As she neared the resort-style hotel, the fifties-era pop that she’d heard faintly at her house became loud enough for her to recognize Elvis.
She’d never been all the way to the hotel, but today, drawn by children’s laughter, she kept walking. Heart pounding, she strode past hotel employees setting out white beach chairs and red umbrellas along the powdered-sand shore. She mounted wide, whitewashed steps leading to the wooden boardwalk guests used to traverse the low dunes.
At the boardwalk’s end, paradise awaited. Majestic palms circled a free-form pool featuring a two-story rock waterfall and a slide on one end, and a swim-up bar on the other. From hidden speakers, Johnny Mathis crooned, and now she was close enough to hear every word. Red hibiscus and cannas lined winding, sun-bleached brick paths leading to tennis courts and mini-golf courses.
The air smelled of coffee from an outdoor dining patio, chlorine from the pool and decades of sun-baked tanning lotions and oils.
While the children’s laughter grew ever closer, Emma still hadn’t found them. On and on she searched, alarmed to find herself almost frantic. She had to see them—just to watch from afar. To give voice to such a thought would make her a psych-ward candidate, but since she didn’t plan on telling anyone, she increased her speed. Private, Southern-mansion-style villas circled the grand hotel. The buildings were all white, making the foliage all the more vibrant. Palms were now mixed with ferns and magnolias and red impatiens for added color.
A couple holding hands approached.
Lowering her gaze, Emma didn’t look at them as they passed by.
The laughter became distinct enough that she could pick out individual pitches, and Emma hastened all the more. Rounding the next bend, she nearly crashed into a maid and her cart. She said a hasty, “Excuse me,” before barreling on.
And then suddenly, there it was—a separate, shallow pool filled with toddlers and moms and dads. A few of the mothers held infants for what looked to be a swim lesson being taught by an animated young man and woman dressed in dolphin costumes.
Easing onto a red chaise lounge, Emma stared, enraptured by the sight of so many happy families. Had she really once been one of these people? Laughing and enjoying life? It seemed inconceivable.
“Pardon me,” a sunburned redhead said, jolting Emma from her thoughts, “but would you mind taking a quick family shot?” She held out a green disposable camera.
“Um, sure…” Rising, willing her trembling hands to still, Emma forced a deep breath. The woman held a redheaded infant wearing primary-colored swim trunks and a blue hat. The man beside her carried a bulging diaper bag and a squirming toddler.
“Daddy, down!” shrieked the carrot-topped little girl. “I want fish!” She pointed to the costumed instructors.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said while the girl continued to fuss. “If I’d known Mary was going to be difficult, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s all right,” Emma said, “take as long as you want.” I could stand here looking at your son forever, imagining the fun Henry and I might’ve shared.
“Thanks. I hate wasting a single shot,” she said, tickling the girl. “We went off and left our digital camera at home. It’s scary how dependent you get on being able to take hundreds of pictures of your kids.”
Throat too tight to speak, Emma smiled and nodded.
“Okay, I think we’re ready. Smile, silly rabbit!”
Emma snapped the shot, but just at that moment, the curly-haired toddler bucked, sending the diaper bag into the pool.
“My wallet and Mary’s asthma medicine are in there!” the woman shrieked.
Hurtling to action, the father set down Mary, then jumped in after the bag. Mary took off after him, yelling, “Fish! Fish!”
“She can’t swim!” Mary’s mother screamed. Before Emma even realized what was happening, the woman had thrust her infant son into Emma’s arms, and then leapt into the pool.
The entire incident took mere seconds. From the outside, the scene had been so unremarkable, no one from the splashing, shrieking swim class had even noticed.
Mary was safe.
The bag, medicine and wallet were still fairly dry.
Emma, meanwhile, holding a baby boy who was larger than her son had ever grown to be, felt in danger of fainting. But she wouldn’t, because she’d rather put herself in jeopardy than a precious child. Grief squeezed her chest, making air a rarity in her lungs.
“Thank you so much,” Mary’s soggy mother said, her daughter safely in her arms. “I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t been here.”
“S-someone else would’ve helped,” Emma reasoned, inhaling the infant’s sweet scent. Lotion and baby shampoo. It all came rushing back. How Henry had smelled right out of the tub, giggling when she tickled his belly while wrapping him in a fluffy, giraffe-patterned hooded towel.
“Regardless,” the man said, “how about we at least buy you a coffee or tea? Maybe one of those frilly, flowery drinks?”
“Really,” Emma said, fighting with everything in her not to cry, as she passed the infant to his father. Never would she give in to the insane voice telling her to run off and never let the baby go. “I’m good.”
“Sure?” the man asked. “We could flag down a waiter and have him put something on our bill for you to enjoy later.”
“Oh, let’s do that,” the woman said. “What’s your room number?” she asked Emma. “We’ll stop by the concierge’s desk and buy you and your husband lunch and fruity drinks.”
Husband? Emma glanced at her left-hand ring finger and realized she had yet to remove her thin, gold band.
“Thank you,” Emma said, pulse racing, already backing down the path leading from the children’s pool, “but I have to go. I’m late. Terribly late.” I should’ve been back at my safe, quiet house an hour ago. There, I never would’ve had my heart broken all over again.
FRIDAY NIGHT, both babies finally asleep, Jace leaned his forehead against the makeshift nursery’s window, squeezing his eyes shut. The paternity test had proven with 99.99 percent certainty that Beatrice and Bronwyn were his. The gravity of that knowledge weighed heavily on his shoulders.
He was thankful that Pam had gotten over being angry at him and had been great about helping out, but, like it or not, it was time to face facts. He was a father.
Straightening, rubbing his whisker-stubbled jaw, Jace sighed.
His commanding officer had been considerate, giving him the rest of the week off to take care of business. Jace had placed an ad for a nanny. He’d rounded up used cribs and a changing table from a few of the guys. He’d stocked up on diapers and formula and a playpen. He’d mastered diaper-changing and could at least get the crew fed and clean, but what next? He was floundering and knew it. Not a good feeling for a guy trained to handle any situation, no matter how dire, in a calm, rational manner. He didn’t panic—ever. Not even in the heat of battle. So why now, gazing at two snoozing babies, did his heart feel ready to pound out of his chest?
IN THE last few days, Emma had done a lot of soul-searching. Sunday morning, strolling along the shore, plucking shells from the sand, she kept dwelling on what had happened at the resort. Holding that baby boy had felt so right. It had returned her to a time and place when her life had been perfect. It had shown her that as much as she hated to admit it, maybe her mother had been right. Not now, but soon, she needed to get a grip.
A slight breeze stirred the muggy air, carrying with it the briny scents of the sea.
Pausing, staring out at the horizon, Emma crossed her arms, wishing the omnipresent knot in her stomach would go away. Ever since she’d held the infant, she hadn’t been able to put her latest conversation with her mother from her mind. Like a recording, her mother’s voice repeated options to help Emma take back her life.
Marry again.
Adopt.
Borrow.
Of course, the first and third options were ludicrous. The last thing Emma needed or wanted in her life was a
nother man. And who in their right mind would let Emma borrow their infant just so that she could prove to herself she was a good mother? Adoption could be a possible road back to motherhood, but not for an awfully long time.
Emma’s own mom had been right; Henry’s death hadn’t been Emma’s fault. In her mind, Emma had no problem realizing that. It was her heart that didn’t believe it. It was her heart that had been irreparably damaged by Rick’s unfathomably cruel accusations.
Hot and annoyed by the day’s oppressive heat, Emma trudged back to her house. She didn’t bother counting her few finds, choosing instead to leave them in their pink bucket, at the base of the steps.
She went through the motions of fixing herself a bagel, but since she wasn’t the least bit hungry, she left her meal on the counter in favor of opening the newspaper she’d brought in earlier.
Sipping hot tea that was only making her hotter, Emma skimmed local and national headlines—frustrating.
Entertainment news—boring.
Birth announcements—depressing.
In the classifieds, an ad for free puppies caught her eye. After the divorce, all of her friends had advised her to get a dog. But something inside feared mothering a beagle wouldn’t be enough.
She’d finished half of her tea when something else snagged her attention:
Marine dad desperately seeking
live-in help for infant twins…
Borrow a baby, her mother whispered in Emma’s head.
The very notion of taking a job that would, in a sense, allow her do just such a thing—borrow a baby—caused her hand to tremble so badly that tea sloshed over the lip of her mug. When the liquid pooled on the newspaper, she frantically dabbed at the mess.
Dare she call the number? What if she got the job? Worse yet, her heart cried, what if she didn’t?
Chapter Two
“Um, Becca,” Jace said, forcing himself to meet the Goth girl’s dark-shadowed eyes. Though it was only early Monday afternoon, his exhaustion level made it feel closer to midnight. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, but I’m thinking I may need someone with a little more experience.” Not to mention, fewer piercings!
“But I’ve got five younger brothers and sisters. And I just got evicted from my apartment, so I could really get into the whole sleepover aspect of this gig. Ready to talk money?” Kicking back on the sofa, she slipped off black flip-flops before putting her feet on the coffee table. Granted, he sat like that nine times a day, but it was his place. “Comfy,” she said, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Yeah, this is gonna work out fine.”
What worked for Jace was booting this applicant to the curb.
With one more interview to go, he spent the next thirty minutes reacquainting himself with the sticky tabs on the babies’ diapers. Though he’d been with them a week—and now faced the reality of being their father every second of every day—Jace still couldn’t fully wrap his head around the situation.
Just yesterday, the PI had informed him that Vicki had, for all practical purposes, vanished, meaning, Jace didn’t have any option other than to step up.
“Okay, kiddos,” Jace said upon finishing his task. “You’re good to go for at least another couple of hours.” Until Vicki could be found, he’d finished setting up his home office to double as a nursery. He felt bad about its plainness. Beige walls and a do-it-yourself computer station that leaned to the left. The cribs and changing table had been borrowed from fellow Apache pilot, Morris “Birdman” Harlow. He had three girls and one boy and all the gear that went along with them.
From their carriers, the babies stared up at him.
He stared back.
They were cute, he’d give them that, but what was he supposed to do with them? In the Marine Corps, there was a manual for everything. This whole father thing? Complete and utter mystery.
The baby nearest him cooed.
Kneeling in front of her, he touched the palm of her tiny hand with his pinkie. She curled her fingers around it, drawing it to her bow-shaped mouth to slobber.
“Hey,” he said with a laugh. “Do I look like a chew toy?”
Seeing how she kept right on gnawing, apparently, yes, he did resemble a giant teething ring. And her mini fangs were sharp!
After freeing himself, Jace grabbed a carrier in each hand, hauling them to the living room. He wanted to see how the next applicant interacted with the girls. Just because he didn’t have a clue how to be a father, didn’t mean he didn’t expect the highest level of professionalism from whomever he entrusted with the twins’ care.
He’d grabbed a Coke from the fridge when the doorbell rang.
Leaving his can on the counter, he jogged to the front hall, praying this woman was The One.
WAITING FOR her potential employer to open his door, Emma wasn’t sure what she felt. Nervousness. Worry that emotionally she had no business taking on such a task. Fear that if she didn’t get the job, she’d drown in loneliness and self-doubt. If she were given the responsibility of looking after this man’s babies, she wouldn’t just be working, but proving to herself that she’d been a wonderful mother. In doing that, she wouldn’t erase her grief over having lost Henry, but she would exorcise the demons Rick had created.
Inching her purse higher on her shoulder, she forced a deep breath.
The redbrick house’s front porch appeared as forlorn as she felt. Lining the two steps were three green plastic pots holding wilted flowers. Dust coated a porch swing as well as paned windows in need of a good scrubbing. The dandelion-strewn yard needed mowing. Any annuals adorning the flower bed had been choked out by weeds.
The door burst open, and there stood a broad-shouldered Marine, who’d presumably placed the ad. “Hey,” he said, holding open the door with one hand while shaking her hand with the other, “You must be Emma.”
“Yes,” she said, instantly at ease at her first sight of the man’s easy, white-toothed smile. He wasn’t handsome. Not in the conventional sense. His nose was slightly off kilter, as though it might have once been broken. A strong jaw held at least two days’ stubble. Like any good jarhead, his dark hair consisted of little more than short spikes. But then there were his eyes. Amazing green eyes that drew her in.
“I’m Jace. Please, come in.” Stepping onto the porch, he held open the door, gesturing her inside. “Have a seat. The place is an embarrassing mess. I usually run a tight ship, but I’m new to this whole baby thing.”
“Oh?” she asked, eyeing a white plastic laundry tub, brimming with tiny pastel apparel. The coffee table was littered with how-to-raise-baby books, rattles and disposable bottles. In the middle of it all, lounging on a fuzzy pink blanket were two gorgeous infants.
“The thing is,” he said, “I kind of—”
“Look at you…” Emma didn’t mean to be rude in ignoring her potential employer, but his babies were—Her throat swelled and her eyes welled with tears.
Since her loss, she’d avoided babies. Baby aisles. Baby magazine and TV ads. The pain was still too raw. But on Friday, having had a stranger’s infant thrust into her arms, something inside her had snapped. She could no longer avoid her pain. In that instant, she’d realized that if she were ever to regain even a portion of her former self, she’d have to face that gnawing emptiness head-on. Small steps. First, “borrowing” an infant, in this case, two, then maybe, if heaven were on her side, she’d be ready to live again fully.
Reaching for the nearest baby, scooping her into her arms, Emma lost herself in the angel’s sweet smell. She stroked downy-soft hair, deeply inhaled of baby shampoo and lotion and even the faint, clean, unmistakable scent of a freshly changed diaper.
“Um, you okay?”
Turning her back to the baby’s father, Emma pulled herself together. “Sure…” Heart shattering, Emma held the baby close. Henry, you’re back in my arms. Safe. Mommy’s here, my love.
“Do you need something to drink? Coke? Water?” The man’s hovering alerted her to the fa
ct that if she didn’t want to end up alone back at her beach house, she’d better snap out of it. Of course, she realized this baby—even two babies—couldn’t take the place of her dear son, but if only for a moment, her pain had been eased. Her endless questions—why? What had she done wrong? Given a second chance, could she have saved her baby boy?—answered “I’ve probably got milk, too. But I’m not a big fan, so it might be spoiled.”
“Thank you,” she said, spinning to face him. “I’m good.”
“You don’t look it,” he said, instantly reddening. “Sorry. That came out wrong. You look fine. Compared to my last candidate, you’re amazing. Tears and all. Only…” Almost cautiously, he approached, holding out his arms for the baby girl she held. “I’ve gotta say, I am curious what it is about my interview skills, or lack thereof, that has you crying.”
“Sorry,” she said with a sniffle, passing off the infant, stiffening when the Marine’s fingers brushed hers. “You must think I’m nuts. But your little one reminds me of…someone I used to know.”
“Sure,” he said, though his puzzled expression clearly stated that, yes, he did find her to be at least somewhat off her rocker.
“What are their names?”
“The girls?”
“Yes,” she said with a faint smile. “Unless you have cats and dogs, as well?”
“Nah,” he said, scooping up the other baby, and then settling into an oversized recliner with both infants. “Truth is, I couldn’t handle much more.”
Following his lead, she eased onto a brown leather sofa. “So, their names?” she repeated.
“Right. One is Beatrice. The other is Bronwyn. Only way to tell is by the freckle on Bron’s big toe.”
“Oh.” Emma wondered why the marine sounded so detached, as if he was reading a dishwasher-repair manual. “Um, if you don’t mind my asking, where’s their mother?”
Repositioning himself, he said, “Here’s the part where you’ll think I’ve sniffed too much napalm, but truth is, I don’t have a clue.” After relaying the fantastic story of how the twins had been thrust into his life, he added, “The pediatrician I took them to gave them a clean bill of health.”
The Marine's Babies Page 2