Miss Devaney.“
Flynn glanced inside from the door where he was waiting for Nancy. „Sure you’re going to be all right
here alone with Jeremy for a few minutes?“
„I’ll manage.“
He eyed her speculatively for a moment and then shut the door behind himself and Nancy without a
word.
Heather glanced around the striking living room as she set down her bag. She knew instinctively that the
interior design was the work of Flynn’s ex-wife. Heather made her way toward the hall that led to the
bedrooms, examining the slick, sleek, Los Angeles look of the house.
Black lacquer, glass, slate, leather and mirrors dominated the rooms. There was an oddly formal,
sophisticated look to the furnishings that didn’t seem to mesh with either the southwestern architecture or a
house that was home to a small boy and his father.
Heather smiled ruefully as she stepped quietly into a bedroom and found herself looking down at the
small form huddled under the sheet. She knew she was overreacting to the interior design work because it
was a tangible expression of the other woman who had shared Flynn’s life. Here in Flynn’s home Heather
was surrounded by his ex-wife’s presence.
But the most blatant expression of that presence took the shape of a small boy with dark hair. Even as
Heather stood bent over Jeremy to test his forehead with her palm he opened his eyes. For an instant he
stared up at her with dazed, uncertain tawny brown eyes.
„Where’s Daddy?“ And then Jeremy Rammage sat up with a jerk and proceeded to throw up all over
Heather’s loafers.
Six
Flynn walked through the front door ten minutes later. Busy with Jeremy in the bathroom, Heather heard
him and called his name.
„In here, Flynn!“
„What the hell?“ Flynn appeared in the bathroom doorway, taking in the evidence in one quick glance.
An oddly chagrined expression flickered briefly in his eyes as he pulled the bottle of medicine out of the
bag. He slid a quick glance at Heather, who was standing barefoot on the gray rug as she gently helped a
feverish, restless Jeremy rinse out his mouth. „Sorry,“ Flynn muttered brusquely.
„Hardly your fault,“ Heather observed dryly. „He’s been asking for you.“
„Daddy!“ Jeremy held out his arms. „My tummy hurts.“
„I can tell. Don’t worry, I’ve got some stuff to take care of that. As soon as we change your pajamas
we’ll give you some.“ Flynn ruffled his son’s hair affectionately and then began feeding the boy’s little arms
and legs into the clean pair of pajamas Heather had found.
With a groggy indifference Jeremy submitted to being re-dressed. By the time Flynn had finished and
had convinced him to swallow the medicine Jeremy was almost asleep.
Heather stood aside, watching as Flynn carried the boy back to bed. Then she rinsed off her loafers and
wiped them dry with a paper towel. There was still the mess on the carpet, she reminded herself, and rum-
maged around under the marble countertop until she found a sponge and some more paper towels.
Flynn glanced at her with a quick frown as she walked back into the bedroom. „Here,“ he said gruffly,
„I’ll do that. Go on out into the living room. I’ll be out in a few minutes.“
Shrugging, Heather nodded and walked out. It was obvious Flynn didn’t want her being exposed to the
less pleasant aspects of motherhood, she thought with amusement. At least, not right off. She ambled out
into the living room and sat down gingerly on an elegant leather sofa she knew must have cost several
thousand dollars. A few minutes later Flynn reappeared.
„I’ll get us some brandy,“ he announced, running a hand through his hair. „We never got a chance to
finish the glass we started at your place.“
Curious about the kitchen, Heather got to her feet and trailed him into a high-tech, gleaming wonder that
looked like something out of a magazine.
„Are you a gourmet chef?“ she asked, eyeing the
Flynn glanced inside from the door where he was waiting for Nancy. „Sure you’re going to be all right
here alone with Jeremy for a few minutes?“
„I’ll manage.“
He eyed her speculatively for a moment and then shut the door behind himself and Nancy without a
word.
Heather glanced around the striking living room as she set down her bag. She knew instinctively that the
interior design was the work of Flynn’s ex-wife. Heather made her way toward the hall that led to the
bedrooms, examining the slick, sleek, Los Angeles look of the house.
Black lacquer, glass, slate, leather and mirrors dominated the rooms. There was an oddly formal,
sophisticated look to the furnishings that didn’t seem to mesh with either the southwestern architecture or a
house that was home to a small boy and his father.
Heather smiled ruefully as she stepped quietly into a bedroom and found herself looking down at the
small form huddled under the sheet. She knew she was overreacting to the interior design work because it
was a tangible expression of the other woman who had shared Flynn’s life. Here in Flynn’s home Heather
was surrounded by his ex-wife’s presence.
But the most blatant expression of that presence took the shape of a small boy with dark hair. Even as
Heather stood bent over Jeremy to test his forehead with her palm he opened his eyes. For an instant he
stared up at her with dazed, uncertain tawny brown eyes.
„Where’s Daddy?“ And then Jeremy Rammage sat up with a jerk and proceeded to throw up all over
Heather’s loafers.
Six
Flynn walked through the front door ten minutes later. Busy with Jeremy in the bathroom, Heather heard
him and called his name.
„In here, Flynn!“
„What the hell?“ Flynn appeared in the bathroom doorway, taking in the evidence in one quick glance.
An oddly chagrined expression flickered briefly in his eyes as he pulled the bottle of medicine out of the
bag. He slid a quick glance at Heather, who was standing barefoot on the gray rug as she gently helped a
feverish, restless Jeremy rinse out his mouth. „Sorry,“ Flynn muttered brusquely.
„Hardly your fault,“ Heather observed dryly. „He’s been asking for you.“
„Daddy!“ Jeremy held out his arms. „My tummy hurts.“
„I can tell. Don’t worry, I’ve got some stuff to take care of that. As soon as we change your pajamas
we’ll give you some.“ Flynn ruffled his son’s hair affectionately and then began feeding the boy’s little arms
and legs into the clean pair of pajamas Heather had found.
With a groggy indifference Jeremy submitted to being re-dressed. By the time Flynn had finished and
had convinced him to swallow the medicine Jeremy was almost asleep.
Heather stood aside, watching as Flynn carried the boy back to bed. Then she rinsed off her loafers and
wiped them dry with a paper towel. There was still the mess on the carpet, she reminded herself, and rum-
maged around under the marble countertop until she found a sponge and some more paper towels.
Flynn glanced at her with a quick frown as she walked back into the bedroom. „Here,“ he said gruffly,
„I’ll do that. Go on out into the living room. I’ll be out in a few minutes.“
Shrugging, Heather nodded and walked out. It was obvious Flynn didn’t want her being exposed to the
less pleasant aspects of motherhood, she thought with amusement. At least, not right off. She ambled out
into the living room and sat down gingerly on an elegant leather sofa she knew must have cost several
thousand dollars. A few minutes later Flynn reappeared.
„I’ll get us some brandy,“ he announced, running a hand through his hair. „We never got a chance to
finish the glass we started at your place.“
Curious about the kitchen, Heather got to her feet and trailed him into a high-tech, gleaming wonder that
looked like something out of a magazine.
„Are you a gourmet chef?“ she asked, eyeing the
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