McCallum Quintuplets

by Kasey Michaels

  “Are you going to try again?”

  “Uh-huh, thanks to the fund Jackson McCallum set up to help pay for the procedure for those who can’t really afford the high fees.” She finally succeeded in getting her eyes open, her deeply brown, wonderfully compassionate eyes. “I hate it that sometimes a couple’s checkbook comes between them and the chance for a baby. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

  “And she’s off,” Ian said, smiling. “I would have thought you’d be too tired to climb up on any of your many soapboxes tonight.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “When you’re right, you’re right. Topic closed. Now, do you want me out of here or not, because if you don’t have a date I think ordering out for pizza sounds like a real plan. We rent a movie, pop some popcorn later? What do you say? Those darn journal articles can just wait for another day.”

  Ian winced. “Sorry, babe. Definitely a hot date.” He pushed back his sleeve, looked at his wristwatch. “As a matter of fact, she’ll be here any moment now, so if you wouldn’t mind?” he ended, picking up her bare legs once more, pushing them off the coffee table so that Madeline had no choice but to get up. It was either that or slide onto the floor in a heap.

  She gave her thick black mane a toss, then pulled at her extra-extra-large gray sweatshirt that all but hid the fact that she was also wearing a pair of cutoff jean shorts. Maddie had great legs, Ian knew, but that body of hers pretty much remained a mystery, even after all these years. He’d never met a woman so careful to conceal her body, mostly with goofy granny gowns or oversize sweats.

  He stood up with her, flicked a finger against her shiny, makeup-free nose. Her naturally curly hair—and there was a lot of it—was still damp after her shower, and he liked the way it waved around her face. Such a change from the tight braid or the bun she usually squeezed it all into because she thought the scraped-back styles made her look professional. Professional, hell. Just as he’d told her about ten million times, in those granny gowns, with that hair, she looked like a gunnysack with bangs.

  “Tomorrow night?” he asked her as he took her by the shoulders, turned her, aimed her toward the door. “Pizza, popcorn, the whole nine yards. My treat.”

  “You’re on,” Madeline told him, accepting the sneakers he picked up, held out to her. “Oh, no—wait. I can’t. Dammit, Ian, I can’t.”

  “Hot date?” he asked, a little surprised to feel a slight twinge somewhere inside him. A twinge? Of what? Certainly not jealousy. That would be ridiculous. Besides, if it was jealousy, it would only be because he enjoyed their movie nights so much. Maddie never missed a joke in the comedies, always guessed the murderer in mysteries and just about crawled inside him when they watched horror movies. And she made great popcorn. With cheese on it.

  “No, silly. No hot date. Not even a lukewarm one, more’s the pity. The girls are taking me out for my birthday.”

  “Your birthday? That’s not for another two days. And besides, you’re spending it with me, remember? Saturday night, you and me, reservations at Lone Star, two very thick, very rare steaks. You couldn’t have forgotten?”

  She reached up, kissed his cheek. “Relax, I haven’t forgotten. How can I forget? You’re paying the check. No, this is just a girls’ night out, that’s all. Just April, Annabelle and yours truly. We’ll go to the mall straight from work, grab something to eat and do a little shopping.”

  “Really?” Ian said, looking at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going shopping? At the mall? For clothes? And that would be voluntarily? I don’t believe it.”

  “Very funny,” Madeline said, heading for the door once more. “I’ll have you know that I’ve agreed to let April and Annabelle pick out a new outfit for me. It’s their birthday present to me, and I think it’s a very nice gesture. Really.” She wrinkled her nose. “Kind of. Sorta. Oh, how I’m going to hate this.”

  “Hold it right there, pal,” Ian said, walking after her, grabbing her elbow as she reached for the doorknob. “There’s got to be a story attached to this. Let’s hear it.”

  Madeline pulled a face. “Man, you’re a pain. Okay, okay, so there is a story. Sort of. I was speaking with a patient the other afternoon, out in the hallway of the unit, and the patient’s little girl pointed at my stomach and asked when my baby would come out.”

  Ian’s smile faded for two reasons. One, he knew Madeline’s absolutely atrocious taste in clothes had caused the child’s mistake—Omar the tent maker used less cloth—and two, he knew how badly Madeline wanted to be pregnant. Married and pregnant. Just pregnant, if she didn’t marry soon.

  He hated to hear her talk about becoming a single parent. She deserved so much more. She deserved a man who loved her, a family, even the requisite white picket fence around the family home.

  He shook away his thoughts, tried to keep the conversation light. “When is the baby coming out? Ouch, babe, that had to hurt. What were you wearing? That green granny dress your mom sent you? I told you—”

  “I know, I know. You’ve definitely told me. And, yes, the green granny dress my mom made for me, which is now residing in a charity bin outside the hospital. Anyway, Annabelle overheard the little girl, and the next thing I knew she and April had a conspiracy cooked up between them. Tomorrow night they’re buying me a new outfit for my birthday. And they’ve told me I’d better come prepared with my plastic, because they fully intend to talk me into an entire new wardrobe. I’m going to hate every moment of this. Just hate it.”

  “But you’ll play nice?” Ian prodded. “You won’t do what you did to me the last time I suggested you wear clothes at least close to your own size?”

  “I didn’t do anything to you, Ian, and you know it.”

  “Sure. Right,” he agreed. “Now, what did you say again? I’m afraid my ears are still ringing. Wait—if I listen, listen closely, I can still hear it. ‘Ian Russell, you can take that pitiful excuse for a dress and shove it straight—’”

  He broke off as Madeline put down her head, as her shoulders sort of slumped. “Ah, hell, Maddie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was such a sore spot with you.”

  Her head flew up, her chin jutting out. “It is not a sore spot with me, Ian. I just don’t see the point. Do you know how many times a day I can be getting in and out of scrubs, my street clothes? It’s just easier to dress as I do. Loose clothing, no buttons, no restrictions.”

  “No style, no glamour, no hairstyle, no makeup—okay, okay,” he ended, putting up his hands as she growled at him. “I’m backing off, right now. But, man to woman, Mad, if you plan to go fishing, it’s smart to put out a couple of lures.”

  Madeline opened her mouth, probably to tell him to close his, when there was a knock on the door. She grinned at him rather evilly. “Oh, gosh, your dress-up doll’s here. Guess I’d better hit the road.”

  “Very funny,” Ian said, heading toward the door.

  “And Rosemary’s not a toy. She’s a software whiz. Very creative.”

  “I’ll just bet she is,” Madeline said as he opened the door. She breezed past Rosemary, who frowned at her, then smiled at Ian.

  “Who was that?” Rosemary asked as she waited for Ian to close the door.

  “Nobody. Just a friend from across the hall,” he told her, wondering why he suddenly felt lower than a snake’s belly. He looked at Rosemary, his hot date. Blond hair, legs that went on forever, some pretty impressive cleavage showing above the neckline of her little black dress.

  He wondered how soon he could get rid of her.

  FRIDAY NIGHT, Madeline met April McCallum and Annabelle Reardon at the Austin Eats diner next door to Maitland Maternity, racing in about twenty minutes late.

  She slid into the booth alongside Annabelle, smiled at April, who sat across the narrow table. “Thanks for agreeing to meet here instead of at the mall. I’m so sorry for the last-minute change of plans. Mrs. Halstead kept saying, ‘Just one more question, please.’ But I think she’s okay now. Poor thing, she spends all her free time on
the Internet, looking up ways to scare herself.”

  April sipped soda through a straw, then sighed. “I know how she feels. I mean, I didn’t have to worry about all the problems of a multiple pregnancy, but the problems that can arise afterward certainly aren’t minimal. I can scare myself silly about the babies, and I’m a trained neonatal nurse.”

  “It’s because you’re a trained neonatal nurse that you can scare yourself so badly,” Madeline said reasonably. “You just know too much, have seen too much. Besides, those babies are fine.”

  April smiled weakly. “I don’t know, guys. I should be doing handsprings, but I just…well, I just worry, that’s all. I love those little scraps so much. So much,” she repeated, blinking back tears.

  “Yes, you do love them, April,” Annabelle, the baby of this trio of women, said with a wink at Madeline. “Along with a certain new husband you’re pretty gaga over, right?”

  “Oh, and look who’s talking,” April countered, nudging Madeline in the ribs. “Have you seen the way our little girl here looks at Zachary Beaumont, our esteemed obstetrician? Some of those looks could melt rock at fifty paces.”

  “That’s not true!” the young delivery room nurse protested, blushing. “I have nothing but the greatest respect for Dr. Beaumont.”

  “Oh, yeah, here we go. She respects him. Let me count the ways. She respects his yummy chocolate brown eyes. She respects that sexy smile. And, oh boy, does she respect the way that man looks in scrubs. Did I miss anything?” April asked, leaning her elbows on the table, which only goaded Annabelle into more protests.

  As April and Annabelle went back and forth, Madeline pretended to read the menu she already knew by heart, as Austin Eats wasn’t just convenient; the food was good, so good that the place had become almost a home away from home for the Maitland Maternity staff.

  Madeline felt comfortable here, comfortable with these two women she both liked and admired.

  She’d watched April closely these last months, ever since the birth of the quadruplets last December. What a conglomeration of complications that had caused! The birth mother, hardly more than a child herself, had disappeared shortly after the birth of the quads, leaving behind a note that she wanted April to care for her babies. April, who had been assigned to the quads at birth, had fallen completely in love with them.

  The desperate teenage mother had seen that, even the local child welfare agency had seen that, but April’s application to become foster mother to the babies once they were able to leave the hospital had been tabled, and all because she would be a single mother.

  April had been devastated, and everyone at Maitland Maternity rallied around her, did everything they could to help change the agency’s mind.

  Madeline had written a long letter to the child welfare board, detailing April’s exemplary work ethic as a neonatal nurse and assuring them that medically, as well as emotionally, April would be a perfect foster mother for those abandoned children with their special needs.

  And they were special needs babies; premature, needing constant care, requiring close monitoring until at least their fifth year of life, as not all problems showed up immediately after birth. She sometimes felt that she had to educate the whole world about multiple births, and she never backed down from a fight.

  Madeline ran a finger down the list of specials as she remembered the day Adam’s brother, Caleb McCallum, had entered the picture. A whirlwind courtship and marriage followed, but those first weeks of marriage had been pretty rocky for her friend. And yet, as Annabelle said, April was definitely gaga over Caleb now, and the man couldn’t be more obvious about being in love with his wife.

  It had become a ritual for Madeline to stop by the nursery every night before she went home, to watch April and Caleb with their babies, the babies they’d both come to love. And now they were a family, at least a foster family, and if the courts had any brains at all, they’d be a real, permanent family.

  Because Jenny, the quads’ mother, had at last been located and seemed to still want April to care for her children. If she would give her final legal approval to the adoption, all of April’s and Caleb’s worries would be over.

  “Okay. Let’s order, eat and get this girl to the mall. It’s makeover time,” April said.

  Madeline immediately felt her stomach clench. “Oh, do we have to?”

  April’s expression as she looked at Madeline said, You’re kidding, right?

  “Oh, no, Madeline, we have to do this,” Annabelle, younger and less tactful, blurted. “You have to do this. I mean—look at you.”

  Madeline looked at her comfortable cotton granny dress. Slightly scooped neck, cap sleeves, button front, a little bit of smocking over the bosom, high waistline. Pretty little blue flowers on a gray background. Short gray cotton vest sweater hanging over the dress. Okay, so maybe the sweater was a little baggy. “What? What’s wrong with this?”

  “Annabelle?” April said, covering her smile with one hand. “You want to take this one?”

  Annabelle’s cheeks turned rosy, and she stammered slightly as she said, “Oh! Oh, Madeline, I…I didn’t mean. I mean…I don’t want to criticize….”

  “Oh, sure you do,” April said cheerfully. “Start with her sandals, why don’t you?”

  “My sandals? What’s wrong with them? I thought you were talking about my clothes, not my sandals.” Madeline sat back, sighed. “Oh, all right, all right. It’s not like this is the first time I’m hearing this. Ian keeps telling me I must shop in the dark. But the thing is, I like my clothes. They’re comfortable.”

  “So’s going around naked, Madeline,” April countered, “but I don’t think it’ll ever catch on.”

  Their food arrived, double cheeseburgers all around, but Madeline had lost her appetite. “How do I explain this?” she asked, addressing the French fry in her hand. “Okay, here goes. I was an only child. Neither Mom or Dad had the faintest idea how to raise this daughter they’d ended up with due to one of those fabled menopausal pregnancies. They never really adjusted to me, so I had to adjust to them. Which meant I spent most of my time with my nose in a book and not thinking about the latest fashion fads.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why, at nearly thirty-five, you’re dressing like a throwback to the sixties. Or did you grow up in a commune?”

  Madeline lowered her head. “Just until I was twelve,” she admitted, then looked at her friends, who were goggling at her. “No, seriously, I did grow up in a commune. It was wonderful. Really. Stop laughing.”

  “I can’t help it, Madeline,” April said, wiping her eyes. “I’m trying to be serious, but I keep seeing you tripping through a meadow, a daisy chain in your hair, a loaf of homemade bread under your arm.”

  Annabelle clapped her hands for attention. “Another discussion for another time, ladies. Okay, so now we know where the granny gowns and sandals and that braid came from—and may they all leave quickly, please. But we’re here together tonight to turn Madeline Sheppard from—and I mean this in the nicest way, Madeline—dull and dreary and into ka-wow!”

  “Oh, sure.” Madeline groused, wiping her hands on her paper napkin. “I can see it now. I open a couple of buttons on this dress, take off my reading glasses—which means I won’t be able to see my French fries—take down my braid, shake my hair free and—bam!—suddenly I’m Catherine Zeta-Jones.” She rolled her eyes. “Cut me a break.”

  “Hey, it could happen.” April ignored the sarcasm. “And another thing. Are you saying that there’s something under that dress that would be improved by opening a couple of those buttons? I’ll bet you are. Well, then, we’re on our way, aren’t we, Annabelle? Hot dog!”

  “Oh, no,” Madeline moaned, and buried her head in her hands.

  Chapter Two

  Madeline walked to the tall T-stand and lifted off a hanger, holding up the soft cotton flowered ankle-length dress to her friends. “See? It’s not just my mother sending me her efforts, sewn with her two arthritic hands, ble
ss her. There have to be dozens of these dresses here. How can you say I’m out of date?”

  Annabelle and April exchanged pained meaningful glances. “I’ll take this one,” April volunteered after a moment. She relieved Madeline of the dress, which she then shoved onto the rack. “Madeline. Sweetheart. Honey. Yes, they still make these dresses. Yes, they still sell these dresses. To teenagers. You’re thirty-five years old.”

  “Thirty-four,” Madeline grumbled under her breath. “Maybe for only one more day, but I’m hanging on with both hands, thank you anyway.”

  “Thirty-four, thirty-five, whatever,” April continued, taking Madeline by the elbow and steering her toward another section of the largest department store in the mall. “The point I’m trying to make is that, if you’re not either eighteen or pregnant, the time has come to say goodbye to the cutesy, little-girl look, okay?”

  Madeline cast one last look over her shoulder at the rack of dresses, sighed. “Okay, but what do I tell my mother? She sends me at least ten new dresses a year.”

  “Tell her you still want them to donate to the thrift shop run by the hospital auxiliary. Those high waistlines, those gathered skirts? Your mom puts enough material in those dresses to take a woman carrying sextuplets into her third trimester. In fact, maybe you ought to think about donating your entire wardrobe to the hospital thrift shop.”

  Madeline blinked back sudden tears. “You sound just like Ian. I swear, if that man had his way, all women would wear nothing but bikinis.”

  “Really? He’s a sexist?” Annabelle asked.

  “No, not really. I was exaggerating,” Madeline said. “He just thinks it’s time I paid more attention to myself, that’s all, instead of taking the easy way out, which is what he calls my clothes. Which are comfortable, not to belabor the point. I don’t even have to waste time like this—shopping. You have both figured out that I hate shopping, right?”

  “Ian said you should pay more attention to yourself?” April nodded, pulling out a soft pink silk blouse, holding up the hanger. “Sounds like a smart man. Life in a commune, working your way through college and med school, working twelve-hour days at the new unit? I know you’re busy, Madeline, but you’re not just a doctor. You’re a fun, lovely, intelligent woman. It’s about time you stopped hiding behind those yards of material.”