Read Online His Ordinary Life by Linda Winfree - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Winfree
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Daddy,” Lyssa called, her voice exuberant.
“Good night,” Anna echoed.
He found the living room empty. A pillow and a folded blanket rested on the end of the couch. Barbara’s bedroom door remained closed. He made a quick circuit through the house, checking locks on the doors and windows. Finally, he settled on the other end of the couch and picked up the remote, flipping to the twenty-four-hour news channel. Just a night like any other in his life now.
Except he was surrounded by everything he wanted and couldn’t have.
* * *
Barbara awoke, her senses in a state of unnatural alertness. She’d fallen asleep with the light on, a set of ungraded papers scattered across the foot of the bed. With a glance at the bedside clock, she sat up, listening for whatever had wakened her.
The hallway floorboards creaked.
Blake. Surely he wouldn’t. Anger flooded her and she stood, shoving her feet into her pink slippers. She flung her door open and stalked through the dark living room. Oh, having Del in the house really worked. The very next night and Blake was sneaking out again.
Red light danced in the hallway, thanks to Blake’s lava lamp. A dark figure hovered by his bedroom door. “What do you think you’re doing?” Barbara slapped the light switch and flooded the hall with brightness.
Del recoiled, squinting. He lifted a finger to his lips and reached to turn the light off again. “Not so loud.”
Her heart pounded with reaction and lingering anger, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, my Lord. You scared me. What are you doing ?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Del gestured toward Blake’s room. “I was checking on him. He was talking in his sleep.”
A note of indulgent affection had invaded his voice and a reluctant smile tugged at Barbara’s lips. Even as a young child, Blake had talked in his sleep, wild imaginative sentences that he never remembered the next morning. “Is he all right?”
“Fine.”
She moved to the door to see for herself. Blake lay sprawled on his stomach, covers in disarray. She stepped back, keeping her gaze on their son and not on the strong calves and thighs exposed by Del’s shorts, visible even in the dim red glow. She smoothed her bangs from her face.
“We’ve done this before,” Del said, so close she could smell the mint of his toothpaste. “Remember? When he was a baby.”
“I would wake up and you’d be standing over him, watching him.”
His sigh caressed her temple. “Kathleen Palmer’s baby had just died of SIDS. I was afraid he’d stop breathing.”
With his warmth and their memories wrapping around her, she found his gaze intent on her face. He glanced down, smiling. “Nice slippers.”
She curled her toes with their painted nails. “The girls gave them to me.”
He rested a hand against the doorjamb, still peering down at her, his eyes suddenly alight. She knew that look. She’d seen it often enough, on those nights when she’d found him standing over the crib and pulled him back to bed. Other nights when he’d come home late and checked in on the children before he did anything else. That look turned her stomach upside down and started a dull pulsing between her thighs. She resisted the urge to press her legs together.
She edged backward. “Well, I’m going back to bed.”
His eyes flared and he stepped forward. “Barb, wait.”
“It’s late. We should—” She put out her hands to stop him. The warmth of his chest seared her palms.
He gripped her arms lightly, thumbs rubbing over her bare shoulders. She couldn’t pull her gaze from those dark, burning eyes, couldn’t get away from the wanting threatening to engulf her. They were alone in the deepest hours of the night and she wanted nothing more than to pull him off to bed just once more.
He moved one hand up over her shoulder, long fingers caressing the hollow at the base of her throat. He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. Her lips parted.
Del
“Good night,” Anna echoed.
He found the living room empty. A pillow and a folded blanket rested on the end of the couch. Barbara’s bedroom door remained closed. He made a quick circuit through the house, checking locks on the doors and windows. Finally, he settled on the other end of the couch and picked up the remote, flipping to the twenty-four-hour news channel. Just a night like any other in his life now.
Except he was surrounded by everything he wanted and couldn’t have.
* * *
Barbara awoke, her senses in a state of unnatural alertness. She’d fallen asleep with the light on, a set of ungraded papers scattered across the foot of the bed. With a glance at the bedside clock, she sat up, listening for whatever had wakened her.
The hallway floorboards creaked.
Blake. Surely he wouldn’t. Anger flooded her and she stood, shoving her feet into her pink slippers. She flung her door open and stalked through the dark living room. Oh, having Del in the house really worked. The very next night and Blake was sneaking out again.
Red light danced in the hallway, thanks to Blake’s lava lamp. A dark figure hovered by his bedroom door. “What do you think you’re doing?” Barbara slapped the light switch and flooded the hall with brightness.
Del recoiled, squinting. He lifted a finger to his lips and reached to turn the light off again. “Not so loud.”
Her heart pounded with reaction and lingering anger, and she pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, my Lord. You scared me. What are you doing ?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Del gestured toward Blake’s room. “I was checking on him. He was talking in his sleep.”
A note of indulgent affection had invaded his voice and a reluctant smile tugged at Barbara’s lips. Even as a young child, Blake had talked in his sleep, wild imaginative sentences that he never remembered the next morning. “Is he all right?”
“Fine.”
She moved to the door to see for herself. Blake lay sprawled on his stomach, covers in disarray. She stepped back, keeping her gaze on their son and not on the strong calves and thighs exposed by Del’s shorts, visible even in the dim red glow. She smoothed her bangs from her face.
“We’ve done this before,” Del said, so close she could smell the mint of his toothpaste. “Remember? When he was a baby.”
“I would wake up and you’d be standing over him, watching him.”
His sigh caressed her temple. “Kathleen Palmer’s baby had just died of SIDS. I was afraid he’d stop breathing.”
With his warmth and their memories wrapping around her, she found his gaze intent on her face. He glanced down, smiling. “Nice slippers.”
She curled her toes with their painted nails. “The girls gave them to me.”
He rested a hand against the doorjamb, still peering down at her, his eyes suddenly alight. She knew that look. She’d seen it often enough, on those nights when she’d found him standing over the crib and pulled him back to bed. Other nights when he’d come home late and checked in on the children before he did anything else. That look turned her stomach upside down and started a dull pulsing between her thighs. She resisted the urge to press her legs together.
She edged backward. “Well, I’m going back to bed.”
His eyes flared and he stepped forward. “Barb, wait.”
“It’s late. We should—” She put out her hands to stop him. The warmth of his chest seared her palms.
He gripped her arms lightly, thumbs rubbing over her bare shoulders. She couldn’t pull her gaze from those dark, burning eyes, couldn’t get away from the wanting threatening to engulf her. They were alone in the deepest hours of the night and she wanted nothing more than to pull him off to bed just once more.
He moved one hand up over her shoulder, long fingers caressing the hollow at the base of her throat. He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. Her lips parted.
Del
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