Читать книгу A Promise For The Twins - Melissa Senate - Страница 12

Chapter Two

“I’m confused,” Brooke said, reaching for the baby in Nick’s arms.

He almost didn’t want to let the little guy go. He liked how the sturdy small weight felt in his arms, against his chest. He’d been surprised by that back in Afghanistan—how satisfying, how gratifying it was to hold a tiny baby. How hard it was to hand the baby over.

Some things just sneaked up on a former US Army combat soldier unexpectedly. Like how raw he felt about his reason for being here. The sooner he gave back Mikey, the sooner he’d have to explain why he’d come. He had no idea how that conversation was going to go.

“You’re not here to apply for the nanny position?” she asked, taking the baby and giving Mikey a kiss on his cheek. Mikey gurgled and then immediately spit up on the jacket of Brooke’s white pantsuit. It had to take courage to wear something like that with baby twins.

She barely seemed to notice. She reached under the desk, grabbed a burp cloth, dabbed the drool, tossed the cloth on her shoulder, and then put Mikey in his swing and transferred the twin beside him. With both babies occupied and playing with chew toys attached to the swing, she turned her attention back to him.

Those driftwood-brown eyes of hers had stopped him in his tracks when he’d seen that one photo of her on Will Parker’s phone. Intelligent and assessing. And tired now. He could see the dark shadows and the pull of exhaustion. He’d known she was pretty. But the instant wham of connection he’d felt when he’d first laid eyes on her in person was anything but expected.

“No,” he said. “I was on my way to see you and happened to notice the ad for a nanny in the Gazette. I ripped it out so I’d have your phone number if you weren’t at home.”

But she had been at home. Fortified with caffeine from the diner, he’d pulled up in front of her house, taking note of the well-kept small white Cape Cod with black shutters and a red door, the lawn tended to, two black-and-white cats snoozing on a padded swing, two cars in the driveway—one a brand-new Range Rover that must have cost a mint. He now realized the Range Rover probably belonged to the Satlers. The second car was a decade-old Honda. He’d breathed a sigh of relief that Brooke Timber was clearly doing fine and that he could be on his way to dealing with number two on his list. But then he’d heard the sound of babies wailing and high-pitched shrieks from adults, and that hadn’t sounded too okay, so he’d followed the noise to the side door, a business entrance, and marched in.

Brooke hadn’t looked fine at all, not in the slightest. He’d sprung into action, as was his wont, and somehow the four women in the room had managed to mistake him for a nanny.

At six foot two, 185 pounds, with a small tattoo of “purple mountain majesties” on his left bicep and size-thirteen black work boots, he wouldn’t have thought anyone would confuse him with an applicant for a babysitting job—Gazette ad in hand or not.

“Ah! So you must be a prospective client,” Brooke said. “When’s the big day?”

Client? Big day? What was she talking about? Then he remembered the Satler triplets with their huge rock engagement rings and the shingle outside her side door. Brooke was a wedding planner.

“Good God, no,” he said with a shake of his head. Now he was taken for a groom? “I’m not the marrying kind.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Everyone is the marrying kind. My clients have been all sorts. Last year, a search-and-rescue worker fell in love with a man who lived off the grid, in the mountains, without electricity or running water. She got him to upgrade to a real cabin with the basics and even Wi-Fi, but they’re way out in the woods, eating only what they forage themselves.”

He smiled. “I’m surprised that a woman who’d live in a cabin in the woods with a mountain man would even hire a wedding planner.”

“I know, but the groom scoffed at everything she suggested, and only when his bride threatened to run back to civilization did he agree to let her handle the wedding her way, with him in mind. Her job was so demanding that she had no time or interest in figuring it all out, so she hired me. I planned a small, quiet ceremony on the bank of the Wedlock Creek river, with the mountain as a backdrop. The ‘caterer’ was a fisherman, who made an amazing clambake. The ‘band’ was a fiddler. But guess who put on a rented tuxedo to make his bride happy? Yup.”

“Well, I’ll be,” he said on a laugh. “I guess you never know. That may be the only thing I do know for sure.”

She laughed too, and for a moment he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had silky, straight brown hair past her shoulders, a dimple in her left cheek and, though he was usually drawn to more casual women, he liked the fancy outfit and little scarf at her neck and the pointy, polished high heels. Maybe because she gave the appearance of having it all together. And whether or not she did was the reason he was here.

“So, what can I do for you, Nick Garroway?”

Brooke looked happy and peaceful at the moment, and he didn’t want to spoil it. But she was staring at him with those big brown eyes. Waiting for an explanation.

“I’m newly medically retired from the army,” he said. “For the past month, I’ve been recuperating from a foot injury at a base in Texas, after eleven years as a combat soldier in Afghanistan.”

“Thank you for your service,” she said, her voice turning hesitant and her entire body stiffening. “And you came to see me because...”

He could tell she was bracing herself. “Will Parker was in my unit.”

She glanced at the babies in their swings, her shoulders slumping. Then she lifted her chin and let out a breath.

Her cell phone rang in the silence of the room.

“I’ll let voice mail get it,” she said, then dropped down in her desk chair as if her legs had been about to give out on her.

The phone stopped ringing, but before he could say a word, the annoying ringtone started up again. He could tell she needed a breather—but from him and what else he had to say. “Take the call, Brooke. I’ll keep an eye on the twins.”

“Really?” she asked. “Even though you’re not here about the job?”

He nodded. “Go ahead. Might as well while I’m here.”

She snatched the phone as if it were a lifeline. “Brooke Timber of Dream Weddings speaking. How may I help you?”

He kneeled down in front of the baby swings to make funny faces at the twins, but he was distracted by Brooke—how hard she was listening, how tired she looked, how rigid her shoulders were now, probably from his news about being here because he knew Will.

The twins’ father.

“Absolutely, Francesca,” she said into the phone. “The salmon is out, the sole almondine is in. I’ll make it happen.”

Brooke put down the phone. “One of my clients wants to switch her menu. Someone told her that salmon was dated and that she should go with the hipper sole.”

He smiled, but a call like that would push him off the edge. Salmon was dated? Sole was hip? What? “Bride’s wish is your command?”

“Pretty much. Unless they’re dead wrong and I need to do reality checks. But if sole almondine will make Francesca Perry happy? Done.”

“You’re like a wedding genie,” he said.

She gave him a bittersweet smile. “Well, my grandmother named this business Dream Weddings when she opened up shop in this very room, twenty-seven years ago. I promised her in the hospice last year that I’d run the business just as she had, with everything she taught me. My job is to make brides’ dreams come true for their big day. And no dream is silly or wrong or too small or too big. That’s what Gram always said.”

A wistful expression filled her eyes, and he could see how much she missed her grandmother. He knew from Will Parker that Brooke was all alone in the world—no parents, no other family. Couldn’t be easy raising twins under those circumstances. And running a business, to boot.

Family businesses, family ties. He also full well knew the grip those could have. He’d let go. But not everyone could or would, was willing, or wanted to. Brooke spoke of her grandmother with love and reverence and seemed to truly like her job, so it was clear her family ties weren’t like the rope he’d had to cut with a sharp knife.

“Well,” she said. “Why don’t we talk in the house. It’s close to lunchtime for Morgan and Mikey.”

He looked at Brooke in her fancy outfit, with two babies to feed, no nanny and work to do, given the project she had in front of her to secure the Satlers’ weddings. And then he heard Will Parker’s voice in his head, usually so light and full of devilish mischief, asking something of Nick with regret and sorrow in his tone.

He could certainly be of help while he was here, relaying Will’s message.

“May I?” he asked, ready to scoop up Morgan. The little guy wore orange-and-white-striped footsie pajamas. He—and Mikey—both looked a lot like Brooke, but he could see hints of Will.

“Sure, thanks,” she said, picking up Mikey.

The beautiful baby boy in his arms reached up and poked his cheek. He smiled. “Hi. I’m Nick.”

Morgan drooled in response.

Brooke laughed and pulled a burp cloth off her shoulder. “Here. I made the rookie mistake of not having this close enough earlier.”

He took the burp cloth and gave the little lips a dab, then put the cloth on his shoulder, but that felt remarkably stupid, so he just held on to it.

He followed her through an arched doorway, into a living room with a baby play area off to the side. A big carton with one side open was against the wall, with a picture of a white bookcase on the front, a set of instructions and a toolbox next to it.

“Haven’t gotten around to putting it together yet?” he asked.

She sighed. “I keep meaning to. It’s for the twins’ nursery. But then it’s time to feed them or put them down for their nap, or the phone rings or a client comes over. This morning I got the twins out for the gorgeous summer morning air and a Java Jane’s run, fully intending to come home and at least start the bookcase, but then the Satler sisters got engaged and securing them as clients became everything.”

He nodded. “Well, sounds like you did just that.”

“Thanks to you. If you hadn’t walked through the door and reminded them of high school before changing Mikey while singing a lullaby, they would have run screaming out of my office, straight to my competition.”

“Well, then I’ve already fulfilled some of my promise,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Promise? What do you mean?” The moment the words were out, she slightly shook her head as if she didn’t really want to know and kept her gaze off him, so he stayed quiet.

She put Mikey in the baby seat on the kitchen table, and he did the same with Morgan beside him. She made up two bottles, and he couldn’t help but notice the sink was full of dishes, despite the dishwasher right next to it. A basket of laundry—whether clean or dirty, he wasn’t sure—was beside one of the chairs. Clearly Brooke needed help—the nanny she’d advertised for so that she could operate her business and take care of the everyday stuff.

Yup, she wasn’t waiting for his answer, which made him think she wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say. She went into the living room and put the two bottles on the coffee table, then came back into the kitchen and picked up Morgan. He picked up Mikey and followed her, settling next to her on the couch.

He watched the way she laid Morgan slightly upright, giving the baby the bottle. He did the same with Mikey, then was about to answer her question. About the promise.

“Have multiples yourself?” she asked before he could. “Is that why you’re so good with Morgan and Mikey?”

He almost laughed. “Kids? Me? No. Not the marrying kind, not the dad kind. I got some unexpected baby-care experience overseas. Long story.” And one he wasn’t interested in talking about. The less he thought about what he’d been through in Afghanistan, the better.

“Well, it’s nice to have someone else to help so they can both eat at the same time,” she said. “I had a wonderful nanny the first two months, but she had to leave town to help her own daughter. I guess I’ve been so focused on taking care of the twins that I’ve neglected everything else. I’m sure you noticed the state of the kitchen.”

“You’re busy and on your own,” he said. “A single mother, raising baby twins alone, running a business—something has to be put off, and it sure as hell should be the dishes.”

She laughed. “Right? I agree.” The smile faded fast and she slid a glance his way.

He tilted the bottle up as Mikey drank it down, then inwardly sighed. This was not going to be easy.

“So, about the promise you made,” she said. She closed her eyes for a second as if bracing herself again, then opened them, keeping her attention on the baby in her arms.

He cleared his throat. “Will asked me to check on you and to pass along a message.”

She stared at him hard. “He asked you to check on me? Why? It’s been nearly a year since he sent me a Dear Jane email, so I’m surprised he cares one iota about me—or the twins.”

“Will was killed six weeks ago,” he said as gently as he could. But there was no gentle way to say such a thing.

He lowered his head out of respect for the fallen soldier, and to give Brooke some privacy with her emotions.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“IED—improvised explosive device. I might have been killed if he hadn’t thrown himself on top of me. He took the brunt of it.”

“Oh God.” She shook her head.

“Will and I had never been close or even friends, really. But we were from the same hometown, and that connected us. Maybe that was why he saved my life. Or maybe he’d always had that in him and I didn’t know it.”

“That he could be a hero?” she asked, tears in her eyes.

He nodded. “Will liked to make jokes, pull pranks. Never all that serious about anything. And then he saved my life. Can’t get more serious than throwing yourself on another soldier to protect him.”

They were quiet for a moment, and she nodded.

“Will was fading,” he finally continued, “but I could see he wanted to tell me something. He said there was a woman from Wedlock Creek, a beautiful, kind, good person named Brooke Timber, who he did wrong. Ghosted her when she told him she was pregnant with twins, then sent an email that he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood and they’d all be better off without him.”

Her lips tightened. “That’s almost verbatim. All two lines of the email.”

He glanced at her for a moment. She was waiting for him to continue. “Then Will said, ‘Garroway, will you check on her when you get home? Make sure she’s all right? See if she needs anything?’ And I assured him I would. The last thing he said was, ‘Tell her I’m sorry. She deserved better.’” He winced, remembering the look on Parker’s face. The regret.

She smoothed her hand over Morgan’s wispy dark hair. “Your daddy was a hero,” she whispered to the baby. “And he sent a guardian angel to check on us. That’s not nothing.”

The backs of his eyes stung, and he blinked hard.

“Well, message delivered,” she said, slashing a hand under each eye and standing up. “As you can see, we’re okay. Everything is okay.”

“Waaah!” Morgan started crying, the little face crumpling and turning red.

She closed her eyes and took a breath, then opened them. “I need to burp and change Morgan. Thank you for coming, Nick. You can put Mikey in his swing in the kitchen and let yourself out,” she added before rushing from the room with Morgan.

Was she crying? Just emotional? Needing to be alone and get control of herself?

You can let yourself out... He could, indeed. Mission accomplished, right?

But there was no way he was leaving. Because Brooke wasn’t all right. And he’d promised the soldier who’d saved his life that he’d make sure she was.

He looked down at the baby in his arms, the blue-green-hazel eyes staring up at him so trustingly.

Nick didn’t always get it right, but he wasn’t about to get this wrong.