Free Baby on the Way by Lois Richer Page B

“I’m trying to paint the nursery and he insists I leave it to him. That man is so bossy.” She grinned. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t know what I’d do without him. At the moment I’ve got a splitting headache.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with having someone care about you, Caitlin,” Maryann murmured.
    “Yes, I know. It’s just that Jordan sort of bulldozes me into things. And I don’t even realize it until he’s left.” She frowned. “I’ve got an idea for that room and I intend to carry it out.”
    The doorbell rang then, cutting into their conversation.
    “That’s for me,” Maryann said. “Amy and I are going out.”
    “Oh.” Caitlin’s interest perked at the mention of Maryann’s daughter. “Going with anyone I know?”
    “Everybody seems to know everything around here,” Maryann chuckled as she tugged open the front door. “Come on in, Peter. I’ll just get Amy. Peter’s Amy’s skating coach for ringette.”
    “Okay. Hello, Mrs. Andrews.” Peter Bloomfield stepped into the hall, his smile white and gleaming.
    Caitlin nodded absently, wished him a good day and then turned back into her apartment. She closed the door carefully, her mind busy. Seconds later she had the phone next to her ear.
    “Clayton? Maryann and Amy are going out with Peter Bloomfield. I thought we agreed that you would ask her out. Dancing, you said.”
    The bachelor’s quiet tones rumbled down the phone line. “Oh. Yeah. Well, I tried. But I just couldn’t do it, Caitlin. Maybe after a few more practice sessions.”
    All that time she’d spent encouraging him and he still wasn’t sure? “All right, Clayton. If you’re certain?”
    “Yes. Yes, I am. Can I come over for lessons again?”
    “Yes, all right. Monday night. Bye, Clayton.” Caitlin hung up the phone with another sigh.
    “He’s coming over again? ” Jordan stood frowning at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s it for this time?”
    “He’s not quite confident yet. He feels he needs a few more sessions before he makes a move.”
    “What kind of sessions?” Jordan’s face was dark. “Are you counseling this guy or something, Lyn?”
    “No. If you must know, I’m trying to teach him to dance.” She held up a hand. “Please, Jordan, I can’t say any more. He made me promise, so don’t ask. Just make sure your mother doesn’t happen to drop over for coffee on Monday evening, okay?”
    Jordan didn’t say yes. But then he didn’t say no, either. He just stood there, glaring at her, before he turned and went back up the stairs.
    “Did you want something?” she called.
    “Yes,” she heard him mutter, his voice grumpy. “But I don’t think I’m going to get it.” Seconds later the nursery door slammed shut.
    Caitlin shrugged and walked out into her tiny kitchen. She watered the herbs that had started to sprout in the windowsill planter and realized her headache was easing.
    Some time out of that room was all she needed she told herself, ignoring the muscles that protested from the effort of too much unaccustomed reaching.
    Time out and some time away from Jordan Andrews was the best possible solution to her problems. Lately he had a way of looking at her that made her strangely nervous. A quiver would start in her tummy and zap to her brain, rendering her mental functions virtually useless.
    It was a schoolgirl reaction and she ordered herself to get over it. Jordan was handsome and kind and sweet. He’d help out anyone in her predicament. And, after all, she was his sister-in-law.
    At twelve she went to call him for the small lunch she had prepared. She found Jordan whistling as he rolled on the last few strokes.
    “You’re finished, already?” she said, amazed at the difference a paint job could make. The walls glowed smooth and creamy in their new coats of velvet gloss.
    “It’s not that big an area and the surface is in good shape.”
    “It should be. I paid a small fortune for a plasterer.”
    He avoided her