by Beverly Farr
She felt a twinge of disappointment, but knew he was being wise.
“Thank you,” she said.
His eyes glittered dangerously. “For what?”
“For being the first to pull back. Before I’ve always had to do that.”
He grinned. “As much as I’d enjoy making out with you until morning, I sense that you’re not that kind of girl.”
She nodded. “Sometimes I feel weird because I’m twenty-eight and still a virgin.”
“Don’t,” he said seriously. “I respect that. I value that.”
It was good to hear. “Thanks.”
He kissed her one more time, a brief touch. “Now, I’d better go before I forget our good intentions.” He raised his eyebrows and twirled an imaginary moustache like a villain in a silent movie.
She laughed.
She watched him walk back to his house with his long strides. He was whistling.
Sweet and sexy. It was a good combination.
#
The next two weeks were like a dream. Michael had never been happier. He’d known that Olivia was a wonderful person, but he had not even imagined how smoothly she would fit into his life. They spent most of the time in the evenings at his house, with her cooking or helping with the children, but they also spent some time by themselves, either going out, or spending time at her house. She encouraged him to go running, and watched the kids when he did.
He felt ten years younger and vibrantly alive.
She was so different from Mary Ellen.
He knew he was a very ordinary man, but for some reason, Olivia thought he was special. She thought he was funny and smart. She listened to him.
And the kisses.
Michael rested his chin in his hand and smiled, just thinking about her.
She was so warm, so giving.
Her kisses made him want more, but he was willing to wait. He, like her, wanted to do things right.
He wanted to tell his parents about her, but something made him hold back.
The scars Mary Ellen had left were deep.
A company contacted him about the Baby Stockade, wanting to discuss the possibility of manufacturing and marketing it. He asked Olivia if she would stay with the children while he was out of town for a few days.
“I’d be happy to.”
It would be a good test, he thought. To see if she could handle the children and all the responsibility. Not that she wasn’t willing; he knew that she was; but he had to be sure, before he committed himself. His family was too important to make any rash decisions.
#
Olivia was a little nervous about being completely in charge of the children, but Miss Kate said she’d stay until they were all settled down. Olivia appreciated that. Miss Kate was now in the kitchen preparing the children’s dinner: mashed sweet potatoes and spaghetti cut into pieces. Michael set his carry-on suitcase and the duffel that contained the Stockade by the back door. “I think we’ve gone over everything.”
Olivia smiled. He’d given her the tour of the house, pointing out everything she might need: extra towels in a closet, the thermometer and acetaminophen in the bathroom pantry. “Hopefully you won't need it, but I've also signed a medical release form for you in case of an emergency. There's already one for Miss Kate.” He turned to her. “Linc is on the last two days of an antibiotic. It's in the refrigerator. Fortunately he only has to take it once a day. Other than that, they're all healthy.”
He walked back to the kitchen. “Here's the list of places I can be reached and the times of my flights on the fridge. You’ve got my cell. I should be coming home Saturday afternoon by two.”
“I hope the trip is successful.”
He smiled. “Is there anything else I've forgotten?”
“If there is, I'll let her know,” Miss Kate said calmly. She poured more milk into Grant's cup.
Michael walked around to each of the high chairs and kissed his children good bye. “Be good,” he told them. “Daddy's going on a trip, but I'll be back in a few days. Olivia will take care of you while I'm gone.”
“I guess that's it,” he said at the back door. He picked up his baggage.
“Hold still,” Olivia interrupted. She wet a paper towel at the sink and wiped his cheek. I love you. “Spaghetti,” she said simply.
There was a flash of understanding and affection in his eyes. He kissed her. “Thank you.”
Then he was gone.
Olivia closed the door, and stood with her fingertips to her lips.
Miss Kate coughed.
Olivia flushed and turned toward her. “Yes?”
“They're just about finished here. Would you please bring a cloth to wash their faces?”
“Yes, yes of course.” She was wiping sticky little fingers a few minutes later, when the back door opened again. It was Michael.
He looked agitated and out of breath.
“Did you forget something?”
“Yes.” Without warning, he caught her to him and kissed her again. “I can't leave without saying it. I love you. I want to marry you.”
Olivia eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He kissed her again, then was out the door. “I’ve got to catch my plane,” he called over his shoulder. “I love you.”
Again the door shut and this time she laughed. He hadn’t even given her a chance to respond. That appeared to be the way he worked: saving his emotions all bottled up until they burst forth like a volcano.
She supposed she’d get used to it.
“Are you all right?” Miss Kate asked with concern.
Olivia shook her head. “I must be. I think I'm engaged.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
That night Olivia brushed her teeth in the master bathroom. She looked about in wonder. This is his bathroom. His soap. His supply of disposable razors.
She was going to marry Michael Claiborne.
When her phone rang, she raced to answer it. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.
“I just walked in the hotel room. I haven't even sat down. I just wanted to talk to you.”
He sounded serious.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I'm a little tired. I've had a lot to think about.”
Was he regretting his impulsive proposal? “About what?” she asked, dreading his answer.
“I've been thinking about what kind of person I want to be. What kind of father. What kind of husband.”
She let her breath out with relief. He hadn’t changed his mind. “Well, don't go changing too much,” she said lightly. “I like you just the way you are.”
He was amused. “That reminds me of a song.” He hummed several lines of the Billy Joel ballad. “Where are you?”
She blushed and was glad he couldn't see her. “In your room.”
“Good. I asked Miss Kate to make up the bed. It's a lot more comfortable than the couch. I didn't know how bad the fold out mattress was until my mother came to visit.”
Olivia was silent, just sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling, happy to hear his voice.
“How are the kids?” he asked. “Did they all get to sleep?”
“Uh huh. I didn't have any problems.”
“Great.” He paused, then began cautiously, “On the plane, I realized I didn’t even ask you to marry me. I just assumed. That’s not good.”
“You can ask me now,” Olivia prompted.
“Will you marry me?”
Olivia’s heart was brimming with happiness. “Yes.”
“Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” It was wonderful to be able to say the words.
They talked for a few more minutes, neither one of them wanting to be the first to say good night. Finally he said, “Do I need to call your Dad and formally ask for your hand?”
“We can talk about that when you get back home,” she said quietly.
“Okay. Good night then. Sweet dreams.”
I don't need sweet dreams, she thoug
ht as she turned out the lights and slid into Michael's bed. She plumped a pillow -- his pillow? Reality was sweet enough
#
Olivia was up twice in the night, once to feed Jeff and once to change Wash. I can do this, she thought as she woke in the morning. After a while, she'd settle into a routine and taking care of five toddlers would become second nature to her. Besides, she and Michael would work together, sharing the responsibilities.
The children ate breakfast in their fuzzy footed pajamas that zipped up the front. They looked like little red teddy bears.
She thought about Halloween. They’d be two then. She’d make certain they had costumes and take a formal portrait for Mrs. Claiborne.
Mrs. Claiborne. She was going to become Mrs. Claiborne and she would start calling Michael's mother Jana. Or Mom, if she were comfortable with that. Olivia would like to call her Mom.
#
Michael sat in a large conference room while three men and a woman examined the baby stockade. “It will need a carrying case,” one of them said.
Michael had brought it wrapped in plastic inside a large black duffle bag.
“Do you have instructions on how to set it up?” another asked.
Michael hadn't thought of that. “Let me show you,” he said, and for a few minutes put it together. As he worked, he saw places where he should have finished the seams more smoothly. Once the stockade was standing, the executives walked around it, examining it. “We'll definitely change the color.”
“It's sturdier with the tent stakes in the ground,” he said.
The woman picked up one of the sides and dropped it back to the floor. The stockade wavered, but stood firm. “What kind of product testing have you done?”
“My children are the only ones who've tested it.”
“And what ages are they?”
“Seventeen months now.”
She was puzzled. “You have twins?”
“Quintuplets, actually.”
Michael noticed the quick glance the woman gave her colleague. She smiled. “How interesting.”
#
Olivia looked under the couch. “Not here, either.” She looked at Linc's tear stained face. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can't find your binky. Could you show me where you put it?”
Either he didn’t understand her, or he was too upset to respond. He just cried and jabbered.
Olivia picked him up to comfort him, and he grabbed the hem of her shirt. He put it in his mouth and sucked on it. He stopped crying. “Whatever works,” Olivia said, and carried him on her hip, back to the bedroom where several wet diapers were waiting for her.
#
“No,” Michael said.
He sat with two of the executives he'd spoken with earlier and one of their lawyers. A preliminary contract was on the table.
“But with a picture of your children on the box and in the advertising, sales would increase. Everyone is interested in multiple births.”
Michael stood. “No. No pictures of my children.”
“What about identifying you as the father of the Claiborne quints? You are the creator of the Baby Stockade, and that connection gives insight into how the stockade came to be.”
“No, if the stockade is going sell, I want it to sell on its own merits not because of my children.”
The attorney leaned forward. “I understand that you feel strongly about this issue, but let's be honest. There are other big playpens out on the market already. What's so special about yours?”
The underlying message was clear. Was he willing to walk away from the deal because of his stubborn pride? Michael thought of Wash, Jeff, Linc, Grant and Amelia waiting at home with Olivia. Enough posturing. He bent down and picked up the stockade. “If you're not interested in the Baby Stockade, fine,” he said calmly. “I'll take it somewhere else.”
The attorney didn't even blink. “Please don't be so hasty, Mr. Claiborne. Sit down. There's always room for a compromise.”
“Not with my kids,” he said, but sat down, just the same. His flight back to Dallas was scheduled for tomorrow morning. He had time to listen. Let them talk.
#
“Put the soap in first, dear. It will dissolve better.”
Olivia pulled the dirty clothes out of the washer and added the detergent first. Miss Kate’s tone of voice was pleasant, but the advice was constant. “It's too cold for that shirt.” “Don't give them that much milk. They'll just spill it.” “I always tie their shoes in a double knot.” Olivia couldn't decide whether Miss Kate was trying to be helpful, or if she wanted to reinforce the fact that she, not Olivia, was the expert on raising children.
Did she think that with Olivia marrying Michael, she might be out of a job? As far as Olivia was concerned, Miss Kate could work as long as she wished, but she and Michael hadn't discussed all the nitty gritty details of their marriage, yet. Would he want to sell both their houses and buy a bigger, newer house in one of the suburbs north of Dallas? And what about her job? She’d recently received an offer for a position in Portland, but that wouldn’t work now, unless he was willing to relocate.
Should she try to find something in Dallas? Part of her would love to stay home with the children and work on her books, but that might not be reasonable.
And they hadn’t talked about her cats at all. Watson and Crick might not survive five toddlers.
There was so much to think about.
That evening, Miss Kate was tying a scarf under her chin, getting ready to leave. “I can stop at the grocery store on my way over tomorrow morning,” she offered. “Is there anything we need?”
“Let me check.” Olivia walked over and opened the refrigerator door. “Bananas. Milk. Applesauce.”
“All right, I'll get that on my way over.”
Miss Kate was buttoning her coat, when Olivia heard one of the children gag. Where were Amelia and Grant? Olivia ran to the back bedroom. Grant was happily playing with a plastic giraffe. Amelia's face was red, and she wasn't breathing.
Miss Kate, who had followed after her, said, “Hit her back.”
“No.” Olivia had read that striking a child's back could lodge something further in a child's throat. She quickly opened Amelia's mouth, but couldn't see anything. Dear God, what do I do now?
Heimlich maneuver.
But how to do it?
Olivia had been reading articles about the maneuver for years, but she'd never practiced it, and had never seen anyone do it in person. She knelt on the carpet and held Amelia standing in front of her, facing away from her. She put her fist against Amelia's abdomen and gave a quick upward thrust.
Amelia coughed again, cried, and started breathing.
Thank you, Lord.
For a minute, they just stood there, silent, watching her chest rise and fall as she breathed.
“There, she's fine now,” Miss Kate said calmly.
Olivia wasn't so certain. “She didn't cough anything up, and I don't like the whistling sound as she breathes.”
“She probably just scratched her throat when she swallowed whatever it was. I remember when my Matthew swallowed a nickel once, and he had a funny sound in his throat for a day or two.”
Olivia carried Amelia and Grant back to the living room, where she could watch all of the children in one room. She listened to Amelia for another minute. “I want to take her to the emergency room and have a doctor make sure she's okay.”
Olivia could tell that Miss Kate thought this was a waste of time, but she was too polite to say it aloud. “I'll call Michael, then I'll take her in,” Olivia said. “If you would please stay with the children.”
“Of course I will,” Miss Kate said, offended that Olivia had to ask.
Olivia called Michael and left a voice message. She also sent a text.
She dressed a wide-eyed Amelia in her hooded jacket and zipped it up. Then while Miss Kate watched all the children, she transferred one of the car seats from the Suburban into her Honda. She didn't want to drive a strang
e car to the hospital.
At the hospital, there were forms to fill out and a room with tile floors to wait in. She was glad Michael had signed a medical release form.
Amelia cried because she was hungry, but Olivia didn't dare feed her until a doctor said it was safe. Olivia tried to distract her by playing pat-a-cake and singing eensy weensy spider.
Finally a white coated doctor approached. “Amelia, is it?” she asked, having glanced at her chart. She listened to the little girl's breathing. “Yes, it sounds like something's stuck. Let's get an x-ray and see what the problem is.”
Amelia was frightened by the x-ray equipment and cried as Olivia held her still on the table. The technician used large strips of padded tape to hold her head and shoulders immobile.
“Hush sweetheart,” Olivia said. “It will be over soon.”
Michael called her back. “What’s the problem?”
She told him everything. “Thank God you were there,” he said. “Call me back as soon as you know more.”
A few minutes later, Olivia held Amelia and looked at the x-ray film. “See that round mass?” the doctor said. “It looks like part of a toy. A bead, maybe.”
A bead? She hoped it wasn't from the toy she'd bought them. It had looked so sturdy, so safe. “How can she breathe?”
“She might be breathing around it, or through it. That's what's making the whistling sound.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We'll put her under anesthesia and see if we can reach the object with forceps. If that doesn't work, we'll do minor surgery and get it out.”
Surgery? As in cutting her throat? “Can't you put a tube down her throat and suck it out?”
“Like a vacuum?” The doctor shook her head. “We'll use the least obtrusive method, Ms. Hendricks.”
What could she say to that? Olivia knew she wasn't an expert.
She spoke to Michael.
“It sounds right. But you’re the one there. Use your judgment.”
She was humbled by his trust in her. “All right,” she told the doctor. “Do what you need to do.”
In a few minutes, a sedated Amelia was wheeled away from her. She looked so tiny and helpless on the gurney. Olivia stared at her hands, clutched in her lap and prayed silently as she waited.