Murphy's Child

by Judith Duncan

  Closing the door to dampen the sound reaching the kitchen, Murphy paced the length of the room with his son. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought vandals had tossed this room, as well. The bed was unmade. The walk-in closet door was open, and there was a white towel draped over the arm of one of the chairs. Diapers were piled on the steamer trunk, a pair of socks lay on the floor and there was a clutter of baby things on the cherry table. And totally ruining the perfect symmetry of the room was the newly purchased cradle, which was pulled up right alongside the bed. But what really blew his mind was the box of Kleenex sitting on the top of the bordello lamp. This was not the Jordan he knew. For her, this kind of disorder was absolutely unthinkable.

  Tired of being stalled and now genuinely ticked off, Junior Munroe wailed even louder. Murphy didn’t think a kid that little had that kind of racket in him, but his son definitely did.

  Recalling the awful stricken look in Jordan’s eyes, and beginning to feel a little bit desperate himself, Murphy cradled the baby in his arm, rocking him back and forth as he tried to figure some way to turn the racket off. Damn, he should have ignored her and bought a pacifier when they’d gone shopping for the baby. The baby was getting so red in the face he looked as if he were going to burst all his tiny blood vessels, and Murphy knew he had to do something. Knowing that Jordan would have a fit, but desperate for a distraction—any distraction—he stuck his little finger in his son’s mouth. The baby stopped crying immediately and latched on like a mini vacuum cleaner.

  “Don’t you dare tell your mother, Tiger. She’d skin me alive.”

  With a little jiggling and a whole lot of finger sucking, Murphy managed to quiet his son. At least until Jordan walked in the room, a bottle of formula clutched in her hand, and he had to pull his finger away. Junior was not impressed and started his protest again.

  Knowing that she would be nothing if not protective of her child, he shifted his hold, prepared to hand the howling baby to her. But instead of taking the baby, she handed the bottle to him. “Here,” she said softly. “You better feed him.” She managed a wan smile. “I think he likes you better than me right now anyway.”

  Murphy suddenly felt as if he were juggling live grenades. Howling baby. Brand-new mom who thought she was a failure after three days. And the look of anguish in her eyes was enough to cut through stone. Feeling as if he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, he kept his mouth shut and took the bottle from her, then offered it to his son. Silence was immediate. The only sound was that of baby snuffling and hungry suckling. He couldn’t help but grin. Happiness right now was a bottle of baby formula.

  Careful not to do anything to alter the status quo, Murphy eased his very large frame into one of the chairs. And for the first time since he arrived, everything just sort of leveled out. He had the first really good, uninterrupted look of his brand-new son, feeling as if a big balloon had just gotten inflated in his chest. Until he held his very own son in his arms, he never really considered what an unbelievable miracle a baby was. What an absolute miracle.

  Jordan sat on the bed and drew up her legs, then locked her arms around them. Resting her chin on her knees, she just watched. And as if reading Murphy’s mind, she smiled a shy mother’s smile. “He really is the most perfect little thing, isn’t he?”

  Knowing the last thing she needed right now was a whole lot of emotion, Murphy gave himself a minute to get rid of the cramp in his throat, then glanced at her. “Now that he has something poked in his mouth, he is.”

  As worn-out as she obviously was, Jordan chuckled. “And here I thought something was critically wrong with him.”

  Murphy gave her a wry look. “If someone messes with a Munroe’s food chain, we think there is something critically wrong.”

  She smiled, resting her cheek on her knees. “Too bad you hadn’t told me that sooner.”

  He grinned and changed the angle of the bottle. She lifted her chin toward him. “You’re very good at that, you know.”

  Murphy shrugged “I’ve had a lot of practice.” Then he shot an amused glance at her. “At our house, a new baby was a shared experience.”

  Her cheek still against her knees, she continued to watch, a hint of a smile in her eyes. “At least he has one parent with some experience. I’d never held a baby until they gave him to me in the delivery room.”

  There was something about that comment that set off a red flag in Murphy’s brain. But he left it alone. He’d learned a long time ago that there were some questions you just didn’t ask around Ms. Jordan Kennedy.

  He checked the level of the formula in the bottle, then pulled the nipple out. “Okay, Little Stuff. Burp time.” Murphy set the bottle on the table, then lifted his son over his shoulder, making sure his little body wasn’t scrunched up. He patted the baby twice and was immediately rewarded with such a resounding burp that it made the baby’s head wobble. Steadying his son’s head, Murphy grinned. “Sounds like he’s been out with the boys, guzzling beer.”

  Jordan’s tone was very wry when she responded. “If I’d thought of it, I would have given it a shot. I was desperate enough to try anything.”

  Stretching out his legs, Murphy settled the baby in his arm again, then settled more comfortably in the chair. He turned the bottle so he could see the liquid measurements on the side, trying to find the right words to say what needed to be said. He wanted her to know that he was kicking himself for not being there when she needed him. But he was also aware theirs was a very fragile truce. Finally he looked up and met her gaze, his expression solemn. “I’m sorry you had to go through this alone,” he said, his tone quiet. “I should have been here”

  Jordan gave an embarrassed little shrug, a faint flush creeping up her cheeks. “I was okay on my own And as I recall, I was the one who told you to go.” She hesitated, picking at a nub in the material of her slacks, then she looked up, meeting his gaze with an unwavering directness. “But I am glad you’re here now. I was in way over my head.”

  He held her gaze, experiencing a rush of feelings he didn’t want to feel. And one feeling that cut through all the others was anger. The muscles in his jaw hardening, he looked back down at his son, his pulse suddenly running hard. Damn it, he had wanted to be there—permanently. He had wanted to build a life with her—permanently. But all they had now were bits and pieces of jetsam left over from a wreck, held together by one seven-pound, bouncing baby boy.

  Needing to get out of there, he used his son as an excuse. “I’d better go change him.”

  Without looking at her, he got up and grabbed a diaper from the pile on the trunk, then hoisted the baby over his shoulder and headed toward the door. But what he really wanted to do was kick a hole in the wall.

  He took the baby into the nursery and carefully placed him on the change table, making himself ignore the anger boiling up, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He had no idea if he could still remember how to do this—it had been a very long time, and he was darned sure he’d never changed a baby this small.

  Unsnapping the leggings of the sleepers, he couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son make guppy movements with his button mouth. By the time he got the old diaper off and the fresh one figured out, Murphy had simmered down a little.

  He knew part of his problem was she’d taken a big chunk out of his male ego. Just because he’d been so head over heels in love with her, that didn’t automatically mean she felt the same way about him. And maybe that’s what bugged him most—that she had blindsided him, and he hadn’t even seen it coming. It was as if she’d cut him off at the knees. One day, everything had been just fine, and the next day, she’d told him it was over.

  Finally getting the diaper situated at the right angle, he pressed one of the sticky tabs into place, his expression turning very sober. He guessed most of what he was feeling right now was his own problem. Of all the mortal blows she’d dealt him, one of the worst ones was to his pride.


  “Murphy?”

  Not looking up, he finished with the second tab. “What?”

  Her tone had an odd quiet to it, as if she, too, were walking on eggs. “Could I fix you a coffee or something?”

  He took a second, trying to let go of the pressure in his chest, then he glanced at her. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  She was standing in the doorway, her arms folded tightly in front of her, her eyes worried and anxious, her face very drawn. She looked exhausted—and scared to death. It was obvious from her expression that she knew she’d made him angry, and that she was terrified he was going to walk out and not come back. Realizing he was adding to the strain she was already under, and knowing that was the last thing the baby needed, he released a sigh and turned back to his son, working his finger-sized leg back into the sleeper.

  Keeping his voice devoid of emotion, he spoke. “Why don’t you get some sleep, and I’ll take care of the tadpole here until his next feeding.”

  There was a strained pause, then she finally answered, her tone very subdued. “All right.”

  Doing up the snaps on the baby’s sleepers, Murphy didn’t look up until he heard her leave. Then he picked up his son and the nearly empty bottle. “Women are a damned pain, kid. And don’t you forget it.”

  He picked up a flannel blanket from the shelf above the change table, then turned down the hallway toward the living room. He heard the master-bedroom door close behind him. “Okay, kid. Now we’re going to make a deal. You behave yourself for the next three hours and let your mother sleep, and I’ll get you a Porsche when you’re nine.”

  Silently closing the pocket door at the end of the hallway, he hoped that would set up another sound barrier. He didn’t want her to hear so much as a peep for the next three hours if he could help it.

  Then Murphy lifted his son over his shoulder and started walking. The baby yawned and Murphy grinned to himself as he patted the baby’s back. “And if you’re really good, we might even give you your very own name.”

  Chapter 3

  It took Murphy exactly two hours and twenty-three minutes to remember every single thing he’d ever known about colic. And it was a fair amount. One of his nephews had been colicky, and it had taken the entire family to look after that kid.

  Murphy wasn’t dead sure, and it was eight years ago, but as he recalled, Mark hadn’t stopped screaming for three solid months. And the only time the kid was quiet was when he was in a moving car. Murphy clearly remembered being relegated to late-night drives with his father, just to give everyone else a break. He toyed with the idea of phoning his brother-in-law Marco and reminding him of that fact.

  Feeling just a little ragged, he made another circle through the living room, dining room and foyer. He’d been around that loop so many times, he was starting to feel that he was running in the Indy 500. The problem was that he was beginning to get motion sick. He’d found a raise-the-perfect-baby book in a stack of baby books on a bookshelf in Jordan’s study, and he had spent the past twenty minutes trying to read and walk at the same time.

  The book didn’t help much. Colic was colic. He understood the theory. The practical information was damned skimpy, though. But now the kid had quit fussing and was sucking on his fist again.

  “Is he giving you fits?”

  He turned, making sure he kept up the jiggle routine so the baby would think he was still moving. Jordan was standing at the door of the kitchen, hair sticking every which way in the half-off scrunchie, the imprint of her hand on her cheek, still wearing the clothes she’d had on when he arrived. But now they clearly had been slept in. She looked as if she needed a little jiggle of her own. He managed a halfhearted grin. “Well, let’s put it this way. He doesn’t like to stand still much.” He went over to her, turning so she could see the baby sucking on his fist. “But I think maybe he’s hungry again.”

  She opened her eyes wide, as if to make them stay open, then reached up and took the baby. Murphy felt as if a permanent growth had been removed from his chest. Stretching his shoulders back to get rid of the kinks, he observed her with her three-day-old son. Considering he was the first baby she’d ever held, she was remarkably comfortable with him. But then, if Junior had been like this since he was born, she’d already been holding him more than his fair share.

  Feeling a little drunk from a lack of sleep, he followed her into the living room. “Do you think we could hang a name on him? He’s going to grow up thinking his name is Kid.”

  He actually got a small smile out of her. “Why don’t we just name him Kid?” Murphy stared at her. She must be exhausted. She was actually making little jokes.

  With her son cradled against her, she settled at one end of the sofa, drawing up her legs to sit cross-legged. Murphy was about to make a smart-mouth retort, but she started undoing the buttons on her shirt, and his entire body went on red alert. Whoa, big fella. That was a whole lot more than he could handle right now. A whole lot more. He turned around and headed back toward the kitchen, his voice sounding slightly strangled when he mumbled over his shoulder. “I’m going to make myself some coffee.”

  “Murphy.”

  He probably would have ignored her, but there was something in her tone that made him feel like a total heel. Bracing himself, he turned. The baby was nursing, but it was okay. Everything was covered up. Mostly.

  Dragging his gaze higher, he met hers.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she said softly, dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. “I can manage.”

  The sexual spurt fizzled right out. Gone just like that. Folding his arms, he rested his shoulder against the wall, studying her with new eyes. She was prepared to tough it out on her own—that was clear. But after the past couple of hours, he was convinced that maybe, just maybe she could manage on her own one more day and then she’d collapse from sheer exhaustion. And he’d read all the breast-feeding books. She needed to stay healthy and rested for the baby. So here he was, caught between a rock and a hard place. He tried to joke his way out of it. “What? And miss all this quality time?”

  Jordan attempted a smile, but she just couldn’t quite pull it off. “But you don’t have to stay.”

  He watched her a moment, assessing her. “No,” he finally answered. “You shouldn’t even be out of the hospital yet, let alone here on your own.”

  She tried to smile again. “Lots of women do it. I’m fine. We’ll be fine.”

  His shoulder still anchored against the wall, he continued to assess her. She had said the words, but did she really mean them? He didn’t think so; she hadn’t been able to quite meet his gaze when she made her declaration. Coming to a decision, he responded. “I’m sure you’re right. But I think I’ll stick around and see how it goes tonight. Maybe with me here, you can catch up on some sleep.”

  She held his gaze a minute, relief plainly visible in her eyes, then she bent her head, focusing on the baby. “The coffee is in the pantry,” she said, her voice uneven. “Second shelf.”

  Murphy narrowed his eyes. At least twice tonight, she had capitulated. That had to be some kind of record.

  By six the following morning, it was obvious to Murphy that this was definitely a two-man show. Baby Munroe was making up for lost time after a near perfect pregnancy. The kid had slept maybe three hours total, and Murphy had lost track of how many times Jordan had tried to nurse him, or how many loops he’d walked. But one thing he did know for sure—there was no way Jordan could manage on her own. No way.

  He considered suggesting hiring a nurse for a week or so, but one glance at that protective, feral look on Jordan’s face, and he knew there was no damned way she’d hand that baby over to a stranger. Not that he blamed her.

  So there was only one other name on the shortlist, and it was his.

  Slouched on the sofa, feeling pretty much like a bag of old garbage, Murphy stared at the ceiling. He needed a shave, he needed a shower and he needed about twenty hours of uninterrupted sleep. But he was going to
have to forgo the last item. He had other things to do.

  Rolling his head to one side, he watched as Jordan came into the room, so pale and exhausted that she looked about ready to faint. “I think he’s going to sleep,” she said, a tone of amazement in her voice.

  She still had on the same clothes. “Then go to bed.”

  Like a zombie, she turned toward the kitchen. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  He almost needed a hoist to lever himself off the sofa, but he finally managed it. Catching up to her, he grasped her by the shoulder, then aimed her toward the hallway. “Uh-uh, Kennedy. You’re going to bed.” He propelled her forward. “And I’m going to the job site to turn the whole show over to my foreman, then I’m coming back here.”

  She tried to stiffen her legs to stop the forward momentum. “But—”

  “No buts, Jordan. Go to bed. It says in all the books to sleep when the baby sleeps. I’ll be back in an hour, and you can argue all you want then.” He pushed her into her bedroom, wanting to laugh when she made it as far as the bed, then crawled across the disheveled blankets and collapsed face first. This was not the Miss Prim and Proper he had known and loved.

  Not quite sure he had the energy, he dragged himself downstairs to get his luggage out of his truck, the sunshine so intense that it nearly sucked his eyes right out of his head. Feeling as if he needed a trolley for both himself and his suitcase, he trudged back up to her apartment. He didn’t know a day could last this long.

  He had a shave, a shower and downed an entire pot of coffee before heading out. His caffeine level had to be at maximum dosage, or he knew he’d pass out at the first stop sign he came to.

  Murphy found Marco at the job site, supervising the installation of eaves troughs and downspouts. Without making any explanations, he walked up to his brother-in-law, told him he was taking a couple of weeks off and that they could contact him on his cell phone if they needed him. Then he turned around and walked away, aware that Marco was watching him as if someone had just dropped a load of bricks on his head. He didn’t care. He didn’t have the energy to care. He was going to the supermarket to pick up some groceries and some film for his camera, then he was heading back to the condo, and he was going to pass out on the first flat surface he came to.