My Babies and Me

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Susan put down the pen. Arm folded across her chest, she met her secretary’s eye. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh.” Jill’s expression filled with consternation—and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking anywhere but at Susan.

  “I’m not.” Susan grinned.

  That got Jill’s attention. “You’re not?” She stared at Susan.

  “Nope, I planned the whole thing.”

  “But you’re not, I mean—” Jill broke off.

  “Married?” Susan helped her out.

  “Well.” Jill glanced down. “Yeah.”

  Taking pity on her secretary, Susan pulled herself together. “I’ll be a good mother, Jill,” she said, sounding far more controlled than she felt.

  Jill’s gaze shot up, her eyes locking with Susan’s. “I never thought any differently.”

  “It’s perfectly acceptable for single women to adopt babies these days,” Susan said, preparing to repeat herself several more times as her associates discovered her condition. “I just chose to have my own, instead.”

  “Then you’re not planning to marry the father?” Jill asked.

  “No.” But she couldn’t leave it at that, couldn’t have them thinking she’d been foolish enough to get knocked up by someone who’d deserted her. “In fact,” she added, “I chose him deliberately because I knew he wouldn’t want to marry me. I don’t want to share this child.”

  So what if the words were only half-true? No one but Susan was ever going to know that.

  EVERY DECISION Laura Sinclair made—which included forcing Seth Carmichael out of her life—was with her kids in mind. She’d made a huge mistake staying with their father when it was obvious his abuse wasn’t going to stop. But since she’d been freed from that tyranny, she’d never once broken her vow to put the kids first. Always.

  She just wasn’t sure of the best way to handle her current dilemma. Which was worse—the physical problem posed by the bees swarming their house or the potential emotional problem if she called the only person she could think of to ask for help?

  Her long blond hair hanging loose, she stood outside her little house on the second Saturday in April, arms wrapped around her middle, staring at the dirt that made up an excuse for a yard. She’d just come home from dropping the kids at a birthday party—one neither had been eager to attend—to find her kitchen infested with bees. The buzzing had been like something from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

  And there was no money, anywhere, to pay for a pest control company to get rid of them.

  But, perhaps, if she was lucky, she could still see to the kids’ physical safety without jeopardizing their fragile emotions. She studied the holes in the toes of her tennis shoes for a second, glanced at the Pooh bear hanging limply across her stomach on a T-shirt worn and stretched from too many washings. But at least it was wrinkle-free, tucked into her jeans, and clean. And loose enough to hide the extra weight she’d lost. Either way, it would have to do.

  Mind made up, she marched next door, explained about the army of bees keeping her from her phone and asked the crochety old couple if she could use theirs. And coughed up the quarter they charged her.

  She needed a man’s help and there was only one man in the world Laura trusted. The one who’d walked out of her house the previous fall and hadn’t been back since.

  “Seth, it’s Laura.” She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.

  “Is everything okay?” Grinning at the fact that he hadn’t even said hello after all these months, Laura tried not to cry, too. She’d missed him so much.

  “Yes and no,” she said now, aware of the older couple listening to her every word. “We’re all fine. It’s just that I’ve got bees in my kitchen and I don’t know how to get rid of them.”

  “How many bees?”

  “I don’t know.” She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t believe she was really talking to him. Couldn’t cry in front of her neighbors. “Too many to count. Hundreds, maybe.”

  “I’m on my way.” He hung up before she could assure him that a trip out wasn’t necessary, all she really needed was some instruction. Tell her to buy some leather gloves, let her know what can of poison would do the trick. Give her the name of a beekeeper friend.

  But if she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit that he could have stayed on that phone for an hour and she wouldn’t have asked him not to come. She was a strong woman, just not that strong.

  Hurrying next door to wait for him, she promised herself he’d be gone before the kids got home.

  Armed with a motorcycle helmet, boots, rubber gloves that reached past his elbows and a can of Raid, Seth stepped out of his Bronco half an hour later and strode past her toward the back door that led to her kitchen.

  “Are you sure you should go in there?” Laura asked, worried about him.

  “Somebody has to.” His voice was muffled by the face plate on the helmet. “I’ll be fine.”

  She couldn’t believe that after all these months they were carrying on as if they’d only seen each other the day before.

  “Stay out here,” he commanded when she would have followed him through the door. “They’re going to be pretty damn mad when I start spraying.”

  Laura watched him go, trying not to remember all of the scary things she’d heard about bees. “Be careful,” she called. There’d been that article in the paper last year—a kid had died due to a bunch of bee stings. He’d been allergic, if she recalled correctly.

  Was Seth allergic to bees? God, she hoped they didn’t get inside that helmet. They’d be trapped. And angry. And—

  He’d looked so good. So strong and sure. And he still filled out his jeans as well as she’d remembered. Everything else, too, for that matter. Seth’s shoulders used to make people turn around for a second look.

  Trying not worry, she paced the yard for another ten minutes, wondering why weeds could grow there and grass wouldn’t. But then, that was about the extent of her life, wasn’t it? Hard as she tried, she could never get the grass to grow.

  And then she reminded herself of the decision she’d made less than a week before. She’d taken the kids to church for Easter and had been moved, herself, by the sermon about faith. About hope. About their power to change lives. And she’d promised herself she’d try to have a little more of both.

  So, how long did it take to kill a swarm of bees? Laura approached the kitchen door, trying to hear what was going on inside. Should she go for help? Call 911?

  “All done.” Seth held open the door, helmet in hand. “Do you have a broom? It’s a mess in here.”

  “You got them all?” she asked, amazed, eyeing him carefully for any sign of damage.

  “Yep.” He was grinning like a schoolboy.

  Laura shivered when she walked past him into that little room and saw the carpet of dead bees on her floor. She’d underestimated the number of them.

  “Where’d they all come from?”

  Seth was pulling at the vent above her stove. “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

  While Laura swept, trying to pretend the bees were dust bunnies, Seth investigated her kitchen for possible entryways. It was almost as if that last horrible scene between them had never happened. Except that she knew it had.

  “How’s Susan?” she blurted when she started to worry that he’d be thinking about the last time he’d been in her kitchen, too.

  “Pregnant,” Seth grunted.

  “Pregnant?” She stopped sweeping and stared. She’d never met Seth’s older sister, but from all he’d said about her, she’d have found it easier to believe the other woman had flown to the moon.

  He snapped the stove vent back in place. “Yep.”

  “Did she remarry?” After all, it had been almost eight months since she’d seen him.

  “Nope.” He was pulling things out from the cupboard under her sink.

  Laura leaned on her broom, watching him. “So who’s the father?”


  “Michael.”

  “Her ex-husband?”

  “Yep.” His voice was muffled, coming from somewhere in the cupboard he’d just emptied, but not so muffled she couldn’t catch the disapproval in his voice.

  “Are they getting married again?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow.” She didn’t envy his sister, having a baby on her own. She didn’t envy her raising the child on her own, either. Laura knew all about being a single mother. And she didn’t recommend it to anyone.

  “They went into this knowing Michael wasn’t going to have any part in raising the child,” Seth said. “It’s all been very friendly.”

  “So he’s still in touch with her?”

  “Some. Not a lot.” He moved farther into the cupboard. “He’s on the road a lot. Checks in with her occasionally. Mostly he calls me.”

  “At least he cares.”

  “Far more than I think he knows,” Seth said, poking around.

  “So why don’t you tell him that?”

  Half sitting up beneath the cupboard, Seth looked out at her. “There’s no point,” he said, as though he were making perfect sense. “Wouldn’t change a thing.” He lay down, reaching for something Laura couldn’t see.

  “Nothing under here,” he said, turning to back out of the cupboard.

  Momentarily distracted by the tight buns moving straight at her, Laura forgot what they were talking about.

  But only for a second.

  “Her ex isn’t the responsible sort, huh?” she said a little bitterly. She could really feel for the woman by whom Seth measured all other women. Even if she had spent the past eight months hating the woman’s guts. With Susan as an example, there was no way in this life, or the next, that Laura was ever going to measure up.

  “That’s just it,” Seth said, frowning. “He is. Very. So’s she, for that matter.”

  “He just doesn’t think being a father requires responsibility?”

  Shrugging, Seth turned away. “He travels,” he said, like that was some kind of crime.

  “Yeah?” So did Seth. So what?

  “He can’t very well be a father if he’s not around, now can he?” he muttered and left, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

  Laura felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t believe he’d just walked out on her. Again.

  She also couldn’t go after him. She needed him to leave. Her children would be home soon. So she started to sweep, slow, methodical strokes, collecting her dust bunny bees into a nice neat pile. Picking the pile up was a little bit more of a challenge than she wanted to face, but maybe she’d leave it for Jeremy. He’d think it was cool....

  “Just as I thought.” Seth came back inside, pulling off his gloves. “There’s a hole in the netting covering the outside end of your stove vent. The grease must have attracted them.”

  Laura was so shocked that he was still there—so relieved—she teared up before she could stop herself.

  “What?” Seth was there immediately, taking her shoulders in his hands. “Did you hurt yourself?” He glanced around. “Did I miss one?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head. And willed the tears away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again, searching her face.

  “I thought you’d gone.” More tears came.

  Though she wasn’t even sure he was aware of it, Seth’s hands were softly rubbing her arms. “I just went outside to—”

  “I know,” she interrupted him, tried to laugh.

  “Laura...”

  “Shhh.” She put a finger on his lips. “Nothing’s changed,” she whispered.

  She couldn’t be the woman he needed, a woman worthy to be his wife, and she couldn’t let him any further into the lives of her children without that permanence.

  If nothing else, the past eight months getting over him had proved it. His going had practically killed her children. She could only imagine how much worse it would’ve been if he’d stuck around for a year or two before he’d decided to split.

  “Nothing’s changed,” she said again.

  He didn’t even try to argue with her. He lowered his lips to hers, instead, kissing her softly—and then not so softly. Telling her with his body how much he wanted to stay.

  And then he was gone. Leaving her with her empty house and her broom and her pile of dead bees.

  “SUSAN’S SICK.”

  Recognizing Seth’s voice, slurred though it was, Michael sat up in bed, reaching for the lamp on the nightstand beside him. It was two o’clock in the morning. Monday morning.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, throwing off the covers, mentally calculating how long it would take him to get from Denver to Cincinnati.

  “Dunno,” his friend said. “She says nothing’s wrong.”

  Feeling stupid for overreacting, Michael lay back on the bed and wondered how many drinks Seth had had. “Then how do you know she’s sick?”

  “We were all out to Scott and Julie’s for Easter dinner a couple weeks ago. She could barely eat a thing.”

  “Maybe she just wasn’t hungry,” he said, remembering life with his ex. “She probably had a craving for a burger on the way over and stopped for one, thinking she could eat that and dinner, too.”

  “She threw up.” It sounded as though Seth had been drinking for hours. Much as he didn’t want to stick his nose where it didn’t belong, Michael was going to have to have talk with his ex-brother-in-law. Soon.

  “She could’ve had a touch of the flu.”

  “She missed work two days this past week.”

  “You’re sure?” Michael sat up again, his stomach tight.

  “’Course I’m sure. I may be drunk but I know when my sister isn’t at work.”

  Even when she’d had that fever of 103, Susan had gone to work. She’d worked with a sprained ankle, with strep throat, and with a cold so bad she was blowing her nose every five seconds. “Something’s wrong,” Michael said, thinking out loud.

  “S’what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “She won’t talk to you about it?”

  “Nope, jes tol’ me I worry too much.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  SUSAN HAD an appointment with her obstetrician at eight o’clock Monday morning. She’d had an amnio centesis, recommended because of her age, at her last visit and was eager to be reassured that everything was normal. That her violent bouts of nausea amounted to no more than morning sickness. She was twelve weeks along and miserable.

  At least physically. Emotionally it depended on the day—or the minute. Tired all the time, she found it hard to be positive about single-handedly preparing for the birth of her child. Yet she was floating in a dimension of happiness she’d never known before.

  And she missed Michael. Desperately.

  “Ms. Kennedy?” A uniformed nurse stood at the waiting room door. “The doctor will see you now.”

  Half an hour later, Susan walked back through the waiting room, seeing no one. Stunned, she didn’t even respond when the receptionist called out to her to set her next appointment. Just kept right on walking.

  She found her car, climbed inside and sat—but had no idea what to do next.

  Eventually she started to laugh. And then to cry a little. And to laugh some more. Passing by the car, a middle-aged woman stopped and peeked inside. Susan waved, and kept right on laughing. Smiling, the woman waved back before continuing on her way.

  Pulling her lips between her teeth, Susan tried to sober up. But laughter erupted again before she could stop it.

  At least now she knew why she’d been feeling so rotten.

  Dialing her brother’s number on her car phone, she tapped her foot impatiently. She knew he was in town. He had meetings at head office all week. “Seth?” she cried as soon as he answered. He wasn’t the person she’d really wanted to call, but he’d have to do.

  “Yeah?” She’d woken him. And couldn�
��t feel the least bit sorry.

  “It’s twins!” She practically screamed her news.

  “What? Twins? You’re kidding.” He was wide awake now.

  “Nope. Twins.” She figured she should be daunted by the news. But she wasn’t. Twins sounded wonderful. Fun. Two for the price of one. Piece of cake. “Gotta go,” she sang, tossing her cell phone into the seat beside her as she started her car.

  She had an appointment in fifteen minutes with the attorney representing a bankrupt padding company Halliday Headgear had done business with. She couldn’t be late.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE PHONE RANG and rang and rang.

  “Dammit, where is she?” Michael paced as far as the cord would allow in his hotel room Monday morning.

  Glancing at his watch, he tried to pretend his tension was because he had a decision to make—and very little time in which to do it. He had a flight booked from Denver to Cincinnati in an hour, and another from Denver to Chicago at the same time. If he could just get hold of Susan, he’d know which of the two flights to take. He’d prefer to go to Chicago first, pick up some more clothes. And his Pathfinder.

  “Answer.” He swore again, telling himself there was nothing to worry about. As she’d so often told him, she had five brothers and a father in town. If she was really in trouble, she’d have called one of them.

  And if she was in the hospital, Seth would have called Michael back.

  He jabbed his finger on the disconnect button and dialed Cincinnati again, Susan’s office this time. At least someone there would pick up the damn phone. And they’d probably be able to tell him where she was, too.

  Five minutes later Michael hung up, grabbed his bag and hailed a cab for the airport. After speaking with Susan’s secretary he’d decided to take the Chicago flight. With Susan in a meeting, things obviously hadn’t reached critical stages.

  But he was still going to drive over to Cincinnati. He had a business lead there he wanted to pursue. An insulation company that was on to something. The work in Denver could wait.

  DAYDREAMING ABOUT look-alike outfits and double strollers, Susan waited for her microwave oven to finish heating a cup of chamomile tea. If she could only get her stomach to settle, she might find the energy to start cleaning out the spare bedroom. There was a lot of work to be done, some of it double, and her doctor had warned her to prepare early. She might not be able to count on herself for much during her last trimester.