* * *
On Sunday night, Mick insisted that he, Connor and Megan sit down after supper to discuss how to handle having the baby in the house.
“I won’t have Ma burdened with trying to babysit,” he said flatly.
Unfortunately he said it just as Nell walked into the kitchen. “Are you saying I’m too old to care for a baby, Mick O’Brien?” she demanded.
He flinched under her scrutiny. “Of course not, Ma, but babysitting’s one thing. Full-time care is another. I’m just saying it’s Connor’s responsibility to figure this out.”
“Well, I can certainly pitch in,” Nell said.
“Of course you can,” Megan soothed. “And I will, as well.”
“No,” Connor said. “Dad’s right. This is my responsibility. I’ve already spoken to Abby, and their nanny can look after little Mick, at least for a few days. I’ll drop him off there before I go to Baltimore for work in the morning.”
“And who’ll care for him at night?” Mick asked. “I know the kind of hours you work. Are you planning on leaving him over at Abby’s all day and into the night?”
Connor sighed. “I’ll figure out someway to get out of the office and back down here by dinner. Hopefully I’ll track Heather down soon and we can work this out. This arrangement won’t have to go on indefinitely.”
Mick looked at Megan and saw the determined set of her jaw. She clearly wasn’t happy with the plan. “Megan, you have another idea?”
She nodded. “Nell, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to fly up to New York first thing in the morning, take care of a few things at the gallery and come back at the end of the day. If you can care for the baby tomorrow, I’ll be back to take over. Connor, I’ll keep the baby right here for you until you and Heather have worked things out. He’s just now adjusting to being here with us. It doesn’t make sense to shuffle him off to Abby’s to a nanny he doesn’t know.”
Mick regarded her with surprise. “You’re going to quit your job now?” he inquired hopefully. It was what he’d wanted for a long time now.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she conceded. “It was only a matter of weeks before I quit anyway. I’m needed here now, that is if Connor doesn’t have any objections.”
“Why would he?” Mick demanded, scowling at his son. “You’re bailing him out of a jam.”
“I’m helping out in a family emergency,” Megan corrected. “Connor, is this okay with you?”
“I don’t know what to say,” he said eventually. “I didn’t expect you to do something like this.”
Megan gave him a sad look. “Perhaps because you don’t expect much of me at all. Let me do this, Connor. I’d love to spend time with the baby, and if I can make this easier for you at the same time, I’m happy to do it.”
Mick recognized that his son was caught between a rock and a hard place. He obviously knew this was the best offer he was likely to get. At the same time, it solidified Megan’s role in all of their lives and made it much more likely that there would be a wedding soon. Mick was ecstatic, but he understood why Connor was hesitating. For once, he kept silent, trusting his son to make the only reasonable choice.
Even though he looked torn, Connor finally nodded. “Thank you, Mom. It’s a very generous offer, and I’d really appreciate knowing the baby is in at least somewhat familiar surroundings, with people who’ll love him. Gram, I can take him over to Abby’s for tomorrow, if having him here will be too much for you.”
“Nonsense,” Nell said. “He’ll stay here with me.”
“Okay, then,” Megan said. “Let me go upstairs and make some phone calls. I need to put some things in order before I break the news to Phillip in the morning.”
“You could just call him,” Mick suggested. “Explain on the phone.”
Megan shook her head. “No, I owe it to him to tell him in person, and I’ll be able to organize my work at the gallery so someone else can step in or I can handle it from here for the time being. Plus, I’ll need to pack more clothes if I’m going to be down here indefinitely.”
“You’re going to be here permanently,” Mick corrected.
Megan gave him an inscrutable look. “Possibly. If that turns out to be the case, I’ll eventually have to close my apartment and have all of my things shipped down here, but we don’t have time to deal with that now.”
Mick dropped the subject. The most important thing was that this unexpected twist with Connor was bringing Megan back to Chesapeake Shores for the foreseeable future. That should give him plenty of time to convince her that a New Year’s Eve wedding was still in the cards.
* * *
Megan dreaded the conversation she was about to have with Phillip. For all of his faults, and there were many, he’d given her a chance years ago and trained her for a career in art that she’d come to love. Abandoning him with virtually no notice was not the way she’d wanted to handle things.
When she arrived at the Upper East Side gallery at 10:00 a.m. Monday, she was carrying two large lattes and wearing a penitent expression. Phillip was in the back, uncrating a painting that would be the centerpiece of their next show. By a new modern artist, it was bold and stunning. Megan regarded it with awe.
“That ought to sell the minute we open the doors,” she said. “Are the rest of his works half as good?”
“Of course, or I wouldn’t be giving him a solo show,” Phillip said, accepting his coffee, then taking a second look at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I have some news,” she said. “I don’t think you’re going to be very happy about it.”
“Mick’s convinced you to move back to Chesapeake Shores immediately to get ready for the wedding,” he said, looking resigned.
Megan regarded him with wonder. “Are you psychic, or just highly intuitive? I do need to move back to Chesapeake Shores right away, but it’s not about Mick.” She explained about the weekend’s events. “This is my chance to do something for my son and maybe make peace with him in the process.”
Phillip looked stunned. “You’re going home to play granny?”
Megan frowned at his characterization. “I’m not going to be playing anything. I am a grandmother.”
“Megan, it was one thing when you said you were going to marry Mick and open your own art gallery. That’s all about the man you’ve always loved and a career you’re passionate about. This—glorified babysitting—it’s just not you. How can I let you do it?”
“You don’t really have a choice,” she said tightly. “It’s my decision. I will do whatever I can today to help you find a replacement and leave things in order for him or her, but I’m going back home tonight, Phillip. That’s final.”
“I think you’re going to regret it,” he declared. “And what about your gallery? And the wedding?”
“In due time,” she said evasively.
He scowled at her answer. “Meaning you’ve put them on hold?”
“Only temporarily,” she insisted.
“And what does Mick have to say about this? He doesn’t strike me as a patient man.”
“He doesn’t have a say,” she said, then realized just how much she sounded exactly like Mick. She, too, seemed to be making decisions without regard for the man she claimed to love.
Phillip looked as startled by her response as she was. “And how does he feel about that?”
She sighed. “No better than I do when he does the same thing to me,” she admitted. “But that’s another reason I need to be in Chesapeake Shores. If things are going to work out for us, we need to figure out a better way to communicate. Right now we both seem to be issuing a lot of edicts.”
Phillip’s gaze narrowed. “Trouble in paradise?”
She frowned at the hopeful note in his voice. “Stop it. Mick and I will get married.”
&
nbsp; “We’ll see,” Phillip responded.
He left the room whistling, which was so annoying Megan almost picked up her purse and walked out. Unfortunately, a deeply ingrained sense of responsibility kept her where she was.
A few more hours of dealing with him after all he’d done for her was the least she could do.
And then she’d be back in Chesapeake Shores with the other irritating males in her life.
* * *
Mick spent Monday impatiently awaiting Megan’s return. He was underfoot so much, his mother finally lost patience.
“You need something to do,” Nell declared. “Go up in the attic and bring down the Christmas decorations.”
“It’s not even the first of December yet,” he protested.
“Doesn’t matter. It will keep you out of my way. Besides, you know how long it takes to get this house decorated. Even if you start outside this afternoon, it’ll be days before you finish.”
“I thought Jake was going to put up all the outside lights,” Mick grumbled. “Didn’t his landscape company start doing that a couple of years back? Let him climb up and down ladders. I don’t need to do it. Besides, we need to support his business so he has money to provide for that baby he and Bree are expecting.”
Nell stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, her expression exasperated. “Do you really want to argue with me about this? Even if Jake does the work, he still has to have the decorations. They’re in the attic. Bring them down.”
Mick turned on his heel and left. “Bossy old woman,” he muttered under his breath.
“I heard that,” she called after him. “You’re not too old for me to wash your mouth out with soap.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Mick shouted back, laughing.
“Don’t you tempt me, Michael Devlin O’Brien,” she retorted, though there was amusement threading through her voice, as well. “And if you wake the baby with all this commotion, you’ll be the one pacing the floor with him.”
Taking the threat seriously, Mick crept up the stairs as quietly as he could. He’d barely reached the second-floor landing, though, when the crying started. With a sigh of resignation, he walked into Connor’s room.
“Did Grandpa wake you up?” he murmured, picking the boy up and cradling him against his chest, then wincing. “Or was it this soggy diaper?”
He made quick work of changing the baby, then took note of the fact that he appeared to be wide-awake. “How about you and me spend a little guy time together?” he said. “You can come up in the attic and help me sort through the decorations.”
The baby gurgled happily at the suggestion.
Mick put him in his carrier, then climbed up to the attic. One step inside, he knew this was going to be no simple task. His mother had been right about that.
One of these days he was actually going to organize the mess up here. Every year he vowed to put all of the Christmas decorations away in an orderly fashion, and every year things got stuffed into boxes then shoved into whatever corner of the room happened to be empty. Usually half the boxes he carted downstairs turned out not to have a single decoration inside, because no one had ever bothered to mark anything.
“Looks as if we have our work cut out for us,” he told the baby as he settled the carrier on top of a large, stable box which would give him a view of the room as Mick worked. He spotted an old CD player nearby, then found the box of Christmas CDs that was stored up here. He popped one in, and music filled the attic. “A little mood music,” he told the baby as Johnny Mathis sang about chestnuts roasting. “Now, that was a man who knew how to sing.”
Even as Mick spoke, the baby’s eyes drifted shut. It was pretty amazing how easily soothed he was by a good voice and a lovely old song.
With the baby settled, Mick started opening boxes to check out the contents, moving those with actual decorations closer to the door. Several of the boxes contained only the massive number of strands of lights for outdoors. He plugged them in one by one, discarding those that didn’t work. It was a tedious task, but it gave him time to think about how different this holiday season would be with a new baby in the house and Megan practically home for good.
Perhaps it had something to do with his nostalgic mood, but when he came to the box of ornaments the kids had made when they were small, he sat down to look through them. Each one stirred a memory, beginning with a more or less tree-shaped ornament made of clay that Abby had painted bright green then dotted with colored lumps of clay to represent the ornaments. She’d been five, as he recalled, and in kindergarten. Bree’s lopsided angel was next, the wings askew. Next he found Kevin’s attempt at a clay puppy, a less than subtle hint that he’d wanted a dog that year. He’d tied a red ribbon around the dog’s neck in place of a collar.
Connor’s first ornament, made apparently in preschool, was simply a handprint in a blob of clay. It had been painted a festive shade of red.
Last he came upon Jess’s attempt. Even then she’d struggled with her attention deficit disorder. Her Santa’s hat, if that’s what it was, had a streak of white paint and another streak of red, but little else in the way of detail. She’d obviously tired of the project. Her name had been carefully printed on the back, though, most likely by the teacher.
Mick tried to recall the moment the children had presented these ornaments to him and Megan, but he couldn’t. Something told him he hadn’t been around to see the pride shining in their eyes or to add his words of praise to Megan’s. How many moments of their lives had he missed because of work? Most of the big ones, he was certain of that much. No wonder Megan had lost patience with him.
Now, though, he would get it right. His grandchildren would know they were loved. And it wasn’t too late to show his children how much they mattered, as well. Most of all, though, he would prove to Megan that he could be the devoted, attentive husband she deserved.
But first he had to get her in front of a minister on New Year’s Eve. And given her stubborn resistance to the idea, that was going to be easier said than done.
10
Megan had forgotten how tiring it was to care for an infant. By midafternoon when the baby went down for his nap, she was out for the count, as well. She was asleep on the sofa in the den, when she felt someone gently place a blanket over her. She stirred and glanced up into Mick’s worried eyes.
“I was trying not to wake you,” he said ruefully. “Go back to sleep. You’re worn-out.”
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “No, I need to get up. I should be using this time to get a few things done in the living room. All those decorations you carted downstairs should be sorted out and put where they belong, so we’re ready when we pick out the tree. When are we doing that, by the way? You and I could go this weekend.”
“It’s too soon,” Mick protested. “It’ll be dead by Christmas.”
She smiled at his response. “You used to say that every year. The kids and I were always so impatient to get a tree into the house, and you always insisted we wait. I think it was so you wouldn’t have to go with us and listen to us debate the merits of every tree on the lot.” She gave him a defiant look. “Well, this year I’m not waiting. Having a tree will perk up everyone’s spirits. We can have the whole family over one evening to help us decorate it.”
Mick relented. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”
“It is.” She threw off the blanket and stood. “Now I’d better get those boxes sorted out. Most go to the living room, but I’m almost certain some of those things belong in the dining room and some in the foyer. I might as well get them out of here.” She nodded toward the stack of boxes sitting in the middle of the floor.
“That doesn’t have to be done right this minute,” Mick argued. “Lie back down and get some rest while you can. If the baby wakes up, I’ll get him. He and I are buddies now. We have thi
ngs to do.”
She regarded him with amusement. “Such as?”
“Well, today I thought we’d go into town and do a little shopping.”
Megan stared at him incredulously. “You’re going to take the baby Christmas shopping?”
“I’ve already put the stroller and car seat that Connor brought last night into the car. I thought the baby would like to see all the lights and the store windows,” he said. “The other kids have already been. He shouldn’t be left out.”
“I doubt he’s aware that he’s been left out,” she said wryly.
“It’s the principle,” Mick insisted.
She eyed him with amusement. “Admit it, Mick. You just want a chance to show him off at Sally’s, don’t you? That’s what this is really about.”
Mick shrugged. “So what if it is?”
“How cold is it outside?”
“I have no idea. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“If you’re going to take the baby into town, he needs to be dressed for the weather. And then he needs to take off some of those things while you’re in Sally’s so he doesn’t get too warm. I’ll come with you,” she concluded decisively. She met Mick’s gaze. “Unless you have some objection to me coming along?”
Mick’s eyes brightened at once. “Of course not. It’ll be like the old days.”
She regarded him with amusement. “What old days would those be?”
“When we took the kids to see the lights.”
“Mick O’Brien, you were never once here to go traipsing around town looking at the holiday decorations,” she reminded him. “You generally breezed in on Christmas Eve, tugged on a Santa outfit, said ho-ho-ho a few times, passed out presents and went to bed.”
“I most certainly did not,” he retorted indignantly. “How’d all those toys get assembled for Christmas morning?”
“Most of the time, if I couldn’t put them together myself, I threw myself on the mercy of some neighbor who was handy with a screwdriver,” she recalled. “The one exception was the dollhouse you made for the girls. You built that yourself. I never did figure out how you found the time when you were away so much.”
A Chesapeake Shores Christmas Page 12
