And Baby Makes Four

by And Baby Makes Four (v5. 0) (lit)

  “The feeling’s mutual. But ever since I got pregnant, he’s been worse than a protective pit bull.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” Relieved to end the conversation, Lee went out onto the porch. “She’s fine,” she said as the two tall men standing next to Skip’s car turned in unison toward her.

  Addie’s husband took the porch steps in two bounds. “Damn it, why doesn’t she use our home treadmill so I’m right there if something happens? She shouldn’t be trail-hiking at this stage.”

  Lee caught his arm. “Don’t make a big deal about it, Skip. She’s feeling guilty enough as it is.”

  The misery in his eyes eased. “I’m worried sick about her.”

  “I know, but your reaction won’t help. Trust me, she’s healthy as a horse—well, except for the muscle cramp. Allow her some options about her exercise routine. And be willing to listen.”

  “Got it.” He gave her a quick hug; paused to nod to Rogan. “I owe you, man.” Then he vanished inside.

  Rogan climbed the stairs, stopped on the step below Lee. “You’re a great sister.”

  “Sometimes.” Her gaze went to the soft dirt around the base of the old oak. On his knees, Danny designed tiny roads with a Tonka bulldozer.

  “You worry about your family,” Rogan remarked.

  “Always.”

  “And that’s what makes you different.” His eyes were the mists loitering in the hollows of the pasture.

  “You’d do the same for your son.”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “But there are those who…” He shook his head. “It no longer matters.”

  Those who don’t? she wondered. His wife, perhaps?

  You’re reading too much into his sad eyes, Lee.

  Her heart quickening, she took a step toward the door, away from him. “I need to help my sisters.”

  Five minutes later, Skip assisted Addie into their car. Standing beside Rogan and Danny, Lee watched her sisters and brother-in-law drive off. Skip would drop Kat at her B and B.

  Because the distance was barely a mile, Lee opted to walk the trail back to her apartment.

  “Danny and I’ll walk with you,” Rogan said. The sun broke through tendrils of fog to gloss his black hair with streaks of blue.

  “Thank you,” Lee said, “but I’ll be fine. I enjoy walking.”

  “So do we.” Eyes glinting with humor, he turned to his son. “Grab your bike, buddy. We’re walking Ms. Tait back to her place.”

  The boy ran for his mountain bike parked at the side of the house. “We’re walking in the woods, Dad?” Danny asked, hopping onto the seat and pedaling hard into the yard.

  “Yes, but be careful crossing the pasture,” Rogan called as he and Lee watched the child race toward the barn. “There are rocks and holes and…” His voice trailed off. “Bumps.”

  Lee couldn’t help chuckle. “The rougher the better, didn’t you know, Dad? It’s what boys thrive on.” Certainly those she’d grown up with. Oliver had been one of those boys.

  “Danny’s not most boys.” Rogan started toward the gate.

  “From what I’ve seen he’s very much your typical boy.”

  “He had a hard time dealing with his mother’s and sister’s deaths.”

  “Him? Or you?” The words were out before she realized she’d spoken aloud. “I’m sorry, Rogan. I don’t know why I said that.”

  Once, twice, his arm brushed hers as they walked. He said, “Truth is, these past years have been damned hard. From one day to the next I don’t know how I’m supposed to act. Should I be a dad today? A mom tomorrow? Obviously I can’t be his mother—or his sister, for that matter. I can only be me.” He exhaled hard. “Too often I feel inadequate.”

  They came to the gate and he held it open for Danny to pedal through. “Don’t go near the horses,” Rogan warned. “The bike might scare them.”

  “Okay.” Keeping vigil on the mare and her foal, Danny rode cautiously forward.

  Lee longed to tell Rogan to give the boy some slack. The horses were several acres away, in a far corner; the mare grazed unconcerned, the foal lay dozing nearby in the grass. Neither paid attention to the boy on his bike.

  Watching Danny’s over-sensitized worry about the animals—a worry established, she believed, by a father who blamed himself for the tragedy in his family—Lee had to force herself to remember the boy was not her child.

  Her child was…here.

  Fisting her fingers over her still-flat belly, she wondered what Rogan would think if she told him. Did she care?

  Oddly, yes. She cared a great deal.

  They walked to the pasture gate on the far side of the property. Back on the wooded trail she and her sisters had traveled, she said, “I think it’s normal to feel inadequate when you’re trying to raise a child alone.”

  Heck, her baby was barely the size of her pinky finger and apprehension bloomed. Apprehension she might not be mother enough. That she might fail in some way because no one would be there to catch her if she fell, the way Skip had been here for Addie minutes before.

  Of course, he hadn’t always been. Lee knew Addie had been overwhelmed and fiercely alone during her first pregnancy. But she’d survived, gotten through it and look where she was today.

  Rogan broke through Lee’s contemplation. “It’s more than feeling inadequate,” he said. “It’s the fear something will happen and he’ll be left alone.”

  His hand brushed the sleeve of her sweatshirt, so she moved until an imperceptible gap lay between them. His head turned, and his gray eyes were dark as the woods they walked. “I don’t know what it is, but when I’m with you, I seem to breathe easier.”

  She wanted to cajole, “Don’t be silly.” But she said nothing, her tongue unable to form a sound.

  They walked around the bend. Up ahead, a clifflike path hidden by ferns, vines and undergrowth slanted down two hundred feet to the beach. Lee and her sisters had often branched off the main trail to wander the rocky shore below, seeking colored stones or shells or driftwood, or to simply enjoy the battering waves, the distant sights of ferries and boats, the gulls wheeling and dipping.

  Danny skidded the bike to a stop and before Lee could call out, the boy zipped into the brush and vanished.

  “Daniel!” Rogan ran forward, his long legs chewing the distance in three seconds.

  His fear spurred Lee into a sprint.

  Down the side path she went, digging her heels into the damp earth as she followed the steep, junglelike path behind Rogan. Dew clung to overhanging branches and wet her face.

  Together they shot from the thick bank of undergrowth, almost tripping over Danny, who stood on a sliver of sand edging the stony shoreline. The sea lapped at the beach a mere twenty feet away.

  “Daniel.” Rogan voice was low, stern.

  The child turned. “Look, Dad. Look at those cool birds.” He pointed left to where a pair of Pacific loons stood on a cluster of large rocks. Under a sluggish sun smoldering away the mist, the birds ignored the human invasion and continued preening themselves in the morning warmth.

  Disregarding the waterfowl, Rogan strode forward. “Son, why did you go off the trail?”

  “’Cause,” he sing-songed. “I wanted to be brave like you said.”

  “Aw, buddy. You’re the bravest boy I know. But what if this path had dropped straight into the ocean like they sometimes do?”

  The boy hung his head. “I’d be in the water.”

  Rogan crouched down and pushed blond strands off the boy’s forehead. “Yeah. You would be.”

  “But I can swim. And so can you,” Danny added eagerly.

  “We can,” Rogan agreed. “But if there was a tide, it could take you way, way out to sea before I’d get to you. Tides are much stronger than we are.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “If you’re not familiar with them.”

  Danny’s brown eyes were full of guilt.

  Unable to stop herself, Lee curled her fingers over Rogan’s shou
lder. He turned his gaze up to hers. “I think,” he said gently to his son. “We’ve learned enough here. Let’s go back up to the trail.”

  Hauling the bike to his shoulder, he took Lee’s hand and together they climbed the long path through the leafy brushwood. When they were on the upper trail again, he set the bike down and ruffled his son’s hair. “Next time, we’ll go together, maybe look for some seashells, okay, pal?

  “Yeah!” Danny’s face brightened. “Can I pedal ahead now?”

  “Sure, but stay in sight, all right?” When the boy rode out of earshot, he studied Lee’s hand in his. “Guess I get a little carried away at parenting.”

  “No,” she said. “Danny needed to know the difference.”

  “I’ve gotten a little paranoid these last few years.”

  “I understand.” And she did. Already she’d become more cautious with the baby under her heart. Watching Danny pedal down the trail, she said, “You have a sweet son. Why not take him shell-seeking right now? He’ll love it.”

  “Will you come with us?”

  “I can’t.” He needed time with his son, time to collect seashells. Gently, reluctantly, she extracted her hand from his. “Thanks for the invite, though, and for walking me this far.”

  “Lee…”

  Walking backward, she gave him a little wave, then turned and jogged slowly up the path. When she reached his child, she said, “You were a great help in the kitchen, Danny.”

  “Where you goin’?” he asked.

  “Got some work to do. Go see your dad, I think you guys are going to look for shells.”

  “We are? Yay!”

  Lee grinned and pushed herself into an easy stride, and tried not to think of Rogan’s arms holding her sister, or the way his voice soothed his son’s fears—or how his hand had engulfed hers and kept her steady while they climbed up a steep, rocky cliff path.

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  Chapter Six

  “H ow’s the new house?” Johnny asked that afternoon. “Everything all sorted out? Is Danny happy?”

  Cell phone to his ear, Rogan walked onto the porch of the farmhouse and sat in one of the two handcrafted rockers he’d bought at The Old Wood Store. Below the porch railing, he could hear Danny’s brrrrom-brrrrom as he shoved toy trucks and bulldozers through the dirt around the budding hydrangea plants in the flowerbed.

  “Everything’s going as planned,” Rogan told his brother. “Most of the important boxes are unpacked. We’re tackling Dan’s room first, though.”

  “Good to hear. I still think it’s a crazy decision, but then who am I to say what’s right or wrong.”

  “Exactly. You don’t have a say.”

  “Touchy today?”

  “We’ve been through this before.” Much as he wanted to talk to Johnny, Rogan would rather his brother leave the home and hearth questions out of the conversation. “Anything new?”

  “Matter of fact there is. I might have a case for you.”

  Rogan perked up. “Yeah?”

  “Desert Storm pilot lives on your island. Claims his disability pension has been cut back for no reason, except to save the government money.”

  “Tell him to give me a call and that it’ll be pro bono.” Because their father had lost an arm and an eye in Vietnam, Rogan never charged a penny to veterans.

  “Thanks, Ro. His name’s Peyton Sawyer.”

  “Got it.” He leaned forward, elbows to knees. “Any news on my issue?”

  “Actually, yeah. Got a call this morning about someone who used to work for Abner Air.”

  “Who?”

  “Let me explore it a little further, okay? I don’t want you to go off half-cocked and hunt this person down.”

  Rogan stared at the leafing trees sheltering the road into his farmhouse. Johnny was right. He would hunt down the person—and jeopardize the investigation by saying the wrong thing, or worse.

  Rubbing his eyes, he released a breath of air. “I wish this were over.”

  “It will be.”

  “No,” Rogan murmured so Danny couldn’t hear. “It’ll never be over. Their deaths will always be here.” He thumped his chest as if Johnny could see the gesture. “Right here.”

  “That’s because you blame yourself. You need to let go, man. Better yet, find yourself a woman, get some action.”

  Rogan snorted. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a crass son of a bitch?”

  Johnny chuckled. “You, mostly.”

  They spoke a few minutes more about Rogan’s plans for the property before setting a weekend in May when Johnny would be available to visit Firewood Island and see the new house.

  After shutting the cell phone, Rogan remained on the porch, listening to Danny mutter his civil engineering plans for the flowerbed. A sense of peace flowed through him. Regardless of what his brother presumed, he had made the right choice moving Danny onto these few acres. The boy would heal here.

  And maybe, just maybe, Rogan would, too.

  Find yourself a woman, get some action.

  Much as he hated to admit it, Johnny had a point. A woman could obliterate the past, even for a couple hours.

  But not any woman, Rogan thought, as a vision of red hair and green eyes bloomed into his brain. She could make him forget.

  Lee.

  The way she’d looked this morning in his pasture with the mist floating around her ankles…

  Suddenly antsy, he rose and stepped to the railing. “Danny, don’t—” The words died as an image of her standing on the wooded trail, eyes full of sympathy for him and Danny flashed across his mind. Pity wasn’t what he wanted from her. No, what he wanted was to…get some action. Scraping a hand through hair, Rogan groaned. Hell.

  “Don’t what, Dad?” Danny gazed up, a Mariners ballcap shading his dark eyes.

  “Don’t get too close to the roses. They have thorns. You got some fine roads and highways there, bud. Don’t change them until we take a picture.”

  Danny’s grin stretched ear-to-ear. “Okay!”

  A thumbs up, Rogan chuckled. For the first time today, he felt good. Damn good. “See you in a bit.”

  Returning to the kitchen where he’d been organizing the dishes in the cupboards before Johnny’s call, he began whistling an old John Denver tune, Take Me Home, Country Roads—and wondered if Lee would ever take him home.

  While Lee puttered around her plane and then her apartment, she thought of the Matteos. How did their house look after a day of arranging and decorating? Had they hung pictures on the bare walls, laid rugs on the aged hardwood?

  She liked Rogan’s taste in furniture. Over the years, she had become an amateur antique buff when it came to teapots. She loved their elegance, the intricate styles and hand-painted decorative designs. Five years ago, she purchased a turn-of-the-century Shaker corner cupboard to exhibit the delicate chinaware.

  To their friends, her ex had called the display her “woman’s thing”—as if he were patting Lee on the head. He’d considered the remark humorous. She had not. The teapots signified what she’d missed: a past with her father.

  Washing her dinner plate in the sink, she looked back at the garage sale cupboard that she’d worked two months to restore. On the top shelf sat a lone teapot, the one her dad had given her mother on their wedding day.

  Drying her hands on the towel, Lee walked to the cabinet. Circa 1880, the teapot was beautifully crafted with an exquisite garden scene on each side.

  Once, long ago, she had asked her mother the reason behind Steven Tait’s gift. Charmaine had shrugged and said, “Maybe he figured I liked tea.”

  But Lee had seen the pain in her mother’s eyes. There was more than indifference behind the story. After all, Steven Tait had left when Lee was a toddler. Walked out the door one sunny day, never to return.

  Studying the china piece, she wondered again how a man could demonstrate the sappiness—or sentimentality—to buy a teapot, and yet leave his wife and child. For the thousandth time, she pushed aside the
strangeness of the circumstance. According to Charmaine, marriage to Steven Tait had been a series of shouting matches. Lee recalled none, but then she’d been just three years old.

  Sighing, she returned to the kitchen, hung the towel on the stove handle and put away the dinner dishes.

  On her way to the couch to watch a sitcom, her gaze lingered on the counter and the toy digger she’d purchased today for Danny. Danny, who loved building roads in the dirt. Beside the miniature machine stood the triple-herb tray she’d bought an hour later with Rogan’s sunny kitchen window in mind. Oh, yes, she could see the plants—basil, rosemary and peppermint—happily enjoying streams of sunshine lighting the windows. Tomorrow she’d offer the gifts as a welcome to their new home, but more importantly as a token of gratitude for helping Addie.

  Picking up the phone, Lee curled into a corner of the sofa and dialed her sister’s number.

  “Hey,” she said when Addie answered. “How’s the leg?”

  “Great. The cramping is gone. The massaging and hot cloths really helped.”

  “The cloths were Rogan’s idea.”

  “Oh, don’t remind me. I was so embarrassed when he carried me to the house. Me weighing ten tons and all.”

  Lee could hear Skip in the background. “Only nine tons, sweetheart.”

  “Go away,” Addie said to her husband, but Lee heard the smacking kiss, the little moan. “I’m going into the study,” Addie told her. “Where I can have some peace.”

  Lee chuckled.

  “Now, where were we?” Addie said with a small grunt and Lee pictured her settling in the big lounger in the Daltons’ study. “Oh, yeah. Rogan lugging me across that pasture like a poor pack mule.”

  Lee laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you bothered him in the least. He’s a strong man.”

  “Huh. So you’re admitting I’m a whale?”

  “No, honey. I’m saying you’re a pregnant woman.”

  “I am,” Addie said happily. “But…I have to know…”

  “What?”

  “Rogan,” Addie whispered. “Does he have a nice butt?”

  Lee sputtered. “Addie!”

  “Well, I never got to see. He was always facing me or carrying me.”