by Leigh Riker
“Stop calling me Annie.”
“Uh-uh. I like it. Takes some of the starch out of you. Makes you seem more approachable. Like Molly.”
“Then ask my sister for a date.”
He whistled softly in her ear. “You are a tough nut. Molly’s a great person, but it’s not her I’m interested in.” Then he homed in on her again, his voice soft and soothing. “Who hurt you, Annie?”
Her breath hitched, and to her horror the words popped out.
“It was quite the reverse.”
Had she shocked him? But the long silence ended with “We’ll have to get to the bottom of that. Another time,” he added. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“No you won’t—” she began, but Jeff had already ended the call.
If only... But Ann didn’t finish the thought. She wasn’t talking, because once he knew the truth, he would certainly change his opinion of her. Nobody wanted a guilt-ridden emotional cripple for a girlfriend.
Blinking, not sure whether she was sad or angry or afraid, Ann shut off the TV, doused the living room lights and at ten o’clock crawled into bed, where she struggled not to pull the covers over her head.
In her dark dreams she must have been twitching like a dog.
* * *
“HELP.”
Molly was in her room that night, intent on keeping to herself and brainstorming ideas for the presentation she would have to make to the town zoning commission about the center’s proposed expansion, when she heard Brig’s voice. Her mind still on an earlier meeting with her architect, she realized belatedly how frantic Brig sounded. Now he loomed in her doorway.
“What is it? Is something wrong with Laila?”
His face was paper white, and his mouth was drawn at the corners. There was no sign of the baby. He shifted from one foot to the other. “She, uh, had an...accident.”
Adrenaline surged through Molly. She had already started toward the phone to call 911 when his voice stopped her again.
“Not an accident-type accident,” he said, catching Molly’s arm. “She, uh, well, she’s a mess. So is her crib, the sheets—” Brig held his nose.
“Oh. I see.” It didn’t take much imagination to get the picture.
But Brig obviously felt the need to explain. “I guess I didn’t put her diaper on right before she went to bed. She woke up screaming, and when I looked...” He made a face filled with distaste for the situation.
“No problem,” she said. “I must deal with this at least three times a day. Where is she?”
“Still in the bed.” He appeared guilty. “I should have picked her up, but...”
“I understand.” So much for her plan to stay clear of Brig and the baby. Now that wasn’t possible. “She needs a bath. I’ll get my work clothes on. You wrap Laila in something warm—we’ll wash that, too—and we can meet at the center. I have several baby baths there just for this purpose. She’ll be good again in no time.” Molly smiled. “And so will you.”
The problem for Molly was that meant being alone with Brig in the nighttime Little Darlings with no hovering moms or staff to act as chaperones.
Moonlight washed the changing room with silvery light. The small space seemed that much tighter with Brig in it, too, but Molly appreciated that he didn’t back out when she uncovered the baby and, indeed, discovered a mess. Molly fought the urge to cover her own nose.
“She probably hasn’t adjusted to that new brand of formula,” she said, a fistful of baby wipes in hand. “My fault for buying it. Poor little girl,” Molly crooned. “Her system is in an uproar. I can imagine the digestive changes she must be going through after leaving a foreign country and doing all that travel.”
“Now she’s one of your Little Darlings,” he murmured, standing close to Molly’s shoulder.
Neither his comment nor his nearness helped her equilibrium. All at once she felt as unsettled, as much in alien territory, as Laila was. His next question only made her discomfort worse.
“I’m curious. Did you and Andrew ever want kids?”
Molly tossed a soiled baby wipe into the nearby trash bin kept solely for that purpose, then went back for another. She focused on cleaning Laila’s small body with a light touch.
“I—we—wanted a big family,” she said, trying to force a smile into her voice, though it wouldn’t come. “But a few months before Andrew...before I lost him...we also lost our first—and, as it turned out, only—child.” She took a breath. “I had a miscarriage.”
He touched her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” she lied. “Of course, at the time it was dreadful—as you might imagine.” But then, he couldn’t. Brig had chosen adventure over her, and the six babies they’d planned on had been relegated to her dreams. If Andrew hadn’t come along, if she hadn’t loved him, too... Molly struggled to lighten her tone. “One day we were picking out baby furniture, planning what color to paint the nursery, which until then had been Andrew’s home office, and the next we were putting back his desk and chair...” She trailed off. She hadn’t been able to keep the tears, or the memories, from her voice after all.
“Did you own Little Darlings, then?” Brig asked.
“I didn’t open this center until after Andrew... And before that Mom had died, too, and I decided to sell the house in Hyde Park and move back in with Pop. It was the right decision,” she said, and aimed the last baby wipe at the trash. “I used my husband’s insurance money to renovate this carriage barn. It’s Andrew’s legacy, really.”
“You seem to manage pretty well.” He paused. “I’m not managing with Laila at all. Her dad was not only one of my men but one of my best friends, and at times I just can’t believe Sean is really gone—that he and Zada—”
Saying the words seemed hard for Brig, too, but clearly he understood loss. Since he’d left her years ago, they had both suffered, and certainly she couldn’t help but admire him for accepting responsibility now as Laila’s guardian. Maybe he wasn’t as selfish as she had wanted to believe. Molly patted Laila’s just-cleaned bottom, all the while whispering calming words to the baby to stop herself from giving in to tears. In front of Brig? No way.
Her voice was husky. “I know what you mean. I still expect Andrew to walk in the door. But he was too eager that night after work to get home—that’s what I tell myself—and jumped a light in what passes for downtown Liberty. A truck hurrying through the intersection on the yellow hit his car broadside.” The freak accident had robbed Molly of her dreams, all of them, for a second time. She no longer had the husband she had loved even during the worst of their bad weeks after her miscarriage.
But she didn’t want to dwell on that now.
Not with Brig, no matter what his losses had been.
The little room was beginning to seem even smaller, tighter. Brig stood so close she could hear him breathing.
“That’s sad, Molly,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “but—as quickly as with Sean and Zada—that’s what happened.”
What if Andrew had convinced her to try for another child when Molly hadn’t felt ready? What if she had a boy now like Ernie or a girl like Laila?
Straightening her shoulders, she reached down for the now-bare Laila. The little girl lay quietly in Molly’s arms, her dark gaze searching the room and the overhead lights. “Let’s get her into the bath. Babies usually love water.”
“She didn’t like it when I tried last time. Maybe I did too quick a job. I was afraid she might drown even in a few inches of water in your bathroom sink.”
Molly didn’t point out that such a tragedy was all too possible. But he hadn’t asked her how to bathe Laila. She supposed he had his pride, too. It must be strange for him to admit he was inept at caring for a ten-to twelve-pound infant. Another thing they n
eeded to do tonight: weigh Laila so Brig could chart her growth.
She moved to fill the plastic bath at the sink. Juggling Laila, she dribbled her favorite baby wash into the warm water, and finally lowered Laila gently into the bath. Her motions came as second nature, and Brig’s gaze widened as he watched.
“Amazing.” Laila was already cooing her delight.
“She likes feeling as if she were still inside her mother, where it was always warm and safe.” Molly’s baby hadn’t been that lucky. But then, neither had Laila, who’d lost her mother almost at birth. “And again, it’s only practice. Think of half a dozen like Laila, all squalling and ready for a bath at the same time. Good thing I have staff, especially Ann, to help.”
“Maybe one of you would like to volunteer for nanny duty.”
He was only half kidding, but Molly shook her head with a teasing smile. “You’re on your own, soldier.” Against her better instincts, she gestured for him to come closer. “Trial by fire,” she murmured. “Just be sure to support Laila’s head and shoulders.”
“She’s so slippery,” he said, eyes filled with fresh panic the instant he touched her.
To Molly’s relief, however, the baby was now looking up at Brig, her gaze roving from his hair to his eyes to his mouth as if she liked what she saw. The only daddy she knew. When she kicked her legs and water flew everywhere, Brig’s shirt got soaked but he laughed and didn’t let go. A good sign.
“She’s strong. I’m always surprised by how strong she is.”
“It’s a survival thing, I’d say. She holds her head up really well for her age.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, but I could deal with a raw recruit much easier—and I’m talking about some ‘kid’ who weighs two hundred pounds.”
“Then Laila should be a piece of cake.” She couldn’t resist teasing him some more. “Don’t tell me you’d let this little girl get the best of you?”
Brig glanced over his shoulder, keeping a steady grip on Laila.
“She already has.”
But Molly knew he didn’t mean her bath. The baby had definitely captured him. By the time he finished washing, then rinsing her, Laila was half-asleep.
Molly handed him a clean diaper and fresh clothing.
“No, please. You do it,” he said. “I’m at my limit for tonight.”
He stood over the changing table again, his sleeve now and then brushing Molly’s bare arm and making the hairs on her skin rise, while she diapered Laila and slipped her into a clean sleeper. Then Molly stood back, forgetting how near Brig was, and bumped into him, their bodies touching. Instantly, she turned away so Brig couldn’t see her flushed face.
She had to get out of there. The small room had become suffocating, and if she stayed any longer, there was a very real danger that she’d be tempted to slip into his arms. So much for her promise just to look.
Briskly, she bustled around the room, rinsing the plastic tub and shutting down lights until, to her dismay, they were standing in the now-dark space, and Brig was whispering, as if he felt the same temptation, “Molly.”
Her name went through her like a welcome breeze and cooled her pink cheeks. No way would she let herself be lulled once more by Brig’s good looks and the newer, more tender side of him that she’d never encountered before. Soon enough she’d be seeing the back of him. Laila, too. So instead...
“I offered you some books on child care,” she said, walking toward the door, “but you’ll need more than that. Hands-on experience. If you’d like to avoid another mess in the crib, or at least lower the possibility, I could...give you a few lessons—for Laila—in diapering and so forth.”
“And so forth,” he echoed, following her out the door.
Molly hurried back to the house, to the light she saw still shining in her bedroom. She had to do at least some brainstorming before she went to sleep. She had to remind herself that too many years had gone by, with too many losses.
And she wasn’t about to risk another.
* * *
“THERE SHE IS AGAIN.”
At her father’s voice Molly turned the next afternoon from plumping the sofa cushions in the living room. He had just awoken from his nap—a new habit of his that worried her, when he’d always been full of energy—and for some reason was staring out the side window at the Colliers’ house next door.
The still-empty house, as far as Molly could tell.
Which was worse luck for her. Because after last night in the changing room at the center, she was trying to ignore her memory of Brig’s closeness and her foolish urge to glide into his arms.
She’d decided then that any baby-care lessons from her would be given during daytime hours with her entire staff present.
“That woman,” Thomas said. He was now looking out at the yard, taking care to stay out of sight, one hand pulling the curtains back just enough so he could see without being seen. “She’s a friend of Bess Collier’s.” He peered harder at their neighbors’ house. “Look, she’s ringing their bell again like some town crier. Maybe they stood her up like they did Brig.”
“Maybe,” Molly said, “but she might not know they’re away. Why don’t you go out and say something?”
His hand dropped from the curtain as if he’d been burned. “I’m not stepping foot out of this house. Every time she spots me, she comes over to talk.”
“Really,” Molly said, wishing he might welcome some company.
But Pop was on a roll. “Last month she tried to get me to some potluck dinner at the community center. The Colliers were going, she said, so I wouldn’t be a stranger—a ding dang double date, as if I couldn’t see that coming a mile away.” Molly noticed an odd expression on his face that looked to her a lot like...yearning? “Then only a week ago she had some notion I might like to join her senior bowling league.”
Molly grinned. “You’re a good bowler. I think she’s sweet on you, Pop.”
His face turned red. “That’s all I need.”
Molly wanted to say, Maybe that’s exactly what you need. But that hadn’t gone over well with Ann about Jeff Barlow. Molly was out of the matchmaking business.
Thomas eyed her as if she’d spoken anyway and didn’t get his point. “Your mother was the closest thing to a saint I ever knew. She had a gentle way about her. Never said a bad word about anyone.”
“I know, Pop.” Molly’s eyes stung. “I assume you said no to the potluck.”
His frown deepened. “You were making your special meat loaf that night. I bet that woman’s a terrible cook. She talks too much to pay attention to anything else.”
Molly bit back a smile. “What if she has hidden depths?”
“You think this is funny? What if she’s nothing but a man-hunting busybody?” he said, then stomped off into the kitchen for his afternoon snack.
Molly followed him. Unable to push just a little, she waited until he looked at her. “Pop, I know how much you loved Mom, but I don’t want to see you bury yourself in this house.”
“Hardly any chance of that,” he said, rooting in the fridge and coming up with a block of his favorite cheese. “Not with Brigham here, too, and that baby that’s not his.”
“Now you’re being unkind.”
“Well, I don’t see the good of it, Molly. If his parents aren’t coming home anytime soon—”
“We don’t know that.”
“Then why doesn’t he find an apartment or something?”
“For just a short stay?”
“And why isn’t there someone else who can take care of that child? Makes no sense for a man who’s little more than a drifter, a man who will likely head off tomorrow or next week for who knows where to play shoot ’em up.”
Molly’s stomach sank. She didn’t like to imagine Brig in a firefight somewhere, in dang
er far from home. Not that home was high on his priority list. But to imagine Brig wounded, or even gone like his teammate, Sean...?
“That’s Brig’s business,” she said, “not ours. All I can do is help him learn how to care for Laila properly—which I’ve promised to do while he’s here—and keep my ears open for any news of his folks.”
“Huh,” Thomas muttered. “Well, I’ve been keeping my eyes open with him, and I doubt baby care is the only thing on his mind.”
“Don’t you dare say it,” Molly cautioned him.
She was trying hard not to think about Brig, just as her father was trying hard not to acknowledge any interest in the woman still ringing the bell next door.
But, no. A glance out the window told Molly the woman was now steaming across the yard to Pop’s front door.
“Uh-oh. There’s no escape,” she told him.
And went to answer the bell.
Unlike Pop, Molly welcomed the chance to distract herself.
She could only hope she wasn’t occupying Brig’s mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
MOLLY OPENED THE door—and any thought of Brig went flying out of her head.
Except for her red hair, the woman who’d been standing on the Colliers’ front porch hadn’t looked so...dazzling from a distance. Molly took in the purple sequined tracksuit and hot pink running shoes with their glittering silver reflectors. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the visitor’s shoes had sported those red lights that flashed when the wearer walked, as did some of the shoes the children at Little Darlings wore.
“Please. Come in,” she said, gesturing with one hand. “I’m Molly.”
“Natalie Brewster.”
They hadn’t officially met before, but Molly recognized the newest resident of the neighborhood. She had moved in last spring from across town, yet other than a wave or hello called from a distance, Molly had had no dealings with her.