The Non-Commissioned Baby

by Maureen Child

  He stepped into the apartment and paused to take a deep, appreciative whiff of the delicious aromas drifting out of the kitchen.

  Man, how things changed. Only a few weeks ago, he would have been coming home to an empty apartment, a microwavable dinner and maybe a rented movie.

  Domestic bliss. Who knew it would feel so good?

  From the kitchen came Miranda’s garbled attempts at talking and the distinct sound of Laura, singing.

  Grinning, he tossed his hat onto the table and started across the room. In the entryway, he stopped dead.

  “Hi,” Laura said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Stunned, Jeff’s gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again. The transformation started with her hair. She’d had it trimmed, and now it lay neatly just above her shoulders in a soft wave that tempted him even from across the room to run his fingers through it. But she hadn’t stopped with her hairdo.

  She wore a pale peach tank top, its thin, delicate fabric caressing and outlining the swell of her breasts. The hem of that shirt came to an abrupt end just above her waist, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of skin. Pastel yellow shorts clung to her hips and thighs, with the determined grip of a lover’s hands, displaying every curve with detailed precision.

  Shaking his head, Jeff rubbed his suddenly dry mouth and muttered a fervent “Wow.”

  Laura’s smile warmed him. “Thanks,” she said.

  “What’s the occasion for the shopping trip?” he asked, wondering why all of a sudden she had come out from under wraps, so to speak.

  “No occasion,” she told him, and tore the lettuce into salad-size bites. “I just decided it was time.”

  “I approve,” he said, in a gross understatement.

  “Good,” she told him. “Now, you’re just in time to set the table.”

  Smiling, he bent down, kissed the top of Miranda’s head, then walked to the cabinet where the plates were kept.

  He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her all through dinner. Hell, Jeff thought, if someone asked him what he had just eaten, he couldn’t have said. For all he’d tasted of it, it might as well have been sawdust.

  From the moment he’d seen her in those new clothes, he’d felt hope shimmering through him. There had to be a reason for her abrupt shift from frump to fashion plate. He couldn’t help thinking that maybe it wasn’t just a new wardrobe she was in the market for. But a new life, as well.

  A life with him.

  “Do you smell something?” Laura asked suddenly, wrinkling her nose.

  “What?” It took him a moment to come back from his daydreams. He sniffed the air and frowned. Definitely something burning. Glancing behind her, he asked, “Did you leave a burner on accidentally?”

  “No,” she said, but dutifully got up, walked to the stove and checked anyway. She shook her head as she looked at him.

  He pushed up from his chair and walked quickly around the apartment. Odd. The smell seemed to get stronger the closer he moved to the front door. That couldn’t be right.

  Then he heard it.

  A shriek of sound, muffled but distinct. Almost like a—Realization dawned with the impact of a bullet.

  Reacting instantly, he shouted, “Smoke alarm downstairs. There’s a fire.” He reached the kitchen in a few short strides and snatched Miranda from her high chair. The baby yelped at such abrupt treatment, but he couldn’t take the time to reassure her.

  Old but not forgotten feelings surged in his bloodstream. A strange mixture of tenor and calm, panic and logic asserted itself in his brain. As if he were on a battlefield again, he took charge, already planning the best way for his troops—now his family—to survive.

  His gaze shot to Laura. He saw her cheeks pale and watched her brown eyes widen in alarm. Immediately, he snapped, “Don’t panic.” He waited for her gaze to clear as she looked at him. Only then did he continue. “We probably have lots of time. Let’s just get outside. Now.”

  She jerked him a stiff nod, then turned, not for the front door, but for her bedroom.

  “Where the hell are you going?” he demanded.

  “To get Miranda’s jacket.”

  “Forget the damn jacket,” he told her, taking the few steps that separated her from him. Grabbing hold of her arm, he started dragging her toward the only exit. “Get out of the building—that’s all that’s important.”

  Clutching Miranda to his chest, despite her struggles to get free, Jeff stopped at the door and took the time to touch his palm to the wooden panel. Cool. He breathed an inward sigh of relief. At least he knew there wasn’t a wall of fire in the hallway, waiting to engulf them.

  He twisted the knob, poked his head out the opening to check the situation, then stepped into the hall. “Come on,” he said to Laura.

  She moved out to stand beside him and reached for the baby.

  “I’ll carry her,” he said, his tone brooking no arguments. “You stay behind me. Take hold of my belt and don’t let go.” No matter what else happened, he didn’t want to take the chance of losing her. If she was holding on to him, he would know where she was at all times.

  They passed Agnes Butler’s door, and he stopped long enough to pound on it. “Agnes!” he shouted, then paused to listen for an answer. When none came, he told himself she was already outside. He couldn’t wait. His instincts told him to get his Laura and Miranda to safety quickly.

  The door of the only other apartment on the top floor stood open. Apparently, that tenant hadn’t even bothered to close his door on the way out.

  Jeff kept going along the carpeted runner. Strange, he didn’t remember the hall being this long before. It seemed to be taking forever to reach the stairs.

  His gaze narrowed sharply. At the end of the hall, just past the elevator, a tentacle of smoke reached the head of the stairs.

  His chest tightened. His mouth went dry.

  The ribbon of gray mist curled and twisted on the ceiling before sidling farther down the hall, toward them. The shrill bleat of the smoke alarm was louder now and sounded like the screams of the damned.

  Ignoring the whisper of fear rattling around in his head, Jeff hurried his steps, forcing himself to lead his family into the smoke. There was no other way. They couldn’t take the elevator. They had to use the stairs.

  “Jeff,” Laura said tightly, “the baby. She’ll choke.”

  The smoke was at eye level now and falling with every passing second. Soon none of them would be able to draw a breath without gasping.

  “She’ll be all right,” he answered, then he shifted Miranda so that her small face was turned into his chest. He cupped the back of her head, holding her in place. She’d still be able to breathe, but hopefully she wouldn’t take in much smoke. “Stay down,” he said. “Keep low.” They hunched their shoulders, trying to keep their faces below the dropping gray curtain. “Okay,” he told her. “Let’s go.”

  They plunged down the stairs, their bodies slicing through the wisps of smoke, tearing it into strips that writhed around them like ghostly ropes, trying to hold them back. Keep them inside.

  The front door stood open, and Jeff made right for it.

  On the lawn, people from all over the street were gathered. A surfer and a middle-aged businessman type had garden hoses in their hands, the streams of water aimed through the windows of one of the three apartments on the ground floor.

  Down the four short steps to the grass, and still he didn’t stop. Not until he had Laura and Miranda a safe distance from the fire that had threatened everything he held dear.

  Under the heavy limbs of a gnarled maple tree, he released Miranda from his stranglehold and laughed when she made a face and howled her displeasure. She sounded wonderful. In the next instant, he half turned, pulling Laura into the circle of his arms, while still juggling an infuriated infant.

  “All right?” he asked, dipping his head to plant a kiss on Laura’s forehead.

  “Yeah,” she answered, tipping her face up to hi
s, showing him a small, frightened smile.

  She was breathing heavily, and her eyes still looked a little glassy, but otherwise, she was fine. Jeff sent a quick, heartfelt prayer of gratitude heavenward, then shifted his gaze to look over the group of people.

  Absently, he noted the sound of sirens as emergency vehicles raced their way.

  Jeff frowned and swept the faces of the crowd again, looking for and not finding one particular person.

  “Agnes,” he muttered. A sinking sensation flared up in the pit of his stomach and slowly unfurled fingers of dread.

  “What? What about her?” Laura asked, turning her head to stare at the building behind them.

  “She’s not here,” he said, his voice scraping against his throat. He handed the baby to Laura and started walking toward the apartment house. “She didn’t get out.”

  “Are you sure?” Laura asked, following in his footsteps.

  “No,” he turned his head this way and that, checking out the faces surrounding him. No, he wasn’t sure. She might have gone to a neighbor’s, but the neighbors were all here, watching the commotion. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

  Laura’s hands gripped the baby tightly. “Oh God, Jeff...”

  He had to check. He had to make sure the older woman had made it to safety. Just the thought of Agnes Butler trying to maneuver her way through a burning building alone was enough to get him moving.

  “Stay here,” he ordered in a tone that had been known to make privates and corporals leap for cover. He paused long enough to stroke her cheek, then he was running. Running toward the open doorway where smoke billowed out into the evening.

  Laura watched him disappear into the thick gray fog and kept her gaze locked on the last spot she’d seen him. She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t draw a breath.

  Lord. Standing beside her one minute, he’d been gone in the next. Maybe forever. What if he was overcome by the smoke? What if the fire spread despite the neighbors’ efforts? What if the fire department got here too late?

  So many risks. So many dangers.

  Her heart pounding, she told herself that he was a trained soldier. He would be all right. Her blood chilled. A career Marine. A man schooled in war and battle. A man who could be sent off to fight in some far-off place at any time.

  Danger and risk were a part of his life. Death was never too far from a man whose job it was to fight his country’s enemies.

  Tremors rocked her. How had she allowed herself to become even remotely involved with Jeff? Why hadn’t she ever once stopped to think about his being a Marine? A warrior?

  Oh God, oh God, oh God... The phrase kept repeating in her brain, over and over like some ancient chant designed to ward off evil spirits. But she knew that frantic prayers and hastily offered deals to the Almighty didn’t work. Nothing worked. Nothing could keep him safe if some odd twist of Fate decided that tonight was his night to die.

  Oh, please, she thought, terrified. Not Jeff. Not now. Not yet. Not yet? her brain screeched. When, then? After they’d lived together and loved together and had more children? Would then be the time to lose him? Would the pain be less or more?

  Tears stung her eyes. She told herself they were caused by the smoke, but she knew that one for a lie even as she thought it. Fear was the enemy here. Her fears. Her weaknesses. Her body trembled, and her grip on Miranda tightened in response.

  She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t risk it.

  Not again. Not ever again.

  She didn’t realize just how tightly she was holding on to Miranda until the baby squirmed against her uncomfortably. Immediately, Laura loosened her grasp a bit, trying at the same time to fight down her fears. The infant’s cries continued to blast into the lavender twilight and seemed to intensify when the emergency trucks pulled up behind them.

  In seconds, firemen were streaming across the lawn. Pushing the crowd back to safety, they unreeled their water hoses and took over the task of quelling the fire.

  A man, a paramedic she thought, came up to her, wanting to check her and the baby over, but Laura only shook her head. They were fine, she knew. Maybe later, she would let the man examine Miranda, but not now. For now, she had to concentrate her focus and her prayers on that front door.

  Jeff, she thought frantically, what’s taking him so long? Why wasn’t he out yet? Why wasn’t he there, beside her?

  Old fears rose up and threatened to choke her. Her throat closed up tight, and she had to struggle to breathe. Not again, she prayed. Please don’t let the man she loved die. Not again.

  She groaned, an aching rumble of fear and pain that came from deep in her soul. She wasn’t merely involved with the man. It was far worse than that. Dear God, she loved him. Despite her efforts. Despite everything, she loved him. More deeply, more completely than she had ever loved before.

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she acknowledged that her feelings for Bill couldn’t compare to the depth of the emotions she felt for Jeff.

  She doubted anything could.

  Swiping one hand across her eyes, she jiggled Miranda on one hip and squinted into the smoky haze filling the entryway of the apartment building. As if she could will him to safety, she concentrated on the image of his face and tried to silence the terror building inside her. But it wouldn’t be denied its chance to torment her.

  Where was he?

  Why hadn’t he come out yet?

  Fear rippled along her spine. Dread echoed in her brain as one word repeated itself over and over. Gone, gone, gone.

  Laura choked back a sob. No. She couldn’t go through this again, she told herself.

  She would never survive the pain.

  Laura dragged a deep gulp of air into her lungs and reminded herself that this was why she had hidden for so long. This was why she had decided not to love again. This was the agony she’d thought and hoped and prayed to avoid.

  To no avail.

  Desperate tears stung her eyes as endless seconds ticked by.

  Then he was there.

  Agnes Butler clutched firmly to his chest. Jeff, his face sooty, stepped through the now thinning haze.

  His gaze found hers instantly.

  And Laura lived again.

  Eleven

  It wasn’t much of a fire really, more smoke than flame. Someone had allowed the water in a pan to boil away and by the time they’d caught it, their kitchen was filled with smoke, driving them outside.

  The quick-thinking neighbors with their garden hoses had pretty much saved the day. A few hours later, the fire department allowed the tenants back into the building.

  Adrenaline still pumping through his blood, Jeff stood at the window in the living room while Laura put the baby to bed. He stared out at the neon and what stars he could make out in spite of the reflected lights of the town and tried to calm himself.

  Everyone was fine. Nothing tragic had happened. Although, he thought with a brief smile, Agnes Butler might never be the same. She’d been wearing earphones to listen to her stereo and hadn’t heard the smoke alarms go off. Jeff still wasn’t sure how she had finally heard him pounding on her door, but he’d never forget the look on her face when he’d told her there was a fire in the building.

  She’d even submitted to being carried out because, though it had hurt her pride to admit it, she was too slow to make good time.

  Idly, he reached up and touched the cheek she had deigned to kiss once he’d carried her to safety. Of course, he realized that her newfound fondness for him probably wouldn’t last long.

  Inhaling sharply, he set his hands on either side of the window frame and leaned in, resting his forehead on the cool glass pane.

  He shouldn’t be as churned up inside as he was. Why wasn’t he calming down now that the threat to his family was over? Abruptly, he shoved away from the window and started pacing. His footsteps echoed through the room like a thundering heartbeat.

  Was the threat gone, though? he wondered. Pushing both hands across the sides of his head,
he shot a quick glance at Laura’s closed bedroom door. Inside that room were the two most important people in the world to him. And he could have lost them both tonight.

  Hell, what was driving him insane was that he could still lose Laura. He’d seen the look on her face and recognized it. Shell shock. The same expression he’d seen carved into the features of people who had watched their homes and lives destroyed by war.

  People who had given up on life.

  The bedroom door opened quietly, and he snapped his head around. She stood framed in the doorway. Dim light from the corner lamp fell on her, dusting her in a pale ivory glow. His chest tightened as his gaze locked on her shadow-filled brown eyes.

  He had the distinct feeling that she was drawing away from him even as they stood there, staring at each other.

  Laura had heard him before she’d opened the door. His footsteps quick, almost angry, he’d been pacing the apartment floor like a caged tiger.

  If there had been a way to avoid him, she would have. Cowardly or not.

  She let her gaze slide from his. Her emotions were still too close to the surface. She didn’t want him to be able to see the conflict raging inside her.

  “Miranda all right?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

  “Yes. She’s asleep.” Keep the sentences short, she told herself. Don’t invite a conversation.

  “Good,” he said. “Because we have to talk.”

  “Not now,” Laura told him, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, hoping for some warmth to dispel the chill that seemed to have settled in her bones.

  “You can’t put this off,” he said, starting toward her.

  Laura quickly sidestepped, moving for the kitchen. Keep busy, she thought. Make coffee. Do the dishes. Anything. “Hasn’t there been enough activity for one night?” she asked quietly from over her shoulder.

  “No,” he said, then paused. “Damn it, Laura,” he continued, following her into the tiny kitchen. “Stand still and listen to me.”