McCallum Quintuplets

by Kasey Michaels

  “Sounds like a plan,” Madeline said, grabbing her new purse—much smaller than a feed bag. “It’s either that, or we stay here while you make a jerk of yourself. Come on, I’m starving.”

  Ian spread his arms, looking sheepish and silly at the same time. “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”

  Madeline rolled her eyes and headed for the door, hiding her smile. Skinny. Ian thought she was skinny. Did life get any better than this? Happy birthday, indeed!

  IAN HAD ALWAYS gotten a big kick out of watching Maddie eat.

  He’d learned long ago that Maddie compartmentalized her life. At work, neat and organized. In the kitchen, wildly creative and definitely sloppy. Meticulous about her checkbook, her drinking-glasses cabinet, her spice rack…while sometimes he teased her that the housekeeping police were going to come get her if she didn’t stop using her floors and furniture as her personal clothes hamper.

  So neat and orderly in some ways, so “oh, who cares?” in others.

  Maddie’s food fell into the “Who cares? I do!” category, definitely. It could take her, conservatively, five minutes to explain to the waiter exactly how she wanted her steak cooked, how well-done the onion rings should be, how crisp the spinach salad, how browned the garlic bread. And she’d watch, closely, to make sure the waiter wrote it all down. Ian had long ago learned to tip, heavily, if he planned on ever bringing Maddie back to the same restaurant and actually not have to watch the entire wait staff turn in their aprons and run for the doors.

  Then she ate. Heartily. But it was a bite of meat, followed by a bite of potato, followed by a bite of salad. She saved her food, a bit of everything, making sure she got a taste of everything, and all the food got gone at the same time, all while she tsk-tsked at him because he ate his salad first, his potato second and his meat last—and had the nerve to call him compulsive.

  Ian, having finished his steak, sat with his chin propped on his hand, his elbow on the table, and watched as Maddie enjoyed the remainder of her meal. Bite of salad. Bite of potato, scraping the inner skin to get all the best bits. Bite of steak. “Good to the last bite?” he asked, grinning at her.

  “Delicious,” she agreed, then glared at him. “You’re watching me again, aren’t you? Why do you do that?”

  “Because it never ceases to amaze me that you don’t, for instance, run out of potato before you run out of steak. How do you do that?”

  “Planning,” Maddie told him. “You should try it. Besides, I’m just naturally a very orderly person.”

  Ian sat back in his chair. “Sure, you are. Oh, by the way? If you’re looking for your Rolling Stones CD, it’s under my couch cushion, where you left it.”

  “It is?” Maddie leaned forward, her eyes wide—and still beautifully huge. He knew the makeup had something to do with this new look, but he didn’t care. She was still Maddie—she was just, finally, living up to her potential as a woman. “I looked all over for that yesterday. What if I sat down? I could have broken it. Why did you leave it under the cushion?”

  He shrugged. “Because you’re such a neat and orderly person? I figured you put it there on purpose. Just like I left your gold signet ring on the bathroom sink. Because you’re neat and orderly and probably want it there.”

  “But I wanted to wear that tonight, Ian. I looked all over for that, too.” She closed her mouth, tipped her head as she looked at him. “Are we arguing?” she asked, narrowing those chocolate brown eyes of hers. “Are you trying to tell me I’m taking over your apartment with my stuff again?”

  “I like your stuff,” Ian answered, more honestly than he’d intended. “I like seeing it lying around. I may be crazy, but I’ll probably miss it all if it ever goes away.”

  “Oh,” Maddie said quietly. “That’s…that’s nice, Ian. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ian said, trying to smile. Except he didn’t really feel like smiling.

  He knew why, too, which was really upsetting.

  He wasn’t smiling because Maddie had all but told him during that monologue of hers a few weeks ago that she was going husband hunting. That new hairdo, the makeup, the definitely interesting V-neck tangerine blouse and sexy slacks—they all subtly screamed, “Here I am, Bubba, come get me!”

  He couldn’t blame her. She wanted a husband, a home, a family of her own. At thirty-five, it was time, maybe more than time.

  But what about him, dammit? What was he supposed to do without her? What would he do without her?

  Could he do without her?

  Ian protectively caught himself against the edge of the table as a sudden, hearty slap on his back sent his upper body forward.

  “Ian, you devil, you! I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s it going?”

  Using the arms of the chair to boost himself to his previous position on the seat, Ian turned his head, looked, then stood up, held out his hand. “Blake. Good to see you. I thought you were out of town this week.”

  “I was, I was, but I was able to take an early flight back from Phoenix this morning. I was going to call you later, so this is lucky. Are we still set for that meeting next Wednesday? You’ve definitely talked my board into taking you guys on for the Lattimer project. You’re quite the salesman, Ian, although you might want to think about catching up on your social skills. For instance, who is this lovely lady? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Ian said. “Maddie, I’d like to introduce a business associate of mine, Blake Ritter. Blake, Dr. Madeline Sheppard.”

  “Doctor? No,” Blake said, bending over the hand Maddie extended to him, making a total ass out of himself—in Ian’s opinion—by kissing it. “You couldn’t be a doctor. You’re not old enough to be a doctor. Ian, it isn’t like you to rob cradles.”

  “Down, boy,” Ian grumbled, taking his seat. “Maddie is most definitely a doctor—a fertility specialist, as a matter of fact—and most definitely all grown up.”

  Blake was still looking at Maddie, still smiling at Maddie. “She most certainly is. Well, please don’t let me interrupt your date.”

  “Oh, it’s not a date,” Maddie said, and Ian fought the sudden impulse to kick her under the table, warn her to shut up. “Ian is just treating me to a birthday dinner. We’re old friends.”

  Blake—handsome in a blond, surfer-boy-cowboy kind of way—looked at Ian. “Old friends? Ian, buddy, have you considered getting glasses?” Then he turned to Maddie while reaching in his pocket, pulling out his business card, employing a gold pen to scribble something on the back. “Dr. Sheppard? I’m having an open house at my new place tomorrow afternoon and would be honored if you could join the party. Two to five, and the two of us could go to dinner afterward—to help celebrate your birthday. I’ve written the address on the back of my card. Ian? You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “I’m in a two-day golf tournament, and my tee time tomorrow isn’t until eleven. Sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Blake said, carefully placing his business card in Maddie’s hand, gently closing her fingers around it. “Old friends, huh?” he said. “Ian, I think you’re losing your touch.”

  Ian watched Blake, his custom-made suit and lizard cowboy boots snake their way through the tables to join a willowy blonde at a small table in the corner. Bubba, called up as if by magic, to hit on his Maddie. Damn.

  Then he looked at Maddie, who had popped the last piece of steak into her mouth as if nothing was wrong. “You’re not going, right?”

  “I’m not? Why not? Isn’t he a business associate? He seems very nice. And quite handsome. I even have an outfit in mind.”

  “He’s…he’s a lech,” Ian heard himself saying, just like some Victorian father warning his daughter away from the local Lothario.

  “A lech. Oh, right.” Maddie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ian, he’s just a man. And that was the point of all this, wasn’t it?” she asked, indicating her new hairdo, her new clothes. “April and Annabelle
will be so pleased. It’s just what they wanted to have happen.”

  “Bully for April and Annabelle,” Ian muttered under his breath. “Come on, we’ll have dessert at home.”

  “At home? Ian,” Maddie said, her face lighting with pleasure, “did you buy me a birthday cake?”

  “Something like that,” he said, calling the waiter over so he could pay the bill. “Well, actually, no, I didn’t. But you’re inventive, Maddie. I bet you’ll figure out a way to put a birthday candle in a bowl of popcorn.”

  “We’re staying home and popping popcorn?” Maddie asked, and her eyes were dull, clouded. “I thought—oh, never mind. Sure, let’s go home.”

  Ian felt like a rat, which was happening entirely too often, and had yet to be the least bit comfortable. “You wanted to go somewhere else?” he asked. Where would he take her? He never took Maddie anywhere. They just went places together. Now, if she was his date, he’d know what to do. He’d take her dancing. Definitely dancing.

  “Maddie?” he asked as they walked to his car. “How about we go dancing? After all, it is Saturday night, and it is your birthday.”

  She stopped beneath one of the overhead lights in the parking lot, looked at him. “Dancing? Ian, we’ve never gone dancing. In fact, the only time we’ve ever danced together was three years ago, when we took those western line-dancing lessons at the YMCA.”

  He shrugged, grinned. “There’s a first time for everything, Maddie. What do you say?”

  She looked at him, her eyes shining, and nodded. And Ian began to wonder just what he’d gotten himself into this time…and if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Chapter Three

  Madeline dragged Ian by the hand as she made her way through the crowd around the dance floor and flopped in her chair, a hand pressed to her chest, trying to catch her breath.

  “No more, no more,” she protested, laughing, gulping air. “When do the geriatric line dances start?” she asked as Ian raised a hand, signaling for the waitress to bring them another round. “Oh, good. Yes. Definitely another drink. I think I’m dehydrating.”

  Ian took a white linen square from his back pocket, leaned across the small round table and pretended to pat perspiration from Madeline’s forehead. “You were great, Maddie. I forgot the steps halfway through, did you notice? I turned left, then right, and backed myself straight off the dance floor. But some very nice lady in a Dale Evans outfit—with Day-Glo pink plastic fringe—helped me catch up on the steps.”

  “Where is she?” Madeline asked, half rising in her chair to look out over the crowd still on the dance floor. “Oh, okay, I see her. Wow, she’s good!” She smiled at the waitress and took the glass of white wine from her, downing half of it in one thirsty gulp.

  “Whoa, birthday girl,” Ian warned her, taking the glass from her hand, placing it on his side of the table. “That’s your third, if we count the glass you had at dinner. You know two’s your limit.”

  “One’s my limit, Ian,” she corrected, trying not to giggle. “When I have two, my whole face starts to tingle. But, hey, this is a special occasion, right? A girl only turns thirty-five once.” She rubbed the palm of her hand over the tip of her nose. “Good thing, too. Who’d want to turn thirty-five twice?”

  “Lots of women, probably,” Ian told her. “In fact, if you want to, you can turn thirty-five again next year, and for the next fifty years. I’ll never tell. That’s what friends are for, right?”

  Madeline plopped her chin on her hand as she smiled at him. “Definitely. And you’re such a good friend, Ian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Yeah, well you don’t have to find out,” he answered, and Madeline frowned, because he suddenly sounded so serious.

  “Ian? Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?”

  “Because you’ve got that little thing going with the nerve in your left cheek,” Madeline said reasonably. “Feel it? There it goes again. The last time you did that was the day your garbage disposal did its Vesuvius act twenty minutes before the dinner party we threw for your folks’ fiftieth anniversary. Remember? Salad fixings dripping from the ceiling.”

  She watched as Ian put a hand to his cheek, covered the slight tic. “There are times, Maddie,” he complained, “I think you know me entirely too well.”

  “Sorry,” she said, then giggled. “Oh, Ian, now my teeth are going numb. You’d better not let me near the rest of that wine.” She leaned closer. “Tell me about Blake Ritter. He’s handsome enough. Is he nice?”

  “Nice? Blake? Sure, he’s nice. If you like guys who evict widows and orphans for a living.”

  “Oh? He’s a banker? That’s probably very good. Being a banker, I mean.”

  Ian shook his head. “Maddie, are you listening to me? Hell, are you listening to you? I know you’re on this husband-hunting kick, but show some discretion, okay? Or don’t you know what Blake will think if you show up at his open house tomorrow, bells on, to let him take you to dinner?”

  “No, I don’t know what he’d think,” Madeline said, blinking at him. Was it warm in here? She was definitely feeling very warm. “What would he’d think?”

  “He’d think, Maddie, that you were willing,” Ian told her with a sharp nod of his head.

  “Willing?” Madeline blinked, wondering why she’d never noticed how handsome Ian looked in the semidark. His features a little hawkish, very cleanly cut. And with his eyelids narrowed and his expression so intense, he looked positively sexy. Even slightly dangerous. Or maybe it was the wine? “Willing to do what, Ian?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Ian exploded, getting up from his chair and holding out a hand to her. “Come on, Maddie, let’s dance.”

  Madeline began to put her hand out to him, then hesitated. “But…but this is a slow song.”

  “Your point?” Ian countered, grabbing hold of her hand and pulling her to her feet. “Come on, I think we can muddle through.”

  “But…but I don’t slow dance, Ian, you know that. I’ll be all over your toes.”

  “What else is new,” he said, winking at her as he stepped onto the dance floor, stopped, turned and drew her into his arms. He took her right hand in his left, curled both their arms in, pressed against his chest, so that Madeline had no choice but to raise her left arm, settle it on his shoulder, tip her head so that the top of her head sort of snuggled against the side of his chin.

  He smelled of the aftershave she’d bought him for Christmas, the one she’d sniffed at the department store and decided was just what the sexy man-about-town should smell like as he went out on hot dates.

  His hand was warm as he held hers. Warm, and dry, and big enough to make hers feel small. He was big enough to make her feel small. And protected. And safe.

  And something else.

  Uncomfortable.

  “Oops, sorry,” Madeline said as she stepped hard on his instep. “But I did warn you.”

  He pulled her closer, laughed quietly, called her his favorite drunk.

  Was that it? Was she drunk? She didn’t think so. She’d had a single glass of wine at dinner, and that had been hours ago. She’d sipped the second glass here at the club, and Ian had taken the third glass away from her. She couldn’t be drunk.

  Okay, so what was she? Why was she feeling sort of…sort of tingly? And aware. Aware of Ian. His hand on the small of her back. His warm breath tickling her ear. His long legs lightly bumping against hers. His strong chest, so delightful to lean against. His hips, so…no, she wouldn’t think about his hips. Or her hips. Or how close his hips and her hips were as they danced.

  What was wrong with her? This was Ian, for pity’s sake. She hadn’t felt this way about Ian in forever! Not since she’d figured out that he was the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, and if she wanted him to stay around, then they had to be friends, not lovers.

  So she’d tamped down any other feelings, physical feelings, she had for him, and had concentrated on bei
ng his friend. And they were great friends. The best.

  For fifteen years, she had depended on him, and he had depended on her. She’d watched his girlfriends come and go, and come and go, and come and go, but he had never left her. They were connected, that’s what they were. Connected by friendship, and friendship was almost as good as love.

  Wasn’t it?

  The song ended, and suddenly Madeline realized she was standing in the middle of the dance floor, draped all over her best friend. Dancing only looked logical as long as the music kept playing. Once it stopped, you were just two separate people, hugging each other in public.

  Madeline pulled her hand free, smiled at Ian. “Well, that was fun,” she said, her cheeks feeling stiff, her tongue slightly thick. “Can we go home now?”

  MADDIE WAS QUIET all the way home, sort of sunk into the leather bucket seat, her chin on her chest. In fact, Ian thought for a moment that she’d fallen asleep, but then she sighed—a deep, rather heartfelt sigh—so he knew she was still awake.

  He turned on the radio, pushed the buttons until he found the basketball game and tried to concentrate on the play-by-play. But it didn’t work. All he could think about was Maddie, sitting next to him so silently. Maddie, smiling at him, stars in her eyes. Maddie, filling his arms as they swayed back and forth on the dance floor.

  Maddie. His good friend.

  Maddie. A woman he no longer recognized. No more the safe, sensible Maddie who always wore rubbers when it rained and checked the expiration date on the milk carton every time she took it from the refrigerator shelf. No more the Maddie who schlepped around in shorts, an oversize sweatshirt and a pair of pink bunny slippers definitely past their prime. No more the Maddie who wore those shapeless, ankle-length dresses that went well with the tight braid she wore—and nothing else.