Free Jake's child by Lindsay Longford Page B

you."
    When he stepped up again, Sarah backed away from the implied threat and turned, reluctant now to ascend the stairs. Why did she feel this need to see Nicholas? She was out of control. No wonder Jake treated her like a threat. She was, but not to Nicholas, only to herself.
    Her son had had no telltale birthmarks, no giveaway genetic markers. He'd just been a perfect little boy and she'd kissed his belly button with delight in his uniqueness as the doctor laid the small weight on her, the squinched-up face, the tiny fingers scrabbling against her and seizing her heart forever in their fragile grasp.
    A whimper forced itself between her lips and she pushed Nicholas's door completely open, afraid now to see him be-

    cause of the memories he would stir up, memories she'd tried to kill before they killed her.
    Her heart was pounding, pounding. She looked down at the small, huddled form and, after all, what was there to see? Just a small, tired boy with his thumb in his mouth. A skinny little kid with a pointy face and ears that jutted out from his head. Her son? Of course not. In the clear light of rational thought, she knew better. Someone's son. But not hers.
    Tears slipped silently down her face as she watched the sleeping child. She gripped her hands tightly together against the urge to take him to her. She'd been right to stay away from children, from entanglements of any kind. Oh, she'd been right to detach herself from all the pain people brought with them. She still wasn't strong enough.
    "He's such a little boy," Sarah whispered. "My son would have been the same age." Blinded by her tears, she leaned forward, wanting to touch his thin cheek, wanting to tuck the blanket under his chin, wanting something she was never going to have.
    Jake's callused fingers stopped her. "Don't," he ordered harshly.
    "Oh, please, don't be cruel," Sarah whispered. Jake's fingers dropped from her arm as if she'd scorched him with a red hot iron. His dark form moved away into the shadows of the room and she bent to Nicholas.
    His skin was cool to her fevered touch and he sighed as she brought the blanket securely around him. She'd had so few chances to comfort her own son in the night. He'd been so small, wrapped in his blanket as she'd carried him through— "Satisfied?" The burr of Jake's voice interrupted her thoughts.
    Gratefully she turned to him, eager to escape the memories. "Satisfied?" She laughed, a tear-choked harshness to her own ears. No wonder Jake thought she was crazy. She rubbed the salty tracks of her tears. "If you only knew!"

    "So tell me," Jake invited in a distant voice as he walked abruptly out of the room.
    Sarah lingered, sorting out her thoughts. Nicholas and Jake were forcing her to face her memories, face herself and her own failures. Her failure to keep her son safe. But she'd done everything, everything in her power, and in the last analysis everything hadn't been enough.
    Kneeling beside Nicholas's bed, she watched the movements of his closed eyes as he dreamed and breathed in the small-boy smell of him.
    She remembered his cuddling up at her feet, his fear that she didn't like him. She remembered the whole of the day as he'd wormed his way past her walls, leaving her raw and aching. That was why she'd gone streaking to see him. Wishful thinking rising up from long-buried hopes and pain. For the first time since she'd lost her son she'd let herself be vulnerable, and memories and moonlight had made her crazy. Now the child curled near her hand was forcing her to face that pain and loss.
    Another time she sensed Jake hovering outside the door. He hadn't really trusted her alone with Nicholas, after all. Silent moments drifted past. As she knelt there watching Nicholas, she mourned all the lost moments she'd never had with her own son. Nicholas's fist closed around her hand and she felt the ice in her heart crack.
    Sometime later she rose from her cramped position and walked down to the kitchen. Jake lay