Then Comes Baby

by Helen Brenna

  “Just two,” said the teenager.

  Jamis went to a vase on the table by the window, pulled out the arrangement of dried grasses and dug out a couple of the clear acrylic marbles at the base used to hold the arrangement in place. “Will these do?”

  “Sure. Why not?” The oldest boy took them. “So…do you have satellite?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sweet.”

  Shoving the dried grasses back into the vase, Jamis set it down. “Yeah, it is. You can go now.” He ushered them outside and closed the door while they were still standing on his porch.

  He’d taken several steps up to his computer when his doorbell rang. He paused, considering his options. Would they get the hint if he didn’t answer? Snickers whined and his tail swished back and forth on the rug. The bell rang again and was followed by a quiet knock.

  He spun around and threw open the door. “Now what?” He’d barely kept himself from yelling.

  This time Miss Chipper herself was standing on his porch. “Hi, Jamis.”

  Today, her hair had a brighter honey-gold sheen, as if she’d been in the sun, and her lips looked wet, as if she’d just licked them. And if that wasn’t enough to tempt him, there was always the way that strappy tank top clung to her too-full-for-that-body set of breasts. From nowhere, he was struck with the sudden urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but then he’d more than likely end up senseless as well, and where would that leave them?

  “We’d like to invite you over for dinner tonight.” She bent and scratched Snickers behind the ears. “And you, buddy.”

  “He has other plans. So do I.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “Plans.”

  “Any night work for you?”

  “I’m a very busy man.”

  “Okay. We’ll keep trying.” The ever-cheerful Natalie looked a bit perplexed. “We’ll be having campfires off and on. You’re welcome to join us at any time.”

  “Well, Sunshine, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Studying him, she stepped back. “Okay. Have a good day.” Off she marched with her pesky kids in tow, and there she went again directly through the poison ivy.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” he called before he thought to stop himself. “Do you see what you’re walking through?”

  She glanced toward the ground and pointed out the offending plant to the children. Then she lifted the littlest girl onto her back and waved at him. “Thanks!” she called, as if they were now the best of friends.

  Dammit. “Snickers, come.” The moment the dog made it inside Jamis shut the door and leaned his forehead against the cold hard wood. Life, in the form of a beautiful young woman, was literally knocking on his door, and God help him but a very big part of Jamis was ready to invite her inside.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said loudly, clearly, hoping to get through that thick skull of his. You gave up the right to a life four years ago, you son of a bitch. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Enough was enough.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RUNNING A FINGERTIP along her lips, Natalie stared out of the porch windows contemplating Jamis’s house the next day and wondering what he was doing at this exact moment. No matter what she did or didn’t do, she couldn’t seem to get the man out of her mind. Somehow, someway, she had to find a way to break through his sturdy armor. A tug on her arm pulled her away from her thoughts and she glanced down.

  Toni was standing next to her. “I’m sorry, honey, did you need something?”

  “Do they need to be all the same size?”

  Without a word, Ryan looked up, the same question burning in his young, oh-so-sincere eyes.

  “I don’t think so,” Natalie said. “They should be kind of small, though. Think about what size you’d want to put in your pocket, and then make some slightly bigger for adults.”

  It was after lunch and everyone was working on projects to sell at the gift shop in town. She’d gotten a lot of questions about this part of her baby boot camp curriculum until she’d explained the kids would keep every cent earned from the sale of their respective crafts and would be allowed to save or spend as each saw fit, thereby teaching them the beginnings of fiscal responsibility.

  Natalie had turned the front porch into a craft room. Two long, narrow tables with comfortable chairs had been set on either side of the room. Shelving lined the walls and housed various storage baskets, buckets and drawer filled with supplies—glue, beads, ribbons, feathers, paints, frames, envelopes, card stock. If the kids needed something for a particular project chances were Natalie would have it. She’d been ordering and accumulating supplies for months.

  The youngest of her kids, Ryan and Toni, were making pocket stones, flat coins of clay stamped with various inspirational words. Although Natalie had over twenty stamps made for them, they got to pick which words to use.

  Her four middle-schoolers, Arianna, Ella, Chase and Blake, were making bookmarks with ribbons and beads and choosing their own color combinations from a selection Natalie had ordered in preparation for this camp. She was surprised by how calming these craft afternoons seemed to be for both Chase and Blake.

  “Is that a necklace or a bracelet, Sam?” Natalie smiled at the young woman who was busy concentrating on her latest creation. She’d used a Chinese coin, this one with a hole in the middle, wrapped one end in leather bands, strung beads along the leather and was now tying off the ends with some kind of closure.

  “Either one.” Sam focused on tying a knot. “It’ll bring confidence to the person who wears it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Missy told me that this coin is supposed to attract good fortune. In everything.”

  Galen grunted with disbelief from where he sat staring out the window at the next table.

  “And what are you going to make, Galen?” Natalie turned her attention toward him.

  He didn’t respond, merely sat back and kicked his feet up on the nearest bookcase.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You don’t want to make any extra bucks this summer, that’s your business, but don’t complain when everyone else gets the money they’ve earned from sales at Missy’s shop.”

  The sound of pounding drew her attention to the woods between her Victorian and the log cabin. She caught glimpses of a black T-shirt amidst the green trees. Jamis was out there doing something, and her curiosity was piqued. “Galen, your turn to help the kids,” she said, heading for the door.

  “Whatever.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She went outside, down the path between the two houses, and found Jamis, hammer in one hand and several red and white no-trespassing signs in the other. The implications didn’t immediately register, but once she understood his intentions she couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. “Where did you get those?”

  “Went in to town yesterday afternoon.”

  “I suppose they’re for us.”

  “You’d be supposing correctly.”

  “Why?”

  He glared at her. “You really don’t know?”

  “Well…”

  “Cake, ice cream, bay leaves, scavenger hunts. Sound familiar?”

  Apparently her plan had backfired. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Explain to me why you’re doing this.” He spun around and faced her.

  “Pardon me?”

  “This camp?”

  She thought for a minute. “Because I can.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “My grandmother left me this big house here and another one in Minneapolis and a lot of money. What else would I do with it?”

  “I can think of all kinds of uses for that house. Sell it. Use it as a vacation home. Rent it out. Let it rot.” He walked toward her. “For some reason, a camp for kids is the last thing that comes to my mind.” He stared at her, waiting.

  “I do this because…I’ve been where these kids are. I know what it’
s like to feel as if there’s no one in the world who cares whether you live or die. I know what it’s like to live without hope.”

  He said nothing for a moment, only studied her, but she had the distinct feeling he knew exactly what she was talking about. “Go on. There’s more, I’m sure.”

  She’d never talked to anyone about this. Her family had known her story, so there’d been no point in sharing it with others. Truthfully, she didn’t like rehashing the past.

  “I’m waiting,” he said, his gaze piercing.

  “Let’s just say my early childhood experiences were less than ideal. In fact, the only pictures I have of my mother are police mug shots.” She glanced at him, expecting to hear some sarcastic response. Instead, he was still waiting, listening, an unreadable expression plastered on his face. “Until I was adopted at ten, I didn’t have much hope for my future. But hope is what changed my life. These kids all need hope that things can be better in their lives. I think they’ll find it here on Mirabelle.”

  “What’s the point? You’ve got eight kids here. There are millions out there in the same if not worse shape. You’re not going to change anything.”

  “One child at a time.” She took a deep breath. “If this summer experience gives one of these children hope where there was none before, then I’ve succeeded. Every child needs hope to be able to dream, and they need to dream to believe anything is possible.”

  “And when they all return to the same old same old at the end of the summer, then what?”

  “They’ll go knowing their lives can be different. Better.”

  “You’re setting them up for disappointment.”

  “I’ve worked in social services for a long time.” She shook her head. “There have been so few true successes along the way. My grandmother gave me the chance to do things my way, to try to make a difference in the lives of these kids.” She studied his face, decided it was time for a question of her own. “Do you believe in wishes coming true?”

  His eyes turned dark and he clenched his jaw. She’d hit a nerve.

  “Well, I do,” she said, taking his reaction for skepticism. “These kids need to believe they can make changes in their lives. They need to feel empowered. I want them to know that dreaming is okay, dreaming is important. But we can’t just sit back and let things happen to us. We have to make things happen in our lives. Wish it, see it, make it happen.”

  He looked as if she’d punched him in the gut. “Unbelievable.” He shook his head.

  “I’ve seen it happen. Dreams and wishes, changing lives.”

  “You’re such a Pollyanna.”

  Oddly enough that hurt. If he only knew how hard she’d worked to turn her life around. “Wishes do come true, you know,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. I know,” he growled, spinning away from her. “That’s why you’d better make sure you tell every single one of your charges to be very, very careful what they wish for.”

  Talk about hitting nerves. “What did you wish for, Jamis, that went bad?” She reached out and touched his arm. “Tell me.”

  “Our little heart-to-heart is over.” He shrugged her off and picked up another sign.

  She didn’t like leaving things like this, but she knew from the look on his face he was all done sharing. “Can you just skip the signs? Please?”

  “I have a September deadline and because of the constant interruptions haven’t been able to even start the book.”

  “What if I promise to leave you alone?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “You expect me to believe you can control yourself?”

  “All right, I’ll make a deal with you,” she said. “One week. If I can go that long without bothering you, will you forget the signs?”

  He studied her face, seeming to weigh his options. “Why should I?”

  “Simple neighborly courtesy.”

  “I have absolutely no interest in being neighborly.”

  She grinned. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and get the satisfaction of saying I told you so.”

  His dark eyes flickered with interest. “Throw your kids into the bargain and it’s a deal.”

  “Deal.” She put out a hand.

  He glanced at her for a moment, and when he finally reached out, his touch was surprisingly soft, warm and strong. “Deal.”

  “Wonderful.”

  He turned around, placed one of the signs against the nearest tree and pounded it in at eye level. Then he turned around and smirked at her.

  “But I thought…”

  “Sunshine, you won’t last three days.”

  EVERY SPARE MOMENT SHE had the next day, Natalie found herself glancing out her windows toward the log cabin, wondering, imagining, obsessing over that man. What was it about him? Then again, it wasn’t entirely his fault. Natalie had never been one to take no for an answer. Tell her she couldn’t have something, and that something was all she’d want. In this case, something was Jamis Quinn.

  He’d lost his entire family, Natalie reminded herself. The guy was bound to have issues. Trying to put him firmly out of her mind, Natalie went back to the craft room with the rest of the kids after breakfast and helped them with their projects. Galen, once again, chose to not involve himself in a craft.

  Natalie glanced at the clock. “Galen, why don’t you come help me with lunch.” She started toward the door. When he didn’t move, she turned around. “Work on a project or help me with our meal. It’s your choice.”

  With a sullen look, he stood, noisily pushed in his chair and followed her out the door.

  “You set the table and I’ll get out the lunch meat.”

  He leaned against the counter, crossed his arms and made no attempt at complying.

  “You know, Galen, some people make the mistake of assuming that I’m a pushover,” Natalie said, needing to clear the air. “This camp is important to me, and I don’t want you to ruin it for everyone else.”

  “You gonna make me go home?”

  She opened the refrigerator and set lunch meat, condiments, milk and cheese on the counter. “Not if you don’t break the rules.”

  He glanced over at her. At close to six feet with broad shoulders and shaggy stubble, this fifteen-year-old could pass for a man. If only he’d lose the attitude.

  “Galen, there are some choices you need to make this summer.” She shut the fridge door, turned around and faced him head-on. “You have an opportunity to make some changes in your life, but those changes aren’t going to happen on their own.”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It’s your choice. Your life.”

  “What do you know about my life?”

  More than he realized.

  “What’s your story, anyway?” He pushed away from the counter and paced along the other side of the big, oak table, as if to put some distance between them. “Why are you doing this camp, anyway? Why do you care?”

  She hesitated. “My childhood wasn’t all that different from yours.”

  “Bullshit.” He crossed his arms. “You come from a rich family. Your grandmother even gave you this house.”

  “I didn’t always live with this family.”

  “So what? You still don’t know anything about me or my life.”

  She set the deli slices of meat and cheese on the table and washed bunches of red and green grapes in the sink. “Some things are different.”

  “See?”

  “For one thing, I didn’t live with my mother.” She brought the grapes to the table and studied him. “She gave me up when I was two and I never saw her again. She was murdered a couple years later.”

  He looked away.

  “Actually, my story’s more like Toni’s. Moving from one foster home to another.”

  She hated dwelling, let alone thinking, about the first ten years of her life. What was the point? What was done was done. So what if she’d never stayed in any of her foster homes more than a year? None of those people who’d sent her packing as if she’d been n
o more than an outgrown pair of jeans had really cared about her, even if she had come to care for them.

  “I was adopted, Galen,” she added. They were the only family that mattered now. If not for the Steegers loving her as if she was their own flesh and blood, there was no telling where Natalie would’ve ended up. “My grandmother knew I wanted to do something like this, that’s why she gave me the house.”

  The kitchen was silent as she took some plates out of the cupboard and held them out to Galen. He only glared at her.

  “I know you feel as if you have to be tough,” she said softly. “That you have to shield yourself from the world.” Though Natalie tended to overcompensate and open herself up to the world, she still struggled with this issue. “But there’s no one here in this house who wants to hurt you.”

  He made no movement to take the plates.

  “This summer is going to be what you make of it. Do you want to stay?” She waited and waited.

  Eventually, he nodded.

  “Then all I ask is that you try.”

  Finally, he took the plates from her and set them out on the table.

  She took out the silverware and handed it to him. “Maybe it would be best if you don’t think about the end of the summer.”

  “Easy for you to say.” He threw the forks onto the table. “When this camp is done, you go back to your regular happy life. Me? I go to that place I’m supposed to call home. Square one. As if I was never here to begin with.”

  “Only if you let it.”

  “If I let it?” Angrily, he pushed one of the chairs away from the table. “I’m only fifteen. I don’t have a choice. My life’s not my own.”

  Suddenly, she wasn’t sure how to refute that. Every response she formulated in her mind seemed pat and idealistic.

  “My mom was right.” He pushed over a chair. “You do-gooders are all alike. The only reason you’re having this camp is so that you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself, tell the world, that you tried to do something good for someone else. You don’t care about any of the kids here. You don’t really care about me.”