Three Boys And A Baby (American Romance)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Judging by the pained expression on your gorgeous face, this is the part of the evening when you tell me you had a great time, but can’t see me again.”

  She sighed.

  “I’m right?”

  “No. Not entirely, anyway.”

  He groaned.

  “Hear me out.” Toying with the buttons of his shirt, she searched for the right words. “The other night, you asked me a question, and at the time, as amazing as the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you sounded, I didn’t take you seriously. But after thinking about it—while I’m not saying I think we should jump into anything—I do believe your idea to have merit, and as such—”

  “Wait a minute,” he said, sitting up on the oversized chaise, “are you presenting an oral dissertation or giving me an affirmative answer on my marriage proposal?”

  Pulse pounding in her ears, she licked her lips. “What I think I’m saying is that I love you. I don’t know how or when it happened, or why or—” she lowered her gaze “—or if I even wanted it to happen. But if you’re serious about ending things with Julie, I—I’d really like to explore—”

  He pulled her into a kiss that nearly made her weep with joy. Never had her heart been more full. Yet in the same breath it occurred to her how much sorrow this decision would bring Jackson’s son.

  “You’ve made me so happy,” he said. “We’re going to make a great life together. You, me, Rose and our guys.”

  “I agree,” she said, trailing her fingers over his dear face, exploring every inch. “Together, we’re going to make a great team, but telling the boys will be tough. What are you going to say to Dillon?”

  “The truth…” He blew out a breath. “At first, he’s not going to be happy, but that shouldn’t make you feel bad. I’ll have a good talk with him. Make him understand.”

  “Still…” Stomach tight with nerves, she said, “I don’t want him to hate me. I couldn’t stand it if he were to think of me as the woman who drove away his mom.”

  “Trust me,” he assured with the sweetest, softest of kisses.

  “Everything’s going to turn out fine. We won’t rush into this, but take it nice and slow. Give everyone time to adjust. Including us.” Kissing him again, Ella tried abandoning herself to pure feeling. She tried forgetting the tough times she and Jackson surely had ahead. But trying and actually succeeding were two vastly different things. Jackson made it all sound easy. Tell Julie, tell the boys—maybe even keep Rose. But if there was one thing Ella had learned in her lifetime, it was that nothing worth having came easily. Her medical career hadn’t, bringing her twins into the world hadn’t, and the hot and cold sensations suddenly seizing her system told her that marrying Jackson Tate one day might be her toughest challenge of all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Nice shirt,” Oliver said, pointing to Dillon’s Transformers T-shirt. Owen was on his other side. They sat in the third row of Mindy’s mom’s minivan. Luckily for them, the girls were in the row ahead of them.

  “Thanks,” Dillon said. “Last time she was here, my mom brought it for me from Kansas City. She said she thought it would make me look older.”

  “Oliver?” Mrs. Ford called from her seat behind the steering wheel. “Is your seat belt fastened?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, clicking it around him really fast before she could see.

  “Thank you.”

  “Where were you last night?” Oliver asked his friend.

  “My grandma and grandpa’s. We had fish for dinner. It was gross.”

  “Sorry,” Oliver said, digging for gum in his backpack.

  “It’s okay.”

  Because his friend was bummed about having to eat fish, Oliver wasn’t sure if this was the right time to mention the awful news he had, but he didn’t want Dillon to get all mad at school, so he figured now was probably the best time.

  Clearing his throat the way he’d heard his dad do just before telling him bad stuff, Oliver said, “Dillon, something pretty awful happened last night.”

  “What?”

  Owen stopped putting basketball stickers in Mindy’s hair.

  “You’re not going to tell him about Mom and his dad’s date, are you? ’Cause if you do, he’s gonna get real mad.”

  “What!” Dillon made fists and growled.

  “Told you,” Owen said.

  “Eeeuuw!” Mindy complained, feeling the back of her head. “What did you put in my hair?”

  “Doesn’t your mom know my dad’s marrying my mom?” Dillon asked.

  Oliver shrugged.

  “Maybe they had a really bad time?” Owen suggested.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet so,” Dillon said. “’Cause I know my dad wouldn’t like anyone but my mom.”

  “What if he does?” Oliver asked.

  “I’ll hate him forever.”

  “Yeah,” Owen said. “Me, too.”

  Mindy said, “I hate all of you.”

  “JULIE,” JACKSON SAID, glancing up from the newspaper he’d been reading at the kitchen table to see his ex-wife silhouetted in the door frame. He’d just gotten Dillon off to school, and was enjoying a second cup of coffee. “You’re early.”

  “Yep.” Removing a light jacket, she folded it over the back of one of the table’s six chairs. He hadn’t been expecting her till six or seven that night. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I took the day off.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Just a cold.”

  “Want me to make you some tea?” he asked, already standing.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Toast? Cereal?” He found the kettle in a cabinet beneath the stove.

  “No, thank you.”

  “If you weren’t feeling well, Julie, you should’ve called. Dillon would understand if you couldn’t make it.” Filling the kettle with water, he put it on the stove, lighting the gas burner.

  “I know. But the moment you told me he was missing, I promised God—myself—I would never again hurt or disappoint our little boy. Sick or healthy, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here.”

  “Fair enough.” She looked tired. Her usual flawless makeup was absent, and now that he’d had a moment to study her, in place of her usual dark-toned business attire she wore a gray jogging suit and sneakers. Her normally sleek hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that made her look more like the woman he’d married.

  The kettle whistled, and Jackson took it off the burner, then rummaged through cabinets for tea and a mug. “Sugar?”

  “Sweetener, if you have it.”

  “Nope.”

  “Sugar’s fine, then. Thanks.”

  Was it just him, or had they become strangers? He’d had more meaningful conversations over having his groceries scanned and sacked.

  He’d set her steaming mug to the table when she rose, appeared disoriented, then collapsed as if someone had pulled her plug.

  “Julie!” he cried. “Honey, wake up.”

  In an instant, she was back, but her color was off.

  Scooping her into his arms, he carried her to the living-room sofa, settling her gently on the cushions, propping throw pillows beneath her head.

  “Wh-what happened?” she asked, voice scratchy and weak.

  “You fainted,” he said. “Is something else going on with you—other than this cold?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said, hand to her forehead.

  “When was the last time you ate?” His innate concern for her caught him off guard. The moment she’d crumpled at his feet, she’d unwittingly shown him a vulnerable side she’d always pretended didn’t exist. They’d once argued about the fact that no matter what—even when her father had died—she’d maintained a tough exterior. Never had she let anyone inside—even him.

  “I don’t know. Maybe sometime yesterday. I was in court late, then had to go back to the office to talk strategy with a new client.”

  “Stay put,” he said, smoothing stray hairs from her forehead. �
��I’ll fix you scrambled eggs and toast.”

  Smiling up at him, eyes drowsy, she nodded. “Thank you. Sorry to be a bother.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he said, hustling to the kitchen. “Be right back.”

  He’d nearly finished Julie’s meal when the phone rang. So deep was he in thought that the ringing made him flinch as he turned off the stove. He burned his pinky and brought it to his mouth.

  “Hello?” he answered, not even looking at the caller ID.

  “Hey, handsome. How are you?” In the split second it’d taken to recognize Ella’s voice, his emotions went from gratitude at hearing her voice, to the realization that if he were any sort of gentleman he’d have to put off telling Julie of his plan to pursue a relationship with Ella, at least until she felt better.

  “I’m all right,” he said, “but Julie’s here and she just fainted.”

  “Want me to come over?”

  He was touched by the offer, but refused. “She said she has a cold and hasn’t eaten in a while, so I made eggs. If that doesn’t perk her up, I’ll give you a call.”

  “Why did she even come if she feels so bad?”

  “I asked the same thing,” he said, again putting his burned pinky to his mouth to ease the sting. “She said she didn’t want to disappoint Dillon by not coming.”

  “Oh. That’s nice.” Did he detect a note of sarcasm in her tone.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked with a chuckle. “Afraid she might give you a run for your money in the sainthood department?”

  A long pause told him his joke hadn’t been well received. “Do you honestly think I’m so petty as to consider myself a saint, and think poorly of another mother who wants to be with her son?”

  “Aw, come on, Ell,” he urged. “Lighten up. I was only teasing.”

  “Well, in light of the fact that a few days ago you were still considering marrying the woman, I don’t think you’re funny. I still have serious reservations about our dating. The ramifications for Dillon are—”

  “Ell,” he said as sternly as possible without coming across as a brute. “I promise, it was a joke, albeit, a bad one. Remember Marcia Jenkins? Face it, if we do end up together, you’ll have to work on teaching me a true sense of humor.”

  “If? If we end up together?” she asked, voice uncharacteristically small.

  “Sweetheart, come on. You’re overanalyzing every little thing I say. I love you, all right? I fully plan on telling Julie the truth of my feelings just as soon as she feels human again.”

  “Jackson!” Julie shouted from the living room. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine!” he hollered back, covering the phone’s mouthpiece. “Be right there.” To Ella, he said, “Gotta go. I’ll call later, though, okay?”

  “Sure. Tell Julie I hope she feels better.”

  “DR. GARVEY?”

  “Yes,” Ella said, standing at the front door, a fitful Rose in her arms. The weather was atrocious and perfectly suited to Ella’s dour mood. Rain fell in undulating sheets, and the middle-aged woman on the porch was soaked, despite carrying an umbrella and wearing a red rain slicker.

  “I’m so sorry to drop in on you, but the school principal seemed to think it was urgent I contact you as soon as possible.” Flashing a faint smile, she said, “I’m Ruth Busby, a cafeteria worker at the school your sons attend. Key Elementary?”

  “Yes. Please, won’t you come in?” Ella stepped back, allowing the dripping woman to pass. Rose’s whining escalated into a full-blown wail. “May I take your coat?”

  “Oh, no,” Ruth said. “You’ve got your hands full, so I’ll only stay a minute. I would’ve called, but my cell’s not getting any reception in this weather, and since I’ve seen the boys playing out front on sunny days, and it’s on my way home, I figured it’d be just as easy to stop by.”

  Rose continued to wail. “Sorry,” Ella said with an apologetic wince. “It’s past feeding time, and we just got home.”

  “I’ll make this extra brief, then. Today at lunch, I was washing down tables when I overheard your little Owen telling a friend about the ‘crying lady’ at the school yard sale. He said he’d been afraid she was going to steal Rose from him, and he had to beg her to give Rose back. Now, mind you, I’m not ordinarily in the business of eavesdropping on the students, but seeing how pretty much everyone in town knows about your mystery baby, I thought this might be an important clue to help the sheriff find her mother.”

  “Thank you,” Ella said, stunned and disappointed Owen had said nothing to her. “I’ll be sure to ask my son to relay all he knows about this mystery woman to the sheriff.”

  Ruth nodded, wished her a good evening, then was off into the rapidly falling night.

  Closing the door, Ella shouted above Rose’s ear-splitting wails, “Owen Eli Garvey! Get your booty down here!”

  “FEELING BETTER?” Jackson asked Julie, delivering his mother’s homemade chicken noodle soup and crackers to the guest bedroom. She sat up in the bed, a half-dozen pillows behind her. Dillon cuddled alongside her, contentedly looking at a photo album of a long-ago trip to Miami.

  “A little,” she said.

  Outside, for an instant, lightning turned dark to light. Thunder rolled.

  “This is some storm we’re having, huh?” He set the tray on her bedside table.

  Nodding, she said, “Hope the power doesn’t go out. Remember that Thanksgiving when we had all your crazy cousins down from Idaho and we lost power?”

  Smiling at the reminiscence of his grumbling, hungry cousins staring in disbelief at the raw turkey, he said, “How could I forget the incident that prompted us to switch over to all gas appliances?”

  Sharing in their laughter, Dillon asked, “Is that the year Grandma June took us all out for Chinese food?”

  “You remember?” Julie asked.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, after covering a big yawn. “I got a really good fortune cookie. It said I’m going to be rich.”

  “Excellent,” Jackson said, sitting on the foot of the bed. “Does that mean from now on, you’ll be paying for the house and car?”

  “No way!” their son exclaimed. “I’m buying nothing but gum and video games.”

  “Nice,” Jackson said with a nod. “I’ll try the same with my next check.”

  “You?” Julie said, eyes wide. “Do something irresponsible? I can’t imagine.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Only that in all the years I’ve known you, you’ve never done the slightest unexpected thing just for you. You’re a rock, Jackson Tate, which is one of the things I love most about you.”

  “Eeeeuw!” Dillon made a face. “Mom loves Dad.”

  “I thought that was what you wanted?” Julie asked, tickling the boy’s belly.

  “It is,” he admitted, squirming at her slightest touch, “but I don’t want to hear you talking about it and stuff. That’s just gross.”

  “To save you from dying of grossness,” she teased, “from now on, I promise only to tell your father I love him in private, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. Dillon looked at Jackson. “Plus, I’m really super glad you’re not dating Ella like Owen told me.” Pointing to his mom’s bowl, Dillon asked, “Are you gonna eat that? Because if you’re not, I will.” He lunged for a cracker.

  “Hold on there, sport,” Jackson said, catching his boy about his waist, and hefting him off the bed and onto his feet. “I’ve already got a plate for you set up on the kitchen table.”

  “Aw, man. How come I can’t eat with Mom in bed?”

  “Because Mom’s sick, and she doesn’t need you dribbling noodles all over her.” Not to mention, tossing out any more conversational bombs about Ella.

  “But—”

  “You know what?” Julie said, easing her legs out from under the floral comforter. “I’m feeling a little better. How about we all eat downstairs?”

  Ordinarily, Jackson wouldn’t have minded, but seeing how he’d
been planning to have his big talk with Dillon about his true feelings for Ella, he wished his ex would stay put.

  “I DON’T KNOW why you gotta be mad at me,” Owen complained after telling Ella the whole story of what had happened at the school sale. “It wasn’t my fault that weird lady almost stole Rose.”

  “Again,” Ella said, thrilled that the infant in question had finally fallen asleep in her crib, “I’m not mad, sweetie, just frustrated. What if the woman who held her was her mother? Right now, we’re calling Sheriff Hank, and I want you to tell him exactly what you told me.”

  “Okay,” he said, “but if I end up in the big house, I want you to come with me.”

  “I’ll go,” Oliver volunteered.

  Ella rolled her eyes.

  Two hours later, Hank had come and gone—having decided he’d rather speak with Owen in person than on the phone. Hank confided to Ella after the boys had gone to their rooms that, with Owen’s sketchy description of the woman, the lead wasn’t much to go on, but that he would ask some of the parents who had been at the sale if they’d seen the crying woman. He also requested that Ella attend the next school function with Rose. Hank would go too in hopes that the mystery woman would show again.

  On autopilot, she picked up the phone, not only wanting to hear Jackson’s voice, but to tell him about the possible break in their search for Rose’s mom.

  “Hello?” a woman asked.

  “Ah, yes, may I please speak with Jackson?” Waiting for him to pick up, Ella bit her lower lip hard enough to draw coppery-tasting blood. Having already lost one man to another woman and knowing Julie was sleeping in the same house, Ella was unnerved. She trusted Jackson, but then she’d trusted Todd, too.

  “This is Jackson,” he eventually said.

  “Sorry to bother you. Is Julie there?”

  “Uh-huh.” Judging by his cooler than usual tone, his ex was listening.

  “I won’t keep you, then.” She briefly explained what had transpired in regard to Rose, then said, “Sorry again to have bothered you. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”