"You couldn't," he agreed and took the few steps separating them. "I'll have to talk to her, though. She abandoned that baby, Carol."
"Don't."
"That's my job."
She laughed harshly again and this time slapped one hand to her throat as if to ease the pain. "Funny. You
keep insisting you're not a cop, but your first reaction to this is all cop."
He didn't like the sound of that—all the more because he had to admit it was true. He felt for the girl—but even more for Carol. Although the simple truth was, what Lacey had done was a crime. He'd have to notify his sister Maggie, too, since she was the rep for Social Services. But he figured he could wait for that until tomorrow. He shifted position, tightened his jaw, and looked down into the face of pain.
"I know you feel like shit," he said, "but abandoning a baby is a crime. Even in a 'safe haven' state."
She blew out a breath. "A what?"
"Safe haven. It's a law. Most states have one of some form or another. Anyone can abandon their baby, no questions asked, no charges filed, as long as they drop the kid off at a safe place. Like a hospital. Or a church." He raked one hand through his hair and inhaled sharply. "It still goes against the grain, but it saves a lot of lives. Far fewer kids found thrown away in trash cans."
"Oh, Jesus."
"And the manger in the town square is hardly a designated safe drop-off zone."
"She said she left Liz there because she knew Quinn and I would find her."
"Doesn't matter. I've got to talk to her."
"Now?"
"No." He reached for her. "Carol, I'm sorry about the baby. I really am."
"Me, too," she whispered on a sigh that reached across the short space separating them to tug at his heart.
He closed that space with a single long stride and dropped both hands onto her shoulders. There was nothing
he could do to ease the hurt she was feeling over Liz, he knew. But there was still something else to be addressed. And that problem, he could handle. "There's something else we have to talk about."
She laughed shortly. "I can't take much more, so tread carefully."
"Fine." He squeezed her shoulders gently and didn't know for sure if it was for her benefit or for his own. Wasn't sure if it mattered. "I've been thinking about this all afternoon, Carol." He swallowed hard, pushed the knot of doubt down his throat and blurted, "I want you to marry me."
"What?" Carol stared up at him and blinked frantically, trying to brush the tears aside to clear her vision. "This is taking it easy on me?"
"I heard," he said simply, his gaze boring into hers with the intensity of a man determined to do the right thing, no matter how much he didn't want to.
"You heard what, exactly?" she asked, voice tight as she held on to the slim thread of control that was already unraveling in her fist.
"About the baby," he said. "Not Liz," he corrected, before she could draw a breath. "Our baby. I heard about the pregnancy test."
"Oh, sweet God." Her chin hit her chest and a sigh of frustration and misery welled up inside her. It was all she could do to keep it from bursting out and turning into a wail that would shake the leaves off the trees. She slipped out from under his grasp and backed up a step or two. Oh, she so didn't need this right now.
"Why did I come here, again?" she muttered thickly and kicked off into a jerky pace around him that jangled her nerves and pumped her blood in fiery hot bursts. "Oh, yeah. I wanted small-town life. I wanted to know
people. To be involved. Well, hell. I'm involved, all right."
"What're you—"
"It's unbelievable." She shook her head and threw her hands wide. She wanted to tear at her hair. Punch something. Scream. She did none of it. "The CIA should come here. Sign these people up."
She glared out at North Pole Avenue as if she could see everyone in town and blast them all with a steely-eyed glare that even had Jack backing up a step or two. When she shifted that glare to him personally, she watched him brace for attack.
Well, good.
She wanted to hit something.
Only the fact that she was a lady, dammit, kept her from hauling off and kicking him.
Gritting her teeth, she muttered, "You can relax. I'm not pregnant."
"You're—" He frowned at her.
"Not. That's right." She blew out a breath and didn't even try to read the expression in his eyes. She knew it would be relief and wasn't sure she wanted to see it at the moment. Oh, that stung, didn't it? she thought, holding that small twist of pain tight within her. She wouldn't let him see. Wouldn't let him know that after losing Liz, she'd taken that pregnancy test and prayed that it would be positive.
She'd never be able to replace Liz and the space the tiny girl had carved into her heart. But another child would have created its own space there and would have eased the misery swamping her.
But no.
An eighteen-year-old girl could get pregnant accidentally—but it seemed a twenty-eight-year old woman couldn't. That bitter disappointment still clung to the
edges of her heart, but she knew damn well that Jack didn't share it.
"You're saved," she said sharply, giving in to the urge to snap at something. "A last-minute homer in the bottom of the ninth and all's well that ends well."
"Carol—"
Quinn whined and she stopped long enough to soothe him with a smooth stroke of her hand atop his head. The one constant in her life. Her champion. The one living soul in the world she could absolutely count on to love her no matter what.
Her dog.
Her heart would, she thought, be much better off if she'd just remember that from now on.
"You're safe, Reilly." She shook her head as she stared up at him. "Jesus, you should see your face."
He stiffened, his features turning to stone. "Look, I don't know what you're so pissed at me about. You're not pregnant. You should be glad. And if you had been ... I was just trying to do the right thing and—"
"Oh, yeah." She stepped in close and poked him in the chest with her index finger. That solid, hard wall of muscle absorbed her small assault as if she hadn't even touched him. "The right thing," she repeated, sounding the words out slowly as if they'd been spoken in a foreign language she didn't really understand. "The right thing is what, exactly? Sacrificing yourself on the altar of guilt? Slapping yourself into chains and making me your jailer? No, thanks."
"That's not what I said."
"You didn't have to say it," she snapped and started pacing again. Needing to move. Needing the action. She'd felt all evening as if she'd been locked into a small,
dark room. And now, her blood pumped hot and thick in her veins and her heart pounded erratically enough that she half-expected it to jump from her chest. "Christ, it's written all over your face, Jack."
He scowled at her, clearly not appreciating being called an open book. Of course he was relieved there wasn't a baby. Wasn't he?
"I take care of my responsibilities, Baker."
"Oh" she sighed dramatically. "Be still, my heart." Then she slapped one hand to her chest, paused for a long moment, and added, "Wait a minute, it is?
His jaw muscle twitched and she was delighted to see it. There was nothing she'd like better than to have a fight. Fatigue dragged at her with sneaky claws. She'd cried too much. Her eyes burned and her throat was raw. She felt as though she'd been pulled through hell backward. But she was still standing, dammit.
And she'd be damned if this last, hard hit would take her down.
"God, Jack. You ought to write a book. Men all over the country would be grateful to get your advice on how to propose."
"You gonna keep reaming me all night? 'Cause if you are, think I'll sit down."
"Oh, then by all means," she nearly snarled, "have a seat."
He didn't move. Just stood there facing her, with legs braced wide apart in a fighting stance and his arms folded across that broad, muscled chest. In the light of the Nativity, s
he looked up into those blue eyes of his and saw the same shutters she'd always seen. Even proposing, he'd kept her locked out. Kept himself far away from what was happening.
She was furious all over again.
"Did you seriously think I'd snatch at that proposal?" she demanded, her voice so harsh, it startled Quinn.
"I don't—"
"You don't know?" she finished for him. "Well, let me be the first to tell you, then. No. I wouldn't have."
He straightened up to his full, impressive height and did a good job of looming over her. "Do I get a chance to talk here?"
"No. You've had your say." She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. Behind his head, the nimbus of a street lamp out on the main street shone out around him like a damn halo. Right.
Saint Jack.
The Martyr.
Her eyes stung again and she wanted to sigh. No more tears, she thought. She couldn't do one more bout of crying. Her eyeballs would simply roll right out of her head. Which might take the sting out of this headache that had her wincing even as she faced him down... but it wouldn't be worth it.
"Dammit, Jack, I told you, that night. I said, if something happened, I'd take care of myself."
"I wouldn't walk away from you. From a kid I made."
"And you think that would make for a happy little scenario?" She walked in close. So close she could smell him. That blend of soap and shampoo and male that was all him. That was just... Jack. And she nearly weakened. She wanted to lean into that broad chest and have his arms come around her. She wanted to be held and to be told everything would be all right—even if it was a kind, loving lie. She wanted things to be different.
But they weren't and she told herself it was better to get used to the reality and start dealing with it. "You think I'd
stand for you resenting me and poor little junior? Or is that what you really want?" The question just occurred to her and it popped out of her mouth before she could censor it. "It's not enough for you to be miserable about your life— you have to make the people around you unhappy, too?"
"Christ, Baker, I was trying to—"
"Help. Yeah, I know that's what you think. But I don't want a pity proposal, thanks. Been there, done that."
"What?" His brow furrowed, his blue eyes narrowed, and he stared at her, waiting for an explanation.
He didn't have to wait long.
the memory of something that still irritated her. "I never should have said yes. Should have looked him in the eye and said no."
"Didn't have any trouble saying it to me," he pointed out, voice as tight as the steel vise wrapped around his chest.
"True." She gave him an abrupt nod and almost smiled, if you could call that slight twist of her lips a smile. "Maybe that's a good sign. I'm learning and growing. Yay, me."
"Carol—" He didn't know what he was going to say, all he knew for sure was that he hated seeing her so torn up. So furious. So .. . hurt. Dammit, he'd thought he was doing a good thing. The right thing. But she was looking at him as if he were a bug she was planning on squishing. And the gleam in her eye told him she'd enjoy it.
"When he proposed, he said he loved me," she said and her voice dropped several notches. The rustling of the leaves in the trees almost drowned her out. Almost. "A part of me didn't believe him, right from the beginning," she admitted, talking now as if Jack weren't even there. "Dammit, I knew he didn't love me, but I wanted it so badly I convinced myself to believe him. It was so good to hear those words."
Her head snapped up and she pinned him with a long, frosty look, and when she spoke again, that quiet, wistful quality was missing. "When you've never heard those three words—'I love you'—before, they become ... magic. Like the Holy Grail or something. You spend your life looking for them. Then when you finally do hear them"—she wrapped her arms around her chest and held on—"you're willing to overlook a lot of pesky little details—like truth—just for the chance of hearing them again"
"Carol, those words—"
She sucked in a long breath and gave him a tight smile. "This is just perfect, you know?" she muttered darkly, and shook her head as if even she couldn't believe what was happening. "I love Liz and lose her—then I love you" — she snapped a furious look at him—"and you can see how well that's turned out."
Love?
"Oh, don't panic," she said, gritting her teeth now. "Love isn't contagious." She choked out a harsh laugh. "And it's not fatal. I'll recover."
Jesus.
She loved him.
The dark, cold places inside Jack suddenly opened, blossomed, and the opening was almost painful. A light brighter than anything he'd ever known before shone briefly into the shadows he carried and Jack took an instinctive step forward, then stopped. Even if he tried to hold her now, she wouldn't welcome it.
Three small words.
He knew what value those words held. That's why he was always so damn careful not to say them. As he watched her now though, those three words hovered on the tip of his tongue and it was all Jack could do to bite them back.
The impulse to say those words to Carol, to watch her eyes as he took the chance, wasn't new. It had been building for days now. Maybe longer. But he hadn't said anything. Hadn't even really allowed himself to think it. And if he tried now, she wouldn't believe him and he couldn't blame her.
Besides, love didn't change anything. He'd loved before and it hadn't been enough to keep his world from unraveling.
Then she was speaking again and the moment was lost, anyway.
"Robert—that was his name—said marriage was a natural progression. The next logical step in our relationship."
"And you knocked my proposal?" he said, irritation flickering hot and wild inside him—not just at himself, but for the long-absent Robert.
She slanted him a look that told him to back off while he still could. "Robert said that we were compatible. That we would do well together. I wanted children." She stopped, inhaled deeply, then sighed the air out again. "And oh, God, I wanted to be needed."
"Needed?"
"You don't get that, do you?" she demanded, turning on him again with a speed that made a striking rattlesnake look like a snail. "What did you say about love? That it was a billT Disgusted, she shook her head again. "So to you, being needed is just another way of being trapped, right?"
She didn't wait for him to answer. Instead, she charged on, her words picking up speed, her voice picking up an odd little hitch that made him want to hold her, soothe her, somehow erase the pain he'd brought her. The fire in her eyes kept him quiet. She was furious. Too angry to be calmed by him and too determined to have her say to be quiet now.
"You've always been loved. You had your family." She waved her arms, silently encompassing Christmas and everything in it. "This town. This place. You knew where you fit in. Where you belonged. I didn't."
"I know," he said, his voice more gentle now as he watched old pain mingle with new in the shimmer of her eyes. Everything in him wanted to offer comfort. To pull
her into his arms and hold her until the ugly memories faded.
"No you don't," she said. "You couldn't possibly. You don't know what it's like to never have the family you always dream about." Her eyes narrowed on him. "You have no idea what it feels like to be trotted out for prospective adoptive parents. To dress up and smile and hope that maybe these people will choose you. You learn to slouch a little, too, so maybe people will think you're younger, because everybody knows that only the young ones get adopted. Then, when you're never chosen, you make do. You resign yourself to the state home. Not a home, really, but the closest one you've got."
"Jesus, Carol."
"You don't know what it's like," she continued, refusing to be stopped. "To not have a home to run back to when your world collapses around you. To know that people there will love you and welcome you no matter what and do whatever they can to help you."
He started to speak, but she held one hand up like a five-fingered stop sign
.
"You don't know what it's like to make a friend and have them disappear into a different foster home." She stepped in closer. "You don't know what it's like to wish, from the bottom of your heart, to be like everybody else. To have a birthday party. Or a picnic. Or a real Christmas—the kind you see in movies—with snow and a tree and presents. You can't know. You never once in your life did without any of those things, did you?"
Jack took her accusations and felt each one of them hit him with the force of a slap. He looked down into those whiskey eyes of hers and found his heart aching for the child she'd been. For the pretty little girl with no one to call her own. And at last, he stopped feeling sorry
for himself long enough to be more concerned for someone else. For Carol. She might think she'd gotten past those old hurts and disappointments, but they were all still there, curled up inside her ready to explode and knock her to her knees. As they had now.
She deserved better—from him, from everyone. She hadn't complained about the crappy hand she'd been dealt. She hadn't curled up in a damn ball and clutched her wounds and pain close, shutting out everything else. Instead, she'd beaten back early disappointments and set out to make the life she'd always wanted.
Life had never been good for Carol, but she'd survived. . . triumphed. Shame reached for him and grabbed hold. He'd had everything—had taken it for granted, that love, that security—and then he'd allowed one hideous night to wipe it all away. To destroy not only his past, but his future.
Now he looked into her eyes and found it hard to meet her gaze. "No," he said, "I don't know what that's like."
"Well, you were lucky." Those words came a little sharper. A little stronger, with less pain, thank God.
He'd rather face her fury than her tears.
"Yeah, I guess so." He glanced down at the dog who followed Carol's every step with a guarded gaze. Jack knew just how the animal felt. And she wasn't finished yet.
"When Robert proposed, I said yes. Because I wanted all those things," she said, staring up at him and locking her gaze with his. "I wanted to be loved. I wanted children. A family."
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