The Marine's Babies (Men Made In America)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Shoot,” Granola said, voice muffled into his flight helmet’s microphone.

  “You know this nanny I’ve hired?”

  “Yeah. Altitude two-two-zero reached.”

  “Check. One-two-zero K-T-A-S reached. No unusual vibrations. Control position normal.” Jace confirmed the maneuver area was clear before launching the next portion of the test. “She’s a sharp cookie. Cute, too.”

  “No rotor instability,” Granola said when Jace had finished his portion of the test. “You thinking of asking her out?”

  “No way. Wouldn’t she be morally off limits?” Jace initiated a climb.

  “I don’t see why. Control positioning check.”

  Grunting, Jace performed a series of left-and right-bank angle turns. As expected, everything checked out fine. Returning to base at normal cruising altitude, Jace said, “She used to be some kind of financial guru. She’s not married and she doesn’t have kids, but damn, does she know her way around babies.”

  Granola suggested, “Maybe, like Pam, she grew up in a big family?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You ever think of asking her all of this instead of me?”

  “S’pose I could,” Jace said, banking left, “but she’s kind of frosty.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes she just rubs me the wrong way. Like she expects me to be something I’m not.”

  “Like a father?” Granola asked.

  “Think you’re funny, do you?” Jace threw the helicopter into a hard and fast sixty-degree bank.

  “MOM,” Emma said into her cell while filling her Volvo’s empty gas tank. “I promise I’m fine. Happy even.” The twins were strapped into their safety seats with the front windows down, so the air inside the vehicle didn’t get too hot.

  “That’s quite a change from the last time we talked. When I told you to get on with your life, I was hoping for that to happen sometime over the next few months. Not in a few days.”

  “What can I say? An opportunity came up, and I went for it. I’ve always loved children. You were the one who told me I should borrow some. So, that’s essentially what I did.”

  “Great. For once you actually followed my advice. But honey, gauging your happiness level, somewhere along the line you’ve forgotten these aren’t your children.” Her mother’s insinuation that Emma somehow didn’t already understand this fact was insulting. “Plus, you don’t even know the man you’re working for. What if he’s some kind of deviant?”

  Topping off the tank, Emma sighed. “He’s not a deviant, Mom. He’s a Marine. I seriously doubt any guy the U.S. Marine Corps trusts with a multi-million-dollar piece of equipment is going to go Hannibal Lecter on me.”

  “I didn’t say he was, honey, only that I’m worried about you. Just a week ago, you were so deep into your own thoughts you could hardly carry a normal conversation. Now, you’re all of a sudden healed. Don’t you think I should be concerned?”

  What Emma thought was that her mom should mind her own business.

  Emma said her goodbyes, grabbed her receipt from the pump and then climbed back behind the wheel of her car.

  Beatrice was cranky—had been all through their trip to the grocery store—and was fitfully crying. “We’re on our way home, ladybug,” she soothed, checking on her in the rearview mirror.

  She popped a sing-along children’s disc into the CD player, and turned the volume to High.

  Bronwyn, at least, happily kicked and cooed.

  At the house, Emma made quick work of unloading the babies, then the groceries. Bronwyn seemed content on a pink quilt on the living room carpet, lying on her back, grinning at the mirror and dangling shapes on her baby gym. Beatrice, however, wasn’t so easily amused.

  After trying a bottle, baby-food peaches and pears, a diaper change and burping, Emma settled for good old-fashioned rocking in Jace’s navy leather recliner.

  Cradling her close, tucking Beatrice’s head beneath her chin, Emma sang softly. “Hush little baby, don’t you cry, Momma’s gonna sing you a lullaby…”

  Soon enough, Beatrice had calmed, and then fallen asleep. Lots of times when Henry had been cranky, Emma had found that nothing but human contact soothed. Emma guessed it worked for grown-ups, too, since she had isolated herself from family and friends up north, but still hadn’t found solace. Yet here, now, with two infants and an oftentimes infuriating lug of a Marine, she truly was feeling better than she had in months.

  No matter what her mother might think!

  Since it was nearing six, Emma knew she should start dinner, but she hated to disturb the baby, who had finally fallen asleep.

  A key sounded in the front-door lock, and in walked Jace, wearing his usual grin. His complexion looked sun-kissed, as if he’d spent the day outdoors. “Hey,” he said, setting his flight bag on the tiled entry floor. “How’re my girls?”

  “Better now,” Emma said, her voice soft so as not to wake Beatrice. “This one’s had a rough day.”

  “She’s not sick is she?” Jace crossed the short distance to the recliner, kneeling alongside it, putting his hand on the infant’s forehead. “She doesn’t feel hot.”

  “No. Maybe she just misses her mom. I suppose it’s only natural.”

  Jace stayed quiet.

  “No word from the PI?”

  “Nope.” Exhaustion weighing his shoulders, he rose, then dropped onto the sofa, unlacing his boots.

  “How would you feel if Vicki abruptly showed up?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a fluid situation. At first, I was panicked enough by the girls’ tag-team screaming that I probably would’ve given Vicki another chance at motherhood. But now…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You all right?” Emma asked. “You look pasty.”

  “I feel pasty.” In a decidedly un-Marine-like pose of vulnerability, he covered his face with his hands. “Em? What if I never figure out how to be a good dad? What if I lack the parental gene?”

  Beatrice still in her arms, Emma rocked up and out of the chair to sit alongside Jace. “When you held this one in the park—really held her—she nestled against you like she’d known you forever. Because she has. You’re her father, Jace. Your DNA is hers—and her sister’s. You can’t help but grow into an amazing father.”

  He snorted.

  “What?”

  “Your logic is ludicrous. If all it took to be a perfect parent was DNA, then what was Vicki’s excuse?”

  Emma lowered her gaze. Agreed with him, did she?

  Jace knew he’d have been laughed out of the Corps for admitting it, but right at that moment, he was jealous of a six-month-old for being held by Emma. In three tours of duty in hellacious war zones, he couldn’t remember ever having been this scared.

  “Trust me,” Emma said. “Stop a second to look at who you are. What you do. If you have enough intellect and courage to fly a helicopter in the most dangerous parts of the world, then can’t you use that same chutzpah to raise two amazing babies into well-rounded, happy and healthy grown women?”

  Eyes stinging, throat tight, Jace nodded.

  “So then you’re feeling better about the whole situation?”

  “Sure,” he lied. “Only how am I going to pay for two sets of braces? Two cars? Two college degrees?” Cheeks flaming, he added, “Holy hell, what if one—or both—want to become doctors or lawyers? But then, that might be a good thing, right? Because they’ll have nice, safe jobs and meet straight-laced types who—”

  “Whoa.” Emma curved her hand around his shoulder, telling herself the jolt of heat was imagined. “The girls are six months old, Jace. You’re getting ahead of yourself on the old worry tree. For now, let’s stick with introducing a few more solid foods and baby-proofing all of your cabinets and electrical outlets.”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Baby-proofing. Good plan.”

  “Jace…” her tone was soft. A verbal pillow on which to rest his turbulent emotions. “Trust me, down
the line—weeks from now, maybe even months—you’ll never be able to imagine your life before Bea and Bronwyn entered it. Being a parent is…” In the living room’s dim light, her eyes shone. Was she on the verge of crying? “…the most wonderful thing you can imagine. Through these angels’ eyes, you’ll experience everything anew. Their first Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas. And just think, with every year, every occasion will be new again because the girls will be at a fresh stage of life. There will be trick-or-treating and baking cookies for Santa. Holding out your arms to them when they run off the school bus ecstatic to see you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she turned to brush them away. “Anyway,” she added with a sniffle, “you have lots of good times ahead of you. I’m actually a little jealous.”

  “In that case,” he said, sensing that for whatever reason, she needed him to lighten the moment, “how about I give you the honor of handling the good—and stinky—surprise I’m guessing Bea just left in her diaper.”

  Chapter Five

  While changing Bea, Emma pondered how Jace had sensed she’d needed not only a joke, but a few moments of alone time to gather her composure. He hadn’t noticed her blubbering like a big baby herself, had he?

  “How’s it going?” he asked, standing behind her, his size dwarfing her. “Need help?”

  “I’m good,” she said, forcing a smile. Clearly, no matter what she’d told her mother about her current mental state, Emma was far from good. Dreaming about what her life might have been with Henry—his first words and steps, kindergarten and high-school graduations, along with all of the infinitely lovely steps in between—had been more than she could bear.

  “Listen,” he said, a still-grinning Bronwyn on his hip as he reached around Emma for the pink plastic powder bottle, “how about we call a sitter and head out for some grown-up time?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, like we go out to dinner or catch a movie? It’ll be fun, and Lord knows, we could use a little more of that around here.”

  “Didn’t you hear a word of what I just said?”

  “Sure. You said you were fine. You know? Like when I asked if you needed help changing Bea’s diaper.”

  Heat flamed Emma’s cheeks. Flames of fury. “Jace, when you have kids, life changes. Everything changes. Your children become your fun.”

  “Well, sure, but don’t you need a life of your own?”

  “Don’t you get it?” Hands on her hips, she snapped, “These twins are my life.”

  In the second it took for her to realize what she’d said, Jace froze.

  “My twins are your job, Emma.”

  “R-right. But I’ve always been the workaholic type,” she said as cover. Heart pounding, she added, “All I’m saying is that since they’re your flesh and blood, they should be fun.”

  “But at the moment, I’m needing more. Grown-up fun.” Turning his back on her, leaving the room, he asked, “Would you mind if I met a few of my guys at Jar’s Bar? I’d only be gone like an hour. Two, tops.”

  “Now? It’s almost seven. You haven’t even had dinner.”

  “I offered to take you out.”

  Lips pressed tight, Emma lifted Bea into her arms, holding her close, drawing in deep, calming breaths.

  “So?” Jace called from the living room. “Is it cool?”

  Assuming he was referring to his leaving, she called out, “Sure. I’ve got everything covered.”

  “Thanks. Bronwyn’s in her playpen.”

  And just like that, Jace was gone.

  As was any respect she might’ve had for him.

  “LEADFOOT!” Jace’s pal Grant called out from their favorite table. His official nickname was Fossil, seeing how he was pushing forty and still hadn’t been married. “You’re the last person I expected to see tonight.”

  “Yeah, well, you know how it is…” Jace sat in the chair across from his pal. “Quiet tonight. Where is everyone?”

  “Pam’s leading Granola around by a leash these days. Don’t know where everyone else is.” Fossil nursed his longneck bottle of beer.

  Jace nodded.

  Great. Now what? When he’d come up with the idea to join the guys, it’d seemed the answer to his every worry. Just one night of freedom, then he’d be ready to face everything. Fatherhood. His next flight plan. Handling his attraction to the nanny.

  “Asked Em out,” Jace said to his friend who’d turned his attention to the baseball game playing on the blurred, ancient big screen. The player’s uniforms all looked purple.

  “Oh?”

  “Turned me down.”

  “Ouch. Sorry, man.” Fossil waved to the waitress. “We’re gonna need a couple of shots over here. Tequila?” he asked Jace.

  Jace nodded.

  While Fossil relayed the order, Jace folded his arms, staring hard at the TV.

  Upon the waitress’s return, Jace downed the shot and asked for another.

  All told, there were only about twenty people in the bar. Mostly fellow Marines. A few couples. Some single women. The place was shabby: old wood bar, notched up with thousands of carved initials, dark-paneled walls, glowing with an odd assortment of neon beer signs and red carpet so stained with spilled beer and nacho cheese that if sun ever were to shine on it, the health department would shut the place down.

  “What’re you going to do?” Fossil asked during the next commercial break.

  “’Bout what?”

  “What do you think? The nanny.”

  “Oh. Right.” It might not be fatherly, but at the moment, after two quick shots, Jace was starting to feel a buzz, and didn’t want the memory of Emma’s furrowed forehead bringing him down.

  “How hot is she? Like smokin’ hot? Or just so-so.”

  Jace shot him a glare. “Let’s just say she’s the temporary mother of my kids and leave it at that.”

  “Done,” Fossil said, downing their latest round.

  Watching the game, Jace couldn’t fathom what’d made him defensive about Em. He hardly knew her, yet felt an odd sort of protectiveness toward her that he couldn’t begin to explain.

  Hours later, by the time Jace had drunk enough black coffee to drive safely, he swerved his Mustang around Em’s trusty Volvo wagon and into the garage.

  “Em?” he called out, entering the house through the kitchen door. Crap. A glance at the glowing red microwave clock told him he was an ass. A little after 2:00 a.m. He crept into the dimly lit living room to find Emma curled up on the sofa, snuggled under the ugly yellow afghan his Aunt Francie had made him for his thirtieth birthday.

  Just looking at her left hot, queasy lead in his gut.

  Fine dad he was turning out to be.

  So what did he do now? She was out cold, just like he wanted to be. Should he wake her to apologize for having stayed out so long? Or did he leave it till morning, hoping she’d fallen off to sleep around nine and had no idea what time he’d gotten home?

  He’d chosen to go with the latter when the silence was broken by a fitful cry coming from the nursery.

  Damn.

  Leaving Emma to head for the babies, Jace turned when she called his name in a hoarse tone.

  EMMA EASED UPRIGHT on the sofa. Once she had her bearings, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Late,” he said. “Go back to sleep. I’ll deal with the girls.”

  “Deal with them?” Scowling and shaking her head, she said, “Don’t bother. I’ve got it handled. Besides, you need a shower. You reek of booze and cigarettes.”

  “I’m sober and don’t smoke.”

  “Well, wherever you’ve been all night,” she said on her way to the babies’ room, “someone was smoking.”

  Jace sighed. “Look, it’s late. I’ve got an early flight schedule. Would you mind saving your lecture till I’ve gotten some sleep?”

  Bronwyn howled.

  Lifting her from her crib, Emma said, “I’m hardly lecturing you, Jace. You pay me to take care of your g
irls, which I’m doing. What you choose to do with the time you’re not at the house is none of my business.”

  The baby was soaked, so Emma made quick work of changing her, then hugging away her tears. Settling Bronwyn into her crib, Emma covered her, lightly patted her behind, and then yawned on her return trip to the living room.

  Grabbing her purse, she said, “Need me back at six?”

  “Stay.” Sighing, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be out so late. Forgive me?” The lopsided grin he shot her was cute, but he wasn’t about to get off that easy. He was a father now. What about that didn’t he get? “Please,” he said. “I’ll worry about you being out this late.”

  Shaking her head on her way out his front door, Emma mumbled, “My late-night driving is the least of your worries.”

  “DAMN,” Jace said under his breath upon arriving home the next night. He’d called Emma to tell her he was stopping by Jar’s Bar and would be a little late, but one thing had led to another, and before he’d known it, a table hockey tournie had broken out, and he’d had to defend his title.

  But now here he was in his kitchen, nine at night, staring at the remains of what earlier must have been an amazing meal. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Green beans. Even rolls, that now looked pale and stiff. Obviously Em had put a lot of time and heart into preparing all of it and once again, he’d come out looking like an ass.

  “You’re home.” Emma leaned against the kitchen door jamb, using her hand politely to cover a yawn. “Have fun?”

  It’d seemed like great fun at the time, but now, for perhaps the tenth time since meeting the woman, he felt less than heroic. “Um, sure. Thanks for cooking. You know it isn’t in your job description.”

  “Forgive me for being considerate. I thought you might be hungry after work.”

  “Aw, Em, that’s not—”

  “Emma.”

  “Sorry. Emma, I very much appreciate you having made me a decent meal. I sure as hell would’ve rather had something home-cooked than the chili burger burning a hole through my chest.”

  “Apology accepted. Um…” She gestured toward the living room. “The girls are both sleeping, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just go.”