Читать книгу Beginning With Baby - Christie Ridgway - Страница 13

Jackson stood outside Phoebe’s door, a tall takeout cup of coffee heating each palm, and creamers, sugar packets and red stirrers balanced on each plastic top. He didn’t know why he was here. Well, yeah, he did. On his way into the Victorian after work this morning, he’d run into Melinda Richie, the nurse who lived on the first floor. She’d just happened to mention that Phoebe and Rex had a rough night.

He’d suddenly remembered dark hours from a thousand years ago. Crying babies that were only soothed by walking the floors in someone’s arms. Being so tired he hadn’t made it to school the next day, even though he’d already missed way too many of his classes.

Listening to Nurse Richie describe Phoebe’s disturbed night, an unexpected, but by now not unfamiliar, Samaritan impulse had overcome him. The day before, the impulse had sent him to find Phoebe in the park—a bust of an idea, since the package was something not urgent and pertaining to her business. This morning the impulse had taken control once again and sent him back out of the Victorian and to the local Speedy-Mart for the coffees and bagels he now held.

No sense letting them go to waste. Hands occupied, he lightly tapped on Phoebe’s door with the toe of his boot.

When she opened it, Jackson nearly dropped the cups. Long brown hair tumbled and tangled, eyes at half-mast with weariness, and wearing a simple sleeveless, white nightgown, she looked like a woman who’d just risen from bed.

Jackson restlessly shuffled his feet.

She shifted baby Rex against her body and then her eyes opened wider, her whole face brightening at the sight of what he held in his hands.

She sniffed delicately. “Coffee? Is that coffee?” Her eyes blinked once slowly, as if she was coming awake. She lifted her gaze to him. “I’ll pay you whatever you ask for one of those cups.”

What if he asked for a taste of her mouth? It sat there on her face, right below those morning-sky eyes and that perfect nose, bare and ripe for kissing. Tempting him. He shuffled his feet again.

“You’re welcome to come in,” she said. “As long as you bring that coffee with you.”

He followed her inside, kicking closed the front door with his foot. Then, as if she’d just expended her final energy reserves, Phoebe slipped bonelessly to the love seat in her living area. She flung out one arm, exposing the blue veins at the crook of her elbow. “I’m way too tired to drink it. Intravenously, please.”

He half smiled at her little joke, thinking he’d much rather put his mouth on that translucent, innocent skin. She would taste like she smelled, flowery and soft.

“Jackson?”

He approached her slowly, then sat beside her to set the cups on the small table in front of her. “Sugar? Cream? How do you take it?”

Her head moved from side to side against the cushions, spreading her hair against them. “I can’t remember. Black will be fine.”

He busied himself making an opening in the plastic top. “The night was that bad?”

Her eyes were closed. “Rex wasn’t happy unless I was jiggling him and walking. At one point I tried sitting on the couch and moving my feet, but he’s way too smart for that, my little guy is.”

My little guy, she’d said. Didn’t she know how dangerous it was to think that way? “Here.” Jackson nudged her free hand with the coffee cup. “Is Rex sick or something?”

She sat up a bit to take a sip of the coffee, carefully keeping the hot brew away from the baby. Her happy sigh at the first taste made the whole damn trip worthwhile. She took another sip, then looked over at him.

“Not sick, according to Melinda. Do you know that she’s a n—” At his quick nod, she continued. “I called and asked her to check on him, and he didn’t show signs of anything but indigestion. She suggested a change in his formula. We think he might be a lot happier from now on.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.” He reached over and ran a finger down the sleeping baby’s back.

Phoebe shivered, and he saw goose bumps rise on the bare skin of the arm that clasped the baby.

He frowned. “You’re cold? Do you want a robe?”

There was a little flush on her cheeks, from the coffee maybe. She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Sleepy and pink-cheeked, she looked vulnerable. Tempting.

Her gaze flicked toward him, flicked away. “Fine as I can be under the circumstances.” Then her body curved awkwardly as she went for another sip of the coffee without disturbing Rex.

Jackson frowned again. “Do you want me to put him down? He’s asleep.”

The decision looked like it was too much for her. He took the cup out of her hand and then slipped the baby from her. His knuckles brushed against the warmth of her nightgown-covered skin, but he gritted his teeth and ignored the sensation as he walked the baby to the small crib set in the corner of the room.

Rex settled down without a whimper, which was instead the noise Jackson wanted to make when he turned around and looked at Phoebe again. Still flopped on the couch, with Rex gone from her chest, Phoebe exposed to him more than she could possibly realize.

Her short gown came to just above her knees, revealing both bare feet, curving calves, the beginnings of her thighs. The nightgown was thin white cotton, and he could see just the hint of panties beneath it. He quickly jerked his gaze upward—then wished he hadn’t.

Where Rex had been snoozing, the gown was plastered to her skin. And with Rex gone, Jackson could clearly see the outline of her lush breasts and the dark pink of her nipples. He swallowed.

Thankfully, Phoebe’s eyes were closed and as he watched, she blindly felt around in front of her, muttering something about coffee. He sprang forward to place her cup in her hand.

Her eyes slitted open. “My hero,” she said.

She’d called him that before, he remembered, gritting his teeth. “Is going to his own apartment right this minute.”

Two little lines appeared between her arching brown brows. “Why?”

He hesitated, trying to decide how much to say.

Her eyes opened and her unguarded gaze ran over him, slowly and sleepily. He let himself look her over, too. All those slender limbs and smooth, smooth skin. He groaned.

“What?” she said, obviously too sleepy to be aware of what she wasn’t hiding.

He shook his head. “I need to get you a robe.” He strode toward her bedroom door without even waiting for her acquiescence or direction.

And groaned again. Her scent permeated her bedroom, too, that flowery, creamy smell that sent signals to his body he had no right listening to. Her bed was just steps away, a big brass one with rumpled white linens and five—five!—overstuffed pillows.

Without even closing his eyes he could imagine her hands gripping the brass rails, imagine himself shoving one of those fat pillows beneath her hips….

“Damn!” he muttered, whirling around, whirling away from the scene in his own imagination. There. On a hook behind the door he saw a silky, flowered kimono. Grabbing it, he took a step toward her living room.

To halt once more at the sight of Phoebe.

She’d abandoned the coffee and stretched out as best she could on the small love seat. Her hair was spread wantonly against the cushions and one foot had slipped completely off, spreading her legs. The nightgown’s round neckline had slipped too, revealing the pale rise of one breast.

She was fast asleep, with each breath the gown slipping more and threatening to completely expose her.

Jackson couldn’t breathe. He quickly choked in a breath, but air didn’t help.

He still couldn’t move.

And that was how their nosy and moralistic landlady found them as she pushed through the front door that Jackson apparently hadn’t completely shut on his way in.

Phoebe in what appeared to be sensual abandon. Jackson coming out of her bedroom, Phoebe’s lingerie in his hands.

A shriek jerked Phoebe from sleep.

She struggled to sit up, blinking quickly, her heart pounding. “Wha—”

“I never!” said Mrs. Bee, her tiny nose quivering in what was obviously outrage.

Phoebe blinked again. “Never what?”

A man cleared his throat.

Phoebe’s head whipped around. Jackson. That’s right, he’d brought coffee.

She appreciated the sight of him all over again—delicious and lord-of-the-manor handsome, his shirt partway undone. Heat kindled, melting her insides.

He closed his eyes. “Phoebe, that’s not helping.”

Right. Right. But not helping how? She looked back at Mrs. Bee. “Did you need something?”

The white bun atop the little lady’s head stabbed the air as she drew her spine poker straight. “It seems to me it’s you that needs something.”

Uh-oh. Phoebe sat straighter on the couch and drew the folds of her nightgown closer. Her thin, white nightgown. She bit her lip.

Mrs. Bee didn’t require any prompting to continue, though. “Good morals and good sense is what you need, young lady! What is this man doing in your apartment?”

“Uh, uh…” Phoebe tried gathering up her thoughts.

Jackson stepped into the room and strode to the couch. He released something he’d been holding, and Phoebe’s robe floated to her lap. “Mrs. Bee, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you Phoebe has a right to entertain whomever she likes.”

“Entertain!”

Phoebe didn’t need to tell Jackson it was a poor choice of words. As she quickly slipped her arms through the sleeves of her robe, she could read the knowledge on his face.

She touched his arm, smiled to reassure him. “Maybe later we can talk, Mrs. Bee, I’ve had a rough night and—”

“Rough night!”

Jackson shot her a sympathetic look. Apparently foot-in-mouth disease was rampant.

He stepped closer to the old lady. “Come on, Mrs. Bee. You know I’ve been hard at work—”

“Hard at work! That may be what your generation calls it, young man, but…”

This had gone far enough. Phoebe rose to her feet. “Don’t be silly,” she said firmly. “Jackson has been on the job all night. I’ve been up with Rex.” She stood on tiptoe to verify the baby was still comfortably sleeping, even through the ruckus.

Mrs. Bee crossed her matchstick arms over her narrow chest. “Then why is this man here at such an early hour?”

Phoebe sighed. The woman had no right. “He brought me coffee, okay?”

“Humph.”

Phoebe struggled to keep a pleasant expression on her face. “Now, was there something I can do for you?”

“You know I’m worried about the child.”

Phoebe sighed. “And bless your heart for it, Mrs. Bee. Rex and I appreciate your concern.”

“I can’t sleep nights thinking of the situation.”

She couldn’t sleep nights! Phoebe thought longingly of her bed.

“A young woman shouldn’t be raising a baby alone,” Mrs. Bee proclaimed.

The older lady’s strident tone was apparently too much for Rex. Without even a snuffle of warning, a full-out wail burst from his baby lungs. Phoebe rushed toward the crib, only to collide with Jackson, who’d gotten there quicker.

He picked up the baby. “Bottle time?”

She nodded, then led the way. “But I need to make one up with the new formula.”

Completely ignoring Mrs. Bee, they both went into the small kitchen, bumping elbows and hips in order to put together the bottle as quickly as possible. Rex signaled his hunger by intermittent and plaintive wails that insisted the adults in his life needed to get a move on.

Finally she had Rex in the crook of her arm and the bottle poised above him.

Silently, surprisingly, a stone-faced Jackson adjusted her hold on the baby, bringing Rex’s chest a little higher and tilting the bottle a little more. “Less air in his belly,” he said softly, looking at the baby instead of her, “Might also help that indigestion.”

Jackson standing behind her, Phoebe settled on the love seat, careful to keep Rex and the bottle in the suggested positions. With a sigh she looked up at Mrs. Bee, who stood where they’d left her, her hands clasped together.

With her gaze focused on the small tableau, Mrs. Bee sighed, too. “There, dear,” she said more kindly. “That’s exactly what I like to see.”

Phoebe had a bad feeling about this. “Well, uh, thank you, Mrs. Bee.”

The other lady sighed again dramatically. “A mother, a father. That’s what a baby needs.”

Phoebe frowned. “Well a baby doesn’t always have the choice.”

Jackson’s fingers touched her shoulder. Just a soft touch with two fingers, but soothing all the same.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Bee. “But a baby can expect more than a young woman who isn’t even related to him. Who doesn’t even know how to feed him properly.”

Bitter waves of panic started roiling around in Phoebe’s stomach. No. She was related to Rex. He was the last of her family. The last of the wonderful, golden family that had been so happy those years before her mother and stepfather died.

John Finley had taken her into his home and his heart, adopted her, cared for her because of the undying and spectacular love he had for her mother.

The kind of love she’d sworn to find for herself.

And since that love had yet to show itself, that click that she was certain she’d feel when the true right man came along, then maybe fate had sent Rex to her instead. Rex, whom she’d taken into her home and her heart and whom she was going to hold on to with all her might.

“I’m still thinking of making that call to Social Services,” Mrs. Bee said.

“What?” As if startled awake, Jackson came to sudden, shimmering life, his voice harsh, his back steel-rod straight. “What?” His fingers tightened painfully on Phoebe’s shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

Phoebe sighed wearily. She had tried to tell herself for days the landlady wasn’t serious, but as the same threat came with increasing frequency, she was finding it tougher and tougher to dismiss.

The little lady tightened her mouth. “Maybe it’s my duty to report the unusualness of these circumstances.”

“These circumstances,” Jackson repeated. He stalked around the love seat as if he needed to move. “Social Services.” He practically spat the words from his mouth.

Phoebe reached out to put her hand on his arm. The skin was hot, and his muscles twitched with tension. “It’s okay, Jackson.”

“It’s not okay,” he said, his voice hoarse, his expression grim. “It’s never okay to take a child away from someone who loves it.”

Mrs. Bee’s expression didn’t soften. “She’s not his mother.”

Jackson’s voice went hoarser still. “This child doesn’t have a mother. He has Phoebe, who’s doing a good job caring for him.”

Though his words warmed her, Phoebe didn’t take her hand from his arm. Some strange and powerful emotion radiated from him, and it worried her. She stared into his face, aware that something was going on behind his eyes, some pain he was reliving…or maybe some pain he was anticipating. “Jackson?” she said softly.

He stood stiffly for another moment, then visibly relaxed, even coming to sit beside Phoebe and slide his arm along the back of the love seat. “Anyway,” he said, his voice now quite deliberate and gentle. “This whole conversation is unnecessary.”

There was something dangerous left in his voice, though, and a glitter in his eyes that seemed to make even Mrs. Bee wary.

“What do you mean?” she said cautiously.

Jackson cupped Phoebe’s shoulder with his palm. The heat of his touch streaked down her arm, and she squeezed her hand into a fist in response. “I mean Rex has the kind of two-parent, stable home life you want so much for him. Or will have, anyway.”

Phoebe’s mouth went dry, and another ripple of heat coursed through her body.

Mrs. Bee’s eyes were wide. “What are you saying?” the older lady asked.

“I’m saying Phoebe and I are getting married.”

“What were you thinking of?” Phoebe asked Jackson, her voice tense.

He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I—” He couldn’t say the past. He couldn’t tell her what had happened in his own life. He never talked about it. Never thought about it, if he could help it. “She left, didn’t she?”

Phoebe stared at him. “Left thinking that we had some sort of secret whirlwind courtship going! Left thinking we were going to the justice of the peace to tie the knot this afternoon!”

Jackson rubbed at his neck again. “When she asked us the wedding date, I thought it best to go for soon.”

“Uh!” She let out a frustrated exclamation, then hurriedly soothed a startled Rex. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered to him, rubbing her lips against the baby’s head.

“I did it for him,” Jackson said quietly. And for Phoebe. Because years ago he’d been in a situation eerily similar.

Phoebe’s shoulders slumped, and a defeated sigh escaped her. “But what are we supposed to do?”

Jackson had been thinking about that since the instant he’d made the shocking announcement. Not really so shocking to him, considering how Phoebe and Rex brought out in him this odd rescue impulse. He hadn’t so much thought through the idea as he’d just whipped it out like a sword in defense of the woman and child.

He sat down on the love seat beside Phoebe, watching her hand stroke Rex’s small back. Jackson couldn’t allow her to lose the baby to Social Services. “Look. Let’s talk about Mrs. Bee. Would you say she’s a little—dotty?”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “As dotty as that itsy-bitsy, teeny-weenie, yellow polka-dot bikini. She latches on to stuff and then won’t let it go. A couple of months ago it was a campaign to license pet reptiles like dogs. I’m not kidding. She circulated petitions and everything.” Inhaling a deep breath, she closed her eyes. “And now she’s moved on to me and Rex.”

Jackson could feel Phoebe’s escalating fear. “Let’s calm down for a minute,” he said, wanting to touch her in reassurance, but denying himself the pleasure. “How much trouble could she make?”

She shrugged. “No telling. But if she contacted someone it would definitely be awkward explaining that I don’t know where Rex’s father is.”

“That’s what I thought.” He rubbed his palms against his bent knees. “And if you’re hoping for custody—”

“I am, if it’s what Teddy wants.”

Jackson nodded. “Then it’s best that there are zero calls on file.”

“Well, then, what do you suggest?” Phoebe closed her eyes, then opened them. “We can’t really be thinking of getting married.” She swallowed. “Can we?”

Jackson smiled grimly. “That’s where Mrs. Bee’s dottiness is going to work for us. She seemed perfectly satisfied when she walked out of here, right? So now we go out this afternoon and come back, grinning like happy newlyweds and say it’s done.”

Phoebe groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. Say it’s done? We’re done for.”

He shook his head stubbornly. “Dotty is going to work for us, I promise you. Nothing will have to change.”

“But—”

He put his hand over her mouth to halt further protests. “In a month I’m outta here. In a month you and Teddy will settle the situation with Rex. Or a month will give you time to find a new place to live, if that’s still necessary. But I bet Mrs. Bee quickly moves on to some other fixation.”

Suddenly registering the warm, smooth skin of Phoebe’s lips, he snatched his hand away.

“What do we tell other people? How do we act around the other tenants?”

Jackson shrugged. “I leave that up to you. For myself, I’m going to live my life just as I have every day before.”

“Like every day before?” she echoed, raising one skeptical brow.

For some reason his pulse started hammering like a death knell. “Yeah.”

“Like every day before.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Despite the fact that you’re now ‘married’ and the father of one?”