by Cathryn Cade
Then she looked to Rae, and sighed deeply, her gaze full of sorrow. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I just... don't understand how you can not want to work at E."
If they'd been cartoon characters, the words 'because of you, mother' would be glowing over Rae’s head in capital letters. But this was real life, and she wasn't going to say anything that hurtful to her mother.
Besides, her mother wasn’t the whole reason Rae wanted to change—she herself was.
She reached to touch her mother's hand. "It's what I want, mom. I'm really excited about this. I'm sorry you're disappointed in me, but... I want to go for it."
Her mother sat back in her chair and tossed her linen napkin onto the tablecloth beside her half-eaten dinner, looking deflated as a balloon the morning after a party. "Well. Sounds like you two have it all worked out.”
She sighed. “Anyone want dessert? I bought sorbet."
"M-mm," Linda approved. "I'll have some. What flavor?"
"Peach," Ellen said. "It's Rae's favorite."
Rae looked at her empty plate, and winced.
Guilt arrow, straight to the heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mac spent the week at the training, partied a bit with the other EMTs and instructors gathered in the Tri-Cities, then came back to Spokane to work his three ten-hour shifts.
He was busy, but in between times, he had plenty of time to think about the new shock life had just handed him.
He was gonna be a daddy again.
And the more Mac thought about it, the more determined he became to do things right this time.
He was gonna be a daddy again.
He'd messed up badly the first time—mostly in his choice of accidental baby mama, because he and Nina had been one helluva hot hookup, but they’d both known right from the start that they couldn’t get along enough to live together, not even for their daughter.
Mac would just as soon cohabit with a she-wolf.
Matter of fact, that's kinda what she reminded him of when she got on one of her rants. All snarling and clawing, and no one could do anything right, least of all him.
He had to admit, he bore his share of the blame, as plenty of times when she'd started in, he'd snarled back without trying to be the bigger person.
But RaeAnn was not Nina.
Rae was a sweetie, and she was younger. Nina had a good five years on him, whereas Rae was five years younger than him. She was... well, malleable, not set in her ways. Hell, she hadn't even really been on her own much.
He was sure he could talk her around to seeing things his way. That however they worked it out, they should try to be parents together.
But first, he could use some more advice.
Rocker had been supportive so far. Mac gave the veep a call and asked for a sit down in the club’s main room over beers. But instead of agreeing, Rocker surprised him.
“Kid, you’re wanting to patch in to the club. If you’re accepted, you’ll be working with Stick. Call him, talk this over with him. Show him you got what it takes. You get me?”
Mac got him. But as he sat in the clubroom that Sunday morning, waiting for the club president to join him, he was sweating. Because what if the Flyer leader shook his head coldly and told him to take his problems elsewhere?
Nevertheless, when the big Russian-American strode into the clubroom, in his customary costume of faded jeans, western shirt and his cut, his long blond hair clubbed at the back of his neck, Mac was ready.
He stood and shook hands with Stick, then offered him a drink. When they were settled with a glass of whisky before them, Stick raised his brows. “You want advice?”
Mac shared his news and laid out his plan.
"We could do it," Mac told Stick. "We could raise the kid together. And maybe, once Nina sees I'm settled down, got a good woman around and another kid, maybe she'll let me spend more time with Cassie."
Stick Vanko considered and nodded slowly. "Sounds like you got it figured out, prospect. You sure you wanna be tied down with an old lady and kid full time, though? Especially one you’ve just met. Sounds like you know this girl’s pussy better than you know what’s in her head."
"Yeah," Mac said. "That’s… true, I guess. I mean... it'll be a big change, but that's gotta come for every man, right?"
Stick shrugged. "For some... not all. But, a man's gonna do it, he'll want to be all in. Bezzavetnyy, with his whole heart."
Mac nodded with the respect his club president's advice deserved. "Bez-vate-nee," he repeated. "I can do that."
Stick snorted. "Da. Let's hope your attention to the task is better than your Russian."
Mac grinned. "Damn straight. Thanks, Stick. Now, I gotta go home and do some serious house-keeping."
Which he did.
He was no stranger to scrubbing—he did his share of swabbing down the ambulance and equipment. He just usually neglected to do much more of it once he walked into his own trailer.
But now, armed with his new vacuum, broom and dustpan, bucket and sponges, and cleaning solutions, he got busy.
By the time he was done, the kitchen and bathroom gleamed, as much as the old fixtures and battered counters and linoleum could.
The carpet in the living room, hallway and bedrooms was lint free, but he made an appointment for the next day to have a local service come in and shampoo the carpet and furniture for good measure. His recliner he'd bought new to watch TV from, but the sofa was just plain old and had the mystery stains to prove it.
Finally, he drove to WalMart and bought some new towels, a matching bathroom rug, and another bedside table for RaeAnn to put her phone and stuff on.
He also did his laundry, folded it, and put it all away.
By Wednesday, the place looked as good as it could. He was ready to bring RaeAnn for a visit.
But of course, that was when he got called in to work an extra shift. The flu was sweeping through the area, and three of the EMTs were out sick. They all got flu shots, but sometimes even those did not work.
By Thursday afternoon, Mac wasn’t feeling so hot himself. By that night, he was in bed with fever and chills.
He managed to call RaeAnn and leave a message that he was sick. Then he crawled into bed and stayed there for two days, staggering out just long enough to use the john and get more fluids in himself.
November 17th
By Sunday, Mac was feeling himself again. He’d also disinfected his double wide and done his laundry again.
He took a last look around and, feeling damn pleased with himself, set out to get his baby mama's stamp of approval on his plan.
But when he arrived at RaeAnn’s apartment, he was surprised to see a big delivery truck in the driveway from a local furniture store. Two workmen were unloading white delicate furniture, a small dresser, and was that a crib?
Foreboding icing his gut, he parked his truck at the curb and walked along the driveway past the delivery truck.
RaeAnn and a woman who could only be her mom—they looked that much alike—stood outside the small apartment. The older woman was beckoning briskly to the workmen to bring the crib in the front door, while RaeAnn stood by biting her lip.
RaeAnn was fixed up with hair and makeup, and she wore a pretty dark green top that fit her real well, over black pants.
When she saw Mac, her face lit up like a sunrise. Damn, she was pretty standing there in the sunshine. He smiled back at her, because he couldn’t help it. And for a moment, it was like the first night they met—a solid punch right to his chest, saying ‘This one. Pick this one.’
She always made him smile, he realized. Made him laugh too, sometimes at her naivete, but just as often at her sense of humor.
He wanted to head straight to her, grab her up in his arms, and kiss her till they were both dizzy. He wanted to take her somewhere private and do a lot more.
And then, when they were lying happy and relaxed together, he’d tell her all of his plans for them, because they could make it work, he was certain
of it.
But her smile faltered as she gave a nervous, sidelong look to her mother. The older woman’s gaze narrowed on him. Right, he had some hurdles to manage first.
Mac returned the older woman’s glare with a nod. He'd be goddamned if he let Rae's mom scare him off so easily. “Ms. Denton," he said politely. “Rae, can we talk?"
Rae's mother frowned, but then turned back to the workmen who were hesitating by the door. "Just bring them in,” she said. “We are not paying you to stand around."
One of the young guys gave the woman a dark look, but they carried the little white dresser inside.
Mac waited for Rae to answer him, willing her to look to him and get his sincerity. Finally, a smile quivering on her lips, she gestured toward the expanse of lawn behind the houses.
"Sure," she said. "We can talk over here. It’s a, um, nice day, isn't it?"
"Sure is,” Mac agreed, watching the swing of her pretty ass as she walked ahead of him.
When they had walked out of earshot of her mother, Rae turned to him. "Would you like to sit down?" she asked, gesturing at a patio set of furniture that looked like it had been ordered out of one of those fancy stores.
Mac followed her onto the patio, flagstones set in tidy sand. No weeds would dare grow in Ms Denton’s garden, he thought wryly.
Rae perched on one of the little chairs, so he planted his ass on another and leaned back—carefully, because breaking her mom's fancy furniture would get him no points.
He leaned forward, giving her a searching look. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “You look good.”
Honestly, she didn't. This close, she was not only pale, but she had purple smudges under her eyes, as if she was ill. She needed taking care of—she needed him.
“You didn’t have the flu, did you?” he asked her, alarmed.
She made a face and shrugged. "I'm doing okay... I mean, nauseous, you know? But it’s from the baby, not the flu." She looked him over. “How are you? I’m sorry you were sick. I got your message.”
Mac shrugged. “I’m over it, thanks. More concerned about you.” As an EMT, he'd seen plenty of puking for all causes, from pregnancy to a whole lot worse. "You have things to help with that, like ginger ale? Crackers?"
She looked startled and then looked away, pursing her lips. "Oh, right," she said softly. "You've, um, been through this before. Did your little girl's mama have morning sickness too?"
"Some," he agreed and then got back to the subject at hand. "Try the ginger ale and crackers, or if it's real bad there's medications you can take. And I know that because of my medical background."
"Well, okay thanks."
He jerked his head toward her little apartment and the commotion there. "So, what's all this?"
She gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look, as if certain she'd done something wrong but not sure what it could be. "Well, it's just... my mom and I decided we could make my closet into a nursery, but we needed furniture so, um, Mom bought me some. As a baby shower gift."
She smiled, although it looked more anxious than happy. "It's all coming together," she told him. "So well, I can hardly believe it. I guess what I want to say is that you don't need to worry about me—about us. Me and the baby. We'll be just fine, and you can go back to, um... your own life."
Mac shook his head, raising his brows at her. "I can go back to my own life," he repeated.
She nodded, and bit her plump bottom lip. "Yes."
"Baby,” he said. “Have you thought that maybe I don't want to—go back to my old life, that is?"
"Well, but—but, why wouldn't you?” she said, twisting her hands together in her lap, her gaze skittering to him and then away. “I mean, you're free and—and you can do what you want, when you want."
He flexed his fists and then unclenched them, trying for calm. "Okay, listen just for a minute. That nursery furniture is pretty small, right? Easy to move." He worked his jaw side-to-side, unsure now that he would be able to persuade her, and hating that feeling. "I mean... I thought maybe... you could move in with me."
Her lips parted and she frankly gaped at him "Why?" She breathed.
She opened her mouth to say more, but Mac held up a hand to forestall whatever she was going to say next.
"Just listen to me," he said leaning forward. " I know the place was a mess when you were there, but I cleaned it up, got the carpet shampooed and the furniture. Scrubbed the rest of the place myself. And I'm good at that, have to do enough of it on the job. I even got the extra room in the back all cleaned out. That’d make a great nursery." He grinned crookedly. "And my double wide ain't huge, but God knows it has more room than you have here."
But as he finished speaking, that foreboding he'd felt when he drove in grew, till it was a chunk of ice residing in his gut.
Because instead of smiling at him and being happy and grateful for his offer, she seemed more and more tense and uncomfortable with every word.
"Oh Mac," she said. She shook her head, her silky blonde curls falling forward over one shoulder. "Thank you... For the offer, I mean. That's very... sweet of you. But... I just don't think—I mean, mom and I have it all planned out. And my aunt Linda."
Her face brightened and it was her turn to lean forward. Her words tumbling over each other, she told him about how this aunt of hers was going to send her to some beauty school in the area so she could do what she'd always wanted, and how she was going to stay here to save on rent and go to school full-time and then start her career as a stylist and beautician.
Mac felt like he was in one of those spy movies, where a character could push a button and slam up a big clear Plexiglass panel between them and their opponent.
She had just thrown up a huge barrier between them. He could see through it... but he couldn't reach her.
And he fucking hated how much this hurt. Christ, it was like the first time all over again, begging Nina for time with his daughter, the little girl he'd helped make, and wanted to be a daddy to.
Just like now. Fuck, all of the deadbeat dads out there who dropped their sperm and then slunk away, unwilling to accept responsibility. And here he was, begging a second woman to let him help out, be involved.
And this time, he’d wanted to do it to be with RaeAnn herself. He’d thought they could make a go of it. He’d been certain, in fact.
If there was a God up there, he must fuckin’ hate Mac.
Anger boiled up inside of him, a welcome barrier on his side.
He slouched back in the spindly chair, ignoring the ominous groan it gave as he tipped it onto the two back legs. "Well,” he said bitterly. “Sounds like you and your mama got it all planned out, huh? Just tell me one thing. Where does your big plan leave me?"
Rae looked at him as if he'd smacked her. She folded her slender arms over her belly and hunched her shoulders. Looking away. "Well... I—I didn't think..."
"You didn't think?" He snorted. "Well, why d'you need to, when you got your mama to do your thinking for you?"
Unable to look at her any longer, he rose, shaking his head. The flimsy chair clanged to its feet behind him and rocked, a tinkling sound that made him want to kick it across the damn yard.
"I gotta go,” he gritted without looking at her again. “I'll be in touch."
Then he got the hell out of there before he said something he could not take back.
As he passed RaeAnn's little apartment, her mother stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "Leaving so soon?" the older woman asked. "Didn't think you'd stick around long."
"Oh, you’ll see plenty of me,” he told her. “Count on it."
She flinched back, as if a lap dog had bitten her, and he wanted to add a snarl, just to see her jump.
The two women might think they’d won, but he would show them both different—somehow.
But for now—what the hell. He was heading out to the Flyers’ clubhouse and having him a drink or two… or maybe a lot more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
November 18
th
"Mac. Hey, Carson!" a deep voice called his name.
Mac stirred irritably and then settled down again, head pillowed on his arms.
A strong hand grasped his shoulder and shook him, hard.
"What the fuck?" Mac sat up with a jerk, squinting blearily around him. He was at a table in the clubhouse main room.
Fu-uck, that’s right. He’d walked in here yesterday afternoon to find several of the brothers drinking, smoking, and shooting the shit, loud music playing and a football game on in the background.
T-Bear had been here, another guy with him, a big Hawaiian dude. Moke somebody.
The three of them had shared a bottle of whiskey, and… after that Mac’s memory got a little hazy.
He may have tried to drink his way out of his foul mood. And it had worked—for a while.
He seemed to remember a redhead on his lap at one point. And trying to dance on top of a table with her…?
He reached to rub the back of his head and winced. Yep, he had the big, sore bump to prove it. He’d fallen to the floor, and she’d landed on top of him.
Didn’t recall what had happened to her after that. She must’ve wandered off with one of the brothers, ‘cause he knew he hadn’t done anything more with her.
He might’ve been drunk off his ass, but he wasn’t a cheater. And as long as there might be a chance with RaeAnn, that was it for him.
Now it was morning, sunlight streaming in through the smudged windows on the front of the building. His eyes were dry, his head was pounding, and his mouth tasted like death.
He was damn lucky he didn’t have a shift today, because he wouldn’t have made it.
He squinted painfully at Rocker, who stood over him, shaking his head in mingled sympathy and disgust. “Jesus, prospect, you look like roadkill. You feel like sharing what had you drinking yourself into a stupor instead of being out there makin’ it up with your baby mama?”
Mac groaned as yesterday flooded back. “She’s not my anything,” he growled. Or maybe she was, he didn’t have a single clue.
Rocker sighed. “All right, drag your ass into the kitchen. I’ll make coffee, and you can tell me about it.”
