, at that number,” he said softly. “But I need an answer soon.”
She hesitated, obviously indecisive. But then she reached for the card, her slender fingers carefully avoiding his longer darker ones as she took it from him. “I gave you my answer yesterday.”
“Think about it,” Kyle suggested. “I’ll be in touch if I don’t hear from you.”
“A threat?”
Her sarcasm didn’t faze him. “I have no reason to threaten you, Emma. We can be on the same side. You’re completely safe from me.” He was making the promise to her as much as to himself, he realized. When she looked up at him with her wide wary eyes, he was reminded of fairy-tale heroines.
Disgusted with the direction of his thoughts, he strode to the door. He’d given up on fairy tales when he was seven. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Emma.” He left then, carrying the image of her studying his card with a sober expression on her lovely unadorned face.
After Millie’s brief visit, Emma fixed some lunch for herself and freshened the water for the flowers. Then Chandler awakened and she gathered her courage to give him his first bath. It was a rousing success, and as soon as she finished slipping his wriggling little arms and legs into his lightweight romper, he sighed with his whole little self and went to sleep, perfect as an angel.
Emma sat watching him for long minutes, nearly sitting on her hands to keep from touching him, from disturbing him simply because she wanted to feel his warmth. “My little man,” she whispered, then began humming under her breath. Her fingers automatically moved with the music that was vivid and brilliant in her mind,