The Marine's Babies (Men Made In America)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Bea had lost interest in the door and was now trekking across the living room, making a beeline for the entertainment center.

  “Check out his masterful moves with that Bowie.”

  She ignored his movie talk in favor of grabbing three DVDs off a low shelf, then trying to cram them into her gaping, slobbery mouth.

  “Whoa…” he said, instantly up to snag her out of her walker and into his arms. He took her favorite pink fuzzy blanket and purple fish teething ring from the playpen, and then headed back to his recliner. “Okay, Little Miss Grabby, time for you to settle down and watch a good movie.”

  Hours later, Jace woke to a numb right arm and a drool-covered chest. Bea was conked and the DVD was over, running its opening music loop.

  “Crap,” he mumbled, struggling upright with the baby still in his arms. The pins and needles of his slowly waking limb made him wince on the way to the nursery. “So much for watching our movie, huh, sweetie?”

  The sleeping angel just mewed as he slipped her into her crib.

  Checking on Bronwyn, he placed his hand to her forehead and found her skin still warm, but no worse than it had earlier been. “I love you,” he whispered to the girl. “Hope you feel better in the morning.”

  WHEN JACE’S bedside alarm pealed at 5:00 a.m., he felt like crying. How could it already be time to get up? He’d just gone to bed.

  Wishing like hell he had a nice desk job that would allow him to call in sick, Jace stretched and growled before forcing himself up and into the shower.

  Ten minutes later, he’d finished his morning routine, and sat at the kitchen table chowing down on a protein bar, banana and chocolate milk.

  Finished eating, he grabbed his boots from where he’d kicked them off in the entry hall, then sat on the sofa to put them on and lace them up.

  Crap on a pancake.

  A glance at his watch told him Mrs. Prioux wouldn’t show for another fifteen minutes. Funny, how when he’d shared his mornings with Em, there had never seemed to be enough time. Now, he routinely had an overabundance. Meaning if he were smart, he’d set his alarm later and quit whining.

  Em.

  Pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes, for the thousandth time since she’d been gone, he wished he’d never met the woman. He wished he’d stop craving her big, country breakfasts. The sweet smile that’d come along with them. He missed seeing her with his girls, hearing all three of them laughing. It’d also been a treat sharing the infant’s firsts. Like the other night, he’d sworn Bea had said dada, but she never said the word again. Emma would know if it’d really been Bea’s first word, or just a fluke.

  Pushing himself upright, in need of a distraction, he wandered to the nursery. Dwelling on Em so early was never a good sign. At least the wind seemed to have died down, as outside, all seemed still.

  “How’re you feeling?” he whispered to Bronwyn, running his hand along her back. Even through the T-shirt and overalls she’d fallen asleep in, she felt unusually warm. Touching her head, his chest tightened.

  Holy hell. The kid wasn’t just warm, but hot. Scooping her from bed, he played through baby-fever scenarios much the same way he did battle plans. Only with battle plans, emotion didn’t come into play. Well, of course, engaging in battle—even drills—heightened emotion. But not this debilitating kind. With his hands on his helicopter’s controls, he always knew where he stood. Now, he wasn’t sure whether fever meant sticking his poor baby girl in a cold tub of water or giving her acetaminophen or rubbing on some sort of cream.

  Thankfully, the sound of Mrs. Prioux’s key turning in the front-door lock alerted him to the fact that the cavalry had arrived. Most times, he was the one coming to another’s aid. The role reversal felt equally as wrong as Bron’s temp.

  Greeting the sitter at the door, he said, “Bronwyn’s hot. Really hot. What do I do?”

  “Did you take her temperature?” she asked, setting down her canvas lunch tote and suitcase-sized purse to hold out her arms.

  “No,” he said, loath to admit that he didn’t remember how. It was either an armpit or butt thing. Neither of which could be good.

  “Poor baby,” she crooned. Bronwyn sleepily opened her eyes, only to cry fitfully. “I know, pumpkin, let’s take your temperature and see how miserable you truly are.”

  “She going to be all right?” Jace trailed after the sitter. “Is there something I can do to help?”

  “You were supposed to check on her during the night.” After switching on the lamp atop the dresser, she took the thermometer and a tiny tube of lubricant from the top drawer.

  “I did,” he argued. “She seemed fine when I put Bea to bed around one.”

  “You kept Bea up that late?” With Bronwyn already un-snapped on the changing table, Mrs. Prioux turned around to glare. “No wonder she’s been taking unusually long naps.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said, aiming to justify having fallen asleep on his recliner, but the woman had already moved on to inserting a rectal infant thermometer into its intended area. He winced. If only Emma had been here. Right off, she would’ve known what to do.

  “Oh, dear…” Mrs. Prioux said a few minutes later, studying the thermometer.

  “What?” Jace’s heart lurched. “How high is it?”

  “One hundred and five. Considering how listless she was all day yesterday, I think we should bundle her up for a trip to the emergency room.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Wow, ladies…” One week later, Jace stood in a blustery Chicago wind canyon formed by buildings so tall that even leaning his head back, he could hardly tell where the steel-gray buildings left off and the matching sky began.

  So, this was Em’s world.

  He’d had to rehire his PI to find her. Fortunately, she’d been a breeze to locate compared to Vicki. He’d then had to beg more leave time from his CO.

  The girls were so bundled with their hats, coats and mittens that practically all he could see of them were their red noses. In light of Bronwyn’s ear infection, he hated having her out in this weather, but considering his rather urgent need to eat crow, the outing couldn’t have been helped. Not to mention the fact that he stood far better odds of convincing Em how sorry he was with the girls than without.

  “Ready?” he asked, obviously more for the girls’ benefit than his. Sitting in a hospital emergency room with Bronwyn for six hours had given him plenty of time for reflection. Reflection that’d ultimately resulted in him recognizing that Pam was right. He was a fool. This moment was his one and only shot at rectifying the situation.

  Forcing his lungs full of chilly morning air, he rolled the stroller into the formidable building. He worked his way through a security line while guards checked him, the babies and their ride.

  “Sorry,” a kindly black female guard said in passing. “Some bozo who works for an import company on the thirtieth floor came in last week with a machine gun he’d bought his deskmate for a gag gift. Real funny, huh?” She half laughed while returning the girls’ winter gear. “Quite a few tenants complained, and now we’re on lockdown.”

  “It’s all right,” Jace said, mouth dry and palms sweating with nerves. “Better too much protection than not enough.”

  “I agree,” the woman said with a raspy full laugh. “Although as an ex-Marine, I take my security more seriously than others, my husband says.”

  “Semper fi, ma’am,” Jace said to the guard, giving her a sharp salute. “With an attitude like yours, I’m sure you’re missed.”

  “Get on out of here,” she said, waving him past.

  While his banter with the guard had helped Jace relax somewhat, in other ways it’d steeled his will to urge Em home. He didn’t want the mother of his children working in such a formidable place. If security was this tight over a gun entering the building, what happened for the inevitable bomb threat? Moreover, what would happen should there be an actual explosion? Or a fire? When his PI had informed him that Em not
only worked in the building, but lived in a residential section, Jace couldn’t get to Chicago fast enough to get her out of there.

  On the long elevator ride, while fellow passengers cooed and made faces at the girls, he fought the need to puke. Would she even give him a chance? After the horrible things he’d said, he didn’t deserve it. But even Pam agreed, winning an amazing woman like Emma back was worth a try.

  He stepped off the elevator, and into an intimidating, ornately paneled lobby filled with barely audible classical music, burgundy leather sofas and chairs and Oriental rugs that no doubt cost more than he made in a year. The place even smelled like money. Like the crisp hundreds he used to get from his grandparents for his birthday.

  “May I help you?” A receptionist stood behind a museum-quality antique desk. She wore a navy wool skirt, a jacket and a white blouse that looked every bit as polished and starched as his dress blues. Which he’d briefly considered wearing on the mission, but in light of his ungentlemanly actions, he hadn’t felt worthy of the uniform’s glory.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m—we’re—here to see Emma Stewart.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” The thirty-something brunette lifted an eyebrow.

  “No, but—”

  She consulted the contents of a black leather portfolio. “Ms. Stewart is in a meeting till eleven, and then has appointments all the way up until six.” Trailing her red-tipped index finger down a page, she said, “Ms. Stewart has an opening two weeks from Thursday. If you’d like, I’ll be happy to pencil you in.”

  “Um, this is kind of important,” he said. “Personal—not business.”

  “I’m sorry,” she snapped, not looking the least bit apologetic. “But I’m under strict orders not to let anyone disturb a senior VP without an appointment.”

  Okay…

  He’d tried playing by the rules, but it looked like this mission had just turned dicey. “Doesn’t she have a bathroom break? Or lunch ‘penciled in’?”

  Bronwyn started to whimper and fuss.

  “Sir, I’ve already told you,” the receptionist said, casting his noisy daughter a put-out glare. “You’ll have to come back at a later date. Now, if you persist in harassing me, I’ll be forced to phone security.”

  At the mention of his new Marine friend downstairs, Jace wished the woman were with him now. He could use back-up.

  To his left, two snooty suits exited the door to what Jace assumed was the inner sanctum. Security badges were required to enter, but if he hustled…

  Making a run for it, he pushed the double stroller fast enough to pop a wheelie.

  “Sir!” the receptionist shouted. “Stop! You can’t go in there!”

  Jace needed a tactical advantage and a surprise attack was always a good thing.

  When the white-faced suits threw themselves against the nearest wall, Jace reached the door just in time.

  “Sir!” the receptionist snapped at his heels.

  Oh, hell—now that Jace was through, he was faced with an endless wide hall adorned with pricey artwork and antique side tables and chairs. Throw in more fancy carpet, somber, blue walls and the place looked more like a hotel than a place of business.

  Glimpsing daylight at the end of the hall to his left, he dodged in that direction, Bronwyn wailing, Bea shrieking with glee.

  Thirty seconds of running later, and the daylight turned out to be a conference room’s interior glass wall. The exterior wall was also glass, but this looked out on the world. Holy crap, even with the gray sky, what a view.

  Seated in the conference room around an enormous oval table were more suits in all shapes, colors and sizes.

  The shock and awe of it prompted him to freeze.

  What was he doing? This was no Marine mission. He’d crashed a seriously moneyed party and as such, stood to be in some serious trouble if Emma chose not to back him up.

  “Sir!” The out-of-breath receptionist had finally caught up with him. “Is it your goal to get me fired?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve just got to find Em. Tell her I’m sorry.”

  A blonde seated along the conference room’s rear wall rose, then walked directly to a version of Emma Jace had never seen before. Her usual messy ponytail had been replaced by a fancy up-do. Her free-flowing sundresses exchanged for a black number with pearls that would’ve been suitable for a military ball. Holy crap, he was in trouble. What had he barged in on?

  Complexion draining of color, she sharply glanced up to meet his gaze. She murmured something to the speaker, and then heightened Jace’s squirm factor, taking her sweet time strolling around the table.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyeing the girls rather than him.

  “What do you think? I’m here to take you home.”

  “This is my home,” she said, her tone as cold and unyielding as the wind outside.

  “Come on, Em, give me five minutes. I just want to talk. Is there somewhere we can go without her honing in?” He nodded toward the still-fuming receptionist.

  After another longing glance at the girls, Em begrudgingly said, “Follow me.”

  EMMA GESTURED for Jace to push the stroller into her office. Behind him, she closed the door while struggling to breathe. What was he doing here? She’d never wanted to see his miserable face again. But the girls…

  They were beautiful. They’d grown so much.

  Throat tight with unspoken words, eyes watering, she ignored Jace to focus on the babies. “Look at you,” she managed. The moment had a reverent, almost surreal feel. This melding of lives. This corporate glass tower was her world. A million miles from the sweet home she’d shared with Jace and his girls. They didn’t belong here, and as she knelt before them, she wished her form-fitting skirt allowed for better range of motion, so that she could plop cross-legged on the floor alongside them. “You’re practically all grown-up.”

  She lifted Bea from the front seat, and then made an awkward, but ultimately successful grab for Bronwyn. “She’s warm,” she noted on her way to her office sofa. “And you should’ve had both girls’ safety belts fastened.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jace said, “and for the record, Bron’s recovering from a pretty rough ear infection. Her fever comes and goes.”

  “Oh, no,” Emma said, worry creasing her forehead. “Is she on an antibiotic?”

  “Yeah. It’s handled, but look, what I came here to—”

  “She shouldn’t have been out in the cold. It probably hurt. You did have a hat on her, didn’t you?”

  “For God’s sake, woman, would you stop scolding me long enough to let me get out what I came here to say?”

  It took every ounce of professional restraint not to scream at him to leave. “After the wretched things you said to me, security shouldn’t have even allowed you in this office. In fact if it weren’t for the girls, I—”

  “Stop.” From the stroller’s roomy back pocket, he took a small quilt that Mrs. Prioux had made, and spread it in front of an ornate wooden coffee table. He took Bea from Em, and put her on the makeshift play area, then did the same with Bronwyn.

  Emma said, “You shouldn’t have flown with Bron’s ear hurting.”

  “For the record, I drove for that exact reason. Traded in my Mustang for a nice, sturdy SUV. Which is why it took me so damned long to get here.”

  “Pushing two months?” she snapped. “I’m all for safe driving, but that’s ridiculous.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, inching closer to her on the sofa. Needing space, she inched further away. “You never used to be so bitchy. I think it’s this place.” He gestured to her upscale office. “It’s getting to you. Making you forget your roots.”

  “My roots?” Emma had to laugh. “Jace, we were together a couple of months. For the record, my true roots are far closer to this world than yours. Which is obviously why we never would’ve worked.”

  “But we did—will—work,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I came her
e, Em, to apologize.”

  “Apologize?” Snatching her hands free she stood, only to sidestep the girls to pace in front of the windows. More than anything she’d ever wanted in the world, she wanted to pack the babies back into their stroller and spirit them away. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do that any more than she could find common ground with their dad. “I think it’s a little late for that. Let’s see, not only did you accuse me of killing my own child, but then of using your girls for nefarious purposes, and alluding to—”

  “Okay, whoa.” He held up his hands. “For the record, I don’t even know what nefarious means. And another thing, since we’re hauling out the big words, the other morning, when Bronwyn had a hundred-and-five fever and I didn’t have a clue what was wrong, I had an epiphany.”

  “Don’t even go there,” Emma snapped. “Don’t for one second presume to—”

  “I get it, okay?” Up from the sofa, he charged to her, clamping his hands around her shoulders. “Honey, not knowing whether Bronwyn was going to live or die did something to me. I see what an ass I was for saying the things I did. What you went through in losing your baby was unimaginable. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy. I’m ashamed. Sitting there, waiting for the doctor, all these things kept running through my mind. If I’d done something different, would Bronwyn be all right? If I’d been a better dad? I know words can’t begin to make up for—”

  Slipping her arms around him, she broke down.

  To hear that someone—most especially, Jace—understood even a fraction of her pain was freeing. It meant she was no longer alone. It meant maybe, just maybe, happiness could one day be hers.

  “I—I’m sorry, too,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck when he lifted her. “I should’ve been straight up with you from the start, but it hurt to talk about Henry. Sharing my grief felt wrong somehow.”

  Kissing her nose, cheeks and chin, he said, “I don’t ever want you afraid of talking to me, Em.” Kissing her closed eyelids he said, “I’m sorry. So sorry. I shouldn’t have been so hotheaded. I should’ve swallowed my pride long enough to realize you and Amanda are nothing alike. I should’ve—”