Читать книгу The Marine's Babies - Laura Marie Altom - Страница 12

“Son,” Jace’s mom said that night on the phone from her RV campground in Maine. She and his dad had been touring the east coast all summer, but if you asked Jace’s opinion, it was past time they hightailed it home. “I wish I could tell you what to do, but you’re a grown man, capable of getting yourself into huge messes, and I pray to God every day that you’re equally as capable of getting yourself out.”

“That’s just it, Mom, this isn’t my ordinary mess. Those I can fly or sweet talk my way out of, but this…”

She laughed. “For this, you’re going to have to use your heart.”

He wasn’t going to dignify that with a comment.

“Once you find this Vicki woman—and you will—swallow your pride and marry her. The rest will work itself out.”

“M-marry her? She abandoned her own kids! Why would I want to live the rest of my life with a woman like that?”

“Man up, Jace. That’s what Oprah would say.”

Jace rolled his eyes. Great. Looks like his mom had a new favorite afternoon show. Whatever happened to her quoting The Young and the Restless? “Mom, how about putting Dad on the phone?”

“He’s off sailing with our new friends, Ed and Louise. They have the sweetest little boat moored in Bar Harbor.”

Swell.

“You were always a stubborn, strong-willed child, Jace, but this is one time when you need to put aside what you think about this whole matter, and surrender to what you feel.”

After hanging up, Jace realized he should have stayed on the line, asking his mom why he couldn’t seem to figure out exactly what he felt.

That afternoon, in the park with Emma, when she’d shown him how to hold Bea properly, for a split second an unfamiliar warmth had crept through him. But then Emma had left, and so had his warm-and-fuzzies.

He knew in his head that he was a father. That he’d suddenly been thrust into a role of responsibility larger than anything else with which he’d been charged. So what was wrong with him that he couldn’t connect that knowledge with his heart?

“GOOD MORNING.” At five-thirty the next morning, Jace opened his front door to a dark, pouring rain, and a soggy Emma.

Thunder rolled.

Taking her umbrella, then ushering her inside, he said, “Did you make it to your appointment?”

“My what?” Emma set down her purse, and then shrugged out of her yellow raincoat, hanging it dripping on the hook beside the door.

“Yesterday, when you left the park, you said you had an appointment.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “I forgot.”

“Why’d you lie to me, Em? Why the rush to get away?”

“First, my name’s Emma, and second, I…” As if utterly spent, she crumpled onto the sofa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have to be anywhere. I just couldn’t be around you any longer.”

Jace winced. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you?” Grabbing his cell phone from a charger, he parked alongside her, checking for messages. “Why would I do that?”

“For lying.”

“Then you admit it?”

“Again, I’m sorry.” She had a funny look on her face. As if she wanted to say more, but wouldn’t. “I, um, was having female problems.”

“Whoa—” Turning all of his attention to rummaging through his flight bag, he said, “say no more. That’s all I needed to hear.” Plus, he was damned glad she hadn’t been ticked at him. His track record with women wasn’t all that great, and he sure as hell didn’t need to lose his girls’ nanny this soon into her tenure.

“Want something to eat before you head out into this nasty weather?”

“What about your, er, problems? Because with those sorts of—you know…” He flopped his hands on his lap, gesturing to where her general womanly region would be. “Well, I don’t want you overdoing it.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Promise. You go ahead and finish getting ready, and I’ll whip something up.”

MAKING BREAKFAST, Emma was almost quivery with relief. Just up and taking off the previous afternoon hadn’t been a smooth move. What if she’d been fired?

“Smells good,” Jace said fresh from the shower.

He hadn’t yet put on his shirt, and moisture still clung to the dark hair on his chest. Emma’s stomach returned to fluttering, only this time, it had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with Jace’s proximity. “I, um, hope you like it.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, thank you. Everything’s just about done.” Easing his three fried eggs onto a plate, she asked, “How did the girls sleep?”

“Great. I was only up once, which is a record since their arrival.”

“I figured introducing solid food would help. But then for all we know, they’ve been used to it.” She buttered his toast, and then eased four strips of bacon alongside his eggs. Setting the plate and utensils in front of him, she asked, “Anything else before I check on the babies?”

“Yes.” He stood, walked to the cabinet to grab an extra plate, fork and napkin, and then pulled out the chair alongside him. “Join me. The last thing I intended when hiring you was for you to be my own personal serving wench.”

“I know,” she said, fidgeting her hands along the seat back of the nearest chair. “But I don’t feel comfortable sharing a meal with you.”

“Why?” he asked, already divvying up the food. “Because yesterday, in the park, I thought we’d had a connection.”

“That was different,” she bristled.

“How so?” He dug into his portion of the meal.

“We were discussing parenting. Sharing a meal would be…different.”

Shaking his head, he laughed. “You’re a tough one to read, Emma Stewart. Please, sit. Promise, I won’t bite a thing besides my food.”

She sat, but didn’t like it. The man was too playful for her tastes.

He shoved her plate and fork toward her. “Try some. It’s good.”

“I usually just have a bagel for breakfast.”

“That’s why you’re so skinny.” He helped himself to a piece of her toast. “Ask me, a woman needs meat on her bones. Something for a man to hang on to.”

Her mind’s eye focused on an image of him spooning her. How it might feel being cocooned by his strength. Heat flamed her cheeks. She hastily feigned interest in her food.

“I’m not too skinny,” she snapped. “There’s no such thing.”

“Think what you want, but trust me, you’re a decent-looking woman. If you’d pack a little junk in your trunk, I’ll bet you wouldn’t be able to keep guys away.”

Momentarily stunned, she just sat gaping at him. “Please tell me you didn’t say what you just said.”

He shrugged, and then calmly forked the last bite of his eggs. “In my line of work, I might die tomorrow. I believe in calling it like I see it.”

“Yes, well, I believe this conversation is out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, blinding her with that slow, sexy grin. “My bad. You already have a guy, don’t you? Since you don’t wear a ring, I assumed you were single, but—”

Since her incident at the hotel, she’d permanently removed her wedding ring.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am single. And I intend to stay that way.” Pushing her chair back, she stood. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do what I was hired for, and check on the babies.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jace said, sending her a playful salute.

“QUESTION,” Jace asked Granola the next morning while performing his helicopter’s flight check. The previous day’s storms had burned off, leaving clear skies with unlimited visibility. Wind out of the south at ten knots.

“Shoot,” Granola said, voice muffled into his flight helmet’s microphone.

“You know this nanny I’ve hired?”

“Yeah. Altitude two-two-zero reached.”

“Check. One-two-zero K-T-A-S reached. No unusual vibrations. Control position normal.” Jace confirmed the maneuver area was clear before launching the next portion of the test. “She’s a sharp cookie. Cute, too.”

“No rotor instability,” Granola said when Jace had finished his portion of the test. “You thinking of asking her out?”

“No way. Wouldn’t she be morally off limits?” Jace initiated a climb.

“I don’t see why. Control positioning check.”

Grunting, Jace performed a series of left-and right-bank angle turns. As expected, everything checked out fine. Returning to base at normal cruising altitude, Jace said, “She used to be some kind of financial guru. She’s not married and she doesn’t have kids, but damn, does she know her way around babies.”

Granola suggested, “Maybe, like Pam, she grew up in a big family?”

“Maybe.”

“You ever think of asking her all of this instead of me?”

“S’pose I could,” Jace said, banking left, “but she’s kind of frosty.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes she just rubs me the wrong way. Like she expects me to be something I’m not.”

“Like a father?” Granola asked.

“Think you’re funny, do you?” Jace threw the helicopter into a hard and fast sixty-degree bank.

“MOM,” Emma said into her cell while filling her Volvo’s empty gas tank. “I promise I’m fine. Happy even.” The twins were strapped into their safety seats with the front windows down, so the air inside the vehicle didn’t get too hot.

“That’s quite a change from the last time we talked. When I told you to get on with your life, I was hoping for that to happen sometime over the next few months. Not in a few days.”

“What can I say? An opportunity came up, and I went for it. I’ve always loved children. You were the one who told me I should borrow some. So, that’s essentially what I did.”

“Great. For once you actually followed my advice. But honey, gauging your happiness level, somewhere along the line you’ve forgotten these aren’t your children.” Her mother’s insinuation that Emma somehow didn’t already understand this fact was insulting. “Plus, you don’t even know the man you’re working for. What if he’s some kind of deviant?”

Topping off the tank, Emma sighed. “He’s not a deviant, Mom. He’s a Marine. I seriously doubt any guy the U.S. Marine Corps trusts with a multi-million-dollar piece of equipment is going to go Hannibal Lecter on me.”

“I didn’t say he was, honey, only that I’m worried about you. Just a week ago, you were so deep into your own thoughts you could hardly carry a normal conversation. Now, you’re all of a sudden healed. Don’t you think I should be concerned?”

What Emma thought was that her mom should mind her own business.

Emma said her goodbyes, grabbed her receipt from the pump and then climbed back behind the wheel of her car.

Beatrice was cranky—had been all through their trip to the grocery store—and was fitfully crying. “We’re on our way home, ladybug,” she soothed, checking on her in the rearview mirror.

She popped a sing-along children’s disc into the CD player, and turned the volume to High.

Bronwyn, at least, happily kicked and cooed.

At the house, Emma made quick work of unloading the babies, then the groceries. Bronwyn seemed content on a pink quilt on the living room carpet, lying on her back, grinning at the mirror and dangling shapes on her baby gym. Beatrice, however, wasn’t so easily amused.

After trying a bottle, baby-food peaches and pears, a diaper change and burping, Emma settled for good old-fashioned rocking in Jace’s navy leather recliner.

Cradling her close, tucking Beatrice’s head beneath her chin, Emma sang softly. “Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Momma’s gonna sing you a lullaby…”

Soon enough, Beatrice had calmed, and then fallen asleep. Lots of times when Henry had been cranky, Emma had found that nothing but human contact soothed. Emma guessed it worked for grown-ups, too, since she had isolated herself from family and friends up north, but still hadn’t found solace. Yet here, now, with two infants and an oftentimes infuriating lug of a Marine, she truly was feeling better than she had in months.

No matter what her mother might think!

Since it was nearing six, Emma knew she should start dinner, but she hated to disturb the baby, who had finally fallen asleep.

A key sounded in the front-door lock, and in walked Jace, wearing his usual grin. His complexion looked sun-kissed, as if he’d spent the day outdoors. “Hey,” he said, setting his flight bag on the tiled entry floor. “How’re my girls?”

“Better now,” Emma said, her voice soft so as not to wake Beatrice. “This one’s had a rough day.”

“She’s not sick is she?” Jace crossed the short distance to the recliner, kneeling alongside it, putting his hand on the infant’s forehead. “She doesn’t feel hot.”

“No. Maybe she just misses her mom. I suppose it’s only natural.”

Jace stayed quiet.

“No word from the PI?”

“Nope.” Exhaustion weighing his shoulders, he rose, then dropped onto the sofa, unlacing his boots.

“How would you feel if Vicki abruptly showed up?”

He shrugged. “It’s a fluid situation. At first, I was panicked enough by the girls’ tag-team screaming that I probably would’ve given Vicki another chance at motherhood. But now…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“You all right?” Emma asked. “You look pasty.”

“I feel pasty.” In a decidedly un-Marine-like pose of vulnerability, he covered his face with his hands. “Em? What if I never figure out how to be a good dad? What if I lack the parental gene?”

Beatrice still in her arms, Emma rocked up and out of the chair to sit alongside Jace. “When you held this one in the park—really held her—she nestled against you like she’d known you forever. Because she has. You’re her father, Jace. Your DNA is hers—and her sister’s. You can’t help but grow into an amazing father.”

He snorted.

“What?”

“Your logic is ludicrous. If all it took to be a perfect parent was DNA, then what was Vicki’s excuse?”

Emma lowered her gaze. Agreed with him, did she?

Jace knew he’d have been laughed out of the Corps for admitting it, but right at that moment, he was jealous of a six-month-old for being held by Emma. In three tours of duty in hellacious war zones, he couldn’t remember ever having been this scared.

“Trust me,” Emma said. “Stop a second to look at who you are. What you do. If you have enough intellect and courage to fly a helicopter in the most dangerous parts of the world, then can’t you use that same chutzpah to raise two amazing babies into well-rounded, happy and healthy grown women?”

Eyes stinging, throat tight, Jace nodded.

“So then you’re feeling better about the whole situation?”

“Sure,” he lied. “Only how am I going to pay for two sets of braces? Two cars? Two college degrees?” Cheeks flaming, he added, “Holy hell, what if one—or both—want to become doctors or lawyers? But then, that might be a good thing, right? Because they’ll have nice, safe jobs and meet straight-laced types who—”

“Whoa.” Emma curved her hand around his shoulder, telling herself the jolt of heat was imagined. “The girls are six months old, Jace. You’re getting ahead of yourself on the old worry tree. For now, let’s stick with introducing a few more solid foods and baby-proofing all of your cabinets and electrical outlets.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Baby-proofing. Good plan.”

“Jace…” her tone was soft. A verbal pillow on which to rest his turbulent emotions. “Trust me, down the line—weeks from now, maybe even months—you’ll never be able to imagine your life before Bea and Bronwyn entered it. Being a parent is…” In the living room’s dim light, her eyes shone. Was she on the verge of crying? “…the most wonderful thing you can imagine. Through these angels’ eyes, you’ll experience everything anew. Their first Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas. And just think, with every year, every occasion will be new again because the girls will be at a fresh stage of life. There will be trick-or-treating and baking cookies for Santa. Holding out your arms to them when they run off the school bus ecstatic to see you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she turned to brush them away. “Anyway,” she added with a sniffle, “you have lots of good times ahead of you. I’m actually a little jealous.”

“In that case,” he said, sensing that for whatever reason, she needed him to lighten the moment, “how about I give you the honor of handling the good—and stinky—surprise I’m guessing Bea just left in her diaper.”