The Baby Invasion (Destiny Bay-Baby Dreams)

by Conrad, Helen

  She wanted to touch him, touch his face, smooth back his hair. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything. Was he waiting for her to take the lead? To show him what she wanted, how much she would allow?

  His eyes were dark, she couldn’t read them. But she could feel the physical tug between them, the force trying to pull them together. It excited her, made her pulse beat faster. It would be so easy to sway a little, lean toward him, end up in his arms.

  And in his bed. And in his life, just long enough for his leaving to break her heart.

  A shiver of dread passed between her shoulder blades.

  No!

  She was going to be strong. She’d gone over all the hazards, she knew them well enough by now. She wasn’t going to let herself— and her family—in for that sort of anguish.

  The sound of something loud and gooey making big, wet bubbles broke the spell. They both turned to look at what was on the stove, seeming to forget all about the magic that had been growing between them.

  Cathy moved to turn down the heat. She lifted the lid to stir the concoction.

  “Your dinner calls,” she said lightly.

  Watching, Scott grimaced. The sounds had not been good. “What is that?”

  She threw him an apologetic smile. “It’s your soup, I’m afraid.” She lifted the lid again so he could take a peek. “I hope you like split pea.”

  “Split pea soup?” He leaned forward and sniffed the air. “I used to love split pea soup. My mother always made it on cold winter nights.”

  “This was the first time I’ve ever made it.” She pulled out a ladle and a large, deep soup bowl and began to dish it up. “Personally, I think it’s horrible stuff.”

  Watching her, Scott became nostalgic. The scent of the soup, the steam rising from the pot all combined to bring back a wave of comfort such as he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “I used to love it. But nobody makes it like my mom used to. She soaked the peas for days and then threw in a huge ham bone with big hunks of ham still clinging to it.”

  Cathy looked up and nodded. “That’s what I did.”

  He looked more closely. “You’re kidding.” He took the bowl from her and set it on the kitchen table. “This does smell good,” he noted doubtfully.

  She watched him, her arms folded across her chest, a smile hovering on her lips. “It looks and tastes like green slime to me,” she murmured softly, waiting to hear his verdict.

  He took a sip and his face relaxed in ecstasy. “Green slime! No way. Ambrosia!”

  She made a face.

  “Ambrosia, huh? Well, I’m glad you like it.” Straightening, she went to the breadbox and took out a pan she’d left there. “At least these corn muffins I made to go with it are pretty good. Would you like one?”

  “Corn bread?” He frowned, his spoon poised for another sip. “Don’t you have any French bread?” He swallowed the soup and waved the spoon in the air. “You always eat French bread with split pea soup.”

  “Do you?” She shook her head, teasing him just a little. “How lucky you’re here to teach me the finer points of the etiquette of split pea soup.” She went back to the breadbox. “You’re in luck. I do have some French bread.”

  He didn’t say a word, too busy enjoying his soup. She cut a few slices of the bread and poured him a glass of milk before sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

  He took another spoonful and sighed happily. “This is wonderful. You can come cook for me anytime.”

  “Thanks,” she said tartly, “but I’m not looking for a cooking job.”

  He lowered his spoon and looked at her.

  “That brings up an interesting point that’s been bothering me,” he said. “I can’t believe you can really raise all these kids on babysitting money.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Then what else do you do? What’s your true calling?”

  Her eyes got a dreamy, faraway look and she rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the tabletop.

  “I went to college, once upon a time, and I studied Art History. Rembrandt and El Greco and the Twentieth Century Surrealists. Got a degree and everything.” She glanced back at him. “Do you have any idea how many jobs there are out there for Art History majors?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “About three. And I wasn’t one of the lucky trio who got them.”

  He nodded, not surprised. “And so you lapsed into despair and had three children to make up for it?”

  “Not quite.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I got married first. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “But you are married no more.”

  She felt prickles of unease. This was odd, sitting here talking to him like this. He was studying her too closely, and yet she was opening up to him in a way she never did to strangers.

  Maybe he wasn’t a stranger any longer. Maybe that was it.

  “I also worked as a secretary until the twins came. And now I do medical claims for an insurance company. It’s work I can do at home.”

  “And that’s an asset, is it?”

  “When you have little ones to take care of it sure is. There’s no way I could pay for decent childcare on the kind of salary I can command in the work force. Not until I get a bit more experience under my belt.”

  Scott knew she was probably right.

  “And the kids’ father? Doesn’t he…?”

  Send along a bit of child support? The answer was “no” but Cathy wasn’t going to whine about that to Scott. She rose before he finished his sentence and filled his bowl again.

  “It’s been a treat staying here in this big house,” she said quickly to fill the silence. “It’s much bigger than our tiny apartment across town.”

  Scott watched as she came back to the table, murmuring his thanks as she put his plate before him and sat down again. For one wild, flashing moment, he had a picture of her doing the same thing in his own kitchen next door. The image made him feel warm and toasty.

  But the picture quickly expanded and suddenly there were three little faces peering from around her knees.

  He blinked and shook it away. He had to keep that in mind. She came with too many accessories.

  “You know, this is really a strange neighborhood,” she was saying. “When I was going door to door trying to find out if anyone knew April, it was eerie, as though everyone was living in sort of a mental ghost town. Nobody seemed to know anyone else around here.”

  He shrugged and took a drink of his milk. “You know how these newer developments are,” he said. “People’s lives revolve around their work. Home is just a place to sleep at night.”

  “I guess so. It seems as much money goes into building fences as into the houses themselves.”

  Scott grinned at her. He was feeling good, like a cat after a meal, silky and lazy and at peace with the world. “That’s the way I like it.”

  She shook her head.

  “Not me. I like the kind of place where there are no fences and everyone knows his neighbors and they have block parties and barbecues and the kids play baseball in the street.”

  He shuddered visibly. “Sounds terrible.”

  That stopped her. She leaned slowly forward, searching his eyes.

  “You really are a mean old man, aren’t you?” she accused softly.

  He pushed the plate away, full at last.

  “If someone who doesn’t like neighborhood block parties gets that hung on him, I guess I am.”

  Her blue eyes searched his again. “Oh, sure,” she said. “You enjoy being a grouch. But deep down, you really like kids, don’t you?”

  It was time to bite the bullet. There was no point in pretending. To lie to her now would be to ask for trouble—and maybe raise expectations that could never be fulfilled. He raised his face and said it clearly.

  “No. Not really.”

  Shock widened her eyes, and then she smiled, sure he was kidding. “Oh, come on. Everybody really likes kids deep d
own.”

  He stared back, not flinching. “I don’t.”

  She would not give up. Not wanting to be responsible, like Joey, was one thing, but to actually dislike children! That went against the laws of nature.

  She gazed quizzically at him, coaxing a different response. “Think this through now,” she urged. “I mean little babies in little pink bonnets with curlicues on their foreheads, with shy little grins, chubby little legs taking their first steps...”

  He shook his head firmly. “Can’t stand any of it.”

  He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers and said distinctly, “I think all children should be locked up in cages at birth and released on their eighteenth birthday only if they’ve been very, very good.”

  She stared at him.

  He stared back.

  There was no give in him at all. This couldn’t be. Not like children? Really not like them?

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m willing to make a concession. I know that you said you... Don’t care for children.”

  “Right.”

  “I understand that. I can come to terms with it.”

  Why did she care? That was the question. But she didn’t want to deal with that now. For some reason she had to find a way to change this answer of his. She had to find a chink in his armor.

  She gazed at him, biting at her lip and thinking hard.

  “Okay, you say you don’t like kids. But it’s just because you don’t know children.”

  He sighed, leaning back and shaking his head. “Sorry, Cathy,” he said firmly, almost sad for her. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean? I know you’d change your mind if you came to know their sweet little ways.”

  “You’re dead wrong.” He said each word emphatically.

  She stared at him, completely at sea.

  “Cathy, the fact of the matter is...I probably know more about children than you do.”

  What an odd thing to say. It didn’t make any sense. She frowned, shaking her head. “What are you talking about?”

  He turned in his chair, looking at her from under lowered lids. There was a storm brewing in his eyes now. For the first time, she could read his feelings in his gaze. He’d kept his tone light, but she could see the reality beneath the amused detachment. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, as though she needed to hold on to something, as though it were going to be a bumpy ride.

  “I was the oldest in a family of seven,” he said. “My mother had seven children in fifteen years. I was eighteen before I escaped.”

  His smile was humorless and he shook his head.

  “Until then, I was nanny to every one of my brothers and sisters. My mother’s pregnancies weren’t easy and she spent a lot of time in bed. Someone had to do the work. And there I was, a ready-made mother’s helper. When other guys were out playing baseball, I was inside, warming formula and sterilizing bottles. I spent my days changing diapers, fixing lunch boxes, cleaning up spilled milk, when I should have been studying to get into a good college, playing football, taking out some pretty cheerleader.”

  His grin was bittersweet.

  “Until I was eighteen, babies ruined my life.”

  Cathy felt as though the force of his bitterness had hit her physically. There was barely concealed raw emotion behind his casual attitude. She had an urge to comfort him, but she knew without being told that he would hate that right now.

  “So you see,” he was saying, “I know all there is to know about kids.”

  She nodded. “I—I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Sorry?” His laugh sounded almost like it had before he’d started on this touchy subject. “Don’t be. I learned early what some men only wish they had before it was too late. Better to happen when you’re young and still have a way out, than when you’re older and you’ve made a commitment for life.”

  His smile was perfectly friendly, yet Cathy felt as though she’d been slapped in the face. She knew he was warning her. Don’t mess with me, honey. I’m never going to change.

  But she didn’t feel warned. She felt challenged. She wanted to shake him, wake him up, to prove him wrong.

  But there wasn’t time for that now. She had other goals at the moment, other considerations to deal with. She took a deep breath and smiled back.

  “But you do know what you’re doing around children. So you’re perfect,” she said sweetly. “You’re just what I need.”

  The wariness came back into his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Could you... would you consider taking care of some of these kids while I go to Lake Tahoe for a few days?”

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  Just Like Old Times

  He kept his face very still, but Cathy thought she detected a flash of pure panic in his eyes. He didn’t say a word, but his hands on the table spread and tensed against the butcher-block top.

  “It would only be for a couple of days,” she hurried to add. “I... I assume you won’t be going out on another flight for a while. Don’t you pilots get big hunks of time in between trips? I’ll drive my van up. I could leave right away and be in Tahoe by noon tomorrow. Then, if I find what I’m looking for, I would be back on the road by evening.”

  “And when do you sleep?” he pointed out edgily.

  “Oh.” She thought fast. “Well, maybe I’d have to wait until the next morning to start back. But I would be back late that evening. And I would come right over and get the babies.”

  “Would you?” His eyes were glinting dangerously and his tone was sardonic at best.

  “Of course I would. You’d hardly have to spend any time with them at all. Just…just two days and two and a half nights.”

  “Of pure hell. Shoot, I’d do that for anyone.”

  He wasn’t buying, that was for sure. Cathy sighed, giving up. It had been a long shot from the get go. She was going to have to find someone else to take care of the kids while she was gone.

  But who? It wasn’t as if she had family around or friends who didn’t work. She’d only lived in Destiny Bay for a few months and hadn’t had time to build a community of friends as yet.

  She sat across from Scott looking wistful, her shoulders hunched, and he felt remorse. But not enough to offer to do the unthinkable. A surge of annoyance flashed through him.

  “Are you going to explain to me why you’re having this sudden urge to take a vacation?” he asked evenly. “It seems like an odd time for it.”

  “Vacation?” She stared, then realized what he meant. “Oh, no, it’s not that at all. I want to go up to Tahoe to look for April.”

  “Ah.”

  Well, that made it a little more understandable. But only a little. He looked at her blankly and then asked, slowly, “Okay. I’ll bite. Why Lake Tahoe?”

  She gripped her hands together and took a deep breath. “I have a theory. I think she may be there, maybe even staying at the Wild Horses Casino.” She shifted in her chair. “You see, on Saturday evening, before I had even begun to really worry, there was a phone call. I picked up the receiver and said ‘hello.’ There was no answer. But I could tell someone was on the line.”

  “You think it was April.”

  “At the time, that didn’t occur to me. But looking back now, yes, I do think it was her. Just checking up, making sure I was here with her babies. And then, when she heard my voice, she hung up.”

  Scott frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “I know. Neither do I.” She sighed, then squared her shoulders. “But there’s no use sitting around trying to analyze why she’s doing this. The thing is to find her. And there was a clue in that phone call.”

  He looked skeptical. “Really?”

  She nodded. “I could hear the jangle of slot machines in the background.”

  He was becoming reluctantly intrigued now. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. And as far as I know, there are only a few places w
ith that sort of slot machine action.”

  “Oh sure.” His sarcasm was back. “Las Vegas. Henderson, Laughlin, Reno—should I go on? Any Indian Reservation in California. Just about any place in Nevada.”

  “Including the Nevada side of Lake Tahoe.” She rose from her chair and gestured. “Come on. Let me show you something.”

  She led him into the living room, and using a chair as a stepladder, went up on her toes to plunge her hand deep inside a decorative urn on a high shelf.

  “I honestly think April went through her entire house and obliterated everything that might give anyone a clue as to where she was going. But she forgot about these.” She pulled out a handful of match-books.

  Scott took a few. On each cover was printed an ad for the Wild Horses Casino. “I wonder if Tawny has this one?” he muttered.

  She glanced at him but had no idea what he was talking about and decided to skip it.

  “Doesn’t that look clue-like?” she demanded, stepping down from her perch.

  “Maybe,” he admitted reluctantly. He glanced up. “Have you tried calling the place and asking for her?”

  She nodded. “They even tried paging her. No luck.”

  “Well...”

  “But that doesn’t mean anything. She could be there under a different name. And anyway, this is the only evidence of a place she might have gone to that I’ve found anywhere in the house. So I’d like to try it.” She gave him an impish smile. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

  He regarded her balefully, still wary of her plan to dump the kids on him. “Possibly.”

  And it turned out his fears were justified. She took a deep breath and tried one more time. “So, will you watch the kids for me while I go up?”

  He felt very selfish, but he had to refuse.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  Deflated once again, she started to turn away, but he reached out to stop her, his hands taking her shoulders. She wrenched herself out of his grasp, pulling away with a jerk that surprised them both.

  She stared up at him, wishing she hadn’t done that. He gazed back, and only the slightest flicker in his eyes revealed that he had reacted to what she’d done. Her jerking away had been caused by doubt and disappointment, nothing more. Did he realize that? She hoped he wasn’t reading too much into it.