Unlike his own place across the hall, which was... serviceable. But then, his place wasn't a home, was it? He wasn't surrounding himself with memories and scraps of his past, as Carol so obviously was. In fact, he was doing
everything he could to completely forget about his past.
Which would be a hell of a lot easier if he could just get through a whole night without dreaming about it. Like most other nights, that recurring nightmare had had him up and pacing his apartment like a caged animal. He walked because he couldn't sit still under the onslaught of images racing through his brain. He stayed awake because in sleep, came pain. And he was here, in Carol's apartment, because dealing with a screaming infant was still better than being left alone in the past.
The baby squirmed in his grasp, and with that gentle movement, she dragged him back to the matter at hand. Just for a second or two, he stared down at the baby and smiled. Her dark hair was just a dark wispy promise and her tiny mouth puckered and worked like she was sucking on a bottle. Her long, dark eyelashes brushed her cheeks and her little chin wobbled as her mouth worked.
"You're a cutie, aren't you?" he whispered, running his finger along her cheek. "You ought to take it easy on Baker, though," he said, one corner of his mouth tipping up. "She's doing her best."
The baby yawned hugely and Jack grinned. "Apparently, I'm boring you."
He'd always had a gift with babies. They just seemed to like him for some reason. When his little sister Peggy was born, no one in the house could make her stop crying—except Jack. His father had called it the magic touch.
Magic touch.
Yeah, like Midas in reverse, Jack thought. One touch from him and his world turned to shit. Shaking his head,
he reached over the bars of the crib and laid the baby down on the freshly ironed sheets.
"Liz," he whispered as he drew up the soft blanket to cover her. Lizardbaby. Shaking his head, he asked himself, What kind of woman comes up with something like that? He chuckled softly, amused in spite of himself. Carol Baker was different. Intriguing.
But even as he thought it, he told himself it wasn't that he was thinking about Carol, so much as he was trying not to think about himself.
Christ, he'd been thinking about nothing but himself and his own problems for the last two years. Even he'd had enough of him.
Carol stood in the open doorway and watched him as he studied the baby. The slant of moonlight defined his silhouette as he leaned in to cover Liz with a blanket and something inside her shifted at his tenderness. What was it about the image of a strong man with a baby that could stab at a woman's heart?
"Is she asleep?"
He turned, and even though his face was in shadow, she felt the power of his gaze lock onto her. The night seemed suddenly darker and more intimate. Moonlight shimmered behind him. She heard him breathing, felt the tension radiating from him in waves of heat that reached for her from across the room. Her insides jumped and her pulse raced. A swirl of something dark and hot and needy opened up deep within her and Carol swallowed hard.
"Yeah," he said after several long heartbeats of time passed.
"Good," Carol whispered, squeezing the single word through a throat tight enough to strangle her. "Thanks."
He nodded and she wished she could see his features, read his eyes. Then she might know if he was feeling the same, surprising sense of... expectation that was spi-raling through her. And if she could, she asked herself, what then?
Walking toward her slowly, he stepped out of the patch of moonlight and drew close enough that the light from the kitchen illuminated his features. She saw his eyes and felt a nudge of sympathy for the shadows she glimpsed in their depths. What had brought him back home to Christmas? To a place he clearly didn't want to be? Was it just to help out the sheriff, as he kept insisting? Or was there more to it than even he knew?
He stopped just short of the doorway, an arm's reach from her, and Carol held her breath. The quiet of the room settled between them and she could almost hear her own heart beating. Not a good thing, she told herself as her mouth dried up and her throat closed.
His shoulders looked impossibly broad and the brush of whiskers on his jaw made him look even more dangerous than she knew he was. Oh, not dangerous in the sense of her actually being afraid of him.
But definitely very dangerous to her nice, calm world.
She'd built a life for herself here in Christmas. She'd carved out a spot for herself here. It was everything she'd ever wanted.
A home of her own.
A place to belong. Stability. Comfort.
Ordinary.
People always turned their noses up at the word "ordinary." But Carol liked it. She much preferred it to words like "risky," or even "exciting." Growing up, she'd dreamed of a place like this. She'd clung to the fantasy images of home and hearth to get her through
the loneliness. And now that she'd finally found what she'd been chasing all her life, Carol wasn't ready to lose it. Not by falling for a pair of icy blue eyes with too much past and not enough future in them.
Always ready to support him even when he didn't want it. Even when he didn't deserve it. They were a solid unit, surrounding him with love and concern. Which was, sometimes, damn hard to take.
His gaze shifted to Carol. The corners of the kitchen were dark. Only the light directly over the small table shone brightly, spotlighting the two of them. With the hanging plants surrounding them and the soft music drifting through the radio on the counter, it felt... cozy sitting here with her. And he hadn't felt cozy in a long time.
Her eyes looked soft and dreamy. Her mouth curved in a small smile that seemed to hit him as hard as a well-thrown punch.
"How about you?" he asked, his voice hushed, to match the quiet solitude of the moment. "Where's your family?"
She inhaled slowly, then reached down and stroked the big dog that was never far from her side. "He's right here."
"The dog?'
"Careful," she warned. "He's sensitive."
"Got it." God knew, he didn't want to insult a dog that stared at him as if Jack were a walking steak dinner. But he wasn't finished asking questions. "No family at all?"
"Nope." She forced a smile, but he could see by the shift of emotion in her eyes that the smile had cost her. "My parents died in a car accident when I was ten."
"That's hard."
"Yes, it was."
"No brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. Only child."
The sorrow in her tone prodded him to try to make her smile. "An only child. I used to dream about that when I was a kid."
'Trust me," she said, one corner of her mouth lifting briefly, "it's not that great."
"Maybe not," he conceded and thought about it for a long minute. Actually, he couldn't imagine a life without his mother, his bossy sisters, or his brother. Alone might be good once in a while, but family had their points, too.
"With no family, it must have been tough losing your folks that young."
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug he didn't believe for a minute. "It would have been tough at any age."
"True. So, you went to Social Services."
"Yep." She lifted her chin in defiance of whatever sympathy he might offer her. "Bounced through a few foster homes, then ended up in the group home until I was eighteen."
And he understood clearly why she'd volunteered to take little Liz in. "So you didn't want Liz going to the county home."
"No," she said and lifted her cup of coffee for a steadying sip. In the overhead light, her eyes flashed. "I just couldn't let that happen."
A smart-ass mouth and a tender heart, Jack thought and found her an intriguing combination. Too damned intriguing.
A change in subject seemed like the best idea. Out of the blue, he asked, "Wasn't there an actress named Carol Baker?"
"Yeah." Carol smiled. "I'm not her."
"I noticed."
"Really?" She grinned, and this time the lingering sadness in
her eyes faded away completely. "Notice anything else?"
That was the problem, he thought. He noticed too damn much about her. The way she smiled. The light in her eyes. Her voice, her laugh, the way she moved. He didn't want to notice, dammit. And sitting here in the dimly lit room with her wasn't helping anything.
"Yeah," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "I noticed it's late and I'm tired." He stared down at her for a long minute, then turned and headed for the front door before he could give in to the impulse to stay. 'Thanks for the cake."
The main street was blocked off for the parade and the crowds were already staking out slices of sidewalk with lawn chairs and coolers. American flags whipped in the ocean breeze and the scent of hot dogs rolled down the street with all the subtlety of a tank.
Locals and tourists mingled in a strangely orderly mob as they waited for the beginning of the parade. Kids clutched balloons as tightly as their parents clutched them. Teenagers wandered through the crowd feigning boredom while scoping out the mob of people, looking for their friends.
Traffic was blocked off, the merchants were doing a booming business, and the carnival at the edge of town was cranked up and in high gear. Just another Fourth of July in Christmas.
Jack walked to the wide window of the sheriff's office and looked out at the milling crowd beyond the glass. The sun blasted down out of a picture-perfect sky, warning of the heat still to come. By late afternoon, there would be cases of sunstroke, sunburn, and a few drunks looking for a place to sleep it off. The cop in him
prepared for the day. The man in him remembered other Fourths, when he'd happily joined the legion of people celebrating.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd, picking out familiar faces. Davis Holloway was already sprawled in the bed of his ancient Chevy truck, a cooler full of beer beside him. His grandchildren scrambled in and out of the truck, just as Jack and Davis's sons used to do. Edna Folger, her silver hair shellacked into submission, sat under her purple and white striped umbrella, a thermos of iced tea at her feet.
Others kept moving, shifting, like dancers maneuvering around a crowded floor. And Jack's gaze kept pace, as he studied them all. If he was looking for one particular face in the throng of people, he wouldn't admit it— not even to himself.
Though he couldn't stop looking.
Shop doors were thrown open in silent invitation. Neighbors smiled, or stopped to gossip. From down the street came the garbled notes of the high school band tuning up. From the air-conditioned comfort of the sheriff's office, Jack was as separate from it all as he would have been if he were still in LA.
And damn it, he wished it were different.
The office door flew open, slamming into the wall behind it, letting in a blast of heat along with a shaft of noise, bright and edgy. Jack turned his head and smiled.
"Swear to God," his brother Sean muttered as he slipped in the door and closed it quickly after him. "Being around those kids makes a man grateful for vows of celibacy."
Jack turned and headed back to the desk at the far side of the room. Sean Reilly, at thirty-four, was just a year younger than Jack and they could almost have
passed for twins. Sean's black hair was a little shorter, his nose hadn't been broken once in Pop Warner Football, and usually, he had a soul-deep patience that shone from his eyes.
Sean was an Irish Catholic mother's pride and joy. He'd entered the seminary straight out of college, where his grades and aptitude for languages had earned him a spot to study and be trained at the Vatican. Now, after his ordination, he was, at least temporarily, assigned to his home parish in Christmas.
Didn't seem to matter how far away you strayed, Jack thought idly, eventually, all roads led not to Rome but to Christmas.
"No shit, Jack, those kids are terrors."
"Is that any way for a priest to talk?" Jack asked with a choked-off laugh as he noticed the wild gleam in his brother's eyes.
'That's not the priest talking," Sean assured him, "it's the uncle." He stalked across the room, grabbed the coffeepot and a heavy white mug, and helped himself. Once he'd gulped down half of it, he sighed and looked at Jack again. "Maggie's kids are future thugs. I can see it."
Jack shook his head and sat down behind the desk, propping his elbows on its cluttered surface. "Granted, Mike's a little wild, but Patrick?"
"Patrick's a born follower." Disgusted, Sean shook his head and scraped one hand across the back of his neck. His gray T-shirt was stamped property of the Vatican and his jeans were worn and faded. "Trust me on this. Mike'll plan their way into San Quentin one day."
"What, no faith?"
"In those two?" Clutching his coffee cup, he headed for the chair in front of the wide, paper-strewn desk and dropped into it. "Mike's eight years old and I caught him
in the sacristy, stealing unconsecrated hosts to play tiddly winks." He leaned back in his chair. "Hell, who knew kids still played tiddly winks?"
Jack hid a smile. "Hey, they weren't consecrated."
Sean lifted one black eyebrow.
"And," Jack continued, "I remember some kid breaking into the sacramental wine and—"
"I was twelve," Sean reminded him hotly. "And Dad made sure I didn't sit down comfortably again until I was nearly thirteen."
"So criminal tendencies run in the family?" Jack asked, then thought of something else. "Hey, maybe this means Mike'11 become a priest, too."
Sean shuddered. "God help us all."
A short, sharp bark of laughter shot from Jack's throat. Damn, it felt good to laugh again, however briefly. "What'd you do to the kid?"
Sean gave him an evil grin. "He's at the church now, polishing pews."
"You're a hard man."
"That's why I make the big bucks."
Jack snorted. "What'd Maggie say?"
"Do I look like an informer to you?" Sean asked, insulted that his brother would think he'd rat on his nephew. The kid might be a budding criminal, but there were "guy" rules to keep in mind.
Jack nodded. "You letting him out in time for the parade?"
"Yeah." Sean smiled. "Told him I'd take him and Patrick to the carnival."
Propping his sneakered feet on one corner of the desk, Sean cradled his coffee on his chest and studied his older brother. There were too many shadows in his eyes these days. But that was to be expected, he supposed. It was at
least a good sign that he'd come home. Even if it was only to do a favor for Ed Thompson. "How's the sheriff coming along?"
"Recuperating," Jack muttered, staring down into his own coffee as if looking for the key to the universe. "Not as fast as I'd like. His doctors say it'll be another two to three weeks."
"You say that like you just got a life sentence."
Jack lifted his gaze and narrowed it meaningfully. "Don't start with me, Sean."
"I didn't say anything." Yet, Sean added silently. He'd been talking to Jack off and on for the better part of two years now and it had been like trying to punch his way through a brick wall with a stapler. But he wasn't about to give up. He'd be damned before he let Jack piss his life away.
Especially over something that wasn't his fault and couldn't be changed. But that was so like Jack. All his life, he'd been the one to take on burdens that others would drop. Jack was the "responsible" one. He was the one Mom had turned to when their father died. He had a ready ear to listen to anyone else's problems, but he kept his own troubles locked away inside him.
The strong silent type, Sean thought now. But even strong men had a breaking point.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Jack asked.
"Not yet, Sheriff." He smiled to himself as his brother winced at the temporary title. "You're looking the part today, with the uniform shirt and all."
"Gotta have a police presence with this kind of crowd in town."
"Uh-huh." Sean swung his feet to the floor, set his coffee cup down on the desk, and leaned his forearms on his thighs. "Why don't you admit that you love it?"
"You're a cop, Jack. A good one. And you miss it." Frustration bubbled inside him. "Dammit, you know you do."
Jack pushed to his feet and glared down at him. "I told you not to start, Sean."
"I'm not starting," he said, leaning back in the chair again. "I'm continuing. There's a difference."
"I don't need you to save my soul, thanks."
"Somebody has to."
"Maybe it's too late."
Sean stood up and looked his brother dead in the eye. Since only a half-inch separated them in height, that was no problem. For two years, Jack had punished himself— and his family—by staying away. He'd turned inward, and lost sight of what was because of what had been. But now that Jack was back in Christmas and forced to stay a while, Sean was going to take advantage of the situation. "In my line of work, it's never too late."
"In mine, it often is. Forget it, Father Sean."
Sean held up both hands and hunched his shoulders. "Fine, fine. I can take a hint."
"Yeah?" Jack smirked. "Since when?"
"Nice." Sean backed off. For now. No reason to try to get everything said in one day. He had plenty of time to get through to Jack. And God knew, he'd need every minute of it. But for the moment, he changed the subject. "Anything new on the abandoned baby?"
Jack's gaze narrowed in suspicion, as if he were trying to decide whether or not to trust the abrupt shift in conversation. But a second or two later, he grabbed at it like a drowning man snatching at a rope tossed into a churning sea. "No, nothing." He shook his head and sat
Some Kind of Wonderful 89
down again. "I've been looking into it. Put Slater and Hoover on it, too."
Sean nodded. Ken Slater and Bob Hoover were only part-time deputies, but apparently Jack was calling out all the help he could wrangle.
"Henry down at the Silent Night Motel says there was a pregnant woman staying at his place for a week or so," Jack said, fatigue staining his voice. "She paid her bill in advance though, so he didn't see her at checkout time. Couldn't say if she was substantially thinner or anything."
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