BABY MAGIC

by Marion Smith Collins

  "No, I didn't." He was dressed in dark cords, blue shirt and tie, a white sweater under his chestnut-brown leather jacket. But he had no hat or gloves. His shoulders were hunched against the wind, his nose was red and his hair stood on end. She swung back the door. "Come in and warm up," she invited.

  With the door shut, he straightened. "Today has to be a record breaker."

  She held up a mug. "I made hot chocolate. Would you like some?"

  "Hot chocolate? That would be great." He grinned. "I haven't had hot chocolate in years."

  "Go in by the fire," she told him. "I'll bring it to you."

  When she entered the living room a few minutes later, he had shed his leather coat, had added logs to the blaze and was stirring the coals with the brass-handled poker. He stood and replaced the fireplace screen before accepting the napkin-wrapped earthenware mug she handed him. Marshmallows floated on top of the rich chocolate drink. "Thanks."

  "Be careful. It's hot." They sat on the sofa and she sipped tentatively from her mug, which she had refilled when she poured his. "Too hot to drink. How was your day?" she asked.

  He drew his brows together and shook his head. "Construction has ground to a screeching halt. You can't pour concrete in this kind of weather, but meanwhile the interest keeps growing." He flattened his hair with his free hand. "God, sometimes I wonder why I ever went into business for myself."

  Despite his words, his voice held no self-doubt. She smiled to herself. When she first met Jake, she had thought he was too self-assured, too smart, too strong.

  Granted, she had heard from Joseph about what a terrific person Jake was until, by the time they met, she was sick of his name.

  They had managed to get along fairly well after her marriage to Joseph, and when Jake married Lisa they actually became friendly. But not until the bleak days, weeks, months of Joseph's illness did she come to appreciate him for his remarkable strength and compassion. Since this pregnancy, and his concern for her, she was seeing another side of this multifaceted man, a gentle, humorous side. And a strong, dependable side that tempted her to lean. That could be dangerous, too.

  "How did you first get into this business, Jake?" she asked, attempting to change the direction of her thoughts. "I don't think I ever heard Joseph say."

  When he relaxed against the back of the sofa, his broad shoulders covered a third of the cushions. He rested his mug on the sofa arm, crossed one ankle over the other knee and looked thoughtfully into the flames. "I got a job on the docks in Charleston when I was eighteen. A young man can make good money loading freight. All it takes is a strong back, and the ability to follow orders.

  "I was a cocky son-of-a-gun in those days. After I got whipped in a couple of fights I found out that cocky didn't cut it with the men. I learned early on to do my damnedest to sidestep trouble, but if that wasn't possible I'd better be able to take care of myself."

  He spoke slowly, musingly, his deep voice almost mesmerizing her. He continued to stare into the fire, as though, with the leaping flames as a backdrop, he was transported back to that time, seeing things that were invisible to her. She wondered if he even remembered she was sitting beside him and stayed very still so as not to distract him. She knew the general points of the story, but she'd never heard the details.

  "I also learned that I didn't want to work for somebody else all my life," he went on. "Joseph was still living with our foster parents, and I was determined to get him out of there. Not that the Petersons mistreated us, but he was my brother, my only family. I felt strongly that as family we had to stick together."

  She gave a start of surprise, but he didn't notice her reaction. This was the man who was going to give up his child? She knew a moment's dread. But then she reminded herself that he'd given his word.

  He inhaled deeply and let all his breath escape in a heavy sigh before he continued. "To make a long story short, not long after Joseph finished school, the man who started Burns Shipping here in Savannah died without leaving any heirs. He was related, distantly, to the man I was working for in Charleston, who knew that I wanted to go out on my own someday. He told me that the business was for sale. I didn't think I was ready but he encouraged me, vouched for me with the banks. He even came down to work with me for the first month, helped me over the rough spots. I owe him a debt that I can never repay." His voice had grown quieter; he looked down into his mug. "I've been incredibly lucky." He paused and a spasm of pain crossed his face. "Lucky in business, anyway," he added.

  Natalie looked away. The only sound in the room was an occasional crackle as the fire reached a bit of sap in the wood, or the thump of a log settling on the grate. "Luck doesn't mean a thing except to those who are prepared for it," she told him finally. Her voice was quiet, too, but adamant.

  Lazily he turned his head against the cushions to look at her. The fireplace reflected the amusement in his eyes. "And where did that bit of philosophy come from?" he asked.

  "I don't remember, but it's true. If you hadn't been preparing for the responsibility of owning your own business all your adult life, someone else would have bought the company."

  He nodded. "You could be right."

  "Why didn't you ever change the name?"

  "I don't know. Lisa wanted me to change it to Armstrong Shipping. But the organization had thrived for years under Mr. Burns. The people who had dealings with the company knew the name and trusted it. It just never seemed to matter." He shrugged his broad shoulders, dismissing things that weren't essential.

  And you didn't need the ego trip. Natalie studied him. How extraordinary, she thought.

  After a minute, he laughed under his breath and the moments of introspection were over. "I don't mind responsibility, but I never thought I'd end up in a position where I had to wear a tie to work. I was going to leave that to Joseph." As he spoke he grinned, loosened the burgundy tie and opened the top button of his blue shirt. Still slouched in the other corner of the sofa, he looked comfortable and at home.

  She smiled. "You don't have to wear a tie, do you?" she asked lightly. "I mean, you're the boss. I would think you could wear whatever you want to wear."

  He appeared to think about that. "It's odd, but I don't really mind it. When I bought the company, I worked beside the men all day long. But later, after we completed our first expansion, I had to spend more time in the office. Andrew came to work for me about that time. He always wore a jacket and tie." One corner of his mouth lifted in a reminiscent smile. "Lisa thought I should dress at least as well as my employees. I'm used to it now." He lifted the earthenware mug in a quick toast to her and drank. "Say, this is really good."

  "Don't sound so surprised," she chided. "I may not like to cook, but I do know my way around a kitchen."

  He laughed. He raised the mug to drink again, and when he lowered it a small dab of marshmallow was left clinging to his dark mustache.

  In the silence of the cozy room, the fire spat loudly, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

  Suddenly Natalie's heart picked up speed as she gaped at the white spot. "You have—" All at once it was hard to speak. She pointed to her own lip. "Marshmallow." Her breath forced the word from her throat.

  "Umm?" He licked his lip. "Did I get it?"

  She was restlessly mindful of his moist tongue as it stroked across his lips. "N-no." She gripped her own mug tightly in both hands. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from his mouth. An unexpected hunger to feel those lips on hers shocked her. Good Lord, what was happening to her?

  Jake licked his upper lip again and glanced over at Natalie for approval. He stopped breathing when he became alert to her fixed gaze. At the same instant he became alert to other things—the way the fire warmed her smooth golden skin and lent light to the curling tendrils of hair that had escaped her barrette, the feminine scent of jasmine mingling with the smell of wood smoke, her pouty bottom lip, moist where she had wet it with her tongue.

  His lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen, and h
e tore his gaze free. He unwrapped the napkin from his mug and wiped his mustache vigorously.

  "There, you got it," she said with obvious relief. She met his eyes; their gazes meshed and held. The expression in hers jolted him. The clear, sky-blue color had turned smoky, dark with emotion.

  The tension sang in the air between them. "Natalie?" His voice was husky; his throat was dry. "Do you realize that something is happening between us?"

  "No." She tore her gaze from his and shook her head helplessly. "No, Jake, I can't accept that."

  That was what she said aloud, but silently, inside, she was dazed by the sudden realization of the truth. Inside, somewhere deep and hidden, her feelings for him had been growing, intensifying, without her knowing it. Her head jerked back around. She stared at him.

  He must have read some of her turbulent thoughts. "You see?" He raked his fingers through his thick hair, his face twisted, a sign of his torment. Then he relaxed—all of a sudden—against the cushions. "God, why do I feel like I'm cheating? I wish—"

  At that moment the baby kicked Natalie, hard, as though to remind her of its presence. She winced and put her hand to the spot.

  Jake's eyes dropped to her distended stomach. His expression closed instantly, like the slamming of a door between them.

  The interval was over. The baby's movement and her reaction had very effectively removed all traces of titillation from the atmosphere between them. She was unsure as to whether she was relieved or disappointed that the moment had passed. Though it would have been awkward and disturbing, it might have been healthier for them to thrash it out.

  She realized that it was the first time they had ever discussed anything as personal as this. If Jake had not said something, she would have been asking herself right now if she had imagined the whole thing, if the heated communication had occurred at all. But then she would also be wondering about her own unexpected feelings.

  Jake cleared his throat and dropped another bombshell. "By the way, I'm going to the childbirth classes with you from now on. Aren't they on Sunday afternoons?"

  "Jake, no," she said instantly, shaking her head. Last week she'd begun the six-week course offered by the hospital, and she preferred to finish alone. "There's no reason for you to go. Besides, you've already missed the opening session," she argued lamely.

  His expression became stubborn and his jaw firmed. She went rushing on. "I wish you'd get over this feeling of obligation, Jake. The nurse that teaches the course has agreed to be my partner. It was my choice to have this child, and I need to learn to manage on my own."

  His eyes took on an odd gleam at her protest and his rugged features softened. "Natalie, listen," he said. He paused, evidently to gather his thoughts. He set the mug on a table beside him and leaned forward to gaze once again into the fire. His elbows rested on his knees; he laced his fingers together loosely. "I've thought about this a lot. I owe you a really big apology. When Lisa died, I wanted to deny—"

  She leaned forward to touch his arm. "Jake, this isn't necessary."

  He covered her fingers with his big hand. "It is for me. I want—no, that isn't emphatic enough—I need to be concerned and involved with you through this. Not only because of my first reaction, and because of Lisa, but because of Joseph, too. He's been on my mind a lot. He was my brother, and I loved him. I think this is what he would want."

  Her mouth curved upward slightly. "Joseph," she said softly as she withdrew her hand and relaxed against the cushions, linking her fingers over her stomach. She lifted her sock-clad feet to the coffee table. "I've been thinking about him, too. You remind me so much of him. The two of you were very much alike."

  "Joseph? Like me?" Jake's head jerked around, and he stared at her over his shoulder. He was truly dumbfounded by her observation. "Joseph and I were entirely different." He frowned. "Successful or not, I'll never be more than a glorified dockhand. Joseph was educated. He had…" Jake searched for a word. "Class."

  Natalie dismissed his arguments with a careless wave that astounded him further. "I know that you were proud of him, Jake, but did you ever stop to think how proud he was of you? You're self-educated, and that may be a more complete education in many ways than what he learned in books. And class? I agree Joseph had class, but what does that mean, really? To me, class is compassion, understanding, kindness, intelligence. It certainly isn't status or prestige."

  "You're having delusions." His gaze sharpened. "And I suspect you're trying to get me off the subject of the child-birthing course."

  She laughed lightly and crossed one ankle over the other. Then she reversed them. Finally she handed him a throw pillow. "Would you…?" He raised her feet and slid the pillow under them. "Thanks," she said with some relief. "You can't blame me for trying."

  "It didn't work," he grumbled, but he grinned. "God, you're sneaky."

  She hesitated, then said, "Joseph was strong-minded, too, you know."

  "Stubborn, you mean."

  She shrugged offhandedly. "You said it, I didn't. But I still don't think it is necessary for you to go to the childbirth course."

  He folded his arms over his chest. "Too bad."

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon Jake was waiting in the garden when she came out of the apartment. Natalie's footsteps faltered when she saw him, then she resumed her brisk pace.

  He joined her on the path, reaching for the two pillows she carried. She held on to them for a second in a small tug-of-war. "You aren't going to like this at all," she warned.

  "Let me be the judge of that," he answered. He was dressed comfortably, as she was, in a warm-up suit and sneakers. Hers was aquamarine and as big as a tent; his was black and red and was zipped over his trim belly. Red and black, the devil's colors, she thought sourly as she finally surrendered the pillows and walked beside him to the garage.

  She dreaded this. At the opening session last Sunday, they had been shown a video, a very explicit video, of a birth. Such graphic detail had been unsettling for her—and she was the one who was pregnant.

  She didn't know what to expect from the class over the next five weeks, but there was going to be a certain amount of intimacy. Touching, stroking and massage were employed to help the expectant mother relax. After his observation yesterday that something was happening between them, relaxation was going to be the furthest thing from her mind when he touched her.

  Even so, she was relieved that at least she didn't have to watch the video with him.

  He opened the door to the garage and motioned for her to precede him. "I can't change your mind?" she asked one more time.

  "No," he answered. She looked at him for a minute, then shrugged and unlocked her car.

  "Do you want me to drive?" he asked.

  "No. I can still drive."

  "Okay," he agreed pleasantly.

  "You're very determined," she told him when they were on the road to the hospital.

  "Yes."

  "One might almost say enthusiastic."

  He sighed and turned in his seat so he was half facing her. She was aware of his hand resting on the seat behind her head. "Look, Natalie, I know what you're worried about. Nothing has changed, particularly not my mind. You're still going to be the baby's adopted mother. When the time comes I'll cooperate fully with you on the legalities."

  That wasn't the point, but she let it slide. She drove the rest of the way with her eyes on the road, but her mind was on the man beside her.

  When they arrived at the hospital's classroom, Jake was greeted with a few curious stares. There were only six couples, besides herself, in the class. Last week they had introduced themselves and talked, getting to know one another. He was the stranger here, and she watched to see how he would react.

  She introduced him by name, with no addendum. If he wanted to explain their relationship, he was welcome to try. She would prefer to avoid the subject herself.

  The nurse-instructor who taught the course, and who had planned to act as Natalie's partner, greeted
him pleasantly. To Natalie's surprise, Jake fit in well with all the others. The first half of the two-hour session was devoted to discussion of the different phases of labor. She watched him, waiting for a sign of restlessness, but she saw none.

  He paid careful attention and asked questions. He was serious when the discussion turned serious; he laughed with the others when laughter relieved the tension.

  Then they took a welcome break. The women all headed for the bathroom, while the men helped the instructor set up a table for refreshments.

  Natalie returned, pausing in the doorway to the room for a moment to observe Jake. He was talking easily with another mother-to-be and the instructor. A man turned from the table with a cookie in his hand, said something to them and grinned at Jake's response.

  No one asked him where he was last week. She joined the group and noticed, as she sipped her tea, that there was something about him that precluded questions but, nonetheless, commanded respect. People took him as he was. Unfortunately the instructor and the other couples in the group assumed he was her husband. He did nothing to contradict their impression.

  Clearly he was leaving the explanations up to her. Irritated, she started to say something, to straighten them out about this relationship, but just then the instructor resumed the class.

  "Okay, let's get back to work," said the woman. "Out of your chairs and onto the mats. Today we're going to begin to learn the special relaxation and breathing techniques you will need when the process of birth begins. Did all of you bring your pillows?"

  Natalie gave Jake a self-conscious grimace as he grasped her hand and eased her down to the mat. The instructor came over and demonstrated the position she wanted them to assume. Jake was behind Natalie's back with one of the pillows, supporting her firmly. The other pillow was under her spread knees.

  With her newfound knowledge of her own feelings, she found it impossible to concentrate. As they practiced the exercises, his breath was warm in her hair. The strength and support of his hard chest against her back, his arms around her, caused her a terrific amount of confusion.