“Don’t tell that to my grandmother. Lie down and see what you think.”
She didn’t have to issue the invitation twice. Joe lay down beside her, settling uncomfortably into the pad. “I don’t feel anything except wired,” he said, and Rachel laughed.
“You’re not supposed to feel anything yet. But if you have back pain or arthritis or something, it’s supposed to make it feel a lot better.”
Joe lay there. He was wildly aware of Rachel only inches away. He hoped the magnetism in the pad didn’t have any other effects, such as making every cell in his body more aware of every cell in her body or increasing the attraction so that suddenly they found themselves inexplicably stuck together. Now that would be a hoot.
He snickered. He couldn’t help it.
“Something funny?” she said, sounding half-asleep.
“Yeah. Really,” he said.
“Joe?”
“Yes.”
“One other thing about the pad. Mimi says it makes you have the most vivid dreams you’ve ever had in your life.”
“I think this whole thing is a dream. It couldn’t be real,” he said, thinking of the baby found in the manger, the strange Santa and lying in bed next to the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. He hoped he would never wake up. He couldn’t imagine having any dream more amazing than this.
But just in case Mimi was right about the dreams, he closed his eyes and waited to see what happened.
Chapter Four
Morning. Warm sunlight on her cheek. A baby crying.
Rachel stirred and rolled over on her side. Maybe if she didn’t wake up, Nick would see to the baby. He was good that way, always eager to help with the children.
The baby kept crying. No, she was howling, poor thing. Rachel’s eyes opened slowly, squinted at the numerals on the alarm clock on the bedside table. Why hadn’t Nick—
The man beside her was staring full into her face, and he wasn’t Nick.
Rachel’s consciousness catapulted into the here and now. The here was Mimi’s condo at Elysian Towers. The now was Christmas morning. The baby was no baby of hers. And the man was—
Who was he? Her mind grappled with his identity even as she pushed herself upright beside him.
Last night. The baby in the manger. The man on the ladder. Joe Marzinski. Condo Crisis Control.
Memories of last night flooded over her, a jumble of faces and names and phone calls and a kiss that she’d rather not think about. To make herself stop thinking about it, she swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Better see what Chrissy wants,” she mumbled before she jumped up and fled into the living room.
The baby was squirming in indignation at the lack of food. Rachel immediately went into the kitchen, scooped the prepared bottle from the refrigerator and settled it in a pan of hot water to warm.
By the time she returned to the makeshift crib, Joe was lifting the baby up. This morning he was tousled of hair and scruffy of beard, and he looked—well, he looked wonderful. His shoulders seemed very wide, and his height was imposing, but his strength and presence were offset by the gentle way in which he tucked the baby close to his chest.
“She’s wet,” he said.
Chrissy rooted for a nipple against the front of his T-shirt, but he only grinned and said, “Sorry, sweetkins, you’ll have to wait.” Then he proceeded to change her diaper, and skillfully, too, even though she was waving her fists and making every effort to wriggle off the table.
Rachel decided that there might be no better time to retreat and regroup. “I’d better go brush my teeth,” she said. Joe only grunted.
In the bathroom she stared gritty-eyed at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was matted on one side, and her cheek bore the mark of a wrinkled sheet. She looked awful. And she’d just slept with a man—well, in a manner of speaking—she didn’t even know. Not very well, anyway. She must have been out of her mind for letting him sleep beside her all night. He could get ideas. He could have…
She felt a flush rising up the sides of her neck when she thought of what could have happened. He could have reached over and pulled her to him, and he could have kissed her. Again. And she could have kissed him back. Again. Worse yet, she might have liked it.
She washed her face more vigorously than usual and ran a brush through her hair. She was trying not to panic, but she had no idea what her next move should be. Should she ask him to leave? Or would he volunteer to go? Or did she want Joe Marzinski to stay?
She found a scrunchie and bundled her hair into it Think, Rachel. Think But she couldn’t think.
When she went back into the living room, Joe was situated on the couch and Chrissy, curved into the crook of his arm, was going at the bottle for all she was worth.
“Here, let me take over,” Rachel said as she sat beside him. Smiling over at her, he transferred the baby into her arms.
“Not that I wasn’t enjoying her,” he said thoughtfully, looking at Rachel with an expression that she couldn’t read.
“Well,” Rachel said. “I wonder what happened to that policeman who was supposed to pick Chrissy up last night.”
“Want me to call the police department?”
“I wouldn’t want them to come before she’s eaten properly,” Rachel said, thinking that she was worrying entirely too much about this baby.
“She’s making a pig of herself all right,” Joe replied. As if to prove his point, the baby slurped and gave a kind of snort “You see?” Joe said, smiling indulgently.
“You’d better call and see what’s keeping the police officer,” Rachel said with reluctance.
“Okay.” He went and looked up the number of the police station in the telephone directory, and Rachel heard him speaking tersely to someone on the other end of the phone.
When Joe came back, he looked resigned. “It seems that they think someone did come to pick up the baby last night.”
“But no one—”
“I know, I know. I told them that. We were both here last night, and if anyone had rung the bell downstairs, one of us would have heard it. And it wasn’t someone dressed up in a Santa suit that supposedly took custody of the baby. It was a police lieutenant that the dispatcher didn’t know, but he had forms to prove that they’d been here. He read them to me on the phone.”
Rachel was at a loss to deal with the surge of emotion that accompanied this news. She was inwardly overjoyed that the baby could stay with her, at least for the time being. But the baby couldn’t stay forever. She knew that. Maybe today would be long enough. Maybe she could bear to let her go later. In the meantime she tried to concentrate on what Joe was saying.
“It’s a bureaucratic snafu, that’s all. I guess we’ll just have to live with it until we can raise someone at HSS. I can’t say that I mind. She’s a cute little thing.”
As Rachel was absorbing this, Joe bent over and waggled his eyebrows at Chrissy. “Merry Christmas, kiddo. Sorry about all this. Since it’s Christmas, we’ll have to see about getting you some presents.”
“Presents?” Rachel echoed.
Joe straightened. “Well, sure. It is Christmas.”
“I don’t have any presents for her,” Rachel said slowly. She never bought Christmas presents anymore. Well, except for Mimi, of course.
“We’re not talking anything major, Rachel. What I have in mind is diapers, formula, and if Chrìssy’s a good girl, maybe a mobile to put over her crib.”
“She doesn’t have a crib,” Rachel reminded him.
“I’ll get her one.”
The way Joe was talking, it didn’t sound as if he were going to go away anytime soon. The baby’s hand clutched at the front of Rachel’s shirt, and she focused on the small face. Chrissy’s eyes were closed, her expression dreamy. Babies were so delightful, so much fun. It was funny how you didn’t really mind the work it took to maintain them, odd that you just kept wanting to do more for them even when they were ungracious about it. And this wasn’t even her b
aby.
“Presents later, but what can I do to help now?” Joe prompted.
She’d almost forgotten he was sitting there, and she had to think for a moment.
“You could put the coffee on,” she suggested, realizing too late that by asking him to start the coffee, she’d made a tactical blunder. A few minutes ago she’d wanted this guy out of there. Now he would stay until he’d drunk at least a cup. Would she have to offer breakfast, too? She didn’t know.
“Coffee. Will do,” Joe said. He disappeared into the kitchen.
“Coffee’s in the freezer,” she called after him. She heard him opening and closing the freezer door, running water in the coffeepot
“Is it okay to nuke a couple of bagels or would you rather have them toasted?” Joe stuck his head around the corner of the kitchen.
“Nuked is fine.” He certainly knew how to make himself at home, but at the moment she didn’t mind a bit She would rather tend to this baby. She removed the nipple from the baby’s mouth and eased her over one shoulder.
“I could scramble eggs,” Joe called from the kitchen.
“Well,” she began. She frowned. “Don’t you want to get home to your family?”
“Too late. I’ve already missed all the fun and games. It’s eight o’clock already, and my nieces and nephews have all probably been up since five.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe you’d better—”
Joe appeared at the kitchen door. He was drying his hands on a dish towel. “After breakfast I’ll call HSS again, see if anyone’s there.”
“I doubt it. It’s Christmas morning. No one will be in the office today.”
Joe grinned. “Not to worry. Chrissy is in good hands. Say, before I get down to the mechanics of breakfast, you wouldn’t have an extra toothbrush, would you?”
The man had no qualms about moving in and taking charge. Rachel supposed that wasn’t so surprising in view of the way he made his living. She sighed. “In Mimi’s travel supplies she’s got toothbrushes from all over the world. You know, all sealed up in plastic wrap from different hotels. Look in the basket on the top pantry shelf.”
Joe went to look, and the aroma of the coffee began to waft into the living room. Rachel rocked the baby and gazed down into the solemn blue-gray eyes. “I bet you wish you had a family for Christmas, don’t you?” The baby kept her eyes on Rachel’s face, and then, much to Rachel’s surprise, she winked.
But of course a baby this age couldn’t possibly wink. Still, Rachel had the unsettling feeling that this baby had understood exactly what she had said. And that Chrissy knew all about Rachel’s history and why she never wanted to celebrate Christmas again.
Which was ridiculous in the extreme. She’d better stop these fanciful flights of imagination and get serious. She had a baby who needed to be put in foster care, and she had a report to type for a businessman who was going to be hopping mad if it wasn’t finished on time.
And she also had a house guest who seemed to have no intention of leaving. He emerged from the kitchen brandishing a razor in cellophane.
“I found this in the basket with the other travel supplies. You don’t mind if I shave, do you? And how about a shower?” At least he waited until Rachel nodded faintly. Then he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard him turn on the shower behind the closed door.
Rachel smoothed the baby’s soft hair and cuddled her close. If only she didn’t have the distracting presence of Joe Marzinski to worry about, she could enjoy this. As it was, she half expected him to walk out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, demanding to know if it would be all right to toss his clothes in the washer while they ate breakfast. She wouldn’t put it past him.
“WELL, NO ONE’S ANSWERING at HSS. Same old recorded message,” Joe said, clicking off the phone and tossing it on a chair. They had finished eating, and Joe had stacked the dishes in the dishwasher.
“It’s because of the holiday. Everything shuts down,” Rachel said, and she could hardly keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He spared her a sharp look but didn’t comment.
Rachel smoothed the baby’s fluff of hair. “So it looks like we keep you for a while,” she cooed to Chrissy, whose sweet soft shape seemed perfectly molded to her own.
“Not without more diapers and formula,” Joe reminded her.
“I’ll call up Mimi’s pharmacist friend and ask if his drugstore will deliver today,” Rachel said.
“Don’t pester him on Christmas morning. I’ll get whatever we need.” He whipped a small pad of paper and a pen out of his pocket. “I can get a crib from one of my sisters. We’ll need diapers, newborn size. Formula. A real baby bottle, so we can stop using that doll’s thing. Clothes.” Joe scribbled on the pad. “Anything else?”
The “we” hadn’t escaped Rachel. “Not for such a short-term visit,” she said pointedly. Chrissy stared up at her and waved her arms. Rachel had second thoughts. “Maybe a rattle,” she amended.
“A rattle. Check. Okay, I’m going to get this stuff and I’ll be right back.”
“Joe,” Rachel began. She meant to tell him that he didn’t have to do anything, that she could handle it. But the look of bright expectancy on his face made it impossible for her to force the words from her lips.
“You were going to say?” His eyes were on her face, too disconcerting.
“Urn, nothing. Maybe if she goes to sleep I’ll be able to get some work done.”
“Hey, it’s Christmas. Don’t count on it. Speaking of which, you need to get into the Christmas spirit, Rachel.”
“I don’t think—”
Joe walked to the radio in the kitchen and flipped the on switch. The annoying cadences of “The Little Drummer Boy” filled the air.
“That’s better,” he said.
“No, it’s not. That’s the worst Christmas song ever written.”
Joe twirled the tuning dial until he found some cool Christmas jazz. “Okay, so I agree with you about ‘The Little Drummer Boy.’ The point is that it’s Christmas. You can’t just sit around here like a lump. You need to get with the happiness of the season.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t take time out.”
“Circumstances have changed. You have a baby to take care of now. As for me, I’m out of here. See you later.” Meeting her outraged expression with a grin and an expressive shoulder shrug, he was gone.
In spite of herself, Rachel smiled. Joe’s mood was infectious. Never mind that she hadn’t planned to celebrate anything, never mind that Christmas was a sad time for her. Joe Marzinski was like a walking, talking, breathing Christmas card, delivered right to her doorstep at a time when she was most vulnerable.
The trouble was, he was really pushing the envelope.
RACHEL WAS STEPPING out of the shower, dripping wet, when she heard Joe come barging in the front door. She’d forgotten to lock it, and she’d left the bathroom door open in case Chrissy cried.
“Rachel?” he called in a low voice.
She almost couldn’t move. Then she had enough presence of mind to grab the nearest towel, a small one that she normally used for her hair. She was clutching it around her when Joe appeared in the doorway, his face barely visible behind a bedraggled Christmas tree that he had evidently found somewhere.
“Oh. Sorry,” he said, taking in her wet hair, the towel and the fact that she was cringing behind the shower door. He did not look sorry, however. “I found this tree in an alley. It’s slightly damaged on the bottom, but I brought a saw along so I can fix that. I might have to rearrange a few branches, too, but that’s okay.”
“Uh, Joe,” she began.
“And ornaments. I brought ornaments. I had them at my place, never used them.”
“Oh. Fine. I’ll be right out,” Rachel said despairingly and with as much dignity as she could summon, which wasn’t much.
As she was pushing the door shut, she heard him say, “Wear something pretty. We’re going to dinner at my parents’.�
��
She thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. She opened the door slightly and took in the presents and ornaments and the small Christmas tree that he was now sawing with a hand saw both noisily and energetically.
“Excuse me?”
He stopped sawing. His expression was detached, but determinedly so. “Dinner. At my parents’ house. With my family.”
“I can’t,” she said, not so patiently. How many times did she have to tell him?
“Think about it, Rachel. This is the baby’s first Christmas. We’ll tie a red bow around her bottle, and look, I brought her a dress. A Christmas dress. What every well-dressed baby should wear.” He held up a tiny hanger, and on it hung a tiny red velveteen dress. It was cunningly smocked and embellished with delicate white lace.
Rachel didn’t know what to say, so she merely shut the door and stared through the steam at her reflection in the mirror. In the living room Joe was humming along with the radio. Dinner with his family? No way. He’d said they were a big family. She didn’t know any of them. She’d be lost in a group like that, wouldn’t know what to say, how to act. How to celebrate.
Joe’s back was turned when she tiptoed out of the bathroom and toward the bedroom. By this time she’d wrapped her hair in a towel turban-style and was wearing a chenille bathrobe. She sniffed appreciatively at the pungent scent of blue spruce needles.
“You don’t need to walk so softly. I don’t think Chrissy will wake up. She’s sacked out.” He didn’t turn around. He was hanging ornaments on the Christmas tree with meticulous care. A sunbeam touched on each one as he placed it, twinkling on the gilt.
“I’m not walking softly. I’m barefoot. And you might as well know, Joe, I’m not going to Christmas dinner with your family.”
He pivoted and eyed her speculatively. “So where else are you going for Christmas dinner?”
“I’m going to stay home and work.”
“Would you mind if I take Chrissy? I stopped by Gracie’s house to get the car seat and the portable crib—” and he gestured toward it with his thumb “—and she knows all about how you found a baby in the manger. Not only that but her kids are fired up about it, and if I don’t show up with at least a baby, they’re going to be hopping mad. It won’t be pretty. They got high-powered squirt guns for Christmas.”
Baby Christmas Page 6
