by Leigh Riker
She cleared her throat. “How did the interview go today?”
Brig made a sound she couldn’t quite interpret. She watched him rinse out the bottle, then carefully measure formula into a clean one. His shoulders looked tense.
“Perfect. She seems perfect, like you said.”
A man of few words, she thought, like Pop when his feelings were raw and he didn’t want Molly to see that. She didn’t feel reassured.
Brig screwed the cap and nipple onto the bottle. Laila was beginning to fuss, perhaps having sensed dinner was on the way. He poured more milk into a small bowl, then stuck the bowl in the microwave. Molly waited the few seconds until the timer chimed.
“You’ve come a long way, soldier,” she said, remembering his first night here and hoping now to ease his downcast mood.
He didn’t respond. A dark pall seemed to hang over the entire house tonight. Pop had even muted the news on TV, as if to keep from reminding Brig of where he was going tomorrow.
“You’re a master at diapering, feeding, changing,” she went on, unable to stop herself, “and no one gives a better bath, mister.”
“Molly, quit.” He turned at last with the bowl in one hand, the other still cupping Laila’s dark head. The baby was decked out in her yellow sleeper with the white lambs on it.
“The girl was great,” Brig said after a moment. “I’ve checked her references and the agency’s website reviews, all of them glowing.”
Yet something was wrong. “Maybe they don’t post the other kind.”
He held her gaze, his blue eyes looking like purple pansies. He sifted rice cereal flakes into the warm milk in the bowl. Laila followed his every motion, her dark eyes bright.
“I need to pack,” he said abruptly.
And her pulse lurched. Even with a nanny nearby, tonight might be Molly’s last chance to hold the baby, to be with her in this house.
“Why don’t you go upstairs,” she said. “Do whatever you need to. I’ll feed Laila. She can stay in my room until you’re done.”
He passed the baby to Molly but didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll make it short.”
“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words rang all too true. This time—like eight years ago—she would stay behind.
* * *
IN HER ROOM Molly rocked Laila and listened to the sounds of Brig packing across the hall. Maybe she should stay in bed tomorrow until he left. Molly couldn’t imagine saying that final goodbye.
“Aren’t you the one,” she crooned to Laila in her arms. “You ate all your cereal, yes, you did. You drank every last bit of your milk, too. If you’re not careful, little girl, you’re going to need Weight Watchers. Yes, you are.”
Molly laid her cheek against the baby’s hair and swallowed.
She ached with the loss that hadn’t happened yet. Even with Laila next door for a time, Molly wouldn’t really be close to her. The nanny would take over. How could she let Laila go?
As if she had any choice.
How could she let Brig...
No choice at all there, she thought, even after the kisses she and Brig had shared the other night. How silly she had been, letting herself get used to having Brig and Laila in the house, teaching Brig to care for her, listening at night for Laila’s cries, feeling as if she and Pop were part of a new family when clearly they weren’t. Once Brig was gone, her father would slip back into his routine of staying inside, seeing few people, leaning on Molly.
“Oh, Laila.” She smoothed her cheek against the baby’s head. She picked up first one tiny hand, then the other to kiss each. Her tummy full, Laila was nearly asleep, impossibly thick, dark lashes shuttering her eyes. Molly didn’t realize she was crying until she heard Brig’s voice.
“Molly. Hey,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. Pale light streamed into the room from the hall, but his face was in shadow.
“This isn’t turning out to be the best night.” Molly dabbed at her tears. “Really, I’m not the type to blubber...I don’t know why I am.”
Laila hiccupped in her sleep, making both Molly and Brig laugh when there was little to laugh at.
Brig came into the room. He hunkered down in front of her and the baby, smoothing Laila’s hair, his touch brushing Molly’s hand.
“There’s no easy way to do this, is there?” His voice sounded husky.
Brig tried to ease the baby from her arms, but Molly couldn’t let go.
“Not yet,” she said. “I don’t mind holding her while she sleeps. Once tomorrow comes and you leave and Laila is next door...”
“I do have one other idea.”
Molly wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. But no, this wasn’t about the nanny he would hire. She could tell by the look in his eyes how different this idea was, and her earlier fantasy flooded back. But, no, he wouldn’t. Would he? He wasn’t quite down on his knees, but his posture reminded her of another time when Brig had asked her to marry him in just this way. Would he say those words again now? Her pulse began to race.
“Brig, is this a proposal? For Laila’s sake?” She wasn’t expecting that, especially since it would be for the wrong reason. Yet he hadn’t seemed that enthusiastic about the nanny today. “I mean, I realize that could be the ‘something’ you need for Laila...” Molly could hardly say the words. “But that wouldn’t work for me.”
Brig appeared stricken. “No, Molly. I didn’t mean that. I thought maybe...” He took a long look at her, as if seeing her disappointment, her embarrassment. Molly Darling, the two-time loser. The woman he’d left at the altar. He tried again. “I thought... I’d hoped... But no,” he said. “I can’t ask. Forget I said anything.”
Molly could guess what he’d been about to say instead.
In a perfect world, she’d once told him, Pop and I would take Laila.
In a perfect world Brig would give up his military career.
Wishing she could offer herself but knowing she couldn’t, she gazed down at the sleeping baby in her arms. She couldn’t blame Brig for trying—he needed someone for the baby—yet she did blame him. All over again. When push came to shove, Brig would always choose black ops, even over Laila. How foolish she had been to believe things could be different, that this time he was different.
Pop and I will watch her, she almost said. There’s a day care program right in our backyard. A crib across the hall. All her things are here.
Maybe this solution had been in Molly’s mind all along, softening her resolve until she actually thought—believed—he was again asking her to marry him. If she said yes about Laila for the next few weeks or months until Brig’s latest mission ended, if she offered to keep the baby here, she could pretend that Laila was hers.
Molly’s eventually broken heart—one more time—would wait a little longer.
But what good would that do Molly?
With Brig and the baby, she had come to almost believe in having everything she’d always wanted after all.
At the last instant she couldn’t say the words. She couldn’t take the risk.
* * *
BRIG TOSSED THE last of his clothes into the bag and zipped it shut. There. He was ready. As ready as he could be now.
Strange, but in the past weeks he’d come to feel at home here, even with his parents gone and in what he might at one time have called enemy territory. Now he and Thomas were, if not actually friends, at least civil and could treat each other with respect. As for Molly...
He ran once more through his options for Laila. There was nothing wrong with Patti, who would make a fantastic nanny. After their rocky beginning, once they got past the nerves on both sides, he’d had to change his opinion of her. Yet her very rightness for the job troubled him. Perfect, Molly had said, and Brig had echoed the wo
rds tonight. Yet something kept nagging at him.
And then there was the mess he’d made, all over again, with Molly. He could still see her in her room across the hall, and the way he’d stumbled through his clumsy request for her help—and Molly had assumed he was proposing.
Brig sat down on the bed with his laptop. He scanned his emails one last time, but nothing from the team scrolled into view. He would see them soon anyway. After he’d read their older messages again, hoping they would bring a smile, he started to shut down the computer. It was time to pack that, too.
But just before closing the email program, he stopped. And stared at several of the messages from Henderson.
In that instant Brig knew what to do about Laila, and that what he was doing was right. If Molly couldn’t keep the baby—and he understood why not, especially after she’d taken his words the wrong way—he might have another solution. He hoped.
He didn’t know why he didn’t feel better about that.
Right, but not better.
He still had to tell Molly.
In the morning.
* * *
ANN DIDN’T KNOW what to expect from tonight. She had already bitten one fingernail to the quick waiting for Jeff to pick her up.
The courtship thing. Dating. Whatever.
Their last date hadn’t turned out well, but tonight there would be no confessions on her part. She still couldn’t believe he’d been more concerned about the accident’s effect on her than about her guilt. Not that he’d let her off the hook. He’d held her accountable, and himself, too, for his marriage.
When the doorbell finally rang, she jumped a foot, then ran to answer.
“You look great,” Jeff said, his gaze skimming over her.
So did he. He’d had his hair cut and appeared freshly shaven. He also appeared, to Ann, much paler than normal. Ashen, in fact.
“You ready?” Her heart rate jumped when Jeff guided her to his car with a strong hand at her elbow. “I thought we’d take in a movie. The eight o’clock show. Okay with you?”
She smiled. “Is it a comedy?”
“Romantic,” he said. “What else?”
The movie was hysterical. She and Jeff both laughed until their sides hurt. In the end the couple onscreen vowed eternal love. Ann, though, couldn’t imagine her life working out to such perfection.
In the car Jeff made a confession of his own. He wasn’t that hungry. If Ann didn’t mind, could they stop for a late-night meal at a fast-food restaurant instead of the inn?
“Do they have fries?”
“I’m sure they do.”
“Do they have a Big Mac with my name on it?”
“Definitely.”
Over her burger and his salad, the lightest thing on the menu, they talked about Ernie. “You should see him,” Jeff said. “He’s so eager to get back to Little Darlings I almost have to tie him down in bed for a nap. He’s off the wall.”
“He should stay out, though, until he’s completely well.”
Jeff pushed his salad aside and gazed at her. “You like Ernie.”
Ann grinned. “Who wouldn’t?”
“And what about his father?”
Despite their easy conversation and the laughs they’d shared during the movie, Jeff still looked gray. Ann had seen that shade too often of late. He insisted he was fine, put their trash in the nearby bin, then walked her out to his car. He paused there, looking at her again, his eyes searching.
“We’ve done better tonight,” she said. “No sad tales of mine to relate.”
“True, but I’ve been meaning to ask, Ann.” He hesitated. “What happened to Robert, your boyfriend, after that accident?”
“He’s done well, actually,” she admitted. “He finished college, got his degree in computer technology—a job he can do from home much of the time. He also has a van totally equipped so he can drive himself wherever he wants to go.”
“That doesn’t bother him? Getting behind the wheel after that accident?”
“I don’t think so. No.”
“Which leaves you with the real handicap.”
Jeff was right. That fact always hovered over her, a constant reminder of hurt on every side and of her guilt. Her brother-in-law’s death and, before that, her mother’s had only added to the ever-present sense of loss.
“Ann, the accident happened years ago. This is now,” Jeff reminded her.
He held the car door for Ann, but by now his face looked white instead of ashen. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He sagged against the open door. “No, to be honest. I’m not.”
Ann touched his forehead. “You’re as hot as Ernie was. You have fever, Jeff. You should have canceled our date.”
“Are you kidding?” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was like a kid at a carnival. I wouldn’t have missed tonight for anything.” He paused. “I shouldn’t have exposed you to this flu, however.”
“I’ve been exposed a hundred times. I have a good immune system.”
He passed one hand over his eyes. “My head is pounding. I’m hot one minute, cold the next.” Ann saw him shiver. She could see how bad he felt. Under the parking lot lights, he now looked green and his teeth were chattering.
Ann’s pulse began to throb. She sat for a moment, having an intense conversation with herself. You know how to drive, don’t you?
Yes, but I’d rather call a cab. And then she thought, Why expose someone else? Waste the money? Her mind tumbled over the words. I know. But I can’t....
This was a test. And she was failing.
Her pulse skipped a beat. For another second she wondered if Jeff was doing this because he was truly ill or to torture her.
But he was clearly shaking now. He closed his bleary eyes, forcing Ann to make the decision on her own.
Yet Jeff would never risk Ernie’s future if he didn’t trust her. He wouldn’t let Ann take the wheel of his car in control of his own life.
“Call it an errand of mercy,” she said under her breath as she left her seat. “Jeff, get in. On my side.” As soon as he was settled, she scrambled around the car. He was asleep in the passenger seat before she turned the ignition key. Ann was essentially alone.
“Jeff,” she said weakly, but he didn’t answer. She sat there, engine running, for a full five minutes before she found the courage to slip the car into gear. She repositioned the side and rearview mirrors with all the concentration of a first-time student in a drivers’ education course. Or during the community service hours she’d spent in class to improve her driving skills after the accident. Her heart thundered loudly enough to be heard in the silent car.
Breathing fast and light, she eased off the brake.
What if she missed a curve again...what if she hurt Jeff and, thus, Ernie?
She had hurt someone she loved once already.
The realization stunned her.
Still, after nine long years, she didn’t need to be afraid.
Her growing smile warring with her worry about Jeff and the flu, Ann pressed the accelerator and drove him home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I DID IT!”
The next morning Ann all but danced through the back door and into the kitchen. Still yawning, Molly gazed at her blankly. She hadn’t slept last night. Brig was upstairs now with the baby, and Molly was trying not to think that he would leave within the hour. What arrangement had he made for Laila? She hoped he’d hired the nanny who had sounded so perfect.
“Did what?” she asked.
“I drove!” Ann hugged her, nearly cutting off Molly’s air supply. “I drove Jeff all the way home. I didn’t make one mistake.” She paused. “All I could think of was getting him in bed.”
Pop strolled into
the room. “Getting who in bed?”
Molly groaned. “He caught Ernie’s flu,” she guessed.
“With a vengeance. Poor guy,” Ann said. “Jeff Barlow,” she told Pop, still smiling. “I stayed the night at his house.”
His frown deepened.
“Not the way you think, Pop.” Her face flushed, Ann helped herself to a cup of coffee. “I sat up with him and checked on Ernie, too. This morning Jeff’s temperature was down a little, so I decided I could come to work.”
“Huh.” Pop didn’t appear convinced that the night had been innocent. But when he’d talked to Molly before about Jeff and Ann, Pop had seemed to approve of a relationship between her sister and the sheriff’s deputy. He’d pushed more for it than Molly had ever thought to do.
He studied Ann’s face now as if searching for cracks in her story. In Molly’s view, Ann driving Jeff home last night had required true courage.
“You drove?” he said at last.
“I’m so glad you took that chance,” Molly said.
From upstairs she could hear the rumble of Brig’s voice, most likely as he talked nonsense to the baby the way they all did. Time was running out. If he didn’t hurry, he might miss his plane.
After last night’s standoff, the idea seemed all too tempting. Maybe he could take a later flight, stay a few hours longer, allow Molly to store up the memory of his voice and the love in his eyes whenever he looked at...Laila.
But she’d had her chance. And lost it.
If she were inclined to jealousy, she might envy Ann now.
Molly turned away, unable to hide the sorrow she felt, even if it was of her own doing.
“Silly,” she said.
Pop turned. “What is?”
“Daydreaming.”
Needing some distraction, Molly glanced out the kitchen window. From here she could just see Natalie Brewster walking down her porch steps to examine her peonies, probably hoping to see the first new sprouts that would herald spring.
Ann followed her gaze. “Pop, there’s your friend.”
He leaned to see around her. “Not my friend,” he said, “after that zoning commission vote,” but in a weaker tone than usual, and Molly’s ears perked up.
