Free The Phoenix Encounter by Linda Castillo Page B

face. He was a split second away from pulling out the revolver Jacques had given him when his sleep-dazed mind pinpointed the source.
    Jack.
    Opening one eye, he found himself staring into a pudgy face with petal-soft skin, thick hair that was sticking up at the crown and blue eyes filled with the kind of deep innocence that belonged only to the very young. Eye to eye, Robert blinked at the child, trying hard not to think of the dream he’d been having about his mother. A dream that had been anything but innocent.
    Jack stood before him on wobbly legs, wearing blue duck pajamas, Rebelian slippers and an ornery grin. He had what looked like flour on his chin. Something pink and sticky was smeared around his bow mouth.
    â€œGah!” Flour-covered fingers reached out, prodding Robert’s nose. Tugging on his ear. His lips.
    Not quite sure how to escape short of jumping up andrunning out the rear door, Robert endured the contact. He’d never had an aversion to children. Hell, he liked kids—as long as he could walk away at the end of the day.
    â€œGah!”
    â€œMorning to you, too,” he said as he sat up.
    The little room didn’t look quite so dank this morning. Sunshine streamed in through the window above the sink. A breeze ruffled bright yellow curtains. He could hear music coming from somewhere else in the house. Good old-fashioned American rock and roll, if he wasn’t mistaken. The sound of it boosted his spirits almost as much as the smell of something baking, filling the air with cinnamon and spice.
    Little Jack stretched his arms upward and reached for Robert’s face again, but Robert turned his head. “Where’s your mommy, tough guy?” Licking his lips, he tasted strawberry jelly. Terrific.
    Lily came through the door a moment later looking like a harried mother. A wooden spoon in one hand, a towel in the other, she spotted Jack and shot Robert an apologetic smile. “Sorry. He’s fast,” she said, scooping the baby into her arms.
    Robert sat on the cot and stared at her, speechless and a little stunned that anyone could look so damn good so damn early in the morning. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans with an oversize sweatshirt and a turtleneck beneath it. She had flour on her cheek and a powdery little handprint on her backside. A very nicely shaped backside, at that. She’d pulled her wavy red hair into a ponytail, but several strands had fought free to curl around her face. Robert thought about the dream he’d been having about her and wondered how Jacques would feel if he knew the American staying in his house was ogling the mother of his child in very inappropriate ways.
    â€œWe didn’t mean to wake you so early,” she said. “Jack’s an early riser.”
    â€œIt’s okay. We were just, uh, getting acquainted,” Robert said.
    Jack squirmed in her arms, stretching his arms toward Robert. “Gah!”
    Glancing at her son, Lily chuckled. “I think he likes you.”
    Robert glanced at the squirming baby, relieved that she had a good grip on him. “I have that effect on babies.”
    Pressing a quick kiss to a fat cheek, she hefted her son and turned toward the adjoining kitchen. At the door, she stopped and looked at Robert over her shoulder. “Would you like something to eat?”
    â€œWhatever you’re having will be fine,” he said, careful to keep the threadbare blanket in his lap or else betray the state in which the dream had left him.
    â€œOatmeal okay?”
    â€œFine.”
    One side of her mouth curved upward. “You have flour on your chin.”
    He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Something smells good.”
    â€œI’m making bread. An old Rebelian recipe with cinnamon and yeast.”
    â€œSounds good.”
    â€œThey are.”
    â€œMind if I use your shower?”
    â€œSure. Down the hall. On the right. I left a towel for you on the vanity.