The night before had been unusual, but hardly devastating. True, there were a lot of kids around. But it wasn’t the memories of crying children that haunted him. Memories of their mother were much more vivid.
He wasn’t sure what it was exactly that had captivated his imagination. She was awfully pretty, with a body that could melt stone, but then, so were a lot of women--women without children attached.
He made a face at his cold cereal. Children. There was nothing worse. Sticky fingers. Whiny voices. He’d spent a good part of his life very carefully staying away from the little rug rats.
And now they were invading his territory.
He’d never actually made it a rule not to date women with children. It had just sort of turned out that way. In his line of work, most of the women he met were unattached. None of them wanted children any more than he did. At least, he supposed that was true. Come to think of it, the subject had never really come up.
Another thing his mother had held against him. “You’re my oldest,” she would say. “My first born. Scotty, you need to find a nice girl and have babies. I am just aching for a grandchild from you. If you wait any longer, I’ll be senile before I get to hold one of your children in my arms.”
He groaned, pushing those memories away, resentment smoking through him as he did. She’d had six other children, a few of them busy having babies as soon as they could manage it. Why had it been so important to her that he have them, too? That was a mystery to him, just part of the past that he couldn’t quite reconcile with reality.
He looked out through the window at the red tile roof of the house next door, wondering if his pretty neighbor and her kids were up yet. Funny he’d never noticed her before. She must have moved in while he was flying somewhere in another corner of the world.
He had a vivid picture of the woman who had been living there lately. Dark, pretty in an over-obvious way. The sort of woman, who dressed as though she were heading for a cocktail lounge at nine in the morning.
Not his type, but attractive enough. He’d said “hello” now and again, but that was about the extent of it. He hadn’t been particularly intrigued.
This new one was different. Despite the children, she interested him.
Now that he thought of it, he really ought to make amends. After all, he had scared the poor kids half to death when he’d leaped out of the hot tub. He’d made them drop their apricots.
His gaze lowered to the heavily laden branches of his apricot tree. That was it. He would take them a bowl of apricots.
A few minutes later he was on his way to his neighbor’s front door, a large canister of apricots in hand.
Just being neighborly.
CHAPTER TWO:
The Mean Man Visits
Cathy Feenstra stared down at the three identical cribs holding three nearly identical six-month-old babies. For once, all three were asleep at the same time. She stood very still. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was wake-them up.
She examined them slowly, from the dark wisps of hair on the top of their little round heads to their perfect tiny fingernails. So very much alike. It was amazing.
Two of them were girls, and one was a boy. Their names were Michelle, Robert and Kimberly, but Cathy and her crew had taken to calling them Pink, Blue and Daffodil. (Yellow just hadn’t struck quite the same note.)
“Poor little babies,” she whispered at last. “I wish I knew where your mama was.”
Daffodil sighed in her sleep, as though she were in heartfelt agreement. Cathy smiled.
“Don’t worry, little one,” she murmured. “One way or another, we’ll find her. I promise you that.”
Things that tore families apart fired up a fierce anger in Cathy—things like mothers disappearing, fathers walking out—all of which were part of her life.
Was it naive to want an intact family unit with all the nurturing love that it could hold for every child? Probably. But she couldn’t help it. She still longed for that in the same way children longed for a white Christmas. It was just the way things should be.
Turning away from the three, she backed carefully out of the room. Easing the door closed, she almost tripped over Beanie, her own barely-walking tyke in diapers. She scooped him up with a practiced, hand and started down the stairs.
“Mama.” Beth was at the bottom, looking up, her strawberry-blond hair tied back in a crooked braid, her wise six-going-on-thirty face slightly, anxious. “Are the babies asleep?”
Cathy nodded wearily. “Finally.”
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she gave Beanie a noisy kiss and set him down.
“Now, at last I’ve got some time for my own brood. What do you children want for breakfast?”
“Mama.” Beth clasped her hands behind her back and looked self-conscious. “I ... I already fixed something for us.”
Cathy turned to stare at her daughter. “Why you little darling! What did you fix?”
Beth’s smile wavered as though she wasn’t sure if she’d done something good or something that only made things worse.
“Toast with butter and honey. And milk.”
Cathy felt one level of tension flowing out of her, and at the same time, tears welled in her eyes. Ever since Joey had left them, she’d been strung so tightly, trying to hold it all together. There were days when the effort seemed too much to bear.
But there was always Beth, like a gift. What had she done to deserve such a daughter? Her heart filled with love.
“You angel!” She reached out and gave her child a big bear hug. “Thank you so much.”
Her voice cracked just a little and she blinked hard to get rid of the tears. “You’re such a help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Beth looked so pleased it brought a lump to Cathy’s throat. She smiled at her daughter as she brushed the hair out of her eyes.
She hadn’t been paying enough attention to her little girl. If she didn’t watch out, she’d turn around and find Beth grown up. She gave her daughter another hug and released her, standing back to look at her with motherly love and pride.
She still didn’t understand how a man could turn his back on a child like this. That Joey had left his largely imperfect wife for greener pastures was no great surprise. But that he could have looked into Beth’s trusting sea-green eyes and turned and walked away was incomprehensible to her.
“Joey, my boy,’” she murmured to herself, “you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Mommy, Mommy!” The shriek was Barnaby’s and it came from the sidewalk where he was riding his bike. “The mean man’s coming!”
Cathy and Beth froze, staring at each other.
Barnaby ran through the front door as though the devil were chasing him, his red hair standing out from his head.
“The mean man!” he cried as he threw himself against his mother, his chubby arms clutching her knees.
Before Cathy had time to react, Scott was leaning on the door jamb, smiling rather sheepishly.
“Hello. Your local ‘mean man’ is here, in the flesh. May I come in?”
Cathy hardly knew what to say. Could this really be the same jerk who’d frightened her children the night before? Some nerve he had.
Scott seemed to read the outrage in her eyes. He stepped into the entry and went on quickly.
“I brought a peace offering. See?” He held out the canister, filled to the rim with fat, ripe apricots. “And I promise not to do one mean thing while I’m here.”
Cathy hesitated, her gaze going from his smiling dark eyes to the apricots he held and back to his eyes again. For some reason, she almost felt like smiling back at him.
It must be that he just had that kind of face. She bit her lip instead.
“You won’t throw things at the children?” she asked tartly.
“I didn’t ...” He flushed and stopped, refusing to demean himself by going into an explanation. “Let’s start fresh, shall we? I’m Scott Carrington.”
> He stuck out a large hand.
She stared at it for a moment, then took it, feeling her own hand disappearing in the strength of his.
“I’m Cathy Feenstra. And these are Beth, Barnaby and Beanie.”
She pulled her hand away from his before he was quite ready to release it. “My three children.”
He nodded coolly at the kids and turned back to Cathy immediately, a move she noted with cynicism. She was used to judging a man by how he responded to her children. She hadn’t met many who’d passed her test.
She was getting a better look at him than she’d had the night before. Then, with the moon casting a faint light across his angular face and his hairy naked chest, he’d seemed like some monster of the night, a reincarnation of Dracula. Here in the light of day, in slacks and a polo shirt, he looked very different.
His dark hair was neatly combed, and his dark eyes glinted with a friendly light. His shoulders were wide, his arms muscular. Noticing the way the polo shirt clung to the rounded hardness of his chest and revealed the bulge of his biceps, she felt a tiny shiver of awareness, something she hadn’t felt in so long that she’d almost forgotten such feelings existed. Reason enough to keep the man at arm’s length, she thought grimly.
While she was examining him, he was examining her room with a wary glance, one eyebrow raised. “Aren’t there more?” he asked.
Pretending not to know what he was talking about, she made her eyes wide and innocent. “More what?”
He said the “b” word as though it were almost obscene. “Babies.”
She smiled. “I only have three children.”
“But last night ...”
Let him stew, she thought. He was certainly easy to tease. And he deserved a little teasing after last night. Completely ignoring his uneasiness, she smiled again.
“Thank you so much for the apricots. May I offer you a cup of coffee?”
He frowned, looking about suspiciously, as though he were afraid some tiny tot might pounce on him at any moment if he lowered his guard.
“Thanks,” he said slowly. “That would be great.”
“Please sit down.” She indicated the plush furniture in the living room. “I’ll be right back.” She retreated into the kitchen. Beth was right behind her, carrying the apricots.
“Scott,” Beth said, setting the canister down on the table as she carefully pronounced his name. “Scott.”
She looked pleased with her results.
“Be nice to Scott,” she told her mom earnestly.
Cathy turned to stare at her oldest child.
“I’m nice to everyone,” she said with forced cheer as she pulled a coffee mug down off the rack and filled it with hot liquid.
Beth shook her head. “Uh-uh. Sometimes you’re mean.”
Cathy was astonished. “Who am I mean to?”
Beth blinked and shrugged. “Men.”
Cathy leaned against the counter for a moment, closing her eyes, knowing Beth was absolutely right. Sometimes she was a little mean to men. In fact, she’d hardly had a nice word to say to anyone of that gender since Joey, her husband and the father of her three children had said, “So long,” one day and left without a backward glance.
It had been over a year since they’d heard from him, except for the divorce papers. But it could have been yesterday.
Pulling herself together, she managed a smile. “I’ll try harder, pumpkin,” she said softly. “Honest. Starting right now.”
Beth still looked worried. “Mom, he’s cute.”
She bit her lip, wondering at how fast her little girl was becoming a big girl, then she got out the cream and a bowl of sugar. “Cute doesn’t cut it in this world of ours. Didn’t you hear your brother? He’s a mean man.”
Beth shook her head wisely.
“No, Mom. I don’t think he’s mean. I think he’s nice.” Her eyes were very big and earnest as she added, “We need a dad around here. I like him.”
Cathy swung around, horrified. “Beth!”
“He’s cute,” she insisted stubbornly.
“Let me give you a word of advice, young lady. Don’t pick your man for ‘cute.’ There are a lot more important things in this world. Don’t find out the hard way.”
“Like I did”, was implicit in her silence. That was as close as she’d ever come to criticizing their father in front of the children and she quickly retreated from the edge of that cliff. They deserved to have good memories of their father. That was something she would never take away from them.
She put everything onto a lacquer tray and started for the living room.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go be nice.”
Scott was sitting on the couch wondering why he’d come. There were two children staring at him. One was hiding behind the velveteen-covered chair, peering from around the side as though Scott were surely the enemy. The other was sitting at his feet, looking him over with unabashed curiosity, touching him now and then with one chubby finger, then drawing it back and gurgling happily.
He looked up with relief when the women re-entered the room and he immediately jumped up to help Cathy with the tray.
“Thank you,” she said, and, about to say something back, he looked down into her eyes.
They were huge and blue and there was a mystery there that caught at him, throwing him off base and making him forget what he’d been about to say. Instead, he stood where he was and stared at her a little too long, until she said, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said quickly, feeling like a fool. He slumped down onto the couch again, trying hard to regain his usual savoir-faire. Every time he looked at her he was more and more intrigued. What was it about this woman that was doing this to him?
Her silver-blond hair shimmered around her shoulders like sunlight and her rosebud mouth looked sexy and kissable and her long, tanned legs looked gorgeous in those short shorts. But hey, come on. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before.
And yet ... and yet… . .
There was something about this woman that tugged at something within him.
“So you live in the house behind us,” she said at last, opening a conversation but doing it gingerly. “And yet you’ve been gone most of the week.”
He nodded. “I’m a flier. I was a pilot in the military for a long time and now I’m a pilot for a commercial airline. That means I spend most of my time somewhere else.”
“Ah, so that’s it.”
He nodded. And then, since they were asking questions…
“Is your... husband around?” he asked, then winced at his obviousness. Still, he had to know and she certainly hadn’t been forthcoming on the issue.
“No,” she said, glancing quickly at the children. “He’s not.”
“Oh.” WeIl, that didn’t help much, did it?
She got up to let Barnaby outside, and he craned his neck to look at her hand. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry at all, so he still couldn’t be certain. He tried to formulate another way of asking more specifically, but before he could find the words, the little girl spoke.
“Our daddy’s gone,” she said matter-of-factly. “Mommy isn’t married anymore.”
“Beth!” Cathy gazed at her daughter in perplexed horror as she came back to sit down. She’d never known Beth to be so forward before. This missing daddy thing was bothering her more than she’d realized if her little girl was ready to throw her mother into the arms of the first decent-looking man to walk through the front door.
Beth shrugged, looking apologetically at her mother. “Sorry, Mama,” she said softly, burying her face on her mother’s shoulder.
Cathy hugged her girl and whispered, “It’s okay,” into her tousled hair, then turned back to Scott.
She wanted to turn cold and brush him off, but somehow she couldn’t force it. She hesitated, unsure of what to do. There was an openness about the man, a warmth she seemed to automatically respond to, as though she’d known him for a long time. She felt an instinctiv
e trust, although why that was, she couldn’t imagine.
She’d promised her daughter she would try to be nice to Scott, and to tell the truth, that was turning out to be easier to do than she had thought. Maybe they could be friends. Wouldn’t that be nice? But friendship required honesty. She had to be very clear on where things stood.
“I’m divorced,” she admitted, her blue eyes wide and honest. She patted Beth and set her free. “And I’m very busy raising my three children on my own. I have absolutely no time for anything else.”
For one of the few times in his life, Scott was embarrassed. Suddenly he saw how this whole scene was playing itself out. How could he sit here and ask her these things so crudely, right in front of the kids?
What an idiot. He might as well grin and say, “Hey babe, like your bod. Are you free to join me in a short, fun-filled affair? No strings attached, honest. And say, leave the kids at home, okay?”
Like some self-centered swinger at a singles’ bar. He was seeing himself in an unfamiliar mirror and it was not a pretty picture.
But before he’d thought of a way to redeem himself, a sound came from upstairs. Everyone froze. Scott looked toward the stairway.
“What is that?” he asked carefully.
Cathy tried to look innocent but her smile was a delicious declaration of guilt. “What is what?’” she responded, blinking her lovely blue eyes.
The sound came louder, the wailing unmistakable. The first voice had now been joined by another.
Scott turned on her accusingly. “Now don’t try to con me. I’m not hearing things. You’ve got more babies upstairs.”
The “b” word again. He seemed to wince as he said it.
Cathy laughed and sighed with mock discouragement. “Oh gee, can’t put anything over on you, can I?” she teased, rising from her chair.
She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Beanie. It had been apparent for a few moments now that his diaper needed changing. But the babies’ cries were getting louder. Beanie would have to wait.
The Baby Invasion (Destiny Bay-Baby Dreams) Page 2
