Do You Take This Child?

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Oh, God,” Sheila feigned a groan. She looked at her father for help. “Dad?”

  He laughed, enjoying this. Enjoying his life with the zeal of a man who had almost lost everything he held dear. “I’ll keep her in line.”

  “Ha!” Susan scoffed at the promise. “You don’t know your father once he gets going. We’ll have to buy Rebecca Susan a condo just to house the stuffed animal collection alone.”

  Pleasure filled out every corner of Sheila’s being. These were her parents, vying for the honor of spoiling her daughter. Incredible. “I think, for a while, I might like that.”

  Susan looked around the kitchen, as if she was expecting someone to pop out of the pantry. “So where is he, this husband of yours?” She turned to look at Sheila. “Or was that a glitch on the machine?”

  Sheila shook her head. He’d probably get a kick out of being referred to that way. “No glitch. Slade’s at work.”

  Ted nodded, a somber expression on his thin face. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, at least he’s not a freeloader.”

  Amusement played on her lips. Her father had never expressed any concern about the men she went out with and their designs on her when she was living at home. “He’s a journalist, Dad. Slade writes for the Times.”

  Susan waved away her husband’s words. “That’s just your father’s sense of humor, dear. It’s a little rusty. He hasn’t used it in years. Give him time.”

  She smiled at her daughter. So much to make amends for. Where did she start, now that she’d been given this gift of life back into her hands?

  Susan pressed her granddaughter to her breast, absorbing the comforting warmth. “Is he good enough for you, dear?”

  The answer was immediate. Her mother never knew about Edward. There’d been no reason to tell her. At first, because they didn’t really share confidences, and then because they didn’t really share grief.

  “Well, no, but the pope wasn’t free so I had to settle for second best.”

  “The humor she gets from me,” Susan told her husband firmly. Sheila was happy, she could see that. Susan’s relief was immeasurable. It could have gone another way so easily. So many of her colleagues had children with messed-up lives.

  She looked down at her granddaughter. “And this tiny dimple in her chin.” She touched it lightly. “Is that his?”

  Sheila nodded.

  “Very nice,” Susan said approvingly. She linked an arm through her daughter’s, still holding her grandchild. “Come into the living room, Sheila. We’re settling in for a nice, long visit. Walter’s taking over my patients, and your father’s partner is covering his. With you on maternity leave, none of us will be interrupted by that infernal beeping.” There had been times, even at her most dedicated moments, that Susan Pollack would have loved to have thrown her beeper into the harbor. “We can have a nice, long conversation.

  “Oh, by the way, did I tell you that the baby can call me Grandee?” Susan smiled triumphantly. She’d never cared for the term grandmother. “It has a nice ring to it, and it won’t make me feel so old.”

  Ted laughed and shook his head as he followed the women in his life into the living room. “You’ll never look old, Susan.”

  Susan murmured an appreciative sound. Inclining her head toward her daughter’s, she confided, “He has lines he hasn’t even begun to try out on me.” She glanced over her shoulder at Ted. “I am truly looking forward to the second half of my life.”

  Sheila could readily believe that. “Where did you get a name like Grandee?”

  “It’s a mispronunciation of grandmother.” One of the technicians at the hospital had mentioned it recently in passing. The woman’s granddaughter had run the words together. “I rather like it.”

  Grandee. It had a royal sound to it that rather suited her mother, Sheila thought.

  There was a navy blue Mercedes parked in the driveway. The model was at least ten years old, but the car was in mint condition. He wondered who it belonged to as he hit the garage door opener and drove his car inside. The license plate on the Mercedes read MD X 2. One of Sheila’s friends from the hospital was obviously dropping by to see the baby.

  He grinned to himself as he thought how normal that sounded. After the life-style he’d been forced to live in the last few months, normal and mundane looked pretty damn good to him.

  Wanting to wash up first before he met any of Sheila’s friends, Slade let himself into the house through the garage. The bathroom was just off to the side, but as he turned toward it, he saw Sheila out of the corner of his eye. She was in the kitchen, getting something from the bottom shelf in the pantry. She was wearing slacks and bending over, giving him a very tempting view of her bottom.

  It was Sheila’s bottom, no mistake about it. He’d know it anywhere, he grinned to himself. Ingrid was smaller than Sheila, and almost painfully thin.

  Giving in to whimsy, Slade snuck up behind her and grabbed her by the waist. She squealed in surprise.

  “Don’t you know you’re supposed to be resting?” He laughed as he spun her around. His mouth was an inch away from making contact with hers when he stopped short, stunned. “You’re not Sheila.”

  The gasp turned into a shaky breath before Susan laughed out loud. This had to be Slade. “No, I’m not.” She smiled warmly at her son-in-law. Sheila had good taste. “And it won’t be the first time that I wish I was.”

  Realizing that he was still holding the woman, Slade released her. She looked like Sheila, and yet, she didn’t. Slade took a step back.

  “Who—?” He regrouped, studying the woman’s face. The resemblance was unmistakable. “Sheila didn’t tell me she had a sister.”

  Oh, yes, she was going to like this man. “And with good reason. She doesn’t.” Susan ran her hand through her hair, patting it into place. Vanity had never been her strong suit, but she wished she had a comb right now. “I’m her mother.”

  “Susan.” Theodore entered the room, looking from the stranger in his daughter’s kitchen to his wife. “What’s going on here?”

  Susan turned so that she could thread her hand through her husband’s arm. Was that just the slightest tinge of jealousy she saw in his eyes? How wonderful, after all these years.

  “I believe I came very close to finding out what it was that made Sheila get married so quickly.”

  Belatedly, Sheila entered the room, hurrying over to her parents. This wasn’t exactly the way she had hoped to introduce them to Slade, amid commotion and confusion. Nothing, it seemed, was going according to plan these days.

  Humor tugged at Ted’s mouth as he witnessed the distress he saw in both Sheila and her new husband’s eyes. “Sheila, I think your husband is hitting on my wife.”

  “Whoa.” Slade held up his hands, forming a T. “Time out.”

  Slowly, he looked from one parent to the other. He had seen them, albeit from a distance, the night he had met Sheila at the fund-raiser. These definitely did not look like the same people. They looked far too approachable and friendly. The couple who had chaired the affair had been handsome, but brittle. He couldn’t have pictured either one of them in jeans on a bet.

  “You’re Doctors Pollack?” Slade paused, realizing that he had to sound like a blithering idiot. “How do you address a husband and wife team, both of whom are doctors?”

  “In this case, Mom and Dad.” Ted took Slade’s hand and shook it heartily. “You know, I always wanted a son.”

  Susan looked at her husband in surprise. After Sheila was born, they had both agreed that she would be an only child. “You never told me.”

  There were a great many things they hadn’t shared. But they would now. “I thought it would be unfair to tell you how I felt. You hardly had time for Sheila. Two children would have been impossible for you.” His eyes shifted to his daughter’s face. There was so much he had missed. So much he could never recapture. “Not that I didn’t shortchange you, too.”

  There was a time she would
have welcomed this. Now, a mother herself, she understood how it could have happened. Sheila raised her hand to halt the apology.

  “Stop. No more mea culpa, all right? We start with a fresh slade—slate,” she corrected herself quickly, biting her lip as she glanced at Slade. He was laughing at her slip.

  “Fresh slate it is,” her father agreed gamely.

  A smile played on Susan’s lips as she looked at her new son-in-law. “I have a feeling Slade is fresh enough as it is.” She slipped an arm each through both her daughter’s and her son-in-law’s arms. “So, why don’t we all go back into the living room and get acquainted? I was just getting some cookies out of the pantry before you frisked met.”

  Ted raised a brow as he looked at Slade. “He frisked you?”

  Susan laughed. “Not in the biblical sense, Ted. You can do that later.”

  Slade lowered his voice as he asked Sheila, “These are your parents?” These were the people she said never even slept in the same bed together? They seemed pretty playful to him.

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered back. “I think I’ll have Celeste check to see if there are any empty human-size pods lying around their house. In the meantime, I intend to enjoy these people, whoever they are.” She grinned at her parents, fully intending to do exactly as she said.

  Remembering, she looked at Slade. “Did you get everything settled at the paper?”

  They were still negotiating over his new position. He’d tell her about it when it was all over. “For now,” he murmured.

  Sheila wondered what he meant by that, but for the time being, she was dealing with enough mysteries just entertaining her parents. She’d ask Slade about his vague answer later.

  Along with a lot of other questions she had for him.

  Chapter Eight

  Sheila turned up the baby monitor beside her bed. Rebecca, bless her, was sleeping peacefully. Ingrid had just returned from her late class on campus and had gone to bed.

  The young woman had passed Sheila’s parents in the driveway on their way home. They had remained all day. Sheila couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent an entire day in the company of either of her parents, much less both.

  If she was given to pinching herself, she would have, just to see if this was all just a dream, after all. The day had had that kind of quality to it.

  She watched Slade as he went to close the blinds. His muscles rippled as he tugged at the stubborn cord. Accustomed to having to sleep in his clothes, he didn’t even own a pair of pajamas. Shirtless, he wore only cutoffs to bed. Very frayed cutoffs that clung to him like another skin.

  Sheila crossed to the window and opened it. It was getting much too warm in here.

  Catching Slade’s eye, she smiled. He had gone out of his way to entertain her parents today, fascinating them both with some of his stories about his experiences as a foreign correspondent. Her father had countered with stories of his own. They weren’t nearly as harrowing, but just as deeply moving. They got along famously.

  All in all, it had been a great evening.

  “My parents like you.” They had both said as much to her as they took their leave.

  Slade turned to look at her. A shaft of moonlight ate away at her nightgown, framing her body like a luscious silhouette. It made him ache just to look at her. He blew out a breath slowly. He’d made it this far, he could wait out a few more weeks, he told himself.

  Maybe.

  Turning down his side of the bed, he grinned at her comment. “Why not? I’m a likable guy.”

  No inferiority complex here, she thought with a laugh. “Have we decided that yet?”

  He moved to her side of the bed, folding over the comforter. “Yes. We had a vote.”

  She arched a brow. Was he including Ingrid in this? “We?”

  He nodded. “Becky and I. She’s nuts about me, you know,” he confided smugly. “So it’s unanimous. You can throw your vote in on our side if you want to look good,” he offered magnanimously.

  What was it about this man that made her want to laugh, to forget about her responsibilities and go running barefoot on the beach? Was it just her, or did he have this effect on every woman?

  Probably. But he was hers.

  Or so he said, a tiny voice whispered, but she shut it away. She didn’t want anything spoiling this.

  She struggled to maintain a straight face. “That’s the second time you did that. I’m beginning to get the feeling that I’m being railroaded.”

  The face of innocence, Slade pulled an imaginary cord overhead and cried, “Toot-toot.” Then, before she was able to say anything in response, Slade pulled her into his arms.

  Sheila saw the kiss coming a mile away. And waited for it. Maybe even ran toward it, she wasn’t sure. One minute she was laughing, the next, she was up on her toes, her head tilted back, her mouth eagerly slanting against his.

  Instantly, her blood heated and her head might as well have been an apple bobbing in a tub full of water for all the coherent thoughts that were occupying it. It swam as the kiss deepened.

  The taste of his mouth was every bit as potent as it had had been that night they met.

  Maybe even more so, because now he no longer represented the mysterious, dangerous unknown that she had jumped into with both feet. Now she knew what was waiting for her.

  Or thought she did.

  Yet every time he kissed her, the effect was that much more intense, that much more bone melting. Lord, but she wanted to make love with him. Never mind that she was struggling to get her life back in order with this new set of ramifications. Never mind that she had grown up believing that marriages never worked, never delivered the promise that was made.

  Her parents had just blown that premise all to hell. Now what was she to believe?

  Her heart, she thought, wanting to believe that with every fiber of her being. Her heart.

  She sighed when the kiss ended, sorry that his lips had left hers. Knowing that for the time being, it was for the best. Why play with matches when you weren’t allowed to make a fire?

  “Yup, definitely railroaded.”

  It was comfortable in his arms. And safe, she thought. Funny that she should feel that way. She’d never thought that she needed to feel safe from anything before. But he made her feel safe. She nodded toward the bed reluctantly. For the time being, they couldn’t do anything in it but sleep.

  “Time for bed.” She got in on her side, pulling the covers up around her. “I can get in maybe three hours before Her Highness wants me again.” If she was lucky, she added silently.

  Slade slid in beside her, trying to get comfortable. He frowned as he laced his fingers beneath his head, cradling it. He glanced in her direction.

  “There’s definite sainthood involved here.” Sheila raised a brow at him quizzically. “Lying here beside you and acting like a Boy Scout. That has got to qualify me for some sort of heavenly recognition for valor above and beyond the call of duty.”

  Sheila leaned over and brushed a kiss on his lips. “Sir Galahad,” she corrected him. “Not a Boy Scout. Some of the Boy Scouts I knew when I was growing up would have never earned a merit badge, unless it was in intentional groping.”

  She’d told him that she didn’t sleep around and he believed her. But how many men had there been in her life? Had there been one serious lover before him? He broke a cardinal rule and asked. “Did they intentionally grope with you a lot?”

  Without fully realizing it, she curled her body up against his. “They tried.”

  Yes, he could definitely see any red-blooded boy trying. There was a portrait of her as a teenager hanging in the family room, part of a family collage. He would be willing to bet that she’d never had an unpretty day in her life.

  “But—?” Slade coaxed.

  She laughed to herself as she remembered Billy Rafferty and where his persistence had gotten him. He wailed that his lip was going to bleed for days.

  “I was a tomboy.” She doubled a fist.
“I had no brother to protect me, so I did it on my own.”

  He liked her independence, he thought. It struck him as a very sexy quality. Slade covered her hand with his own, then turned it over and examined it. It was a delicate hand, one that could have belonged to a surgeon or a gifted musician. And right now, it held him in its palm.

  “Looks lethal,” he teased. He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “Remind me never to go up against you.” His eyes held hers. “I’m a pacifist.”

  She doubted if she had ever been gullible enough to swallow that one.

  “Like hell you are.” Not if she was to believe any of the stories he’d told tonight. Not that he bragged in any manner. It was more what he didn’t say at times than what he did. During his stint overseas, he didn’t just stand back and record the news. At times, he was part of it. Like the time he helped smuggle a family marked for execution the next day over the border during the night. She knew that Slade would only be a pacifist if there was no more injustice in the world.

  It made her proud of him.

  “No, really,” he said, humor tugging at his mouth.

  Unconvinced, she settled against him with a contented sigh. “I bet you raised a lot of hell as a kid.”

  The sigh played along the skin on his arm, stirring a shiver he had to control. “My share,” he admitted. Slade thought that over. Actually, he’d probably given his mother a lot of grief in his time. “Well, maybe more than my share.”

  She felt her eyes beginning to drift shut. “I guess it must have been hard on you.” She struggled to stifle a yawn. “Growing up without a father.”

  There was something they had to clear up. “Well, as a matter of fact—”

  The yawn escaped despite her best efforts. “It was for me.” Slade looked down at her, bewildered. She could see his reaction in the mirrored vanity. “There were times I felt as if I was growing up without a father or a mother. They were always out there, helping others.” Her voice was growing low as sleep beckoned her. “I was proud of that, but jealous, too. I thought that I had to break a leg or come down with some fascinating diseases just to get their attention.” She laughed to herself as she thought of her parents the way they were tonight. “I can’t believe the transformation.”