He touched her again, just a hand to her hair. “Do you think everything through?”

Her eyes were eloquent when she looked at him. “Yes.”

“Then think about this. It wasn’t my intention to seduce you—not that I haven’t given that a great deal of thought on my own, but I didn’t see it happening with my daughter sick upstairs.”

“You didn’t seduce me.”

“Now she’s taking potshots at my ego.”

That made her smile. “There was no seduction. That implies planned persuasion. I don’t want to be seduced.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. All the same, I don’t think I want to dissect all this like a Music major with a Beethoven concerto. It ruins the romance in much the same way.”

She smiled again. “I don’t want romance.”

“That’s a pity.” And a lie, he thought, remembering the way she’d looked when he’d given her a rose. “Since chicken pox is going to be keeping me busy for the next week or two, you’ll have some time. Will you come back?”

“To see Freddie.” She shrugged into her coat, then relented. “And to see you.”

She did. What began as just a quick call to bring Freddie a get-well present turned into the better part of an evening, soothing a miserable, rash-ridden child and an exhausted, frantic father. Surprisingly she enjoyed it, and made a habit over the next ten days of dropping in over her lunch break to spell a still-suspicious Vera, or after work to give Spence a much-needed hour of peace and quiet.

As far as romance went, bathing an itchy girl in corn starch left a lot to be desired. Despite it, Natasha found herself only more attracted to Spence and more in love with his daughter.

She watched him do his best to cheer the miserably uncomfortable patient on her birthday, then helped him deal with the pair of kittens that were Freddie’s favored birthday gift. As the rash faded and boredom set in, Natasha pumped up Spence’s rapidly fading imagination with stories of her own.

“Just one more story.”

Natasha smoothed Freddie’s covers under her chin. “That’s what you said three stories ago.”

“You tell good ones.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. It’s past my bedtime.” Natasha lifted a brow at the big red alarm clock. “And yours.”

“The doctor said I could go back to school on Monday. I’m not ’fectious.”

“Infectious,” Natasha corrected. “You’ll be glad to see your friends again.”

“Mostly.” Stalling, Freddie played with the edge of her blanket. “Will you come and see me when I’m not sick?”

“I think I might.” She leaned over to make a grab and came up with a mewing kitten. “And to see Lucy and Desi.”

“And Daddy.”

Cautious, Natasha scratched the kitten’s ears. “Yes, I suppose.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Yes. He’s a very good teacher.”

“He likes you, too.” Freddie didn’t add that she had seen her father kiss Natasha at the foot of her bed just the night before, when they’d thought she was asleep. Watching them had given her a funny feeling in her stomach. But after a minute it had been a good funny feeling. “Will you marry him and come and live with us?”

“Well, is that a proposal?” Natasha managed to smile. “I think it’s nice that you’d want me to, but I’m only friends with your daddy. Like I’m friends with you.”

“If you came to live with us, we’d still be friends.”

The child, Natasha reflected, was as clever as her father. “Won’t we be friends if I live in my own house?”

“I guess.” The pouty lower lip poked out. “But I’d like it better if you lived here, like JoBeth’s mom does. She makes cookies.”

Natasha leaned toward her, nose to nose. “So, you want me for my cookies.”

“I love you.” Freddie threw her arms around Natasha’s neck and clung. “I’d be a good girl if you came.”

Stunned, Natasha hugged the girl tight and rocked. “Oh, baby, I love you, too.”

“So you’ll marry us.”

Put like that, Natasha wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “I don’t think getting married right now is the answer for any of us. But I’ll still be your friend, and come visit and tell you stories.”

Freddie gave a long sigh. She knew when an adult was evading, and realized that it would be smart to retreat a step. Particularly when she had already made up her mind. Natasha was exactly what she wanted for a mother. And there was the added bonus that Natasha made her daddy laugh. Freddie decided then and there that her most secret and solemn Christmas wish would be for Natasha to marry her father and bring home a baby sister.

“Promise?” Freddie demanded.

“Cross my heart.” Natasha gave her a kiss on each cheek. “Now you go to sleep. I’ll find your daddy so he can come up and kiss you good-night.”

Freddie closed her eyes, her lips curved with her own secret smile.

Carrying the kitten, Natasha made her way downstairs. She’d put off her monthly books and an inventory to visit tonight. More than a little midnight oil would be burned, she decided, rubbing the kitten against her cheek.

She would have to be careful with Freddie now, and with herself. It was one thing for her to have fallen in love with the youngster, but quite another for the girl to love her enough to want her for a mother. How could she expect a child of six to understand that adults often had problems and fears that made it impossible for them to take the simple route?

The house was quiet, but a light was shining from the music room. She set down the kitten, knowing he would unerringly race to the kitchen.

She found Spence in the music room, spread on the two-cushion sofa so that his legs hung over one end. In sloppy sweats and bare feet he looked very little like the brilliant composer and full professor of music. Nor had he shaved. Natasha was forced to admit that the shadow of stubble only made him more attractive, especially when combined with tousled hair a week or two late for the barber.

He was sleeping deeply, a throw pillow crunched under his head. Natasha knew, because Vera had unbent long enough to tell her that Spence had stayed up throughout two nights during the worst of his daughter’s fever and discomfort.