As soon as they were alone, Jonathon asked, “You sure you don’t want to head back to the hotel?”
“I’ve stayed in worse,” she said, her tone determinedly cheerful as she lay Peyton down on the bed and started to change her clothes.
He arched a brow. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I took a year off college to backpack around Europe.” She dug through the suitcase and pulled out the pink footie pajamas Peyton liked. “I’ve even stayed worse places on FMJ’s dime.”
“I doubt that.”
“Then you’ve obviously forgotten that hotel in Tokyo.” With Peyton sitting on her lap, she began the complicated wiggle-and-giggle of dressing a squirming child. “The rooms were the size of shower stalls and the beds were too short even for me.”
“I must have blocked it out.”
“Yeah. I bet.” She chuckled as she rolled Peyton onto her back to work on the snaps, leaning down to give the baby a raspberry on the belly. Peyton let out a sleepy squeal, kicking her arms and legs. Wendy zipped the pj’s up and patted Peyton on the belly.
It was an action so intrinsically mothering it made his breath catch in his throat. He knew in that instant that she was going to be okay. She and Peyton may have gotten off to a rough start, but they were going to be just fine. With or without him. He knew something else as well. He should tell her the truth about her uncle. Tell her what Mema really wanted.
It was such a simple solution. And if he told her, she wouldn’t need him anymore.
She looked up to find him studying them and she frowned. “What?”
He gave his head a little shake. “Nothing. You’re just getting good at that.”
“Yep, that’s me. Nearly a month of mothering under my belt and I’ve mastered the art of zerbert delivery.”
“No. I mean it. You’re going to be a good mother.”
Despite the compliment, her frown deepened. She sat cross-legged on the center of the bed, her expression pensive as she picked up Peyton and set her on her knee.
The air between them was thick with all the things that had gone unsaid, but before he could say anything, she hobbled up, setting Peyton on her hip.
“Peyton and I are good here.” She snagged the bottle she’d prepared earlier and gave it waggle. “We’re all set. Maybe you should go hang out with your family for a while. While I get her to sleep, I mean.”
“No. I—”
“I insist.” She gave his shoulder a gentle shove. Then for effect, she rubbed her finger along her brow as if she was warding off a headache. “This weekend has been really hard on me. I just want a few minutes alone with Peyton.”
He saw right through the ruse, but he didn’t call her on it. Maybe she needed time alone. Maybe she just needed time away from him.
He left the room, all too aware that he hadn’t told her about her uncle. Nor had he mentioned that she probably didn’t need to stay married to him in order to keep Peyton. He hadn’t told her yet. And he wasn’t going to.
Seventeen
Wendy had no more answers when she woke up than when she’d fallen asleep. And to make matters worse—after more than a week of waking at the crack of dawn and hightailing it out of the room, this was the morning Jonathon decided to sleep in. So she woke to find herself draped across his body, her head resting on his chest, her left knee nestled against the hard length of his erection.
There was a moment when she didn’t quite remember where she was. When all her sleep brain could process was the unbelievable feeling of total contentment.
That moment passed in a flash the instant she felt him move. She shot off the bed.
Or rather rolled to the edge, only to feel the bed give way beneath her weight. She sank to the floor and tried to stand, but the bunk beds were in the way. She clung to the upper bed’s railing, the lower bed bumping her legs as she inched her way to a spot of open floor space.
“Morning,” Jonathon muttered.
She stilled, then looked over her shoulder. He was awake, watching her awkward progress. “Um, hey.” His gaze dropped to her bottom. Suddenly aware of the cool air on the cheeks of her buttocks, she gave the hem of her boxers a tug. “Good morning.”
He just smiled, looking awfully smug. The jerk.
She finally reached the foot of the bed where there was about a four-inch gap between it and the wall. She shuffled around until she reached the dresser.
“I’m just going to—”
She didn’t even finish the sentence. She just grabbed her clothes and ran for it.
Ten minutes later, out of her skimpy pajamas, clothed in as many layers as she could scrounge and determined to buy a pair of long johns to sleep in from now on, she made her way to the kitchen and the divine scent of freshly brewing coffee.