Grant shrugged, then made a face, no doubt signaling his utter confusion as he looked to the exposed rafters of the high-ceilinged room. When he glanced at her again, his frowning expression begging for mercy, Laura finally hiccupped and said, “The baby hates me. Will…will you stay with me—with us—tonight?”
THE NEXT MORNING, about eight o’clock, clad only in his boxers, after spending the night on the sofa bed, Grant rounded the corner from the dark and quiet living room and padded down the hall. Entering one of the two closed-off bedrooms on the other side of the kitchen, the ones he couldn’t sleep in, Laura had protested, because what if the baby who hated her woke up, Grant shook his head. Sitting on the comfortercovered sleigh bed, he picked up the phone and dialed his home number.
Today being what it was in his life, he needed to check his answering machine. Man, what a mess. First Laura. Then the baby. And now today. Whoever was in charge of his life wasn’t doing a very good job of scheduling the crises at reasonable intervals, he groused as he punched in the numbers and put the phone to his ear. He waited for the connection to go through so he could push the series of numbers and see if he had any—
“Hello?” A feminine voice at the other end—the other end being defined as Grant’s place—said, “Is that you, son?”
Grant froze, momentarily startled. What was going on? “Mother?” Had he accidentally dialed their number in Chicago?
She sounded relieved. “Yes, it is. Hello.”
“Hello, Mother.” Oh, man. “Where are you?”
“Why, we’re at your place, of course.”
“Oh. I thought you weren’t flying in until later today?”
“We weren’t But your father changed our plans. The weather, you know.”
No, he didn’t—it’d been fine last night. “Ah, the weather. So…when did you get in?”
“Last evening, late. It was a dreadful flight from home.” Dreadful? On your own private jet? “Anyway, we came over this morning to your place. We used that key you gave us. And had to let ourselves in.” She sounded aghast, as if she were sure there were people paid to do such things. “That horrid little doorman of yours—well, suffice it to say, he was of no help. And of course, we expected you to be here. Where are you? Wait. Your father wishes to speak with you.”
Great. The parents were at his place. Grant ran a hand over his face and shook his head. Son of a—
“Grant? Is that you?”
“Hello, Dad. Yeah, it’s me.”
“Well, it’s nice to hear your voice so early in the morning.”
“Nice to hear your voice, too,” Grant answered, even knowing that what his father really meant to say was, Where the hell are you.
Stanton Maguire confirmed his guess. “Where the hell are you?”
Grant would have chuckled, only it wasn’t funny. “I don’t work for you, Dad. You can’t order me around. And not that it’s any of your business, but I’m at Laura Sloan’s. Yes. That Laura Sloan. Why am I here? Well, it’s a long story. One I don’t feel like going into right now.”
A strained silence followed Grant’s bluntness. In that silence, his jaw tightened. He was too damned old for this. He was thirty-two, for God’s sake. And not subject to his father’s approval—or disapproval—of his personal relationships. You’d think the old man would respect that. Or would at least concede it, since Grant was prepared to sign his independence away today—for his father’s sake. And his health.
“Have you forgotten what today is, son?” the Magnificent Maguire, so dubbed by the tabloid journalists, suddenly asked, breaking the quiet between them.
“Hardly.” He started to say more but his father asked him to hold on while he spoke with “your mother,” as he called her. While he waited, Grant pictured his pending “coronation.” There they’d all be…him, his father and his mother. And their pantheon of attorneys with the reams of paperwork to be signed. Paperwork that would give Grant the corporate reins to the vast Maguire holdings.
This event would mark the end of Grant’s days of independence and the beginning of his father’s freedom, of his retirement, forced though it was by his doctor’s pronouncement that he either slow down or die. Which was why Grant had finally agreed to do this.
“This will be a great day, son,” his father suddenly said into Grant’s ear.
“I agree,” Grant said automatically. But he wasn’t focused so much on what his father was implying as he was on Laura. And on his rush to track her down before he did what he had to do—today. Timing had become everything. After today, his one-month association with the Tucker Company ended. And along with it, any chance to get to her. And he’d wanted that chance. Very much.
“You’re awfully quiet, Grant. Having second thoughts?”
Grant mentally shook himself. “No, Dad. No second thoughts. I’m happy to do this.” And he was, on one level. He loved his father. He wanted him to have a long life. To be happy.
“Have they found your replacement yet at the Tucker Company?”
“Yeah. A really competent, deserving woman. Deanna James. She’ll do a great job.”
“Good. Sorry to have to put you through this.”
A sudden lump in Grant’s throat took him by surprise. He’d never heard his father say he was sorry for anything. Or speak of his human vulnerabilities. “Hey, it’s okay, Dad. Really. Your health comes first.”
Stanton Maguire reverted to his customary gruffness. “Yes. Well. Don’t miss this meeting today.”
Grant chuckled. “I don’t intend to, Dad. I’ll be there. I know how important it is. I said I’d do it. And I will. I just—” The sound of running water came from the kitchen around the corner followed by a baby crying and desperate female shushing and cooing noises. Laura and Tucker.
Suddenly Grant felt like laughing. Could this be more insane? “Look, Dad, just…make yourselves at home and I’ll—What? The Plaza Hotel? You’re staying there?” Hallelujah. “All right. I’ll meet up with you there. Eleven o’clock? Fine. No, don’t send your car. I can—All right, see you then. Say goodbye to Mother—” The line went dead. Grant stared at the phone in his hand and finished, “For me.”
Man, oh man. We’re having fun now. Just like ten years ago. The circumstances might be different, but the choices were the same. Laura’s needs or his parents’ demands. Great. He usually liked to start his morning with some coffee, reading about life-and-death situations in the New York Times. Not living one himself, be it literal or figurative. Grant shook his head, pressed the ironically labeled End button on the phone, and glared at it as if it alone had flown his parents in early. What was he supposed to do now?
He couldn’t leave Laura alone with the baby. She was scared to death and inept as hell with him. Just then a piercing baby scream rent the air. Grant stiffened. He could only hope she wasn’t attempting to dry the child’s bottom by putting him in the microwave oven, wet diaper and all. Then he instantly felt bad. Blame his fatalistic mood. She wouldn’t do that. He suddenly straightened, staring blankly at the bowl-of-fruit painting hung on the wall across from him.
She might He suddenly remembered Vivian telling him years ago about the time Laura had baby-sat for some new and unsuspecting neighbors. She had cleaned up their baby after a meal by hosing the kid down in the backyard, high chair and all. Grant jumped up and tore out of the room. “Laura?” he called as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. “What’s—”
He jerked to a halt and stood looking around the darkened kitchen. The darkened, quiet kitchen. The darkened, quiet, devoid-of-humans kitchen. “Going on in here?” he finished. Okay. Where are they? Slowly he turned, scanning for some sign of life. I know I heard them both yelling. I know I did. Then he captured a familiar and blessed scent, along with gentle percolating sounds. His gaze lit on the Mr. Coffee. Yes. It was brewing the nectar of the gods. Relief washed over Grant. I was right. She was in here. So where is she now?
Confused, Grant shook his head.
“
Grant? What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Startled, Grant pivoted to face Laura—and saw her. Everything I’ve ever wanted, came his sudden, heart-stopping, ill-timed revelation. Yes, ill-timed. Maddeningly so. Why? Because his heart chose now to point out her everything-he-ever-wanted status to him. Today of all days. Great.
So there she stood, at the head of the three steps that led to her bedroom. All sleepy and warm, she held Tucker in her arms. Grant’s eyebrows rose. For more than one reason. She’d never looked more desirable, for one thing. And for another, the little boy’s head rested where Grant would like to find his own. Against her pajama-covered bosom.
What was all this coziness between these two after Tucker had shrieked the house down when she’d tried to hold him? After she’d sworn the baby hated her? And she’d cried and begged him to stay?
But anyway, here they were. And he couldn’t deny his feelings. Didn’t try to. How could he have known he was going to feel like this? Had he missed a meeting? Was he on the wrong page? Because here they were. The two people in all the world, he suddenly realized—and it nearly stopped his heart—that he wanted to love and to protect.
He did? Yes. The way he felt right now, the picture the three of them made here together, he knew he could dedicate his entire life to them. To keeping them safe and warm. To making them the reason he did anything and everything. And yet neither one of them was his. So what was going on here? Why was he feeling these things? He hadn’t seen Laura in ten years. And the baby he’d known not much more than ten hours. He didn’t get it.
“Are you all right?” Laura asked.
Grant blinked, focused, felt a little sick to his stomach. “Yeah,” he assured her. “I think I am. I just—I heard you yelling earlier.”
“Oh,” she said, shrugging and nodding toward Tucker. “He yelled at me, so I yelled back at him.” She smiled, a crooked smile that said, I know it sounds stupid but it worked. She looked at him questioningly. “Where were you just now?”
Grant jerked a thumb toward the bedroom. “On the phone. Answering machine. I was checking…” His voice trailed off. Couldn’t he even finish a sentence? What was wrong with him? What was this fog surrounding him? Why was he hearing wedding vows as if they came to him through a mist? To have and to hold…from this day forward…in sickness and in health…
And if that wasn’t strange enough, the baby—Grant became belatedly aware—was staring soberly at him, as if he, Tucker, was the one asking Grant to take the vows.
As Grant stared, drinking in the cozy scene before him and thinking of his life alone before yesterday, a life he swore to himself he couldn’t go back to, not after this day, a cherubic smile lit Tucker’s face. He raised his head from Laura’s bosom and pointed a tiny, accusing finger at Grant. “Da-da.”
4
IF YOU PUT boxer shorts on a Greek god statue, you’d have Grant in his early-morning attire, Laura thought yearningly. Unbelievable. The man may as well adorn a huge Times Square billboard. Not advertising anything. Just…adorn it Because every woman in the world should be treated, at least once in her life, to the sight that greeted her now.
Laura finally forced her gaze away from Grant’s impressive appearance to look into his surprise-widened eyes. Surprised by Tucker’s calling him da-da, no doubt Either that or he’d forgotten that morning did not become her the way it did him. Nevertheless, she grinned. “It hits you between the eyes, doesn’t it? The first time he called me mama, I nearly fainted.” She shifted Tucker on her hip and grinned at the clinging little monkey of a sweetheart. “Didn’t I, precious?”
“Mama,” Tucker dutifully repeated. Immediately Laura felt a warm wetness against her skin. Her mind went blank, and her mouth sagged open. What was it with this kid? Was he marking his territory? She tugged him off her sodden sweatpants-clad hip and held him out in front of her. “Yuck. I knew I should have changed you first.” Laura’s eyes widened. That didn’t sound right.
She looked past the baby to Grant, who stood by the sofa bed. “Not that I need to be changed, mind you. Well, I guess I do now. But I meant change him first as in before I came to see you—um, no, before I started the coffee. No, before I—”
“Laura? Just go change him, honey. I’ll get you some coffee.”
Honey? The casual endearment floated along her nerves like butterfly wings. But had he heard himself? she wondered. She didn’t think so, because he calmly turned and made his way toward the kitchen…Laura watched him, waiting for realization to hit him. He skirted the—Bam! It hit him. He stopped dead, stiffening. And Laura, peering past the frowning little prune face of a baby that she held at arm’s length, bit her bottom lip to keep from snickering out loud.
But all Grant did was clear his throat, shake himself and flex those gorgeous muscles of his, then continue to the free-standing breakfast bar, as nonchalant as you please. The coward…
Bzzzz. Laura jerked in the direction of the intercom and stared at the innocuous little box mounted next to the front doors. No.
She clutched the sopping baby protectively to her and stared at the doors. Then, immediately, desperately, her stomach sickening, her throat closing, she sought Grant. He’d come around the corner from the kitchen and stood as still as she was. His somber gaze rested on her and told its own story.
“Who could that be, this early in the morning?” Laura asked, hearing and hating the wooden sound of her voice. She couldn’t seem to look away from Grant’s compelling eyes as she silently begged him to tell her this wasn’t who she feared it was. Feared? Shouldn’t she be glad? After all, wasn’t she the one who didn’t want babies, who swore she couldn’t take care of one?
“I don’t know who it could be,” Grant answered in an equally flat tone. “You expecting anybody?”
“No. Are you?”
“No. No one knows I’m here. Well, except my parents.”
Laura swallowed. “Your parents?”
“Yeah. They’re at my place. It’s a long story.”
“Oh. Then it must be the authorities. For Tucker.”
To Laura’s eyes, Grant seemed to settle in place. “I think it is.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “I know it is,” she said.
The buzzer sounded again. Grant looked in that direction and slowly swung his gaze to her. “We have to let them in.”
“I know.”
“You okay?”
“No.” Laura shifted the clinging little boy’s weight and cradled his warm, dark head to her bosom. Silently, the child clutched at her T-shirt with both dimpled little hands. And broke Laura’s heart. Poor little guy. He knew he’d better hold on. She was liable to drop him at any moment So maybe it was best they took him away now. Before she did something stupid, like lose him. Or lose her heart to him.
“You want me to answer it?” Grant’s words captured Laura’s attention. She saw him nod in the direction of the double doors.
His amber-colored eyes held her gaze, told her that he cared, that he was here for her. She needed that from him. Even as her heart swelled with ragged emotions, she realized that his whole demeanor implored her to be strong, to be adult and rational. But Laura felt none of those things. “I can’t do this, Grant.”
A strident, insistent double buzz of the intercom accompanied his answer. “You have to.” Then he added in a softer voice, “It might not be them. It could be anyone.”
Laura shook her head. “No. It’s them. They’ve come to take Tucker away.”
Grant slumped. “I know.” He spoke rapidly. “This is crazy. He’s not ours, Laura. How could we have gotten this attached to that little boy so quickly? It makes no sense.”
Ours. We. “And yet?” she probed, hearing the undercurrent in his voice. He was as undone as she was. And that said so much about him, about the man he’d become, that he could put her emotions first, that he could feel this strongly for an abandoned baby. More than anything else he could have said or done, it was this aspect
of him that had Laura falling in love with him again. If indeed she’d ever stopped loving him.
He stood there, staring at her, no doubt ordering his thoughts, coming to terms with the turmoil that rocked them both. “And yet,” he finally said, “I’m wishing I were a superhero and we could fly out of here with him.” He stared at her and straightened, his features hardening as if he’d come to some conclusion.
In the next instant, he strode purposefully for the doors. “Which tells us everything we need to know, doesn’t it? One more day with Tucker and we’d be fugitives with someone else’s child. And we don’t even know what the hell to do with him. We’ve got him sleeping in a drawer, for crying out loud. The kid probably has a nice crib and loving parents somewhere. It’s best they take him home now, Laura, so we don’t get any more attached than we already are. We need to quit playing house, quit acting like we’re a family and he’s our child. It’s nuts.”
As harsh as his words were, Laura knew what he was doing. He was hardening his heart, convincing himself he could give up the child he’d obviously come to love. And the very fact that he had to harden his heart only melted hers. Again he was showing how much he cared. About her, that she’d be hurting. And about Tucker, an innocent little waif. She wondered if Grant knew how much more he’d revealed. About them playing house. About Tucker being theirs. Was this Grant’s way of saying he wanted that to happen…with her?
And if so, was that what she wanted, too? Really wanted? Down deep inside, in her gut, in her heart? She needed to decide. But hadn’t she already decided, she wondered as Grant stood there, giving her time, despite the buzzer’s insistent ringing. Was that why she felt so attached to Tucker and why letting him go hurt so bad? Could it be that she feared losing Grant when Tucker was gone? Was she clinging to Tucker as a way to hold on to Grant, as crazy as that sounded?
From Here To Maternity Page 6