Michael's Baby

by Cathie Linz

  Brett shook her head before sipping the tea she’d been given. She and Mrs. Stephanopolis talked for a few moments before Brett gathered Hope and the bounce chair and made her way downstairs to her own place.

  Brett walked into her apartment to hear the phone ringing. After setting Hope into the playpen that Consuela had provided, she grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  “It’s Michael. My contact at the police department has done some preliminary checking and so far so good. No reports of a kidnapped baby matching her description.”

  “Thank heavens for that.” She sighed in relief.

  “He’s going to check the out-of-state reports, just to make sure, and get back to me tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure he won’t say anything?”

  “I’m sure. Listen I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

  When Michael got home that evening, he immediately cocked his head to listen for any sign of Hope crying. All was quiet from the basement. Thumbing through his mail, he saw a postcard from his brother Dylan. The card had been sent from Oklahoma but that didn’t mean his brother was still there. As the rolling stone in the family, Dylan was rarely in one place for long. But he usually made a point of staying in touch, although not as often as their parents might have liked.

  Michael had no sooner sat down in his recliner when the phone rang. He hoped it might be his dad calling back with more information about the Rom box, but instead it was his sister. “Listen, Gaylynn, did Dad ever mention anything to you about a family curse?”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in any of the Gypsy superstitions,” she countered.

  “I don’t. I’m just curious.”

  “How come?”

  “I got a package in the mail from some great-aunt or something in Hungary.”‘

  “Cool. What is it?”

  “A box.”

  “A magical box! I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Wait a second—I never said it was magic.”

  “You’re asking me about family curses. And if the box came from Dad’s side of the family, there’s bound to be magic involved.”

  “So did Dad tell you anything about a curse or not?”

  “Not to do with a box, no. He did tell me that seeing a spider in my bedroom at night is good luck.”

  “That’s not very helpful.”

  “Mom and Dad will be back from their cruise before you know it. You’ll just have to wait until then. I was calling to see if you were going to pick them up at the airport or if I should.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and do that? I may be tied up.”

  “With what? Are you working on a new case?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “It’s a woman,” his sister guessed. “Are you seeing some blonde bimbette?”

  “No. She’s got dark hair and she knows her way around a toolbox better than I do.”

  “I think I’m going to like her,” Gaylynn said. “So, when do I get to meet her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe during the holidays. Listen, I’ve got to go. Talk to you again soon. Take care, kiddo.”

  After hanging up, Michael decided that it sounded entirely too quiet downstairs. He’d better go down just to make sure everything was okay.

  When he got outside Brett’s door he could hear the sound of shrieks. Knocking on the door, he said, “Are you okay in there?”

  “Come on in, it’s unlocked.”

  “What are you doing leaving the door unlocked?” he demanded as he walked inside. “This is Chicago, for God’s sake. Do you know how many murders take place in this city every year?”

  “Calm down. I just unlocked it two minutes ago when I heard you coming down the stairs.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving Hope a bath. Or trying to, anyway,” she muttered as the little one squirmed away. “The thing is, it takes ten hands to hold her. You think she was slippery before, you should try her when she’s all soapy.”

  “Want me to help?”

  “Yes. Here, hold her while I try and wash her.”

  “If she’s the one taking the bath, how come you’re all wet?”

  “You’ll see.”

  A second later he did, as Hope gleefully smacked her hands, palm down, on the water—splashing it right in his face and then gurgling at him.

  “Oh, so you think that’s funny, do you? Well listen, little girl, the object here is for you to get wet. Not Brett and me.”

  “That’s right. You tell her,” Brett said with a grin.

  “Look how cute her fingernails are. I didn’t notice them last night. Hey, she’s got toenails, too.”

  “Of course she does. Today I discovered that she loves to play peek-a-boo with me.”

  “I’d love to play peek-a-boo with you, too,” he murmured with a wicked grin.

  Her breath caught as she was captivated by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His angular face was more often serious than not. Seeing the devilish upward tilt of his lips…the expression of seductive humor…was like stumbling upon an unexpected pot of gold.

  The interlude was interrupted by the baby splashing water in Brett’s face. Hope also got Brett’s T-shirt, which now clung to her like those in a wet T-shirt competition. Looking down, Brett was embarrassed to see her nipples standing out against the material plastered against her skin. Her face grew even more flushed as she realized that Michael was staring at her with clear male appreciation.

  “Here, you watch Hope for a minute,” she muttered before grabbing a flannel shirt from the back of the chair and yanking it on. “We’d better take her out of the bathwater now, before she turns into a prune,” she said, feeling like a prudish prune herself for making such a big deal over a little water on her T-shirt. It wasn’t as if she was well endowed and had a lot to show off.

  While Brett powdered and diapered the baby, Michael played This Little Pig Went to Market with Hope, wiggling each of the little girl’s bare toes as he made up his own football-related verses. “This little piggy kicked a field goal. This one got an interception. This little piggy got a sack and, oh no, this little piggie fumbled the ball! But look, this little piggy got a punt return and scored a touchdown for the Bears.”

  Brett blew her bangs out of her eyes, feeling all thumbs due to Michael’s close proximity.

  Seeing the trouble she was having, Michael said, “Want me to do that?”

  Brett nodded and stepped aside.

  When he tried to get Hope into the pink terry-cloth sleeper, he was amazed that she still had enough energy to wiggle like an eel. “This is harder than tackling the 49ers leading receiver,” he muttered as the baby got away from him yet again. When he finally got the snaps done up on her sleeper, he lifted the little girl and triumphantly said, “All done.”

  “And she looks very nice,” Brett teasingly congratulated him. “Except for the fact that her legs aren’t in the sleeper.”

  Looking more closely he realized that, sure enough, he’d fastened the snaps incorrectly. “It’s humbling to be outwitted by a six-month-old,” he noted ruefully.

  “Tell me about it. It’s a good thing I don’t have much furniture, because she’s starting to creep and sort of crawl. I had to pull her out from under the table half a dozen times before I put her back in the playpen.”

  “I wish I’d seen her crawling.”

  “She can even look backward by lifting her little fanny and looking under her tummy to see where she’s been. It’s a sight. I took a couple of pictures of her doing that. Okay, I took an entire roll. I’ll show them to you when I get them developed. You were adorable, weren’t you, Hope?”

  The little girl yawned. A second later Michael did, too.

  “You’re tired,” Brett said. “You should go on home and get some rest. I can put her to bed.”

  But Hope had other ideas. As soon as Michael got to the door she let out a cry that made both adults wince.

  “Maybe if
you just sat in the rocking chair and rocked her until she drops off to sleep…” Brett hesitantly suggested.

  “It’s worth a try,” Michael agreed. Fifteen minutes later, both he and the baby were asleep. Looking at them, Brett was struck by what an endearing picture they made. The little baby’s hand lay so trustingly on his broad chest. His big hand cupped Hope protectively. But she couldn’t let Michael sleep in her rocking chair indefinitely, or he’d wake up with one heck of a crick in his neck.

  Moving carefully, Brett picked up the sleeping infant, sighing with relief when she didn’t wake up, even after Brett put her down in the crib. Now she had to wake Michael. She gently put her hand on his shoulder. A second later, he leapt to his feet, every muscle in his body alert like a soldier ready for dangerous action.

  Startled, Brett jumped back.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair.

  “That’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Where’s Hope?”

  “In bed. Which is where you should be. In your own bed. You need the rest.”

  What he needed was Brett, in his bed, and that erotic image stayed with Michael throughout the long night.

  The next day, Thursday, was a repeat of the one before, with Brett doing more repairs on the building while Hope bounced happily in her chair.

  Michael stopped by right after dinner. “I heard from my friend at the police department today,” he told her. “He checked the out-of-state reports and there’s no indication that Hope was kidnapped.”

  “I told you so,” she replied.

  “Have you thought any more about your plans?”

  “Plans?”

  “For the future. For Hope.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You have to have a plan, Brett. Babies need stuff. Like Social Security numbers. She’s going to need one by the time she’s a year old, you know.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I can’t worry that far ahead. I’m taking things one day at a time.”

  Michael checked in with Brett again after work on Friday. This time when she opened the door she looked dressed up. Not in sequins and spangles or anything like that. But the sweater she had on was a festive one with Santa on the front. And she wore lipstick, something she rarely did, not that her lush lips needed artificial coloring. Then he remembered that this was a Friday night. “Going out on a date or something?”

  “Bite your tongue,” she murmured with a grin. “Nope. The Christmas tree-trimming party at St. Gerald’s Youth Center is tonight. I was just getting ready to leave. I made cookies to bring along.”

  “I thought I smelled something good.”

  “You’re welcome to come if you’d like. If you don’t have anything else to do, I mean. But you probably do, right? I mean, the holidays are a real busy time for people, I know that.”

  “I’m not doing anything tonight. Aside from accompanying you and Hope to the Christnmas party. Providing I don’t have to do anything weird like dress up as Santa.”

  “No, nothing weird.”

  “Okay, then I’d like to go with you. Are you ready to go now?”

  “Just about, yes.” Brett hurriedly checked her appearance in the mirror by the front door. She’d originally planned on wearing her dangling green ornament earrings tonight. But when Hope had started pulling on them, nearly ripping her ear off in the process, Brett had decided that might not be such a good idea, after all. Instead she put in a pair of sterling-silver stud earrings shaped like Christmas trees. At least her hair was short, so the baby couldn’t really pull on that much. She was quickly learning that dark clothes showed the stains less than lighter ones did, which made her black leggings and red sweater the perfect attire.

  “Would you rather carry the cookies or the baby?” she asked Michael.

  “I’d better carry Hope or I might be tempted to eat half the cookies.”

  “I saved a bunch for you. I wasn’t sure if you liked them.”

  “Who doesn’t like chocolate-chip cookies? Here, give me that,” he said as she tried to juggle the baby bag over one shoulder. “I’ve got broader shoulders than you do.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” she murmured as she followed him outside. She also noticed the confident way he held Hope, who was bundled up in a snowsuit. “You’re getting very good at that,” Brett said.

  “Yeah, I guess I am. Pretty amazing, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she agreed softly, thinking what a perfect pic ture he made holding the little girl. He’d be a great father, protective and caring.

  They drove in Michael’s car. Hope, who was fastened in her car seat, was in the back seat with Brett, who kept her amused with a toy during the short ride. Brett thought the baby looked lost in the snowsuit that Consuela had lent her. She’d grow into it in another three months or so.

  At least the weather wasn’t bad for driving. There was hardly any snow left from the inch or two they’d gotten a few days before. In fact, the forecasters were predicting very mild weather for the next few days.

  The youth center was already busy when they arrived. Michael managed to snare the last empty chair for Brett. She smiled at his courtly gesture, not that she planned on doing much sitting. There was too much to do.

  But first she held Hope and carefully removed the toobig snowsuit from the little one.

  “You sure there’s a baby in there?” Michael teasingly asked. “Ah, there she is. Gorgeous as ever.”

  “Me or the baby?” Brett retorted with a grin.

  “Both of you.”

  Her fingers brushed his as they both reached for Hope. Brett froze, the surrounding noise fading into the distance as the sound of her own heart beating filled her ears. And all because Michael was stroking the back of her hand with his fingertips, caressing her with persuasive gentleness. He’d turned what had started as an accidental touch into a seductive exploration. It was almost frightening how many sparks were generated by such a simple action. The moment was interrupted by Hope drooling on them. Startled back into their surroundings, Brett had to laugh. Talk about dampening the fires of passion.

  He just touched your hand, she reminded herself. Don’t go all adolescent.

  Focusing her attention on Hope, Brett watched her closely, to see if all the surrounding mayhem was bothering the baby. Christmas music blared from a boombox in one corner and the room was filled with people. But Hope looked happy to be there.

  Within seconds, a group of kids and teenagers flocked around, immediately noticing the bundle in Brett’s arms. “Hey, where’d you get that baby?”

  “I’m watching her for a friend.”

  A dozen more questions followed. Michael noticed how patiently Brett answered them all. The next thing he noticed was the pair of sad-looking Christmas trees drunkenly leaning in the corner.

  The short tree seemed to be reserved for the younger kids to decorate as they chose. Michael was itching to untangle the mess they’d made of the lights, which looked like they’d been tossed onto the tree to land where they may. As if reading his mind, Brett said, “It’s their tree to decorate as they like. Gets it out of their system. The larger tree will be more traditional—sort of.”

  The younger kids had made their own ornaments—out of everything from aluminum foil to the cups from egg cartons—with their names on them. Picking a place to hang the special keepsakes resulted in a few arguments, which Brett was adept at resolving. She managed to jiggle Hope on her hip, supervise the cookies being set out on the table and sign her name to a huge homemade card for Santa Claus all at the same time. Michael was amazed. But then he’d been amazed from the very first day he’d met her.

  Seeing him looking at her, she smiled and waved him over. “Can you hold Hope for a while?” she asked him. “I’ve got to make sure they didn’t use too many extension cords when they hooked up the tree lights.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  And so Michael
found himself sitting in the chair he’d originally snagged for Brett, playing horsie with Hope on his knee. She had the cutest giggle. Hearing it warmed his heart.

  Seeing Brett bent over beneath the tree did more than just warm his heart. She set fire to various parts of his anatomy. The past two nights he’d seen her in his dreams, made love to her, kissed every inch of bare skin, searched every curve for hidden freckles.

  His steamy thoughts were interrupted by Juan’s grinning face blocking Michael’s view of Brett. “You don’t look lonely no more,” the teenager noted. “Brett’s been working her magic on you, for sure.”

  “I guess you could say that,” Michael agreed.

  Juan’s use of the word magic got Michael to thinking about the Rom box again. His parents would be home a few days before Christmas…He’d have to wait until then to find out the details about the spell or curse or whatever it was. He was sure they’d fall hard for the baby.

  Watching the little girl’s face light up as she gurgled and babbled at him, Michael realized that he was getting to be as bad as Brett, thinking of the baby as his. Feeling something damp on his knee, he realized something else.

  “Hope Springs Eternal,” he murmured to Brett as she rejoined him.

  “Don’t I know it,” she agreed, wondering if he’d noticed the surreptitious looks she’d been giving him from across the room.

  “I meant the baby. She’s wet…again.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Brett said, grabbing the diaper bag and Hope.

  “Taking care of things is Brett’s specialty,” Father Lyden noted as he sat on the chair on Michael’s other side. “She seems very attached to her friend’s baby.”

  Sensing an underlying meaning in the priest’s comment, Michael said, “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “There is if the baby is only staying with her temporarily. It may be hard for Brett when her friend returns.”

  “It’s not certain that her friend will ever return. It’s a complicated situation,” Michael said, his upbringing making him uncomfortable with lying to a priest.

  “I just don’t want to see Brett hurt. She’s done so much for others. She deserves some happiness for herself. She’s the one who organized the toy drive so that the children could receive presents tonight. Ah, I see she’s coming back to you now. I suppose I’d better start seeing about distributing those presents.”