Memories: A Husband to RememberNew Year's Daddy (Hqn)

by Jackson, Lisa

  “Ronni?” Shelly asked, her voice sounding oddly strangled. “Do you think you could watch the boys this afternoon?”

  “Sure, Shell, what’s up?”

  “Vic’s going to run me to the clinic and I, um, think it would be best if the twins were with you.”

  “The clinic?” Ronni repeated, dread drizzling through her blood.

  “Yeah. To see Dr. Sprick. It’s, um, probably nothing but…well, I’m spotting a little and I think it should be checked out.”

  “Oh, Shelly,” Ronni said, leaning back against the refrigerator and closing her eyes. “Sure. I can come and get the boys in fifteen minutes.”

  “No—we’ll bring them by. Vic’s already warming up the car.”

  A hard lump settled in the pit of Ronni’s stomach and when she heard the rumble of Shelly’s old station wagon, she dashed across the yard. The twins, more subdued that usual, clambered out of the backseat and ran into the house, but Ronni paused at the open passenger window.

  “You’re going to be all right,” she said, managing a smile.

  “I know it.” Shelly’s voice didn’t have its usual lilt and Vic stared through the windshield, barely glancing in her direction.

  “Don’t worry about the boys. If they have to spend the night, it’s no big deal.”

  “It shouldn’t be that long,” Vic said, and for the first time Ronni noticed the cigarette burning between his fingers. Victor had given up smoking seven years ago, before the twins had been born, and to Ronni’s knowledge hadn’t lit up since. Until today. He avoided her eyes.

  “Okay, well…I’ll see you later.”

  Shelly’s chin wobbled and tears glazed her eyes. “Yeah.” As Ronni patted the car door and stepped away from the timeworn station wagon, Victor slipped it into gear. They drove away in a cloud of blue exhaust, and Ronni, sending up a prayer for her sister, hurried into the house. “Come on, you guys,” she said to the kids who were already jockeying for favored positions as they huddled around a cartoon show on television, “let’s bake Christmas cookies.” She touched her nephews on their shoulders, hoping to lift their spirits. Even though Shelly probably hadn’t told them what was wrong, they’d obviously picked up that there was some kind of problem. “By the time your mom and dad get back, we’ll have a plate just for them.”

  “Can we?” Amy was on her feet and dashing into the kitchen without a second thought to the cartoons.

  Kent followed after her but Kurt rolled his eyes. “I don’t cook. Dad says it’s women’s work.”

  “Now where have I heard that before?” she said, thinking of Bryan. “There must be some new macho conspiracy that I don’t know about. Come on, Rambo.” Sometimes, God love him, Vic could be such a throwback to some unenlightened generation.

  “I don’t wanna.”

  “Hey, sport, think about it. You’ve been into the bakery a million times.”

  “Yeah?” He continued to stare blankly at the television.

  “And you’ve met Mr. Schmidt.”

  “So?”

  “He’s the baker, isn’t he?”

  Kurt scowled and scratched his head. “Maybe he’s a sissy.”

  “I wouldn’t tell him that, if I were you,” she said with a smile. “Someone told me he was a pro wrestler for a while and he can outski me, so you’d better be careful what you say about him. Anyway—” she rumpled her wayward nephew’s hair “—you decide what you want to do, but the rest of us are going to cut out cookies and decorate them.”

  Pasting a smile on her face, she went into the kitchen and tried not to concentrate on Shelly or stare at the clock and wonder what was happening to her sister. After all, as Shelly had told her dozens of times, worrying wouldn’t help anything. Ronni went through the motions of mixing butter, sugar and flour, rolling out the dough and even cutting out shapes of Santas, reindeer and Christmas trees. Kurt, after only a few stubborn minutes, joined his cousin and brother at the table, and despite the flour and sugar spread over every inch of tabletop, counters and floor, the crisp results were soon cooling on a rack, ready to be frosted.

  In the middle of the melee, Travis and Bryan appeared at the front door, and Ronni, sugar and flour dusting her apron, hair and face, felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. The sensation was ridiculous, of course, but she couldn’t help the rush of relief at the sight of him. “Come in, come in,” she said, standing out of the doorway so they could join the general chaos.

  “Want a cookie?” Amy asked. She was standing on a chair and placing red heart candies and green sprinkles on several works in process.

  “Nah,” Bryan said, then catching a pointed look from his father, looked at the floor and muttered, “Sure, why not?”

  “They’re Christmas trees,” Amy exclaimed as if he couldn’t see the obvious. With a flourish she handed him a finished cookie and found a second for Travis.

  Untying her apron, Ronni quickly introduced the boys who, tired of standing at the table, had resumed their positions in front of the TV. Kent was creating some kind of fort with plastic snap-together blocks, and Kurt, one eye on the television, was fashioning a weapon with them.

  “Why’ve you got crutches?” Kurt asked, obviously in awe of the other boy.

  “Fell down skiing. On the mountain.”

  “Can I try ’em?” Kurt was on his feet in an instant, the plastic blocks forgotten.

  Bryan glanced at Ronni and his father with the worried look of someone who’s looking for a means—any means—of escape. “A teenage boy’s nightmare,” Ronni said, watching the exchange. Even Amy gave up decorating cookies and scurried into the living room where she planted herself near Bryan, as if staking her claim.

  “How about some coffee?” Ronni offered.

  “I can only stay a minute.”

  “Oh?”

  “Bryan and I were talking. He’d like to take some skiing lessons or…snowboarding lessons, either alone or with a group of kids his age when he gets better—probably next season unfortunately—and I suggested you or someone you know.”

  “I don’t know how good I am with a board,” she admitted. “I’ve only tried it a couple of times and I wasn’t that great, but I can get him in touch with someone up on the mountain who’s worked with kids and could place him in the right class.”

  “Would you?” Travis said, seeming relieved. “I’d like him to meet some boys his age.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks.” He shifted restlessly from one foot to the other and then, casting a look at the kids to see that they were all occupied, he grabbed Ronni by the crook of the elbow and shepherded her onto the back porch. The horses were huddled together near the fence line and a solitary hawk swooped through the sky, but otherwise the day was still. “Look,” he said once they were alone outside, “I know I blew it the other night. I pushed too hard. I thought—er, I was hoping…oh, hell, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say here.” Frowning, his eyebrows beetling over his steady eyes, he cleared his throat. “I thought maybe there was a chance that we could start over.”

  “Start over?” she repeated, curling her hands over the railing and staring at the snow-covered remains of her vegetable garden. A soft mist gathered in the trees and a few solitary flakes fell from the darkening sky. “You mean, go back to square one?”

  “I wish I knew what I meant.” Impatiently, he shoved a hand through his hair and muttered something unintelligible.

  “Let me guess,” she suggested, unable to resist goading him. “You want to be friends? You know, wave when we meet at the mail box, feed each other’s pets when one of us is out of town, work out the fence line and…oooh!”

  He yanked her close to him and this time she knew she’d pushed him too far. His mouth was razor thin, his speech clipped with a patience that seemed to forever elude him. “What I want, lady,” he said, the intensity of his stare laser bright, the fingers of his hand curved over her forearm in a white-knuckled grip, “is downrigh
t indecent. If you want to know the truth, what I want is to kiss you until you can’t think straight and then carry you to bed so that I can make love to you all night long.” His expression was stark with strain, his skin stretched tight over high, bladed cheekbones and there was a desperation in his voice that he failed to hide. “What I want, very simply put, is you. All of you.”

  Ronni’s throat went dry and she tried to back away, but he caught her and squeezed her up against the door. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I’ve wanted you and I’ve tried to be patient and play the game, be the friendly neighbor, but it’s just not my nature and—” he gazed at her lips so hard that she licked them nervously “—and you seem to have a way of bringing out the worst in me.” Before she could argue, he pressed the length of his body against hers and kissed her with a fever that spread from his lips to hers and slid through her bloodstream to melt her very bones.

  Breathing was difficult, pulling away impossible and she gave in to the hot impulses that fired her blood. She sagged against him, and as desperately as a starving person, she kissed him back, her pulse thundering in her ears, her breathing ragged and short. Her arms wound around his neck of their own accord and when he fit his legs between hers, his fly rubbing against hers, she felt a warmth begin to flow.

  Somewhere in the distance bells began to ring and Ronni was vaguely aware of the noise. Travis lifted his head and cocked it to the side.

  Another sharp ring and the scramble of anxious feet on the hardwood floor as she heard Amy race for the phone.

  “Expecting a call?”

  “No—” Shelly! “Oh, yes. It could be news about my sister.”

  It was. Victor, still at the hospital, was on the other end of the line and he gave her the sketchy news—that Shelly was all right, though still spotting. The doctor had ordered her to bed, no work, no frantic Christmas shopping and complete rest until the crisis resolved itself. There was still a chance she could lose the baby, early as it was in her pregnancy, but if she took care of herself, the risk was lessened.

  “The boys will stay here.” Ronni decided when Vic finished telling her as many details as he could remember. What she was going to do with two rowdy six-year-olds she wasn’t certain, but somehow she’d figure it out.

  “Oh, no, I can handle ’em,” Vic told her. “They’ll be with me at the lot and when I need a break, Mandy, our neighbor—she’s divorced, you know—offered to help out. I figure we can trade off. I’ll stack some cordwood for her and fix her kids’ bikes in trade.”

  “But the boys are more than welcome here,” Ronni insisted.

  “I know, I know, and believe me I’ll probably be askin’ for your help, but now that Shelly’s…well, laid up, you won’t have a secretary or worker in the warehouse and you’ve already got your end of the business, the ski patrol and Amy and…Lord, girl, I think you’re plate’s about full, as it is.”

  “But Shelly—”

  “She’s right here. Hang on.”

  A few seconds later, Shelly’s voice, filled with a falsely cheery ring, sang over the wires. “How are the boys? Have they worn you out yet?”

  “Don’t worry about them. How are you?” Ronni wound the cord in her fingers and glanced at Travis who had walked into the living room and was having a discussion with his son.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s just the baby—they’re not sure if, well…if I can go to term or even to the next trimester.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “It’s scary, Ronni,” she admitted. “I know this baby wasn’t planned and it’s poor timing and everything but—”

  “Shh. It’s all right. The baby’s going to be fine.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered. “Anyway, I’m just about on my way home. Vic will come by and get the boys—”

  “No way. Tonight they’re staying here. We’ll talk more tomorrow morning. Go home and take it easy, Shell. You can call me when you’re awake.”

  Shelly started to cry and Ronni wished she could console her sister. Obviously Shelly was worried sick and Ronni, too, felt a dull ache in the middle of her belly, a pain that she could only describe as dread.

  “Problems?” Travis said once she’d hung up. She felt cold to the bone and rubbed her arms to shake the chill that had started in the middle of her heart.

  “A few.” She gave him a sketchy rundown of what was happening in her sister’s life including Shelly’s pregnancy and worries about having to move in order for Vic to find a steady job. All the while Ronni tried to keep her voice low enough so as not to be overheard by the boys.

  While she spoke, Travis found a mug in the cupboard near the refrigerator and poured her a cup of coffee. “I could help,” he offered, handing her the steaming brew.

  “You? How?”

  “Well, not with the baby, obviously. That’s up to the doctors and nature. But Vic could work for me.”

  Ronni leveled him a look that was meant to convey, Don’t tease me on this one, Keegan.

  “I’m serious.” He poured the remains of the coffeepot into a cup and snagged a finished cookie from the drying rack.

  Sighing across the top of her mug, she said, “I’ve seen the equipment you’ve got set up. Vic wouldn’t know a fax machine from a word processor, and as for linking up to the Internet, forget it. He’s a sawmill man. Born and bred for generations. He’s not a three-piece suit kind of guy.”

  “I was talking about helping me get the house renovated and updated. I’ve had to hire contractors and subs for the tough jobs that require a lot of expertise and licenses and such, but there’s a lot of work that I’d hoped I could share with Bryan which isn’t going to happen for a while—at least not until he’s off crutches—and some of the jobs won’t wait.”

  She wavered as she sipped her coffee. It slid in a warm path to her stomach and chased away some of the cold fear that had settled there. Travis was offering a much-needed helping hand to a man he barely knew. “Vic’s proud, almost to a fault. He won’t want your pity or accept anything he construes as a handout.”

  “I think that can be managed,” Travis replied, a mischievous light gleaming in his eyes. “Would you feel better if I promised to work off his behind?”

  “Not me, but Victor would. A proud, stubborn, hardheaded man, that one,” she said as if to herself, but inside, the wheels of her mind were turning ever-faster. Travis’s plan might just work. Business at the tree lot had slowed. With only a week before Christmas, sales had fallen off drastically and it was only a matter of days before her brother-in-law would be unemployed again. Tilting her face up, she eyed this complex man who could be hard-hearted and seemingly ruthless one minute, compassionate the next, and sexy as all get out, to boot.

  “You don’t know Vic.”

  “I met him the other night. Seemed conscientious enough to me—personable to the customers at the tree lot and someone who wasn’t afraid of hard work. Unless he was just putting on a show for me by delivering the tree and sticking around to see that it fit into the stand.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Then he’s got a job if he wants one.”

  She was stunned. “That’s how you hire people? From meeting them once?”

  A small smile twisted his lips. “It’s one way. When you can’t get a résumé or don’t have time to do background checks, then you have to rely on gut instinct.” He lifted one shoulder. “Usually, it’s right on.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was right about you.”

  She squinted up at him. “How’s that?”

  “Pretty. Intelligent. Serious, with a wild side that needs to be explored.”

  “Oh, right,” she mocked just as Kurt, struggling on tiptoe, crutches stretched out in front of him to accommodate his small size, fell into the room. He let out a yelp, then held his tongue as his brother, who was forever getting the short end of the stick, in Ronni’s estimation, started to laugh.

  “Kurt! Oh, be careful,” she admonished, then picked up her ne
phew and hugged him. For all his bravado, he was just a little boy and he sniffed loudly, though she suspected his pride was injured more than any part of his body.

  Bryan sent his father a baleful look and Travis took the hint. “I promised Bryan he could rent some movies this afternoon.”

  “What? And give up entertaining the troops?” she said with a teasing grin. “I can’t imagine why he’d want to do that.”

  Travis was suddenly sober, his eyes dark with emotion, his voice low enough so as not to be heard over the television. “It’s all part of our new deal—peace treaty really. Bryan’s agreed to spend the rest of the school year here, with me, then if things don’t work out, he’s moving to Europe to be with his mother.”

  “Oh, Travis.” She read the pain in his eyes and knew that only a child could wound so deeply.

  “I just hope he gives Cascadia a chance,” he said, finishing his coffee. “Come on, Bryan, we’ve got money to spend at the video store.” In an aside to Ronni, he added, “I could take the rest of the kids, too, if you want to go visit your sister for a while.”

  The truth of the matter was that she was itching to see Shelly, but she wasn’t about to dump the load of kids on Travis. “I’ll see her in the morning,” she answered. “She needs to rest now and we’ve—that’s a collective we, meaning the children as well as me—have a kitchen to clean.”

  “I’ll call Vic,” Travis promised. “Now, about those lessons?”

  At that point, Bryan hobbled over to the front door.

  “When do you get off the sticks?” Ronni asked.

  “Probably next Monday,” Bryan answered curtly.

  “Two days before Christmas? Good.”

  “Yeah and I’m gonna try snowboarding that day!”

  “I don’t think so,” Travis said.

  “I’m not waiting a year!” Bryan insisted, glowering. “No way.”

  “We’ll see what the doctor says. Hopefully snowboarding will be better on your knees. There’s less chance of reinjuring yourself when you get good enough not to fall all the time. The problem with learning something new is that you’re bound to fall over and over again. When you fall and lose control, that’s when there’s the danger of reinjury.”