Stand-In Mom

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Stay there, I can get it.” Marta hopped off the stool.

  “I used to be able to hop like that.”

  Marta laughed. “Your hopping days are just beginning.”

  She looked down at her stomach. She felt as if she’d been pregnant forever. It was going to be a relief to finally have this over with, even if it meant a huge increase in activity on the home front. “Don’t I know it.”

  The knock came again, this time more forcefully. Marta hurried the rest of the way to the door. She hoped she wouldn’t see anything grizzly when she opened it. Some of Sydney’s letters about the kind of injuries that were sustained in the wild had been pretty detailed.

  Being cautious, she unlocked the door and then opened it only a crack. Ike was standing on the doorstep holding something against him. It was tightly wrapped and completely covered with what looked like someone’s parka.

  “A little early to be paying a social call, isn’t it?” She glanced at the bundle. Was it her eyes, or did the bundle just move? She opened the door farther to let him come in. A rush of cold wind followed him. She could feel gooseflesh forming all along her body. Marta quickly shut the door behind him. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you have a baby with you.”

  Ike looked around. Where was Sydney? “Then you would be right.” Very carefully, trying not to be as awkward as he felt, Ike tossed aside the parka wrapper. A sound between a whimper and a sigh came from the tiny mouth. Huge brown eyes looked right at Marta.

  Stunned, Marta stared first at the infant, then at Ike. “You have a baby?”

  Ike made his way past her. Where was everyone? “I do now.”

  Chapter Six

  “Ike, what brings you out so early in the—”

  Lured from the kitchen by the sound of his voice, Sydney stopped dead as she entered the living room. Her eyes were wide and quizzical as she looked from the baby in Ike’s arms to his face. She couldn’t begin to read his expression, but the man who returned her gaze was not the Ike she knew.

  “Ike?”

  “It’s Junie’s.” He looked down at the small bundle as if he’d forgotten he was carrying the infant and only the sound of Sydney’s voice, intruding into his train of thought, had reminded him. “It’s a girl.”

  The words fit awkwardly in Ike’s mouth. He’d had all night to get used to the idea. To get used to Celine’s presence in his life. To the notion that she was his niece and now his to care for.

  And he’d had all night to resist, with all his heart, the overwhelming, bitter knowledge that his sister was gone. That somehow Celine had traded places with Junie—that a child he hadn’t known about existed, while the sister he’d loved did not.

  He couldn’t make his peace with that, with knowing that he’d never see Junie again, but that wasn’t Sydney’s problem. Only his.

  Ike cleared his throat and held the baby up a little higher. His arms were beginning to ache. He’d held her most of the night—to still her crying, and the ache in his heart.

  “Her name’s Celine.”

  Cautiously, as if afraid of triggering something, Sydney moved closer. She looked down at the baby Ike held. A full shock of black hair graced the tiny head. She’d never met Juneau LeBlanc, but once Ike had shown her a worn photograph of his sister that he kept tucked away in his wallet.

  The smile Sydney offered him was warm, comforting. Compassionate. “She looks just like her.”

  “Yeah.” He exhaled the word, his arms unconsciously tightening around the baby. “She does.”

  Something in his tone alerted Sydney. She exchanged looks with Marta. Gently, Sydney placed a hand on his arm. “Ike, where’s June?”

  But he didn’t answer. Instead, he moved so that Sydney was forced to drop her hand. Ike crossed to the bottom of the stairs, looking up.

  “Where’s Shayne? I want him to check the baby out. You know, make sure there’s nothing wrong with her.” Ike turned to see both women looking at him with something he didn’t want to read in their eyes. He talked quickly, burying what he was feeling. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with infants? Have them checked out? ‘Something’ baby care I think it’s called.”

  “Well baby care,” Marta supplied.

  “Right. That.” Celine whimpered against him as he turned abruptly back to the stairs and looked up again. “Is he still sleeping? I thought Shayne never slept.”

  Knowing that there was something horribly wrong, afraid to put it into words even in her own mind, Sydney moved toward the stairs. “I’ll go get him.”

  Ike swallowed. Damn, was his throat ever going to stop feeling as if there were a boulder stuck in it? “Thanks.”

  Marta shook her head, coming next to him. Compassion tugged at her, but she knew firsthand that it was a mistake to offer it. It only made things worse. “You’re holding her all wrong.”

  His brain still felt as if he were moving through a fog. Everything was so jumbled in his head, despite his struggling to sort it out. “What?”

  Marta smoothed back the blanket tucked around the baby. Celine’s head wasn’t properly elevated, and she was making her discomfort known. “That’s why she’s crying. You’re holding her all wrong.”

  Ike felt as if he were doing everything all wrong. Things were spinning out of control. “I don’t have much practice at this.”

  That certainly would have been her guess, Marta thought. “I’ve had my share. Why don’t you give her to me?” She didn’t wait for his agreement, but started to take Celine from him even as she made the suggestion.

  There was momentary resistance in his eyes, but then it receded. Ike surrendered Celine to her.

  Even as a little girl, Marta had felt that there was something almost heavenly about holding an infant in her arms. A sweetness poured all through her, softening her heart. “There now, sugar,” she cooed to the baby, smiling at Celine. “It’s okay. Nobody’s going to drop you anymore.”

  A touch of indignation was roused at what Ike took to be a not-so-veiled put-down. “I didn’t drop her, and I wasn’t going to drop her.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her expression told him she was unconvinced, and agreeing only to keep the peace. “Do you want some coffee?” Marta indicated the kitchen. “Sydney just made some.”

  Luc had tried to get some into him this morning, but Ike had left without it. His mind wasn’t on his own needs. “No, I—”

  “I think,” she told him firmly, “you’d do better with some coffee.”

  He didn’t feel like arguing. It wasn’t worth it. His shoulders rose and fell apathetically. “Maybe—”

  Marta had already begun to lead the way. As if sensing Ike wasn’t following, she turned to look at him. She was right, he wasn’t. “I’m sure you know your way into the kitchen better than I do.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ike made his way slowly into the next room. With the baby nestled against her, held fast with one arm, Marta already had a mug poured by the time he crossed the threshold.

  “Black, right?” He raised his eyes questioningly at her. Her back to the stove, Marta held the mug out to him. “You had it that way last night.” She answered his unspoken question. “I notice things about people.”

  And what Marta noticed about him now was that he was clearly shaken down to the core. Last night he’d told her that he didn’t know where his sister was, now here he was this morning with her baby in his arms. What kind of crisis had taken place during the night while she’d been vainly trying to court sleep?

  “Take it,” she instructed sternly.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took the mug in both hands. It bothered him that his hands shook a little. “Giving orders comes naturally to you.”

  “I’ve given my share.” She studied his face. He’d had a worse night than she had, that was clear. “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Ike stared into the dark mug, steeling himself from an onslaught of emotions he knew were waiting to ambush him. Sorrow, regret, anger—at
himself and life. And guilt. They all came at once, assaulting him amid a ring of fire. If he gave way, they would all engulf him, burning him until there wasn’t anything left. He couldn’t afford that. He had Celine to care for.

  “Nothing to talk about,” he murmured. With supreme effort, he managed to keep his voice almost as light as it usually was.

  He swallowed the hot brew, let it burn his tongue and his insides, wishing it could burn away the pain that was gnawing at his belly.

  He’d left the house for Shayne’s as soon as he thought it was civilized to do so, wanting to assure himself that the baby was all right. Last night, after he’d brought Celine upstairs, she’d cried for most of the night. He’d tried everything he could to quiet her, even as he tried to quiet all the emotions that were tumbling around inside him like clothes in a dryer gone haywire.

  He’d succeeded at neither.

  Luc had tried to help, sitting up part of the night with him. But there was no use in both of them losing sleep. Ike had sent him back to his room a little after one. He’d wanted to be alone anyway.

  But he hadn’t been alone. He’d had Celine. And his memories of his sister.

  “What’s going on, Ike?” Shayne walked into the room, concern etched across his unshaven face.

  Ike instantly put down the mug. As he turned toward Shayne, he tried to shake off the dark mood encroaching on him. He struggled mightily for his easygoing smile, for the philosophical whimsy that had seen him through so much—the death of his own parents, Junie’s abrupt disappearance and other, far more minor things.

  The smile he flashed lacked conviction. “I brought you a brand-new patient.” He passed a hand over the baby’s head. She whimpered again. Feeling helpless, he dropped his hand again. “I figured things were slow for you.”

  Shayne lost no time crossing to the youngest member of Ike’s family. Sydney had told him what she could. Disbelief still clung to him as he took the baby into his arms. But the black hair was a dead giveaway. The baby was a LeBlanc.

  His eyes met Ike’s. He could see how hard the man was struggling with his emotions. Ike and June had been very close once, Shayne remembered.

  He smiled at Ike. “Thanks. You always did look out after my best interests.”

  A half smile curved Ike’s mouth. “Talked Sydney into sticking it out, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, you did.” Shayne indicated his small office in the back. “You want to come with me while I check her out?”

  “No, I—” Ike paused. If he remained out here, he would be forced to stay with Sydney and Marta. He didn’t think he could handle sympathy in any dosage at the moment. “Sure, maybe I’ll learn something.”

  Walking out, Shayne stopped and began to sniff the air. The smell hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Sydney, is something—?”

  The second Shayne began to ask the question, the smell penetrated and announced itself. Horrified, Marta whirled toward the stove. There were bright flames rising from the iron skillet. The oil was burning. The forgotten omelette was on its way to becoming charcoal. “Oh, my God!”

  Closest to the stove, Ike came to life. With no time to think, he reacted, grabbing the lid from the counter and throwing it on top of the pan, smothering the flames. Grasping the hot skillet handle, he stifled a reflexive yelp as he deposited the pan into the sink. He’d almost dropped the pan on the wooden floor. Like a delayed reaction, pain shot from the palm of his hand up his arm through his shoulder until it stopped at the crown of his head.

  Giving the baby to Marta, Shayne quickly crossed to Ike. “Let me see that.”

  Like a small boy caught doing something he shouldn’t, Ike pulled his hand behind him. He hadn’t come here to be fussed over. “It’s nothing.”

  Nothing irritated Shayne more than a man trying to behave as if he were invulnerable. “Ike.”

  Ike blew out a breath. Reluctantly, he held his hand out and turned his palm upward for Shayne’s perusal.

  Shayne frowned. “‘Nothing’ is beginning to blister. Looks like I’ve got two patients.” He looked toward his wife.

  Intercepting the look, Marta read it correctly. “Why don’t I help you?” She smiled at the baby she was holding. “I’ll hang onto the princess here while you tend to Asbestos Man.” She indicated Ike with her eyes, and thought she saw a hint of a smile returning to his lips at the tease.

  “I’ll take all the help I can get.” Shayne led the way into the small alcove that had, on more than one occasion, doubled as an emergency medical office. He glanced at his watch. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. “Looks like this has the makings of a hell of a day.”

  As she walked out, Marta looked over her shoulder at Sydney. Dormant smoke hovered over the room like an ominous cloud. She felt guilty leaving Sydney to cope with it. “I’ll help you clean up when I’m finished.”

  Sydney dismissed her with a quick wave. “You’ve got your hands full.” She looked around the kitchen. Except for the burned skillet, it didn’t look too bad. The exhaust fan over the stove would take care of most of the smoke and the smell of burned eggs. She switched it on and raised her voice. “Nothing here I can’t handle.”

  Marta seriously doubted that there was anything in the world that Sydney couldn’t handle. She walked into the small office in time to hear Ike protesting. “You don’t have to fuss over my hand, Shayne. It’s all right.”

  He opened the floor-to-ceiling medicine cabinet that had once served as a secondary pantry when his parents had lived here. Quickly, he gathered what he needed.

  “Not yet, but it will be once I take care of it.” Shayne placed the supplies he’d quickly gathered on a small table and beckoned Ike forward. He indicated where he wanted him to place his hand. “Otherwise, it’s liable to get infected. Not much of a stretch from there to where gangrene sets in.” He examined the wound more closely. If Ike had held the pan handle a couple of seconds longer, the wound would have turned into a really nasty one. “We’re colorful enough around here without having a one-armed bartender in town.”

  Ike laughed. “You always did look on the bleak side of things.”

  “That way, happiness is a nice surprise.” The way it was these days, Shayne added silently. He prepared the disinfectant. Casually, he asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Ike couldn’t help glancing toward Marta. It was the second time in less than ten minutes that he’d had the exact same offer in the exact same words. Shrugging casually, he said, “You saw pretty much everything that was involved.”

  “About June.”

  Ike stoically stared straight ahead. “Don’t have anything to say.”

  Very carefully, Shayne swabbed Ike’s palm. Lucky for him, the burns were only first-degree. Ike didn’t take inactivity well. And with Celine suddenly in his life, he wouldn’t be able to remain inactive even if he wanted to. “Where is she?”

  Steeling himself off from both the sting in his palm and the one in his heart, Ike replied, “Like the song says, ‘blowing in the wind.’”

  Tossing aside one cotton swab, Shayne picked up another. “Don’t get metaphysical on me, Ike.”

  Ike watched the skin on his palm wither and pucker as Shayne worked over it. If he kept his mind on that, he could keep it off the words. “I’m not.”

  How could he phrase the question now forming in his mind? How did he ask his best friend something he knew hurt him even to say? But if nothing else, as Celine’s doctor he needed to know. He kept his eyes on his work. “Is she dead?”

  The small intake of breath drew Ike’s attention to Marta. He saw the sympathy in her eyes, and blocked it. If he allowed himself to give in to it, even for a moment, there was no telling what would break loose inside him. He’d deal with all this later, when he felt he was up to it.

  “So the woman who brought me her baby says.”

  “You have any reason to doubt her?” The question came from Marta. Though she knew she had no business asking, she couldn’t get hersel
f to just stand on the sidelines, listening impassively.

  Ike looked at her sharply, then allowed his look to mellow. He shrugged carelessly, belying the turmoil within.

  “No. She didn’t ask me for money, or anything else.” He winced suddenly as Shayne applied a layer of something that stung like the devil. The disinfectant paled in comparison. Slowly, he let out a breath, realizing that a ring of perspiration had formed all along his hairline. “If that’s supposed to distract me, I’d just as soon have a pretty woman to look at, if you don’t mind.” He looked toward Marta.

  This time, because he was hurting on more than one score, she didn’t turn away.

  “Won’t be as good for your wound,” Shayne quipped. “But it certainly couldn’t hurt.” Working quickly, he began bandaging the injured hand. “Who was this woman who brought Celine?”

  Ike shook his head. “I never saw her before. Said her name was Ruth Jackson. I found out she hired a pilot to fly her in here. She told me she worked with June at a makeup counter at some department store.” He couldn’t remember the name of the store, but it really didn’t matter now. He continued struggling for control, for level ground. “Did you know she only got as far as Fairbanks? All those great plans, and Junie only made it to Fairbanks. Might as well have stayed here.” He pressed his lips together, trying not to think. Unable to do anything else. “Should have stayed here.”

  Shayne reached for the tape and was surprised when Marta handed it to him. “Thanks.” He turned his attention back to Ike. “Do you know who the father is?”

  “Yeah, that damn guitar player she ran off with.” At the very thought of the man, Ike’s anger rose to a dangerous level. He struggled with that, too. No matter what he thought of Roy Watkins, the man was Celine’s father. It put Ike at a distinct disadvantage. “He left her. Didn’t want to be saddled with Junie once he knew she was pregnant. Said he had no intention of looking after a ‘brat.’”

  Marta looked down at the baby in her arms. “You’re not a brat, are you sweetie?” Celine was an orphan, just as she had been. Oh, Marta had had a mother, floating around somewhere, who’d wanted no part of her, and a nameless father who’d never come forward, but they might as well have been dead for all their input into her life. Just phantoms passing through, nothing more.