The Marine's Babies (Men Made In America)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Fear of losing herself again.

  With her mother, Emma was careful to present a cheerful front. Chattering about how much the girls had grown, and how Jace might be up for a rank promotion. When her mother warned Emma that she had grown too close to the man too soon, Emma brushed off her worries, assured her mother that she had never felt more alive. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Not really. Because this sense of always being on alert had heightened Emma’s every sense.

  By Thursday night, when Emma heard the front door open then close, the bedside digital clock read 10:23. Next, came the familiar thump of Jace’s kicked-off combat boots hitting the floor. Another thump was probably the diaper bag. He made a side trip to the nursery, and it took everything in her to keep her from going to him and the girls. Lord, how she wanted to. But she felt like an unwelcome guest in his home. A few minutes later came the muffled sounds of him in the hall bathroom. Next, a trip to the kitchen, judging from the jiggle of condiments in the fridge door.

  It was 10:47 before Jace wound his way to her. Emma considered feigning sleep, but what good would that have done? “How did it go?”

  He jumped. “Man, you scared me. I thought you were asleep.”

  “Sorry.”

  From the shadows came the whisper of him removing his shirt, then his thick camo pants. “I’m going to grab a quick shower. Vicki’s friend smokes. I told her not to around the girls, but the apartment still stinks.”

  “Okay.” Hurry back, Emma wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t leave her tongue.

  Eyes closed, she imagined him in the shower.

  His sun-bronzed skin sudsy and wet. Mouth dry, she imagined holding him against her. Nothing between them but thoughts of acting on the fantasies playing out in her mind.

  Rolling over, Emma tried not to think about him. His coarse, hair-covered chest pressed against the pliant warmth of her breasts. She especially tried not thinking about how wonderful it would feel to have him spooning her. Not so much for sex, but comfort. Safety. Knowing that just as he’d been there for her before Vicki’s arrival, he would still be there after the younger woman had gone.

  Jace turned off the shower. She heard him lightly whistling, presumably while toweling dry. His closet door creaked open, and a minute later, his side of the bed depressed from his weight. “We need to talk.”

  “It’s awfully late.” Though she was wide awake, the last thing Emma wanted was a serious conversation. She wanted to hug him and laugh with him and share heated kisses.

  “Sorry,” Jace said, “it can’t be helped. I’ve got early flight times, and before tomorrow there are a few things we need to work out.” Seeing as she was positioned on her side with her back facing him, he skimmed his hand over the portion of her shoulder peeking out from her flimsy pink cotton nightgown. “Roll over,” he urged. “Look at me.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “You know what I mean.” Yes, she did. But the part of her that, after losing Henry, then Rick, had faced enough conflict for a lifetime wanted to hide. This time around was supposed to have been different. “These nights with Vicki have been tough.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Thank you for having the girls ready for me to take, but in the future, I think you should come along.”

  “Why?” Emma couldn’t imagine sitting in a cramped, stinking apartment with nothing to look at but the woman intent on taking her kids.

  “Vicki has been putting out not-so-subtle feelers about the two of us giving it a go.”

  Rising onto her elbow, Emma asked, “Like romantically? You and her? What did you do to give her the notion that such a thing was even a possibility?”

  “I didn’t do a damned thing,” he bristled. “If you want someone to blame, try looking in the mirror. You and I aren’t exactly presenting a united front.”

  “I didn’t think you even wanted me there.”

  “Why would I not? You are, after all, going to be the woman raising my girls. I would think you’d want a say in everything to do with their wellbeing. Especially when it comes to their custody.”

  “So Vicki still hasn’t made up her mind?”

  Sighing, lying flat on his back while staring up at the humming ceiling fan, he said, “I thought she had, but lately she’s been asking some pretty pointed questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Like why should she even trust you to raise her girls if you can’t take the time out of your day—or night—to meet with her?”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Emma railed. “You know full well why I haven’t gone with you.”

  “Do I?” The question hung in the air.

  “It’s because I want to give you space.”

  “Fair enough. But what if I told you I’ve had enough? What I want now is to slam Vicki with a united front. I want to show her what a true mother is, Em, and up until this whole nightmare with Vicki started, I believed you were the real deal. The woman I’ve waited my whole life to find.”

  I am! Emma’s heart screamed. But that was as far as her protestations could go. Maybe, with her history, she wasn’t anywhere near the woman Jace thought her to be. But for him, for the girls, she would try. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Saturday, Vicki’s parents will be in town. I’ve invited them out for lunch, and I’d like you to be with us.”

  “Of course.” Though her voice came across as strong and sure, her insides were quaking. “But aren’t Vicki’s parents the ones pushing her to keep the twins?”

  “Yep. Now, what we have to do is convince them there have never been two better parents in the world than me and you.”

  Sounded great in theory, but the problem was that Emma didn’t believe that. The part of her still hurting from Rick’s accusations had festered to the point that the only time she felt one-hundred-percent certain about anything having to do with the girls was when she held them, rocked them, witnessed the magic of their smiles. She fiercely loved them. But when it came to Emma deserving to raise them more than their natural mother, was love enough?

  “WHAT DO you do?” Vicki’s mother, Helen, asked Emma Saturday from her side of the table at Olive’s only Italian restaurant, Tucci’s. The woman was heavyset with dyed blond hair styled into a short helmet. Her makeup was applied a bit thick, with particular emphasis on green eye shadow that matched her palm-tree-themed pantsuit.

  “Right now, I’m primarily the girls’ caretaker, but when I lived in Chicago, I worked in foreign investments.”

  “What brought you to our neck of the woods?” Vicki’s father, Frank, asked around a bite of chicken parmesan.

  “My work was very stressful. I needed a change of scenery.”

  Jace listened to the conversation’s ebb and flow, but in particular, he focused on body language. The possessive hold Em had on Bronwyn. The equally claiming hold Helen had on Bea, despite how the older woman favored her left shoulder. Though the topic hadn’t once landed on the matter at hand—who would eventually be raising the girls—Jace, at least, felt it peppering every word.

  “I feel for you,” Frank said. “I was an air traffic controller, and after my first heart attack, my doc told me to get out of the field or get my affairs in order within the next year.”

  Seeing a politically correct entry to the topic at hand, Jace cleared his throat. “It’s interesting you should mention stress, sir. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but Vicki told me that you and Helen have promised to care for the girls when Vicki’s in class. My question is, in light of your health, how do see handling the care of two growing girls?”

  “We’ll manage,” Helen snapped.

  “I don’t doubt that you will,” Jace said, “but Helen, you’re already favoring a sore shoulder. Bursitis?”

  “A touch,” she bristled. “But I fail to see how that in any way affects Vicki resuming her rightful role as the girls’ mother.”

  Vicki, who had been buttering a crusty roll for the past five minutes, said, “Mom, I think
what Jace is trying to say politely is that you and Daddy aren’t getting younger, yet the girls are growing by the day. We’ve talked about this before—how you two promise to share the burden of watching the girls, but realistically, it just isn’t possible.”

  “Stop this,” Helen hissed under her breath to her daughter. “You’re not only acting as if your father and I already have one foot in the grave, but like you’re back to wanting to give up these girls. You are their mother, Victoria, and you will raise them. We didn’t bring you up to run from responsibility.”

  “I hate to jump into family business,” Em quietly said, “but I think what Vicki’s trying to get across is that you all have tried raising the girls and had a tough time. So tough a time that Vicki felt she had no other option than to virtually abandon the girls with their father. Helen, Frank, again, with all due respect, I know you both mean well, but maybe you need to take a step back and consider your own responsibilities in doing what’s best for Vicki.”

  Helen harrumphed. “Frank, Vicki, I think we should leave.”

  Frank placed his hand on his wife’s arm. “Helen…”

  “What?” Vicki’s mother asked. “I refuse to be bullied into making a premature decision. Especially when it concerns a topic as crucial as who will raise our grandchildren.” Bea still in her arms, the older woman reached for her purse—no easy task. After considerable grunting, she pushed her chair back.

  Blood boiling, under the table Jace grabbed hold of Em’s hand and squeezed. “Ma’am, again, the last thing I want you to feel is bullied. But the fact is that we’re not talking about Vicki leaving your grandchildren with strangers. I am the girls’ father. As such, I give you my word that you would always be welcome to take part in their lives. Mobile isn’t that far away. You could come for weekends.”

  “The man makes sense,” Frank said to his wife.

  “Excuse me,” Vicki said. “You all are acting as if I’m not even here.”

  “You essentially haven’t been,” Helen snapped, “which is why your father and I have had to step in.”

  The waiter arrived with the dessert cart. “Anyone save room for tiramisu?”

  “Could you please give us some privacy?” Jace asked.

  Raising his eyebrows, the waiter nodded, and then backed away.

  Bea had begun to fuss in Helen’s arms. The woman jiggled and cooed, but neither worked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she said. “Here…” She rose and walked around the table to pass the infant to her daughter.

  “Shh…” Vicki said, cradling the baby to rock her back and forth. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “Yes,” Helen said, “Everything will be fine when you come to your senses and take back your girls. You act as if this is some kind of game. Like when you get tired of children you can simply give them away. How would you feel if Daddy and I had put you up for adoption?”

  Vicki snorted. “Better.”

  “Ladies…” Frank warned, “this isn’t the place.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Vicki insisted, having no luck with calming Bea. “It’s the perfect place. All my life, Mom has been making decisions for me. What to wear, who my friends should be. What college I should go to. What sorority to join. Did you ever think the reason I ended up in this position is because for once in my life I wanted to be free?” To Jace, while still jiggling Bea, she said, “Sorry, but our one night was more about me proving something to myself, than wanting to be with you. Don’t get me wrong. Everything was—” she blushed “—you know what I mean. I just had to do something—anything—to prove I was my own person.”

  “And look how well that turned out,” Helen said.

  Bea launched into a full-on wail.

  Since Emma already held a sleeping Bronwyn, Jace released her hand. Rising, he said to Vicki, “I’ll take her.”

  Vicki’s expression transformed from annoyance to relief. “Mom, I love you, but you’ve got to get your own life and stop living mine. The fact is, no matter how much you think you want to play grandma, if I choose to take back the girls, the decision is between no one but me and Jace.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  With the girls sleeping in their safety seats, instead of steering Emma’s station wagon straight for home, Jace headed down the old coastal highway. The outside air was brutal. Ninety-five degrees with eighty-percent humidity. On the horizon, gun-metal-gray cumulus clouds towered. Inside the vehicle, all was well with the AC blasting.

  “Where are you going?”

  Casting a sideways glance, he said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, that whole supposedly civil lunch thing was a little tense.”

  She laughed. “Really? I had a super time.”

  With his left hand on the wheel, he eased the fingers of his right hand between hers. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Jumping in back there. You made some valid points. My gut feel is that Frank’s already on our side. Helen’s the nut we have to crack.”

  Em winced. “These are people we’re talking about.”

  “Frank and Vicki—yes. As for Helen, I’m thinking she’s part dragon.”

  Releasing his hand, Emma landed a swat to his shoulder. “Straighten up.”

  “Never.” He winked. “Seriously, though, as a whole, I think as weird as some moments were, overall, it was good. Our team may have a slight upper edge.” Eyeing the public beach access up ahead, Jace slowed, pulling the car into the only-half-full lot. Leaving the engine idling so as to keep the air conditioning on full speed, he pushed his seat back and sighed. “For the first time since Vicki’s arrival, I’m feeling better about our situation.” Glancing at Em, he asked, “You?”

  Staring at a family unloading brightly colored beach balls and buckets, air mattresses and chairs and coolers from the back of their minivan, she crossed her arms. “I guess I was encouraged—at least until you started making all of the team references. This isn’t a game, Jace, but actual lives at stake here.”

  Slamming the heel of his fist against the wheel, he said, “You think I don’t know that? These are my kids we’re talking about.”

  “What happened to them being ours?”

  “That changed right about the time you started feeling sorry for Vicki. Oh—I’ll concede the fact that raising these two on her own couldn’t have been fun, but I’ll never understand your one-eighty from hating Vicki to feeling sorry for her.”

  Lips pressed tight, arms clasped across her chest, Em remained silent.

  “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going through your head. Make me understand.”

  After too many empty seconds, she finally said, “We should get the girls home. They’ve been acting strangely all day. I’d like to get them back to their usual routine.”

  What about our routine? Jace wanted to ask. The way we used to laugh and play and face problems together?

  “They’re probably hungry, too.”

  Rolling his eyes, Jace raised his seat and threw the car into Reverse. Was it just his battered ego whining, or did Emma truly care more about his kids than him?

  He’d already been second in Amanda’s life. Was his heart ready to go through the same game only with different players?

  THE NEXT MORNING, Emma woke to an empty bed.

  It was only five-thirty. Still dark outside. Raining and windy, judging by the raindrops pelting the windows.

  A quick check in the nursery showed the twins still sleeping. A flash of lightning lit her way to the living room, where she found Jace lightly snoring on the couch. For once, despite their latest argument, he’d started out beside her in the bed, so why the change?

  Unable to sleep?

  Unwilling to sleep alongside her?

  Without a sound, she padded barefoot to him, skimming her fingers along his hair. “I love you,” she whispered. “I know that lately, it might not have seemed like it, but you and the girls mean everything to me. Without all of you, I don’t know what I�
�d do.”

  Because she’d never had a knack for expressing herself through words, she chose to express herself through the act of preparing Jace a big breakfast. There were plenty of eggs in the fridge, along with potatoes, onions and green peppers. In the freezer, she found a chub of sausage to form into patties and fry.

  In no time, despite the still-blowing storm outside, the house’s small, but efficient kitchen was scented with buttery goodness. Already Emma’s mood had improved. All she and Jace needed was to get back to their normal, loving routine.

  “You didn’t have to cook.”

  Emma jumped. Hands to her chest, she said, “You startled me.”

  Whereas Jace ordinarily would’ve apologized, he merely shrugged. “Smells good.”

  “Thank you.” The instantaneous knot in her throat made it hard to speak. Other than sympathizing with Vicki’s plight—which she’d both apologized for and explained—what had she done to deserve Jace’s cold treatment?

  “Need help?” The kitchen’s cramped space demanded forced proximity. Physically close enough to be kissed by his body heat, emotionally, they might as well have been on opposite sides of town.

  “No, thank you…” Unless you want to keep me company.

  “In that case—” he thumbed toward the front door “—I’m going to catch a quick run.”

  “It’s storming. You’ll catch a chill.”

  His back already to her, he said, “Back in basic training, I went through much worse.”

  “What about the lightning?” Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she chased after him.

  He sat on the blanket-rumpled couch, lacing his running shoes. “Trust me,” he said in a deadpan tone, “When you’ve been surrounded by sniper fire, a little lightning loses its punch.”

  What if I told you I want you to stay? I want the two of us to clear the tension constantly in the air. I want—

  “Catch you later.” Before she found the bravery to say what was truly in her heart, he was gone.

  AN HOUR LATER, Jace returned—shivering and soaked to the bone. Without a word, he kicked off his shoes and headed for the bedroom shower.