The Marine's Babies (Men Made In America)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Granola ordered a meatball sub.

  And because Jace was too mentally exhausted to come up with his own order, he got the same. Armed with bottled waters and their order numbers, they managed to snag a table between five suited businessmen and two moms with four, noisy toddlers.

  “Noticed you haven’t been around much.” Granola took a napkin from a chrome holder, and wiped at an oily smudge on the table. “The nanny keeping you at home?”

  Jace shrugged. “Not really. I mean, when I’m out late, I can tell Emma’s not happy about it, but she never really says anything.”

  “I wouldn’t sweat it. Women are weird.”

  “You think I don’t know that? How else would I have ended up in this impossible situation? I get the feeling Em expects me to be this amazing super dad, but how the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on? Know what I mean?”

  “Not really,” his pal said with a wince, “but I feel your pain. Any chance of you two hooking up?”

  “No.”

  “I thought you said she’s hot?”

  Thankfully, Jace heard their numbers being called, which gave him an easy out for avoiding the subject.

  Once they’d each downed about half of their meals, Granola said, “Ask me, you should start staying out extra late.”

  “What’s that going to prove?” Jace took a swig of water. It didn’t help his indigestion.

  “You know? You’re the man. The boss of her.”

  “And…” Jace gestured for his friend to further explain.

  “You’re king of your castle. Don’t let her push you around.”

  Was that what was happening?

  Jace didn’t think so. More a case of him wanting to better himself, not for Em, but the twins. For himself, so the guilt forever droning in his head would once and for all still.

  “EMMA?” Three nights later, the girls were both screeching so loudly that Jace couldn’t tell if Emma had answered her home phone.

  “Jace? It’s like two in the morning.” It was 2:11 a.m. to be exact. While pacing and jiggling and feeding and trying every trick in his limited parental bag for the past three hours, Jace had felt every second of the night.

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure where else to turn. I can’t figure out why, but the girls are flipping out. Got any ideas on what’s bugging them?”

  “I’ll be right over.” The panic lacing her tone wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  “Hey, no. I don’t want you driving at this time of night. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Don’t you think I would if I could? Have you checked them for fever? Have you burped them? Bronwyn hit those green beans pretty hard. Maybe she’s gassy, and Beatrice is picking up on her discomfort?”

  “Like some kind of Twilight Zone twin thing?”

  “No,” she said, now sounding impatient. “Like the basic human instinct to feed off someone else’s mood. Haven’t you ever been around a friend who’s down, and then you in turn get moody? Or, vice versa, if you’re in a funk, someone else’s celebration lifts you out of it?” Sighing, she added, “Anyway, I’ll be right over.”

  “Forget it, Emma. I already told you I don’t want you on the roads at this hour. Do you know how many—”

  Click.

  She’d freakin’ hung up on him.

  Accustomed to having his orders followed, Jace hit Redial only to hear Emma’s phone ring and ring. Great. Now, on top of his worries about the munchkins, he had to obsess over the nanny swerving into a ditch, or getting hit by a drunk or falling asleep at the wheel, or—

  Good lord…

  Putting his phone back on the charger, Jace returned to the girls.

  He snatched them both up, along with their favorite fuzzy pink blankets. With the blankets sort of spread out, and both babies on top, he sat alongside them, patting their heads, then their backs and butts. Hell, if only he knew for sure how to burp a baby. Maybe he’d been doing it wrong?

  Obviously, this whole parenting thing was turning him into a head case. Em was a grown woman. Capable in anything he’d seen her try. And stubborn. She’d handle the twenty-minute drive just as she’d expertly handled everything else since taking over the running of his humble home.

  Eighteen minutes later, Emma’s car lights reflected off the few odd pictures hanging on the living-room wall. With the babies still wailing, not even during his Middle East stints had Jace been more grateful for back-up.

  Leaving the girls on their pink blanket pallet, he hopped up to greet Emma at the door. Pulling it open, he pulled her into a brief, but heartfelt hug.

  “Thank God,” he said over the racket. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “Thought you didn’t want me out driving at night?” She grinned before darting into the living room.

  Plopping cross-legged between the girls, she scooped one up, then the other. “Hey,” she crooned, her voice cotton-soft. “What’s the problem? You’re freaking out your father.”

  Beatrice paused long enough to hiccough.

  Bronwyn kept right on screaming.

  “Did you burp them?” Emma asked.

  “I’ve burped, rocked, fed, walked—nothing helps. Should we take them to the ER?”

  “Well…” she set down Bronwyn before feeling Bea’s forehead and belly. She did the same with the girl’s twin. “They don’t seem to have a fever. Have they thrown up or had diarrhea?”

  Jace shook his head.

  “Humph.” Emma frowned. “In my expert opinion, there’s only one thing left we can do.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ve done some crazy things in my life,” Jace said, “but this tops them all.”

  “Welcome to the joys of parenthood,” Emma quipped from behind her Volvo’s wheel. A whiny kiddie CD blared, but after driving around and around Olive’s empty, tree-lined streets for the past thirty minutes, Jace would’ve been happy to hear a jackhammer over more crying.

  Far-off lightning lit the western sky.

  “How’d you learn this trick?”

  “Driving around?” She shrugged. “Read about it somewhere. Best as I can remember, infants find the car’s sound and rhythm relaxing.”

  “Of course.” Jace thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  Emma took one hand off the wheel to cover a yawn.

  “Want me to drive?”

  She shot him a sideways smile. “If I can’t trust you to take care of these two for a few hours, why would I trust you with my car?”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “Actually, we can probably head back. They seem to be zonked to the world.”

  “Then this shouldn’t wake them,” he said, turning off the wretched CD. The damn thing could be put to equally good use as a form of psychological warfare.

  Silence. Lord, what a beautiful thing.

  “Success,” she said, turning onto the main thoroughfare leading back to the base.

  “Sorry.” He covered a yawn.

  “For what?”

  “Being such an incompetent when it comes to these two. When I couldn’t get them to stop crying, I can’t even explain the panic I was feeling. A kind of desperation I’m not equipped to deal with.”

  “You did okay. Anyone in your shoes would’ve had a tough time.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “This time. Who knows? Next time, it might be me calling you to hightail it home from work.”

  Not bloody likely, Jace thought, again wondering how she’d gotten to be so good at this whole parenting thing, having never had her own child.

  “THANKS, but I’ll just head home.” Jace had invited Emma to stay at his place for the rest of the night, but Emma’s heart told her that would be a bad idea. Just as being so near him in the car had been. As for that hug he’d greeted her with, was it wrong that her body still hummed with awareness? The intimacy of the small space in the car had done something to her, as had being awake at a time when she no
rmally would have been dreaming. Her senses had been heightened, making her hyperaware of every little thing. The heat of his upper arm brushing against hers. His scent. Sweat. Bay rum aftershave. Baby lotion and powder.

  A flash of lightning shone through the window. Thunder rolled.

  “Ridiculous,” he said, dragging linens from a hall closet. “Especially since it’s about to rain.”

  Together, they’d already put the babies in their cribs.

  “You really need to stop being so bossy where I’m concerned.”

  “Yeah, but aren’t I the boss?” In his room, he made fast work of stripping the existing sheets and blanket. “You crash in here. I’ll take the couch.”

  “But—” she yawned.

  “See?”

  “Okay,” she said over a fresh roll of thunder. “You’re right. I’m exhausted. But seeing as how you have to fly tomorrow and all I have to do is change diapers and read picture books, I’m taking the couch.”

  “Do you always have to be so obstinate?”

  Taking mismatched sheets and a crazy quilt from the hall closet, Emma aimed for the couch. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Have a problem with that?”

  “What I’m having a problem with is standing here fighting with you when we could be sleeping.”

  Point to Jace. “You’re right. Sorry. Truce?”

  “Depends.”

  Thunder boomed loudly enough to rattle the picture frames.

  She cocked her left eyebrow. “On what?”

  “Can I wrangle a couple of your amazing fried eggs in the morning?

  Covering another yawn, she said, “Deal.”

  THE NEXT THING Emma remembered was a sliver of sun tickling her nose, along with the scent of frying bacon. And something sweet. Pancakes?

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes, frowning.

  Instead of being on the couch where she’d drifted off to sleep, she was in Jace’s bed. Pushing back the covers, she stormed sleepy-eyed into the sun-flooded kitchen.

  The twins sat gumming teething biscuits in their high chairs. The orange goo already on their faces tipped her off to the fact that this was their second course.

  “Where’s your father?” she asked, taking a fresh dishcloth from the bottom drawer, wetting it with warm water, and then performing a quick clean-up.

  “Arrgghaalaaa,” Bronwyn said.

  “Gaaagroola,” Beatrice added.

  “Oh,” Emma couldn’t help but laugh, “thank you for that insightful answer.”

  “To what?” Jace asked. “I didn’t even hear the question.”

  Still grinning, despite her consternation with him, Emma said, “Good morning. My question wasn’t for you, but your daughters. Judging by their responses, I’m thinking you’ve got a couple of brainiacs on your hands.”

  “You’d expect less, considering I’m a major contributor to their gene pool?”

  “Ahh…” she nodded. “That explains a lot. Like how they eat with their fingers and love sucking their toes.”

  “You’d better watch that sass,” Jace teased, opening the oven door. “Your nanny skills might be top-notch, but you can be replaced.”

  Though Emma knew Jace had been joking about his threat, the reminder that all of this domestic bliss was temporary still hurt.

  “Ta-daa.” Jace waved a cookie sheet laden with pancakes and bacon. His oven mitts made him look more like Mister Mom than a macho Marine pilot. Had he always been so cute? Or was she just so hungry that anyone brandishing a delicious meal would’ve looked good? “Breakfast is served.”

  “Not that I’m complaining,” she said, “but wasn’t I supposed to cook? And why aren’t you at work? And while you’re answering questions, how did I end up in your bed?”

  “Whoa. One issue at a time. As for why I’m home, I got a call that there’s storm debris in my rotors. Since it’ll take at least a couple hours to clear, I figured I might as well hang around here till the mess is clean.”

  “Okay. Back to the issue of me waking up somewhere I didn’t fall asleep?”

  “Easy. During the worst of the storm, I got up to close a few windows, and saw you contorted into a torturous position. Knowing you had a full day ahead of you, I moved you.”

  Oh God…Her pulse was surely beating faster than Jace’s rotors. “But where did you—”

  “Relax. I slept on the couch.”

  “Oh.” Guilt slammed her for having instantly thought the worst.

  “That’s right, oh. I can tell by your stricken expression that you were about to let me have it, thinking the worst, but see? I’m a gentleman through and through. I rescued you from a serious morning neckache.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, interested in some pancakes, then hanging with me and my girls until I get an all-clear from my commander?”

  Was it wrong that Emma couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to pass the morning than with Jace and his girls? “Yes, please. I’d like lots of pancakes. I’m starving.”

  “THEY’RE kind of boring.” Jace winced when his comment earned him an elbow jab to his ribs. Having finished breakfast and cleaning the mess he’d made cooking, Jace and Emma now shared a park bench. The twins kicked and cooed on a blanket Emma had spread beneath a live oak’s dappled shade. The day was gorgeous, the slight cool front a gift from last night’s storm.

  “They’re babies,” Emma said. “What do you want them to do?”

  “I’m just saying that a little game of catch might be fun. Some sandbox action. GI Joes are awesome.”

  “Patience. They’ll grow up fast enough.”

  “I suppose.” He kicked a pebble.

  “Heard anything from your PI?”

  “Nope.” He tilted his head back, drinking in the sun. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Think Vicki’s coming back?” Something about Emma’s tone had Jace glancing her way. Her question didn’t strike him as casual conversation, but almost as if she had a personal stake in whether Vicki ever showed.

  “Tough to say. Wonder if she even misses them?”

  “Would you?” she asked, plucking a weed from alongside the bench, and then stripping the leaves.

  “What? Miss the girls?”

  She nodded.

  “Truth?” He stared at the twins. “On some levels, yes. I’d miss their cute little grins. The way their whole faces light up when they’re happy. But then part of me would be relieved. The thought of raising one kid is scary enough, but two? Sometimes, I’m not sure I can pull it off.”

  “Of course you can.” Angling to face him, she said, “Let’s break it down. How many times since you’ve had the twins—aside from the crying jag, which would’ve driven anyone bonkers—have you felt out of control?”

  Shrugging, he said, “Don’t waste your breath trying to psyche me out or pump me up. I mean, unless you’ve had kids yourself, you can’t even imagine what I’m going through.”

  Emma looked away, as if he’d hurt her feelings.

  “Hey,” he said, softening his tone, “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re not doing a great job with the girls, just that seeing how this is just a temporary thing for you, it’s no biggee. You can walk away.”

  Emma stood, turning her back to him. “W-we should probably be getting back. I don’t want the babies getting too much sun.”

  “Sure. That debris has probably been picked up by now, too.”

  She made quick work of settling the girls in their stroller, then picking up their toys and shaking grass from their blanket. After folding it, without a word, she tucked it in the diaper bag stored in the stroller’s trunk—or whatever the back-basket thingie was called.

  After they’d walked halfway home with Emma still giving him the silent treatment, Jace asked, “Mind telling me what I did to tick you off?”

  “What do you mean?” Had her voice been any icier, he could make a freakin’ snow cone. “I’m fine.”

  And I’m the Easter Bunny.

>   WITH JACE blessedly gone, Emma placed a sleepy Bronwyn in her crib, and then sat in the rocking recliner with Bea, holding on to her for all she was worth. Breathing the infant in, memorizing every curve of her chubby feet and tummy and fingers.

  How many times in under a minute had Jace unintentionally slammed her? How dare he imply she didn’t know about the responsibilities that stemmed from raising a child? Every day she lived with the fear that maybe Rick had been right. She had somehow been to blame for Henry’s death. Even though she knew in her head that nothing could be further from the truth, her heart was another matter.

  Her heart, it seemed, would never grant her peace. At least, it hadn’t until she’d taken this job. Until caring for two infants and their father had consumed so much of her energy she hadn’t had time to dwell on the past.

  When Jace had said she could easily walk away from him and the girls, her chest had tightened to the point she’d feared she might be having a heart attack. No. The more she was with Bea and her sister, the deeper she fell into their spell. The more Emma needed to care for them. It had become like a drug. A wonderful, peace-inducing narcotic that told her she was a great mom. That Rick had been a fool for ever believing otherwise.

  But then seeing how quickly she’d grown attached to her charges, who was the real fool? Emma knew she never should’ve taken the job. But now that she had, she’d fight with everything in her never to let the girls go.

  The phone rang, making Emma happy for the temporary reprieve from her racing thoughts, but when she answered, no one was there.

  Hours passed, giving Emma time to regain her composure. Something that lately, she’d struggled with.

  She packed up the girls and went to the store.

  Bought ingredients for a stir fry.

  Back home, with the girls banging on pots and pans at her feet, she wiled away the afternoon slicing and dicing and making a feast she hoped would deter Jace from thinking about how odd she’d been that morning.