The Baby Invasion (Destiny Bay-Baby Dreams)

by Conrad, Helen

  “Go!” she ordered again, pointing up the stairs. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid she would faint. She stepped into the kitchen quickly and closed the door, muttering a prayer.

  She found him staring at her, his dark face full of suspicion. “I know what you’re doing, lady,” he said, his voice low but scary.

  She swallowed hard and began to shake her head.

  “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you?” he went on accusingly.

  She started to speak but his hand came down on her shoulder. “It won’t work,” he said evenly, his eyes piercing. “I came here to find April and that’s what I’m going to do. If you won’t tell me where she is, I’ll have to try something else.”

  Her knees felt like rubber. “I swear,” she whispered, getting desperate. “I swear I don’t know where she is.”

  He nodded slowly, his hand still on her shoulder. “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it, I’m going to have to get rough.”

  Fear quivered through Cathy, tightening her throat so that she couldn’t speak.

  “I know what I’ll do,” he said softly, menacingly. “I’m going to take those babies over to my club and hold on to ‘em until April decides to give me a call.”

  He nodded in satisfaction, a wicked smile curling his lips.

  “That ought to do the trick, don’t you think?” He looked around the room. “Got a box or something I could carry them in?”

  There was no way she was going to let him get his hands on those babies. Resolve grew in her, pushing back fear, turning her cold inside. She had to do something. Anything. She had to save them.

  She glanced around the room quickly, furtively, trying to find a weapon. There was a cast iron skillet sitting on the stove, and the butcher knife in the drawer to the right of the sink. She quickly judged her chances of lunging for the knife. He was big, but if she moved fast enough...

  The kitchen door creaked. They both turned to look, and there was Beanie with a wide grin, eyes alight with mischief.

  Robby let out a growl and started toward him. Without thought, Cathy grabbed the huge cast iron pan and brought it down on the back of the big man’s head as hard as she could, then watched in horror mixed with relief as he crumpled to the shiny vinyl floor.

  Scott was having a nightmare.

  He’d come home from Mickey’s feeling antsy, restless, like there was something he should be doing that he was forgetting to do. He glanced over toward Cathy’s house, but he knew it was too late to stop over. Tomorrow would be soon enough. He went to bed.

  And all he could think about was Cathy. His head was full of her look and scent, full of the feel of her. He’d lain down on his pillow sure he would dream sweet dreams of soft hands and warm, moist kisses.

  But he was wrong.

  The bad dream had begun almost as soon as he’d closed his eyes. Tiny people had invaded his life. They clung to his legs as he tried to walk. They jumped down into his arms from trees. They hid in his cupboards and leapt out at him when he wasn’t looking. They bounced across his floors. They came pouring out of his faucet when he tried to take a shower. They were everywhere, laughing and smirking and having a wonderful time at his expense.

  And then they had him down, like Gulliver and the Lilliputians. Tiny ropes were binding his hands, tiny wires held back his legs, and he was struggling, trying to get away—and there was Cathy coming toward him, her arms out, and he reached for her and drew her close so that she could save him

  Suddenly he was wide-awake. He lay very still, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t a sound, and yet something was going on. He could sense it.

  He slipped out of bed and went to the window to look out. The moon illuminated a ghostly figure running from the house next door toward the street. It was Cathy and she was carrying something, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was, and then she disappeared around the side of the garage.

  He stood there for a moment, digesting what he’d seen, and then he snapped more fully alert and sprang into action, pulling on clothes as he ran down the stairs toward his front door. It never occurred to him to mind his own business. Not once.

  He met her coming around the corner of the garage again and caught hold of her before she could race past him back into the house.

  “Cathy, what’s going on?”

  She stared up at him, her eyes huge and slightly glazed. “I’m going,” she told him, talking very fast. “I’m getting out of here. I’ve gotta go. I’m taking the babies. Most of them are already in the van. I’ve gotta go. Gotta go.”

  He could tell this was more than a sudden whim. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  She shivered. “He came. The man from the phone calls.”

  “What? Where is he?”

  She cringed and avoided his gaze. “Lying on the floor of the kitchen.” She winced. “I hit him with a frying pan.”

  “What?”

  She looked up defiantly. “I had to. Listen, his name is Robby Crockett. He runs some club where April worked as a hostess. He’s big and he’s mean. He’s got a knife. He threw it. He hates babies and thinks those little ones have come between him and April in some way.” She tried to pull away. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Scott gave her a hard look. “I think it’s time to throw in the towel and call the police, Cathy,” he said quietly.

  “No!” She grabbed his hand and held it tightly between her own, looking up at him with tragic eyes.

  “We can’t do that, Scott. Really, we can’t. God knows what they’ll do to those babies. They might even give them to Robby Crockett. He might…he might be their father!”

  Scott stared at her for a long moment. He read the intensity in her eyes, the determination in the set of her jaw. He also saw the goodness in her, the sweetness, the need to do what was right.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked huskily.

  Her face didn’t soften. She was keeping tight control in order to get through this.

  “Watch him. Could you? I’ve still got one more baby to carry down and I’m so afraid he’ll wake up before I’m finished.”

  He nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  He followed her into the house and went straight for the kitchen. There was the large, leather-jacketed man in a heap on the floor. Though he was still breathing, he wasn’t stirring.

  Cathy came down the stairs with the last baby and he looked up and saw her, feeling a wave of awareness sweep through him. He’d always thought he’d lived a pretty full life, but meeting Cathy Feenstra had added a whole new dimension to his existence. What had he ever done without her?

  “Got any rope?” he called to her softly as she hurried past him.

  “There’s no time to look for rope,” she whispered back urgently. “Besides, tying him up would be so...so premeditated, somehow.”

  She looked at the man and shuddered. She pressed the baby she carried more tightly to her shoulder.

  “I just want to get out of here.”

  He followed her hurried progress to the van. Inside there were six car seats of various sizes, and she strapped the last baby into the empty seat, then turned to say goodbye, pulling the sliding van door shut as she did so.

  “Thank you so much for all you’ve done, Scott,” she said earnestly, her control still holding her stiff. “Could you do one last thing for me? Could you keep an eye on what happens over here—from a distance I mean.”

  He was shaking his head.

  “No, Cathy,” he said softly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  She blinked at him worriedly. “Why not?”

  He stared down at her. “Because I’m not going to be here. I’m going with you.”

  Relief chased disbelief across her pretty face. “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want---”

  “Forget what I said,” he advised her. “Forget anything I’ve ever said. I want to help you. And if that means I’ve got to haul a van full of babies to Lake Tahoe, that�
�s what I’ll do.”

  She melted against him, laughing softly. “Scott.” She looked up and there were tears rimming her eyes. “Oh Scott, thank you so much.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he told her in a rough whisper. “My motives are purely selfish, believe me.”

  Scott released Cathy and ran back home to lock up and grab a jacket. When he returned he noticed the strange car parked in front of April’s house—a big, long, white Cadillac convertible with a set of longhorns mounted on the hood, the points spread almost to the width of the car. On the door was painted, in sparkling fluorescent orange, “Crockett Country-Sad Songs and Good Company”.

  “The man’s car?” he asked Cathy.

  She nodded and Scott made a quick stop to detach the distributor cap and toss it into the shrubbery.

  “Okay Cathy Feenstra,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the van. “Let’s get this traveling circus on the road.”

  The van was old and battered, with peeling dark blue paint and a cracked back window. Cathy was used to its torn upholstery and the bench-style front seat, making getting to the rear of the vehicle when it was moving an athletic chore. But it was big and it could carry a lot, including kids and all their assorted toys, sports equipment, bicycles and everything else.

  They’d had three vehicles when Cathy had been married to Joey. He’d taken the Maserati, sold the Mercedes and left her the old van. Others had sneered, but Cathy had always maintained he’d done her a favor. She needed the room. And now, with the three babies added to her brood, she was grateful she had it.

  “Mr. Carrington is going with us, kids,” she said breathlessly as she sank into the passenger’s seat. She slipped on her seat belt, then looked back at the children and smiled. The three babies were asleep, but her own three were wide-eyed, watching every move.

  “Here we go,” she told them. “Hang on.”

  But they weren’t moving. She looked over at Scott and found him fumbling with the controls, searching for the brake, unsure of the clutch.

  “How the hell do you work this thing?” he muttered impatiently.

  “Do you want me to drive?” she asked. But she leaned over and pointed out the brake release.

  He threw her a look and got the big vehicle moving at last. “Here we go,” he said, echoing her words. “Lake Tahoe, here we come.”

  The engine roared to life, and they were off. Cathy glanced back at April’s house. There was no angry man running out into the street, no sign that anyone knew they were leaving. And then they were out of the development and on the ramp to the freeway, and she settled back. There was no way Robby Crockett would ever guess which way they’d gone. Was there?

  CHAPTER SEVEN:

  Racing Through the Night

  Though the babies continued to sleep, lulled by the movement of the van, Cathy’s own children were too excited to close their eyes for the first hour of the trip. They chattered and sang songs and asked questions, until Cathy began looking at Scott covertly, wondering if they were driving him crazy.

  If so, there were no obvious signs of it. He even broke into a chorus of “Clementine” now and then and ended up teaching them how to sing “Found a Peanut,” for which Cathy swore she would never forgive him.

  “We’re going to have to go down to the desert and then up the back side of the Sierras,” he said. “Tioga’s still closed.”

  “Oh no. Won’t that take a lot longer?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see. I don’t think it’ll make that much difference.”

  “Will we get to stay in a motel?” Beth asked.

  “I don’t know.” Cathy shivered. She didn’t want to think about how much she really didn’t know about what they were getting themselves into.

  “How much longer?” Beth asked four times in the next ten minutes.

  “Are we there yet?” Barnaby chimed in.

  A bit more of that and Cathy herself would be tearing her hair out.

  “We’ve got a long way to go,” she told them. “You two should get some sleep.”

  “Will we be there when we wake up?”

  Cathy shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “We’ll be at breakfast when you wake up,” Scott interjected. “We ought to make Mammoth at about the right time, and I know someone who runs a restaurant there. How about it, you two? If you go to sleep now and don’t wake up until after dawn, we’ll stop for breakfast at Mammoth Lakes.”

  “Breakfast at a real restaurant?” Beth said with awe. “Not a fast-food place?”

  Scott nodded. “It’s a real restaurant, all right. With strawberry waffles and crepes and French toast with powdered sugar. Close your eyes and dream about it and when you open them, we’ll be there.”

  Something was swelling in Cathy’s chest. She wasn’t sure what it was. Gratitude? Appreciation? Affection? She couldn’t say. But she did know she was so glad Scott was coming along. He was perfect with children. How could he claim not to like them when he seemed to know just what to say, just how to act? It was such a waste!

  Funny—Robby Crockett claimed to hate kids and he was actually scary. Scott said he didn’t like kids, but something in the way he dealt with them gave the lie to that statement—didn’t it? Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

  The children began to settle down, though sleep was still going to take some time to achieve. Suddenly Barnaby leaned forward, toward his mother.

  “Mommy,” he said in a stage whisper as the dark night flew past, “are we being kidnapped?”

  “No!” She looked quickly at Scott, then back at her son. “No, honey. It’s nothing like that.” She laughed softly. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Barnaby looked at Scott, then whispered again, “He’s not my daddy. Why is he driving?”

  Cathy turned and took his face in her hands. “No, darling, he’s not your daddy. But he’s a good, good friend to our family. He’s helping us.” She kissed his nose. “He’s helping me. Without Scott, we wouldn’t be able to go to Lake Tahoe to find the babies’ mother. And I’m very grateful to him. Aren’t you?”

  Barnaby didn’t say another word, but the look he threw Scott was anything but appreciative.

  Scott was pondering something important, but he didn’t want to bring it up. Still, his mind wouldn’t leave it alone, and finally, when he was sure all the children were asleep, he posed it to Cathy.

  “You hit the Crockett guy with a frying pan, right?”

  “Yes,” she answered, staring straight ahead.

  “Hard?”

  “Hard enough to put him out like a light.”

  He nodded. “Good. But the one thing that’s bothering me—are you sure you didn’t kill him?”

  “Kill him!” She covered her mouth before her shriek was half finished, and she looked back to see if the children had heard her. “No!” she hissed at Scott. “Of course I didn’t kill him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. I looked at him. He was breathing.” I think, she thought to herself.

  Scott chewed on his lip. “Yeah, I thought so too at the time. But I wish I’d done a better job of checking it out.” He flashed her a quick smile. “We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

  She looked out the window into the darkness. Now she had a new fear to worry about. But no, she was almost positive. He was breathing.

  She glared at Scott. “Just drive,” she said.

  They found an all-night market in Mojave and Cathy went in to stock up on supplies. She did raise some eyebrows when she filled her cart with enough varieties of disposable diapers to service a medium-sized day care center. She also got juices, milk, formula, apples and crackers. That would have to hold them all until the promised breakfast in Mammoth.

  Scott helped her load the supplies into the van and then they were off again, cruising along the almost empty highway, heading north through the Mojave Desert. Nothing but blackness for miles and miles with their headligh
ts making a lonely, pathetic stab at lighting the road, splitting apart the darkness. It made Cathy shiver to think how solitary their journey was.

  The children were all asleep now. She knew she should sleep herself and rest up for when it would be her turn to drive. But she was still too tense, still too full of adrenaline. This was quite an adventure they were on.

  “Get some sleep,” Scott advised her.

  She looked over at him and smiled. “I’d love to. But I can’t. Not yet.”

  “What would help? Music?”

  “No.” She settled back as comfortably as she could. “Talk to me. Tell me all about yourself.”

  She could sense his grin rather than see it. “Oh, I see. And that will put you right to sleep, will it?”

  She laughed. There was nothing better than a man with a sense of humor, a man who could joke about himself. Joey had always taken life so seriously. An outsider would have thought he was fun, always laughing and joking. What that person wouldn’t have realized was that the joke was always on someone else. Joey never joked about himself. His place in life, his niche in history, was much too important, and when others didn’t make the proper gestures of respect for that, his good humor quickly turned sour.

  But why was she always comparing this man to Joey? She had to stop that. She knew her love for Joey was gone. The only part of it that survived lived on in these children. That she would never lose. But even the resentments had died by now. She felt sorry for Joey. He would never find what he was looking for. He didn’t realize that he was searching for self-respect, and only he could provide it, not the playmates and hangers-on he ran with.

  Scott seemed very different. There was a core of self-confidence about him, a satisfaction with his own personal well-being. Surely he had problems. Who didn’t? But she had a feeling he was able to deal with them whenever they arose. There was a sweet calm to him, a readiness to handle all that life threw at him— even if it was a van full of babies.

  But here she was, comparing them again. She had to stop it. There was no point in it. Scott wasn’t going to be a fixture in her life. He was helping now, and he would be gone next week. She was grateful. And she would have fun with him while he was around. But she had to keep in mind the fact that he would soon be gone. She had to face facts.