The Boss and the Baby

by Leigh Michaels

“Do you want to be?” Molly asked bluntly.

  “I don’t know.” Megan didn’t meet her eyes. “Do me a favor, all right? Don’t tell Mother.”

  “You haven’t told Mother?” The words were out before Molly could stop herself. “Sorry. Not my business.” When the silence became unbearable, she moved from her chair to kneel next to Megan’s. Her sister’s hands were cold and almost limp. Molly held them between hers. “I know how it feels to be pregnant and scared. And I’m here for you, Meg. Anytime you want me.”

  Megan’s eyes pooled with tears. “Even though I wasn’t there for you?”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  Megan wet her lips. “Thanks, Mol. I’ll remember. I think I can sleep now.”

  Molly waited till Megan had climbed the stairs before she let herself out the front door and went to her car.

  Megan pregnant. And drinking Scotch and soda. She’d had a glass in her hand most of the evening. Though it had been a full glass, Molly recalled, so maybe she’d only been holding it, not drinking. But surely Rand wouldn’t have poured alcohol for her if...

  Had she even told Rand yet? Even if she hadn’t, Molly reminded herself, it didn’t mean there was anything sinister going on. Maybe there hadn’t been an opportunity. However, if Megan hadn’t insisted on Molly coming early, she’d have had plenty of time before dinner tonight.

  Maybe that was what was wrong, she thought—if there was a reason Megan didn’t want to tell him. Maybe he didn’t want a child. Or maybe it wasn’t his child.

  “And you,” Molly told herself rudely, “could start writing for the soap operas any day!”

  Well, she’d done all she could for now. She couldn’t turn Megan upside down and shake her till the truth fell out, no matter how much she’d like to.

  She took the long way home so she could drive down London Road past Warren Hudson’s house. It would be more accurate to call Oakwood an estate, she supposed, for the property stretched over several acres and to the lakefront. The house lay well back from the street, sheltered by so many trees that she could barely see the gleam of moonlight on brick walls and tile roof. The windows were dark except for a couple of lights toward the back, where the servants’ quarters were. It looked like a house at peace, settled down for the night, but Molly knew better. It was a house waiting, breath held, for news.

  She tried not to remember the set, drained look on Luke’s face when he’d gotten the news. She’d seen him looking like that once, on the night before his mother had died.

  But the similarity of expression didn’t mean, necessarily, that Warren was in grave danger—only that Luke was afraid. As of course he would be, getting the news like that. Perhaps, by the time he’d reached his father’s side, the medical report had been better than he’d expected it would be.

  Molly wished she knew which hospital they’d taken Warren to. Not that she’d rush straight over to console Luke, of course. It was hardly her place to do that, though the thought of him sitting there alone made her heart shiver.

  Wasn’t it a bit odd that the golden girl hadn’t insisted on rushing out with him? Of course, the fact that they’d arrived at the party together didn’t mean they were seriously involved. And though Melinda hadn’t hesitated to show her claws the instant Luke paid attention to Molly, she hadn’t seemed to mind at all when he’d departed so suddenly. Maybe Megan was right and the golden girl would have reacted the same way if it had been another man—Rand, even—instead of Luke who’d dared to notice Molly. And Luke hadn’t apologized to Melinda for stranding her, just to Megan for breaking up the party.

  It was a shame, actually, if they weren’t involved—because Molly would find great humor in the idea of Luke being spellbound by a woman who saw him as no more than a convenient accessory. That sort of treatment would be no more than he deserved. There had been a time, after all, when Molly would have been thrilled to have even that much notice from Luke. Instead, he’d viewed her as a damned nuisance.

  At the Matthews house, lights blazed from the living room where her parents were playing bridge with another couple. George and Jessie, Molly recalled. She’d met them last week. Or was it Jesse and Georgia?

  Molly’s father tossed down his cards when he saw her. “Now I know why I’m fighting off yawns,” he said. “If Megan’s party has already broken up, it’s past time for my old bones to be in bed.”

  “But it’s not all that late,” Alix said. Her gaze focused suspiciously on Molly.

  I didn’t disgrace myself, Mother, and I wasn’t asked to leave, she wanted to say. Instead, she told them the little she knew about Warren’s setback.

  Bernie shook his head. Molly got the impression he wasn’t shocked or even startled—just sad. She wondered if she was the only one who’d been convinced Warren was getting better by the day.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “nobody felt much like celebrating, and Megan was tired, so we all left.”

  “I’ve never known Megan to be worn out,” Jessie said. “The girl’s inexhaustible. Of course, we could all keep going forever if we had Rand’s resources to draw on.”

  Molly said carefully, “She seemed to have something on her mind.” She wouldn’t tell her mother about Megan’s secret—but surely, if Alix had a hint that all wasn’t well, she would be more alert to Megan’s needs.

  “Trouble with her hairdresser, I suppose,” Jessie said with a laugh. “It couldn’t be much more. With the tub of money she fell into, Megan’s got nothing to worry about for the rest of her life.” She played her last card triumphantly. “Not like you, Molly, dear. And poor little Bailey—losing her father like that.”

  Molly shot a look at her mother.

  “Bad enough that your marriage didn’t work out,” Jessie went on, “but then for him to die like that so you’re not even getting child support—”

  Alix had turned pink. She swept up the deck of cards and said, “Another drink, anyone? Hot cider?”

  Molly said, “Sounds great. I’ll help you, Mom.” In the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder to be certain they were alone. “And what was that all about?”

  Alix shrugged. “Darling, the man never visits his daughter, he doesn’t help you with money... I have to explain your situation somehow.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything,” Molly said grimly. “But I know better than to think you’ll stop—so in the future will you at least warn me of the twists in the plot?”

  Alix bit her lip.

  “I’m going to check on Bailey,” Molly announced. “Tell your friends good-night for me, will you?”

  She tiptoed into the smallest bedroom, the one she had occupied as a child. Bailey was sprawled on top of the blankets, her neck bent at an awkward angle, her face smashed firmly into her pillow. Molly straightened and covered her, and marveled at the way the child was growing. Though she’d always been small for her age, Bailey was obviously starting into a growth spurt. She’d need an entirely new wardrobe before long.

  Molly rubbed her temples. It was all very well to tell herself not to borrow trouble. But she hadn’t sought out tonight’s whole truckload of worries, it had been dumped on her. As if Warren’s relapse wasn’t enough, there was Megan’s pregnancy. And just to top things off, her mother had blithely killed off her inconvenient ex-husband.

  Something had to give. Molly just hoped it wouldn’t be her.

  As she climbed the front steps of the Hudson mansion a couple of days later, Molly squared her shoulders and tried to fight off a sense of déjà vu.

  This visit wasn’t truly a repetition, of course. The other time she’d found herself standing on Oakwood’s doorstep on a visit of sympathy, it had been a chilly, damp October evening. Luke’s mother had still been fighting her futile battle against the virulent cancer that had killed her, and Molly had been sent to deliver a basket of flowers from her parents.

  This time it was full daylight, though the sun was dropping rapidly and was no longer producing much warmth. She’d tuc
ked a gaily wrapped compact disk under her arm, and Bailey was tugging impatiently at her hand.

  “This is a big house. Will we go in? Can I ring the doorbell, Mommy?”

  “Yes, you may ring the bell, and no, I don’t think we’ll be going inside.” But the child couldn’t reach high enough, so Molly lifted her so she could press the ornate button, then stooped to make one last hopeless effort to brush the streaks of dirt off the child’s pastel jacket. “At least your face is clean,” she muttered. “But of all the days for the day-care center to take a field trip to the zoo...”

  The door opened behind Molly, and Bailey leaned to one side of her mother so she could peer into the house. For an instant, as if in a dream, time seemed to fold back on itself. Molly half expected to turn around and look up at Watkins the butler and see, as she had that night so long ago, that his usually impassive face was tight with worry.

  The change in him that October night had startled her out of her planned speech. Instead of the pretty words telling how sad her parents were about Isabel Hudson’s struggle, she’d heard herself say in little more than a whisper, “Is Luke here?”

  Watkins had stared at her for a long moment and then said, “Yes, miss. He went out to the garden some time ago to be by himself.” His voice steadied. “But I’m not sure he should be alone right now. I believe he’s sitting in the treehouse.”

  The treehouse...

  Molly wondered if it was still there, perched in the huge old maple tree halfway between the house and the lake. Surely not, after all these years without a child around to use it.

  Though Luke hadn’t been a child when his mother lay dying and he’d looked for solace there.

  A deep voice, very unlike Watkins’s, said, “If you want to see my father—”

  Luke. She hadn’t expected him to be answering the door. Hastily Molly straightened and faced him. “No, I didn’t intend to disturb him on his first day at home—or you, either. I just stopped by on my way from work to drop off a little gift. Perhaps you’d give him this?” She held out the small square package.

  Luke showed no inclination to take it.

  “You don’t need to act as if it’s poisonous,” Molly said impatiently. “In fact, unlike candy, it’s nonfattening and cholesterol-free, and unlike flowers, it’s guaranteed not to set off hay fever. And it’s not even depressing—I chose the music very carefully. I’d think you’d realize I’m the last person who’d want to do Warren any harm just now.”

  Luke rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of days.” He reached for the package.

  Molly was instantly contrite. She knew perfectly well he hadn’t set foot in the office since Warren’s relapse, and she wouldn’t be surprised to find that he hadn’t left the hospital at all. “And I’m sure the nights were longer yet,” she said gently.

  “I don’t know. Time all blurred together somehow—sort of like it used to in med school.”

  Bailey took a step toward Luke, dug a small hand into the back pocket of her blue jeans and held up a plastic rectangle, its edges sadly frayed. “I still have my badge,” she announced.

  “It looks a bit the worse for wear,” Luke said.

  “That’s ’cause Joey took it at day care. The teacher made him give it back, but he bent it all up. He’s mean sometimes.”

  “Bailey, don’t pester Mr. Hudson. He’s very tired just now.”

  Bailey studied him, her tiny nose wrinkled thoughtfully. “Then you have to take a nap.”

  “Life’s so simple when you’re not quite four,” Molly said. “But it’s not bad advice, anyway.”

  Luke smiled slowly. “Thanks, Molly. I’ll give this to Dad and tell him—”

  From the dim hallway behind him, Warren said, “You’ll tell Dad what?” He came into view, moving slowly, leaning on a walker. “Hello, Molly. Did Lucas tell you I wanted to talk to you?”

  She flashed a glance at Luke. He looked a little guilty, she thought as he stood aside for her to enter. But she couldn’t exactly blame him—Warren looked like a pale shadow of the man he’d been just a few days ago, and hardly up to having visitors.

  As she stepped across the threshold into Oakwood, Molly automatically reached for Bailey’s hand. But the child slipped away from her and moved three steps into the hallway, with its parquet floor and linen-fold paneling, where she stood stockstill and stared up the long, wide, straight, golden oak staircase to the first landing, almost as large as a room. Her eyes had gone wide. Molly wasn’t surprised. Lots of people had that sort of reaction to this house.

  Certain that Bailey was too awed to move, she turned her attention once more to Warren. “You know,” she said mildly, “if all you wanted to do is talk to me, it really wasn’t necessary to create all this fuss. You could have just asked me to stick around and chat the other day.”

  Warren smiled weakly—about all the reaction the feeble joke was worth, Molly admitted—and sank down on the bench at the foot of the stairs. “Pardon me, but I think I’d better rest a bit before I go up.”

  Molly was horrified. “You aren’t going to try to walk up, are you?”

  “No, I’ll just go as far as the elevator, for today.”

  Bailey had slowly turned a full circle, inspecting the hallway. Now she focused on Warren’s walker. “What’s that, Mommy?”

  “It’s to help Mr. Hudson get around the house, dear”

  Bailey frowned. “Why did you call him Mr. Hudson?”

  “Because that’s his name.” Molly saw the child’s puzzled gaze shift from Warren to Luke, and added hastily, “Both of them are Mr. Hudson.”

  Bailey obviously thought that made no sense at all, but she politely turned her attention to the walker. “Did you break your leg?” she asked earnestly. “When my mommy fell down the stairs and broke her leg she used crutches.”

  Warren shook his head. “I’m sick in a different way, but it’s still hard for me to walk.”

  “When I’m sick,” Bailey confided, “I have to stay in bed.”

  Molly’s patience had vanished. “Bailey, I don’t think your contributions to the conversation are quite—”

  Through a door at the shadowed back of the hall came a large dog, her red-gold coat gleaming, her head up, nose twitching, toenails clicking against the parquet floor. She trotted straight to Bailey and sniffed at the child’s face, almost on the level with her own.

  Bailey giggled and threw her arms around the dog’s neck.

  Before Molly could move, Luke had caught the animal’s collar. “Lucky’s pretty much kid-proof,” he said, “but just in case...”

  The dog swiped her tongue across Bailey’s face, and the child shrieked with laughter.

  Molly thought she saw the shadow of pain cross Warren’s face at the noise. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If you want to talk to me, Warren, I can stop in the morning after I’ve taken Bailey to day care. I shouldn’t have brought her with me today.”

  Warren shook his head, but she thought it was no more than a polite protest.

  Luke obviously thought so, too, for he released the dog’s collar and stood up. “Bailey, let’s take Lucky out for a bit. I’ll show you how to make her do tricks.”

  As the door swung shut behind the trio, Molly said, “So much for asking permission.” She sat beside Warren. “So what do the doctors say?”

  “Just that I’ve been overdoing it.”

  “It wasn’t another stroke, then?”

  Warren shook his head. “My blood pressure went way up the other night, till they thought I was likely to have one. Then it dropped to the vanishing point, and that didn’t make them happy, either. Damned doctors,” he grumbled. “You can’t please them no matter what you do.”

  Molly smothered a smile. “It isn’t fair of them to keep changing the rules, is it?”

  “So they tell me I have to slow down, and nobody has any idea how long it’ll be before I can do anything productive again. If ever.” His voice was heavy
, almost lifeless. Then he cleared his throat and said with determination, “But the project must go on. You’ll have to handle it by yourself, of course, but I want you to know that I have complete faith—”

  The project must go on. Fat chance of that, Molly thought. As soon as Luke realized that his father couldn’t be involved any more...

  But it had been Warren’s mental state Luke had seemed most interested in, not the physical work he’d been doing. And Warren was obviously still interested, so surely he could still play some part in the whole process.

  It was not, however, the possibility of preserving her job which prompted her to say, “It wouldn’t be the same without you. I need you to bounce ideas off, and to give me background and context. Could you spare energy for that if I stopped by now and then to show you the pieces I’m working on?”

  A faint light sprang to life in Warren’s eyes, but he shook his head. “It’d be a lot of trouble for you—driving back and forth, dragging things over here.”

  As a matter of fact, Molly admitted to herself, it would be a bit of a pain. But she’d put up with a lot more inconvenience than that if it would help Warren. “It wouldn’t even be out of my way. I could just stop by on my way home from work.”

  With Bailey in tow? Hardly.

  But, she reminded herself, the whole reason for working at the plant had been Warren. Now she could be much more flexible.

  He seemed to have read her mind. “Maybe you could work here instead. There’s plenty of room. We could have all the archives moved, and set up a little office for you—”

  And why not? Molly asked herself. Of course Warren’s doctors didn’t want him to overdo, but she suspected it wasn’t the work that had exhausted him but the way he’d gone about it. She could see it as she looked over the week they’d worked together. He’d only missed lunch that one time—but though he’d never said so, Warren had obviously felt that if he’d gone to the effort to get dressed and have Jason drive him across Duluth to the plant he should stay half a day, at least.

  But if she moved a minimal office into Oakwood, Warren could work precisely when he felt like it, in ten-minute stretches if he wanted. He wouldn’t even have to get out of bed.