The Next Little Thing: A Jackson Falls Mini

by Laurie Breton

  Paige was making macaroni and cheese in the oven. He could smell it as he came down the stairs. His daughter was turning into quite the cook. Of course, she was learning from the master. His wife was one of the best cooks he knew, second only to his mom. Some of her kitchen skills came from her mother. Some of them had actually come from his mother, who'd taken Casey under her wing back in the days when she and Danny were newly married and had spent half their waking hours at the MacKenzie house. He liked the fact that she was passing this knowledge down to the next generation. There was a continuity to it that comforted him.

  While they ate, Paige peppered him with questions about the baby. Height, weight, coloring. "Do I get to see her tonight?" she said.

  "Absolutely. I'm going back to the hospital after we eat."

  "You have to bring flowers. I think it's a legal requirement."

  "Shit. I never thought about flowers. Where am I supposed to get flowers in this hick town after five o'clock on a weekday?"

  "We'll pick them from Casey's garden. The tulips are all in bloom. She loves tulips."

  So they picked a huge bouquet of tulips, put them in a vase, and Paige held them while he drove. Instead of heading directly toward the hospital, though, he swung up onto Ridge Road. "We stopping at the new house?" she said.

  "Doucette handed over the keys to me this morning." Was it really possible that had been just seven hours ago? It felt more like seven years. "Casey went into labor, so I never got my walk-through. I thought we'd do it together."

  After months of nail guns and power saws and men wearing tool belts, the house seemed oddly silent. He took his time walking through with Paige at his side. Together, they opened closets and cupboards, ran water in the sinks, flushed each of the toilets, flipped every light switch. He'd given Casey free rein with the design. Although she'd consulted him on just about everything, he'd let her make the final decisions. The house was his gift to her, and he didn't care what it looked like, as long as she was happy with it. What mattered to him was the symbolism of this house as a new start. What was that old saying? Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Yeah. That was how he felt about the house.

  And her decisions had been dead-on. Fabulous. Italian tiles in the kitchen, gleaming hardwood throughout, a beautiful oak staircase that led to the second floor. Little surprises here and there, like the stained glass windows in the master bedroom and the cedar closet in the upstairs hall. The house was whimsical in design, with its fish scale shingles and gingerbread trim, its wraparound porch, and the turret, where the master bedroom was located. Their bedroom was a cozy space tucked under the eaves, small enough to feel welcoming, big enough to fit a king-size bed and its matching suite of furniture. Outside the windows, lit by the late-afternoon sun, spring leaves glowed a brilliant green. He felt like he was standing in a tree house. That, too, had been Casey's idea, and they'd designed the house around the big old maples that already grew there.

  "I am so in love with this bathroom." Paige's voice echoed off the hard surfaces of the master bath. He stood in the doorway and watched her, sprawled in the sunken Jacuzzi with her head back and her eyes closed. "I am so friggin' jealous."

  "Yeah? Well, when you grow up, you can design your own house and have your own master bath. In the meantime, you're stuck with what we give you."

  Her eyes popped open, and he saw the deviltry in them. "And when you're not looking," she said, "I intend to sneak in here and use the Jacuzzi, every chance I get."

  She was so much his daughter that sometimes it was frightening, but she probably wouldn't appreciate being reminded of that fact. Distraction was a much better weapon. "Which bedroom do you want?" he said.

  "Already picked. Come see." She climbed out of the Jacuzzi and scooted down the hall, her footsteps echoing in the emptiness as he followed at a more sedate pace. "This one!" she said from inside the corner bedroom at the opposite end of the house. He stood in the doorway, amused by her enthusiasm. "This one has a bay window, like your room. With a window seat. I always wanted a bay window."

  "Just don't get any ideas about climbing out that window and sliding down the gutter pipe."

  That was something he would have done at her age, if he'd thought he could get away with it. Of course, he never would have gotten away with it. Mary MacKenzie had eyes in the back of her head, and some kind of psychic power that alerted her whenever one of her kids was up to no good. And his dad hadn't been averse to using the belt once in a while, if he felt it was called for. Nowadays, that kind of thing was frowned upon, but families were smaller now. How else could his folks keep nine kids under control, except by putting the fear of God—otherwise known as Mary and Patrick MacKenzie—into them? His dad hadn't needed to use the belt very often. Mary's tongue-lashings were far more frightening than Patrick's belt. Somehow, all nine of them had survived the trauma and managed to become productive adult human beings. Somehow, his mother had managed to avoid spending the best years of her life in a psych ward with an intravenous lithium drip.

  "Ha, ha," Paige said, her head stuck out the bedroom window she'd flung open. "Very funny. So when are we moving in?"

  "I don't know. It could be a while. Casey will need some recuperation time before she's ready to take on that nightmare."

  With a single smooth motion, she slid the window closed and said, "How long will she be in the hospital?"

  "Probably until the day after tomorrow. Why?"

  "I was just thinking…if we could get everybody together to help, why couldn't we move now?"

  "Now?"

  "Tomorrow. Get it all done before she comes home. Surprise her. We already have pretty much everything packed."

  "I don't know that we could pull it off. Besides, I have no idea where everything's supposed to go. If we got it wrong, heads would roll."

  "She has a chart."

  He raised both eyebrows. "A chart?"

  "A diagram of every room, with the furniture drawn in the proper places. And the boxes are already labeled. With ruthless precision, I might add."

  He should have known. That kind of organization, that kind of attention to detail, was classic Casey. If he'd been in charge, he would've just tossed everything into the nearest box and sorted it out later. Of course, it wasn't lost on him that six months after the move, he'd still be trying to find the can opener. Casey's method was vastly superior. Impossible for him to imagine, but vastly superior.

  "If we got enough people together," Paige said, "we could assign one person to each room to pull it all together once the stuff gets here."

  It was a crazy idea. So crazy it just might work. Compared to the alternative—waiting weeks until Casey and the baby were up to the drudgery of moving—it sounded pretty damn good. "You think we could pull it off?"

  "I think I could pull it off. You have other things to focus on. Like keeping her occupied while we're moving everything. If you give me the okay, I'll make a few phone calls tonight. Just leave it in my hands. I'll take care of everything."

  * * *

  The maternity ward was on the second floor. They stepped out of the elevator and strode down the corridor together, long legs rapidly eating up real estate. They must have made quite an impression, father and daughter, both of them tall and lean and lanky, with strong features and matching strides and that wild blond MacKenzie hair. Without exception, each nurse they passed simpered and said, with a flirty little smile, "Hi, Mr. MacKenzie."

  "Nice gig if you can get it," Paige said. "Being a famous rock star."

  She knew how he felt about that expression, but she liked to torment him with it anyway because he was an easy target. He squared his jaw, scowled, and corrected, "Rock musician."

  "Semantics," she said. "Different words, same damn thing."

  "Oh, shut up."

  His daughter grinned. He gave her a little shoulder nudge, and the grin widened. There had been a time, after she first came to them, when he wasn't sure he would ever see a smile on Paige's fac
e. She'd been hurting, furious with the universe over the death of her mother, and she'd blamed him, the absent parent, for everything that was wrong with the world, probably up to and including that grassy knoll in Dallas.

  It had taken time and a few missteps on both their parts before old wounds had healed to the point where she was willing to let him in. Now, they had an easy relationship, and as long as he didn't push too hard, it stayed that way.

  At the door to Casey's room, he paused, bouquet in hand, his weight resting loosely on one hip. His wife lay on the bed, baby cradled against her breast, her mouth pressed lovingly to a tiny pink fist. For one blinding instant, he was yanked back eleven years in time, to another hospital room, another newborn infant. The woman had been the same, but that time, the baby had been Danny's. His insides knotted up as old ghosts and unspoken goodbyes sent uncertainty flooding over him. Then she glanced up and saw him standing in the doorway. The déjà vu dissolved, and it was just the two of them and two decades of history, palpable enough to be touched. It was always there between them, that shared history, a silken cord that bound them. All the years, everything they'd been through together: the good, the bad, the ugly. Their connection was as much spiritual as it was sexual. They'd loved each other, in every way imaginable, for fifteen years before they'd finally become lovers. Now, after two years of marriage, he wasn't sure he'd be able to breathe without her.

  Her face lit with that Mona Lisa smile that never failed to turn him inside out. Softly, she said, "Hey, hot stuff."

  "Hey, gorgeous."

  Her eyes focused on the bouquet he carried, and pleasure lit her face. "You brought me flowers."

  "From your garden. Because, y'know, I'm an idiot, and I didn't think about flowers until the only florist in this hick town at the edge of nowhere was closed."

  "Are you kidding, MacKenzie? This is far more personal than flowers from a shop. They're perfect. I can smell them from here. And you brought my girl! Come over here, Paige, and meet your little sister."

  Somehow, she always knew the right thing to say, was always able to smooth over any awkward moment. Was fully accepting of his many flaws. It was one of the things he loved the most about her. She could have rejected the out-of-wedlock teenage daughter he hadn't even known about until last year. Especially considering the headaches Paige had given them during those first few months. A lot of women would have tossed the kid out on her posterior, and her old man with her. But Casey had accepted Paige as part of her nuclear family before she even met the girl. Had loved her from day one. And once Casey loved you, that was it. Her love was precious, immutable, eternal.

  Paige moved toward the bed and stood there staring at the baby. "She's so tiny!"

  "She is," Casey said. "All newborn babies are small, but Emma's smaller than most. Maybe because she came a few weeks early. Or maybe because she's going to have my bone structure instead of your father's." Casey beamed at her stepdaughter. "Would you like to hold her?"

  Paige sucked in a sharp breath. "Could I?"

  "Of course. Grab a chair, and Dad can hand her to you."

  Rob set the vase of tulips on the night stand and leaned over the bed. His wife gave him an intimate little smile that arrowed directly into his heart. She reached up a hand and touched his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss her palm before scooping up the tiny, warm body bundled tightly in a pink receiving blanket. He held the baby close to his chest, near his heart. His gaze locked with that of his newborn daughter, he said softly, "Hi, there, my little Emmy Lou Who."

  "Don't call her that. You know it'll stick."

  He flashed his wife a grin and said to Emma, "Are you ready to meet your big sister?"

  The baby didn't answer, but she was alert and clear-eyed, listening intently to everything he said. "She knows your voice," Casey said. "She's been hearing it for months."

  The idea that his newborn daughter recognized him pleased him immensely. "What do you say, Emma? Are you going to be a Daddy's girl?"

  "Of course she is. Have you ever met a woman of any age who didn't find you irresistible?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Stop. You'll embarrass me. And not all women fall at my feet."

  "You don't possess the capacity for embarrassment. And you know I'm right."

  "You should have seen the nurses when we came in," Paige said. "They were all—" He gave her the evil eye, and she shut up. She didn't stop grinning, but she shut up.

  "I rest my case," his wife said.

  Ignoring her, he moved cautiously to Paige's chair and crouched in front of it. Said, "Have you ever held a baby?"

  "Nope."

  "See how I'm supporting her head? You have to do that, because her head's pretty heavy, and her neck muscles aren't strong enough to hold it up yet. It'll be a while before they can."

  "Okay."

  "Now touch the top of her head. Gently." Paige reached out and touched a hand to Emma's downy head. "She has a soft spot," he said, "right there. Feel it?" Paige nodded. "We have to be very careful with that. Her skull hasn't fused yet. It's designed that way to make it easier for her to get through the birth canal, but it leaves her vulnerable. Later on, it'll close up, and she'll be as hard-headed as her big sister. But for now, if we're not careful, we could hurt her."

  His daughter eyed him suspiciously. "How come you know so much about babies?"

  "I have seven nieces and nephews. I've changed more diapers than you want to know about."

  "Ew."

  "Might as well get used to it. I suspect you'll be doing your share of diaper duty before we're done."

  "Oh, joy."

  "Quit with the smart mouth. Are you ready? Remember what I said about supporting her head."

  Still crouching, he gingerly handed the baby over to his daughter. Paige was a little awkward at first, and he hovered nervously. But it didn't take her long to catch on and cradle the baby in the crook of her elbow like an expert. Only then, when he was convinced she wasn't about to drop her little sister and break her, did he stand back up.

  But Emma, being a MacKenzie, had a mind of her own. She took one look at her sister and began wailing.

  "She doesn't like me," Paige said. "How can she not like me?"

  "Oh, honey, that's not it at all," Casey said. "She just doesn't know you. The world is a big, scary place for a little baby. Everything is new. She just needs to get used to you."

  Emma's wailing intensified, and her face, scrunched up like a little old man, was getting redder by the minute. "Hey, Emma," Paige said. "Don't cry. I'm your big sister." But Emma was having none of it. Paige looked helplessly at her father. "Dad?"

  "Want me to take her?"

  "She sure doesn't want to be with me."

  He gathered the baby in his arms and rested her warm body against his shoulder. She settled in against him, and the wails turned to hiccups, then silenced altogether. "It's all right, baby," he cooed. "Daddy's here."

  Paige rolled her eyes. Casey said, "What did I tell you?"

  He buried his nose in Emma's neck, breathed in that wonderful baby scent. Swallowed hard. Felt his knees weaken.

  "I need to get out of this bed," Casey said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side. "Paige, sweetie, can you hand me my robe?"

  She pulled it on, tucked her feet into fuzzy pink slippers. Eased herself off the bed and said, "Let's take a walk."

  "Can I watch TV?" Paige said.

  "Of course. The remote's on the table. Come on, Flash, this tired old lady needs to stretch her legs."

  Side by side, the sleeping baby cradled against his shoulder, they walked the hospital corridor with a slow, measured gait. A beaming nurse passed, and he nodded a greeting.

  "You're quiet," Casey said. "What's with the weird vibes?"

  "I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's all. This morning, I stepped off a plane, and tonight, I'm standing here, in the hospital, holding our new daughter." It was the truth. Just not all of it. He needed to work it out in his own head before he sha
red it with her. If he ever shared it with her.

  The look she gave him said she wasn't buying it, but she didn't challenge him. That was the trouble with their relationship; neither of them could hide anything from the other for longer than twenty seconds. They knew each other too well.

  "I called everyone," he said, to distract her.

  "I know. Dad and Millie have already been here. And Trish called. Worried as usual. Emma surprised all of us, coming early."

  "She's a MacKenzie. You can never tell a MacKenzie what to do. Or when to do it."

  They reached the solarium, where the last dying rays of the sun fell in a reddish puddle on the carpet. Together, they watched it fall, her cheek pressed against his chest and his free arm wrapped around her. He rested his hand on her belly. Patted it and said, "You've lost a few pounds there, Mrs. MacKenzie."

  "And look what I got for it."

  He smiled, kissed the top of her head. "How long do you think they'll keep you locked up in this joint?"

  "As long as Emma continues to thrive, I should be out of here on Sunday morning."

  "Good. I don't deal well with sleeping alone."

  "Likewise. But it's probably just as well that you weren't home this week. I would've kept you awake. I was very restless the last few nights. Or should I say Emma was very restless."

  "She was getting ready to make her appearance. She wanted out."

  "In a big, bad way."

  He fingered a strand of her hair and adjusted the weight of the baby on his shoulder. "I should probably be going. You look so tired. You need your sleep. And visiting hours are over."

  "Not for you. You can be here any time you want, twenty-four hours a day. The hospital likes to encourage family bonding."

  "I know. I read every piece of paper they gave us in Lamaze class."

  "Before you tossed them in a drawer, never to be seen again."

  "Hey! I resemble that remark."

  "Which reminds me. I packed most of your stuff while you were gone. I figured every box was one step closer to being moved." She sighed. "This really complicates things, doesn't it? I'd so hoped we could move before the baby came."