That didn't mean he could stop himself from giving it now any more than he'd been able to the past eight months.
Zach stared through the kitchen window at his Harley and knew it wouldn't be getting the tune-up after all. No way could he let Julia bring her son home to an empty house.
Chapter 3
Julia glanced in her car visor mirror for the fiftieth time to check Patrick in back. Not that she could actually see him in his rear-facing infant seat. But every now and again, a spindly arm or leg flailed reassurance.
A Mickey Mouse diaper bag perched beside her where once a portfolio full of architectural designs for her playhouses would have rested.
The bag looked good there.
Cars whipped past on the bridge out to her barrier island bungalow. The hospital had demanded she sign a waiver before releasing her without someone to drive her home.
Somehow it had been important to do this herself.
Of course Kathleen would be blazing mad when she received the message that Julia had left alone. Any number of people would have driven her.
Like a certain tall, dark and studly Lieutenant Colonel Dawson.
Julia shoved an image of his broad shoulders right out of her mind and turned down the narrow street into her beach subdivision. Clapboard houses on stilts lined both sides of the streets. Older homes of Charleston natives claimed the waterfront property. Newer homes made to look like the old sprawled into the rest of the housing development where Julia lived.
Rounding a corner, she tapped the brakes, freshly painted toenails sparkling from her sandals. Seeing her toes again proved a real treat. Her glitter-specked rosy pedicure shone with a touch of femininity she needed after months of bloated pregnancy. She'd packed polish in her hospital bag with just that in mind. Except the simple pampering ritual had brought a greater resurgence of femininity than she'd expected.
Surely not because of Zach's hungry stare at her legs.
Her toes glistened a mocking contradiction she didn't want. There'd been a certain comfort in the numbness that had followed her initial grief. Perhaps she wasn't ready to wake up.
Too bad a six-foot-four testosterone-oozing alarm clock sat waiting on her porch.
Julia inched down the street. She shouldn't be surprised to see Zach Dawson there. No doubt he had called the hospital to check on her and they'd caved to his request for information in spite of regulations.
The man was persistent. Countless times over the past eight months she'd come home to find Zach in her yard tackling some fix-it project. The guy couldn't seem to get it through his head that she knew how to wield a hammer with the best of them. And, of course, there was the first time she'd come home to find him on her porch eight months ago—
Julia sliced off that depressing thought.
She slid her car into the driveway beside his red truck. Zach stood, slowly unfolding himself until he towered beneath her shaded porch. Yeah, his jeans and T-shirt rather than a flight suit made it easy to forget that other visit.
Dangerously easy.
"Hi, Colonel," she said as she stepped from her car, using his title as a reminder for distance.
He balanced his radio on the banister. Another reminder of his job. Did the man ever go anywhere without that thing?
Julia spun away, her achy legs protesting the fast move. More careful of her tender body, she unbuckled the car seat with her now-sleeping son inside. She couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the tiny sock-clad foot.
"Welcome home, sweetie." Lifting out the seat, Julia called over her shoulder, "Where are the girls?"
"Ballet and band. I figured you didn't need them climbing all over you just yet. We'll save their visit for when you're settled." He stopped beside her, taking the infant seat.
No choice but to face him, she straightened. "I guess I would be wasting my breath telling you this isn't necessary."
"Smart woman. Unlock the front door and I'll unload the flower shop in your back seat."
She smiled her thanks and followed his commander-like order since it would be childish to argue anyway.
Fitting the key in the front door, her hands began to tremble. She shoved the door wide, but her feet stayed planted on the porch. She wasn't ready to step inside her empty house.
Not yet.