Feeling like a boy who doesn’t get it, he set his fork down and daintily dabbed at his mouth with a frilly pink napkin.
“Well, honey, I think most boys are pretty dumb about babies.”
Nic snarled. “You’re not dumb, are you, Uncle Arnie? You want tons of babies.” She nodded with childlike intensity while throwing down this challenge.
More stunning eloquence from him. “Uh.”
It didn’t matter. Princess Nicole was on a roll.
“Me and Jackie get a new daddy. King said so. First, Mommy is a bride, and then we move into a big house and start our family. That means a baby, right?”
“Uh.”
Nic tipped the teapot again for another pour, and this time, she spooned half a dozen pretend mounds of sugar into the teacup. She stirred and then blew on it before smiling and urging him with a gesture to drink up.
Nicole Foster was going to leave a trail of admirers and broken hearts. Don’t ask him how he knew; he just did.
“I’ve never had a daddy,” she informed him without any malice in her voice.
Arnie contemplated killing the worthless piece of shit that biologically participated in the child’s existence. It infuriated him that the beautiful, engaging child was so blasé about a man who didn’t care enough to even call himself her father.
If he were lucky enough to have a child, he’d be damn sure to make his kid a priority.
Whoa. Slow down, slugger.
What the hell with these freaky thoughts about fatherhood? They were in his head a lot.
A woman’s voice, soft and low, whispered in his mind. “Arnie, you must find Summer.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Yeah, you’re damn straight he had to find Summer, but with all the wedding plans and NIGHTWIND’s current slate of assignments, he was stymied for now.
But he’d been formulating a plan. As soon as Kinglsey Maddison married Dawn Foster and things settled down, he was going to make a move. He still didn’t know exactly what this move would look like, but he planned to be ready when he saw an opening.
Since he couldn’t find current information on Summer, and poking around in her brother’s DoD records would trigger the feds, he switched to checking out the only other person in her life he knew by name. Sergeant Major Cyrus Westmoreland. The guy didn’t have a social media footprint, but Arnie still managed to find out plenty.
A highly decorated vet, Westmoreland moved through the managing ranks of a veteran’s organization and landed in his current position of managing director at the Santa Barbara location two years ago.
The way the old soldier and Summer interacted suggested they were more than casual acquaintances. His knowing glare when he looked at Arnie had been uncomfortable as hell. And when he thought about it, he had a Dottie, so it seemed reasonable for Summer to have a Cyrus.
“Lorelai thinks I’m going to be a dancer when I grow up. She knows dance stuff. Do boys like to dance? I bet you dance, don’t you, Uncle Arnie? And King too. He dances. I saw him one night. He was singing about Billie Jean and making Mommy laugh.”
Arnie blinked, did a double take on the little girl’s face, and smiled. What did she just say? King was dancing to Billie Jean? Oh, man. He’d pay good money to watch the tattooed badass channeling some Michael Jackson.
“I took dance lessons when I was Jack’s age,” he told her. Winking and grinning, he admitted what very few guys were willing to own—that he liked to dance.
“Dancing is awesome. Moving around, taking up space—yeah. Love it.”
Talking about movement and space made him think about Summer. Sadness tugged at his emotions, and darkness edged his thoughts.
Nic leaned across the little table and held his hand. “Are you okay, Uncle Arnie?”
He lifted her small hand and gallantly kissed it. “Not to worry, honey. Everything’s fine.”
She snatched her hand away, crossed her arms, huffed, and sat back heavily. “Why do grown-ups think kids are stupid?”
Eh, what the hell. Unburdening himself to a preschooler was no weirder than most of the stuff he’d done in his lifetime.
“Okay, well, you see, Nic, you aren’t the only princess I know. There’s another.”
“Really?” she gasped with childlike awe. Her arms uncrossed, and she clapped her hands. “What’s her name?”
He answered without reservation. “Summer.”
“Oh! You mean she’s a summer princess? Does she wear flowers in her hair? Mommy says maybe I can have a flower crown for the wedding. Flowers are cool.”
Indeed.
“She has a little sunflower on her ankle.”
Nicole’s face was transformed by wonder and happiness. “Princess Sunflower.”
Oh my god. He was going to cry. Pressing a fist to his chest, he willed his heart to remain steady and fought the overwhelming sense of regret and loss sweeping through him.
“You miss her.”
What was that expression? From the mouths of babes? Yeah … that one.
“Yes, and she lives far away.” He shrugged and changed the subject. “May I please have more tea?” Arnie held up the plastic teacup by the curved handle. “All gone.”
Redirected, Nicole switched to charming tea party hostess, and their date continued.
“With eight weeks to go, I’m afraid we have to call it, Summer. Your maternity leave starts immediately. No work and no stress. I’m not recommending bed rest yet,” the doctor sternly added, “but you have to slow way down.”
More exhausted than she’d ever been and hobbled by aches, pains, swollen ankles, hemorrhoids, and a Santa-sized belly, Summer was d-o-n-e, done. As in, stick a fork in her done.
“I see from the nursing assistant’s note that you completed the birthing class.”
Summer nodded but remained silent as she watched the doctor move the ultrasound wand over her enormous Tinker Belly. She turned her head to study the image on the monitor.
“Looks like she’s running out of room for activities,” the doctor joked. “And moving into birth position—head down.”
“This is really happening,” Summer murmured.
“Not long now. Are you all set with a labor plan? Who’s your birthing partner?”
“Oh, uh, my neighbor. She’s a friend. Lynda. She was my birthing class coach.”
“Good, good.” The clinic doctor finished the ultrasound and wiped off Summer’s belly. “Nice and easy,” she said while helping her sit up.
Pulling on the hem of her top, she covered up and sighed. “So everything looks good?”
While washing up at the exam room sink, the doctor offered a smile. “The baby is doing quite well, Summer. It’s you I’m worried about.”
The amount of crushing reality she could manage at any given time had dwindled to nil. Her emotional and physical strength was depleted—the tank running on empty.
“Me too,” she quietly admitted. “I’m so …” She couldn’t find the right words.
Surprised but grateful when the doctor put an arm around her in a show of support, Summer swallowed a lump of emotion and let out a long sigh.
“When you say slow down, do you mean I have to sit on the sofa all day, or can I take walks?”
“No walking. Not with those ankles. You got a three-wheel bike, didn’t you? Well, feel free to ride around the neighborhood. Just be sure to wear a helmet.”
“Okay,” she wearily replied.
“I know this is hard, but you’ve got a little girl counting on you, okay?”
Summer hugged her bump. Tears stung her nose. She wasn’t saying so out loud, but she was terrified. And she desperately, desperately needed Arnie.
She wrapped up the clinic visit and wobbled numbly to the parking lot. Life took place all around her, but none of it mattered.
Not the elderly couple holding hands at the bus stop.
Not the kids clustered around an ice cream truck parked at the corner.
She nearly broke d
own in tears when getting into the car proved exhaustingly difficult. If Tinker Belly got any bigger, she wouldn’t be able to drive.
It wasn’t like her to get weepy, but dammit, she was human.
When the engine started, the radio kicked on. Tom Petty’s “The Waiting” came on, and by the last note, she was sobbing into a wad of tissues.
“Arnie,” she sobbed. “I can’t do this.”
Wracked with tears as her heart felt like it shattered all over again, Summer cried it out in the parking lot of the women’s clinic.
Telling herself to be strong didn’t help. Nothing helped. Nothing she said, did, thought, or wished for made any difference. She was still alone—facing something life-changing—and for the first time ever, she genuinely feared she wasn’t up to the task.
Personal agonies haunted her. What if she was like her mom and didn’t take to motherhood? Was her time with Arnie nothing more than a hot guy having a fling with a naïve beach town waitress? How had she been so blindly irresponsible? What if there was a complication and she died? Who would take care of her baby?
And of course, the big kahuna of agonies—was Maleficent biding her time? Waiting to pounce once Arnie’s child was safely delivered?
Oh god. “I can’t do this,” she wailed. Clinging to the steering wheel, she cried until there were no tears left.
After blowing her nose and taking a few minutes to sit calmly and do nothing but breathe deeply, she put the car in gear and headed home.
“Take it easy, Stan. Slow down and catch your breath. Then tell me what’s going on.”
Arnie kept the phone pressed to his ear while he scowled and hightailed it away from the NIGHTWIND crew. Spirits were high, and an engagement celebration for King and Dawn was in progress, but whatever had his brother’s shorts in a knot sounded important. Stan had come far in a short time, and as his older brother, he was determined to do what he could to help him succeed. And stay sober.
“I’m done,” Stan barked. “Enough! She’s my mother, and I guess I care about her, but she’s losing it, Arnie. All she cares about is money and how things look. Fucking bitch.”
“Hey now, come on, bro. I know she’s a piece of work, but she’s still your mother.”
A part of him couldn’t believe he had an ounce of compassion for Giselle, and maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just trying to say the right thing.
It didn’t matter. Stan was on an angry roll.
“No,” he growled. “Fuck her twice. She stuck her goddamn nose in and had the fucking balls to side with April over her pathetic grandstanding with the marriage counselor. I want a fucking divorce, not six weeks of counseling with an adulterous whore. And what’s more, NO, I do not give a rat’s ass what anyone thinks. Oh, and you know what else the bitch did? She tried to start shit with my AA sponsor. What fucking difference does it make what the goddamn zip code is for the meetings? Does she think white glove wait service and valet parking is how Alcoholics Anonymous works?”
Well, damn. That was a lot to sort through. Where to start?
“Dude.” He smirked. “Where the adulterous whore is concerned?” Arnie laughed. “Tell her I tracked down the video. Tell her there are more and they show her face. She either takes the original settlement or suffers the consequences.”
“She fucking hates you.”
“It’s mutual,” he reminded Stan. “April knows I’m a motherfucker. A motherfucker with a blackmail video and loads of options. She’ll capitulate.”
“What about my mom? Have you got a secret blackmail tape for her?”
“God, I wish. Would have made Dad’s life easier.” He didn’t bother pretending not to loathe Giselle. “Believe me, bro. If she ever tries to mess with me or I get the upper hand, I will destroy her.”
“She treated you like shit, Arnie. That’s one hundred percent fact and not me being disloyal. And what she did to Dad and continues to pull with the family is way over the line. Karma is a bitch, though, right?”
They were silent for a moment, and then Stan delivered a surprising tidbit of information.
“Do you know her lawyer? Bruce. Bruce Wells. I’m pretty sure he’s looking for the escape hatch.”
Arnie’s entire physical and mental being sat straighter. “What makes you say so?”
“It’s just a feeling. He’s not nearly as deferential as he once was, and I get the sense that he isn’t thrilled with her never-ending machinations.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He gave me a heads-up when Mom started making nice with April.”
“Holy shit.” Arnie’s brows shot straight up. Was Giselle’s lawyer finally on the cusp of defecting?
“I know, right?” Stan chuckled. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You calmer, bro?”
Stan sighed. “It’s totally worth getting sober to have you back as my brother.”
“As your brother, I’m going to give you a piece of advice. Take it or leave it Stan but if it were me, I’d cut my losses and get the fuck out of there. Come to New York—get a job. Don’t wait for everything to be perfect—for all the pieces to fall neatly into place. That’s not how life works. Take no shit and grab the life you want by the balls.”
Through the phone, Stan’s laughter traveled across the miles. “Can I quote you on that?”
“Sure. It’s original. I think.” He smiled. “Play your cards right, and I’ll put it on a coffee mug.”
“Deal!” Stan howled. “Part of the Wanamaker line of dishes! Ah ha ha.”
When the call ended, Arnie made his way back to the festivities in time to say goodbye to some of King’s Navy SEAL friends. They were a rowdy, albeit nominally behaved, bunch.
The pre-wedding party had wound down to NIGHTWIND’s inner circle. Arnie couldn’t help but silently wish King and Dawn’s wedding was over so he could focus on his life.
But one look at NIGHTWIND’s co-CEO, Jon Weston, canoodling with Dawn’s friend Lorelai Midnight, and he knew in a flash that a second wedding was drawing up the rear.
Fuck.
There was only one thing to do. He sighed, slapped a happy smile on his face because he was genuinely happy for both couples, and joined the gang.
With exactly one month until her due date, Summer stood in front of a Scooby-Doo wall calendar and drew a thick red circle around the tenth. All she had to do was get through today, and she’d be in the home stretch.
Then she realized September 11th was tomorrow. Ugh.
When that awful day happened, she’d been a motherless six-year-old in a house of angry men. Reed was just eleven at the time, but she clearly remembered him spouting off about being a soldier and hunting terrorists.
Her brother grew up way too fast. He was older and more aware of the world when their mother walked out. His bitterness about relationships and women was understandable. Add the 9/11 horror just a few years later, and what you ended up with was a man-boy who didn’t consider happiness as an outcome or even a means to an end. Reed was all about the straightedges. It’s why the Army valued his service.
Producing an award-winning sigh, she snapped the cap on the scented marker and tossed it into a nearby catchall basket. The pack of markers jumped into her cart during a trip to a for craft supplies. They came in handy for labeling and the occasional doodle.
Cradling her queen-size belly, she bent with a grunt, opened a cabinet, and pulled out the pretty box where she kept cards and stationery. There was sure to be something inappropriate or irreverent in her collection for Reed.
The door to the backyard pool and patio was propped open with an oscillating tower fan. Her maternity sundress swished as she passed through the blowing air.
As was her habit in this new normal where all she did was lay about, read, watch TV, and do dumb stuff, Summer carried on a running conversation with Tink throughout day.
“Never thought I’d see this day, but it’s official. I am so over the heat. My kingdom for four seasons.” She giggled. “A co
ol, rainy day would be appreciated.”
Lowering with care, she landed on the sofa, rearranged a collection of throw pillows to support her aching back, and groaned when her lap disappeared.
“Well, crud,” she muttered.
Glancing about for a solution to her predicament, she stretched left, hooked a finger into the top of a barely reachable rolling laundry basket, and pulled it toward her.
The canvas basket was tall and had an industrial look, so she stencil painted a garden of roses and sunflowers on the heavyweight cotton to make it look nice. Her place was small, and she had to be creative when it came to stuff and storage. She was going to use the convenient roller for storing baby blankets, but right this second, it was the perfect height to act as a substitute for her missing lap.
Placing the lap desk she kept close by across the basket, she made a space for the box of stationery and sorted through a stack of cards. It didn’t take long to find something suitably snarky guaranteed to get a laugh out of her brother.
Inside the box, she kept a pencil pouch stuffed with an assortment of gel markers and fine line pens. As she searched for the right tip and color, it occurred to her that she might have a problem where office supplies were concerned.
“Addicted to pens.” She chuckled. “It could be worse.”
She signed the card, colored a bunch of red hearts and a neon yellow sunflower next to her name, and addressed the matching envelope.
She hadn’t seen her brother except in video chats for a while. He was off again doing the Army’s bidding, and she didn’t know where. As time went on and Reed moved through ranks and postings, it seemed more and more likely the whole special trainer assignment was bullshit of the highest order.
Oh, she was relatively sure he trained soldiers, but what he taught was the real story.
Licking the envelope to seal it, she added an embossed sticker of the sun to the seam, and said, “There. All done.”
She relaxed into her pillow nest and rubbed her belly. “I’m afraid we’re surrounded by men with secrets,” she told Tink. “Why’s it gotta be this way?”
Finding Summer (Nightwind Book 3) Page 35