Darcy grabbed at her mother’s bright pullover top. “No. Don’t go. Please? I’m scared. And she hates me.”
Her mother pulled the fabric from Darcy’s clutches. “Now, Darcy, she does not. She’s just picking up on your agitation. Forget the diaper. Just hold her. That’s all she wants.”
“She does?” Darcy pivoted to look at her daughter just lying there naked in the crib. Montana churned her legs and chewed on a fist. “How do you know that?”
“Because that’s what all babies want. You can’t spoil them by loving them. Well, not at this age. Later on, yes. But not now. You’ll know when it’s too much.”
Darcy stared at her mother. “Did I miss a meeting of the mother’s club or something? Where do women learn all this stuff?” She clutched her mother’s arm. “Look at me. I teach college, for God’s sake. But I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I suck at motherhood. And Montana knows it. And she hates me. What am I going to do?”
Margie pursed her lips. That was never good. “Why don’t you let me see to this baby while you go get a shower and some sleep. That’s what you need. Montana will be okay for three or four hours since you just nursed her. So, go on now and don’t argue with me.”
A bath and some sleep. It was heaven. And Darcy wasn’t arguing. She knew she was at the end of her rope emotionally. And she also knew, as she trailed off to the bathroom and listened to her mother cooing at Montana, that in most families, one with a caring husband…someone, say, like Tom Elliott…it would be him taking over instead of her 70-year-old mother. Her mother was her backup and her support…when it should have been the husband. The husband that Darcy didn’t have. Or want, she reminded herself.
7
DARCY SUDDENLY jerked awake. Lying there, blinking and staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t immediately figure out what had awakened her. Sighing, still bone-weary, she struggled to a sitting position. She pushed her hair back from her face, and suddenly realized something else. She couldn’t remember what day it was. Or why she smelled so good and was sleeping during the day. Or where everyone was. Everyone?
The baby! Gasping, Darcy put a hand to her mouth and darted a glance over at the crib. Empty. Then she searched her memory…and came up with it. Oh, right. Mom has the baby. Slumping with relief, she glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was after 6:00 p.m. Why, she’d slept for three hours. And this was Sunday.
Feeling a bit guilty, and thinking her poor mother could probably use some help about now, since it was close to suppertime, Darcy pulled herself up and stood beside her bed, tugging at her knee-length cotton nightshirt to straighten it around her. As she did, she winced, feeling the tight fullness in her bra-bound breasts, which reminded her that it was also Montana’s suppertime. Thus motivated, she set off for the living room. The house sure was quiet, she suddenly realized. Maybe Mom and Montana are sleeping.
Thinking of her mother’s daily afternoon nap, Darcy suddenly felt guilty. Oh, the poor thing. If she needed to lie down, she could’ve just put the baby back in her crib. That was the only safe place for her since you just never knew, her mother had said, when a baby would take a notion to roll over for the first time and fall on the floor. Remembering the nightmares that scenario had given her, Darcy told herself, Well, before they go leaping headfirst off sofas, maybe babies ought to have the decency to send up warning flares to alert unsuspecting adults as to their intentions.
Okay, that sounds good on paper, Darcy now conceded as she turned into the living room, but the odds of actually getting an infant to use flares—
“Son of a—” Darcy stopped cold. “What are you doing here, Tom?”
Looking cool and crisp in his starched chambray shirt and black denims, with his white Stetson perched next to him on a cushion, Tom Elliott sat on the couch, holding the contentedly sleeping Montana. With an intent stare probably more suited to counting grazing cattle out on an open plain, he scrutinized Darcy, looking her up and down. Then he hefted the sleeping baby in his arms. “Well, as you can see, I’m baby-sitting.”
Suddenly feeling all warm and giddy inside, Darcy took stock of her appearance and wanted to die. She looked around. He was right. Because her mother was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s my mother?”
“I tied her up and threw her down the basement stairs.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow at him and narrowed her eyes. “We don’t have a basement.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well then, I guess we should start over.”
“Okay. Could you please tell me where my mother is?” she asked sarcastically.
“That’s better. She went to the store.”
Now, that was even more appalling. “The store? It’s after six o’clock, and the nearest store is fifteen miles away. Why?”
“Well, I don’t know. I guess that’s just where they built it.”
Darcy pursed her lips. “Not that. I mean what did she go to the store for? Or do you know?”
“I do. She went for diapers.”
“Diapers? I thought we had bags of them.”
“I couldn’t tell you what ‘we’ have,” Tom said pleasantly enough.
Darcy put a hand to her waist. “Well, why didn’t you go for her, then? She’s seventy years old, you know.”
“I offered. I told her I didn’t mind—”
Darcy waved a hand at him. “Never mind. Let’s try this again. What are you doing here? And don’t say baby-sitting. I know that. And don’t say one word about the way I look, either. Or about how I’ve been sleeping while my aged mother was left to tend my child. Or about that land and the trust-fund thing. Or how you drove by and delivered my baby, and then put your name on her birth certificate. Anything but that.”
Tom stared at her. “Well, that leaves politics or religion. But in polite society, you’re not supposed to talk about such things.”
Darcy puffed up. “So you’re saying I’m not being polite, right?”
Tom frowned. “No. That wouldn’t be polite of me, now would it?”
“No. It wouldn’t. So don’t.”
“I won’t.” Silence followed. “You’d like to tell me where to go right now, wouldn’t you?”
Darcy nodded. “I have. Twice. But obviously it doesn’t take with you.”
He grinned. “You’d think you’d quit trying, wouldn’t you?” He then turned his attention back to Montana, smoothing her downy hair.
Darcy stood where she was, not quite believing the moment or her life. She couldn’t believe how irresistibly good-looking and wonderful he was. Just being around him made her heart thump wildly and her knees go weak. And all she’d done was act obnoxious to him every time they met. And in return? The man seemed to take it all in stride, barely noticing her behavior. How could he be so unflappable?
Was it just his personality? Maybe it was that good old cowboy code. Most likely, it was because she didn’t affect him like he did her. A disheartening thought, but a logical conclusion. The man simply felt responsible for Montana, obviously loved babies, and maybe enjoyed his hero notoriety a bit. Darcy watched him smile down at her daughter and rub a fingertip gently across her tiny forehead. A wonderfully kind and generous man. But trouble, nonetheless. Heartache trouble. For me.
Tom chose that moment to look up at her. “Why don’t you come sit down a spell? Your daughter will be waking up in a minute, I expect, and she’ll want her mama.”
Darcy slumped. “Not that she has any choice, the poor kid. She hates me, but I am the chuck wagon. Still, thanks, I think I will sit down.” Darcy headed for the plush Indian-print rocker/recliner on the other side of the sofa. Exercising extreme caution in lowering herself onto the upholstered seat, she finally got herself comfortable and looked over at Tom. “What?”
“Nothing. I just wondered how you’re doing.”
“You always ask me that.”
“I always want to know.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, shifting Montana in his
arms. The baby stirred…then slowly slumped back into her sleep. Tom sought Darcy’s gaze. “Why? Because I care, I suppose.”
“About what?”
He chuckled, then sighed—an all-right-we’ll-play-it-your-way sound—and looked her right in the eyes. “About you. I care about you. I want to know that you’re okay. How you feel. What you think. Things like that.”
“Why?” Darcy couldn’t stop herself. Nor would she allow herself to feel anything for him, at least any more than she already felt. Because if she did, she’d leap into his lap and beg to be held in his arms, in much the same way he was holding her daughter.
“You’re a hard customer, Darcy Jean Alcott.”
Her eyebrows raised. “So now it’s Darcy Jean. You’ve been talking to my mother.”
“No. Well, yeah, I have. But you told me that was your middle name, while you were in the hospital. After our first fight.”
“Our first fight? Do you hear yourself? You make it sound like some kind of modern relationship milestone you’d read about in Cosmo.”
“You’re talking about that woman’s magazine, right? Don’t look so surprised. My sister reads it. Along with her older daughter, Alex. Geri—that’s G-E-R-I—is too young yet. She’s the baby. Or will be until Sam delivers sometime in late August.”
“Your sister Sam has daughters named Alex and Geri? How enlightened. I like that. Does she have sons?”
He nodded. “Yep. Three.”
“Joan and Tara and Susan, I hope.”
He grinned. “Good guesses. Her husband’s name is Marion.”
“Well I guess that was alright for John Wayne, but I have a feeling you’re pulling my leg.” Darcy fought a grin. This was not good. He was so much darned fun. She needed to keep reminding herself that she’d told him she wasn’t interested in having a relationship. “Seriously. What’s his name?”
“Luke. And the boys are Matthew, Mark, and John.”
“Clever. A biblical theme. I get it.”
“Yep. But what about you? You’ve got 49 more states to go. You intend to cover them all?”
Darcy frowned…then she got it. “Oh, I see. Montana. The states. Sure. Why not? Can’t you just see a kid named New Hampshire?”
“Or twins named South Dakota and North Dakota.”
Darcy stared at him. This was fun, but, boy, were they only treading water here. Again, it was her fault that nothing went below the surface. After all, she was the one who’d refused to discuss anything relevant between them. So it was up to her to open those areas…if she ever hoped for any resolution to their dilemma. Dilemma?
Tom sat up straighter. “Why the frown? You hurting somewhere?”
An immediate blush stained Darcy’s cheeks. “No. I’m not hurting somewhere. I was just thinking of our dilemma.”
“We have a dilemma?”
“Well, that’s what I was trying to decide. I don’t know. Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. I mean, I did tell you I’m not going to sign those papers, right?”
He didn’t even blink. “That you did. And more.”
Darcy lowered her gaze a second, appropriately guilty for having as much as told him to go away and never come back two days ago. She looked back up, changing the subject. “So, did your land deal go sour after that, or what? I was afraid my refusal might cause you some legal hassles.”
“No hassle. Not yet, anyway.”
Then…she knew. “You didn’t change it yet, did you?”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t. That was Friday afternoon when you said you wouldn’t sign. Can’t meet with them again until tomorrow.”
That made sense. But still, feeling as if there were a trap here she couldn’t see, Darcy nodded and answered warily. “Oh yeah, right. I see.”
Tom just smiled…and nodded.
Darcy exhaled sharply. “Dammit, Tom, are you going to meet with them tomorrow and change it, or not?”
He looked at her as if she’d just sprouted wings. “You mean the land deal in Montana’s favor?”
“Of course.” Darcy waited. He didn’t say anything. “Well?” she prompted, and then quickly added, “And don’t say ‘well what.”’
His eyes narrowed. “You always dictate people’s responses for them?”
“Only when I have to. When they’re being elusive. Or evasive.”
“And you think that’s what I’m doing?”
Darcy crossed her arms. “Right now? Yes.”
“You think I came out here today, after everything that was said Friday, just so I could evade issues between us?”
There it was…the talk they needed to have. “All right. Fine. You didn’t. What are the issues, Tom?”
The doorbell rang. Montana jerked awake, stiffened, and immediately began screaming. Tom’s eyes widened. He suddenly looked awkward holding the baby as he patted and bounced her and Darcy struggled out of the recliner.
“Let me get it, Darcy. You take Montana. She probably wants you anyway.”
But by then, Darcy was on her feet and didn’t particularly relish the prospect of sitting down again so soon. “No, she doesn’t. She hates me. I’ll get the door. Just walk around with her and pat her.” As Tom got up and headed down the hallway, Darcy started for the door. “It’s probably Mom. She’ll do that sometimes—ring the doorbell—when she has her hands full.
“Although why she just doesn’t come in through the garage, I’ll never—” she continued under her breath. Stepping carefully across the tiled floor, she opened the door. “—Johnny Smith! What are you doing here?”
Outside in the warm Arizona evening, Sheriff Johnny Smith stood there soberly in uniform and doffed his hard-brimmed hat. “Evening, Miz Alcott. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you. It’s about your mama—”
“WHAT THE HELL happened?” Numbing fright raced through Tom. All he knew was he was holding Darcy’s hungry, crying infant daughter. And some big hound-dog-faced policeman was holding Montana’s limp and unconscious mother. And the two of them, Tom and the cop, seemed to be frozen with surprise as they faced each other in the Alcotts’ hallway.
“Who’re you?” the police officer asked first…yelling over the baby’s cries.
“I’m Tom Elliott. Who are you?” Tom carefully put Montana to his shoulder and patted her back…which only made her madder and louder.
“Sheriff Smith,” the other man yelled even louder. “I’m the law around these parts. What’re you doing here, Mr. Elliott?”
“I’m holding up Montana Skye.” Tom saw the man’s questioning look, so he explained. “The baby. Montana’s her name.” When Sheriff Smith—Tom now recalled he was the bloodhound Darcy had warned him about in the hospital—nodded, Tom threw the man’s question back at him. “What are you doing here?”
The sheriff looked down at Darcy’s limp body in his arms. Tom didn’t like it one bit, either, that the man’s hands were on her, whether or not in an official capacity. “I guess I’m holding Miz Alcott.”
“I see that. What happened to her?”
“She fainted.”
“That was my guess. Did she hit her head on the tiled floor?”
“No. I caught her first.”
Relief coursed through Tom. “Well, good. But do you know why she fainted?”
“What’s wrong with the baby?”
Frustration ate at Tom. It was as if they were having two different conversations. “She’s hungry, and her mama is unconscious. I suggest you get Darcy to the couch and see if you can wake her up. Otherwise, one of us—me or you—is going to have to figure out how to feed this child.”
The sheriff’s face turned beet-red. He immediately headed for the couch, handling Darcy as if she were made of glass. Tom’s eyes narrowed as he wondered at Johnny Smith’s sudden appearance here this evening. Was the police officer Bachelor Number Three? Most likely, Tom decided, before quickly turning his thoughts back to Darcy. Why had she fainted? Had she jumped out of the chair too quickly?
That was l
ogical. But still, he was worried, more than he’d ever been in his life. And he was really beginning to sweat from the sheer force of Montana’s protestations, which showed no sign of letting up. The eight-pound baby girl had to be eighty percent lungs. His hand on her diapered bottom, even through the receiving blanket, was suddenly wet and warm. And twenty percent water, he added resignedly to himself.
Diapers and tears would have to wait a minute. Because all Tom could do right now was follow Officer Johnny to the couch and watch him decorously lay Darcy out flat. The policeman then gingerly straightened her nightshirt over her body and began patting her hand.
Tom took over. “Bend her knees up. And take the throw pillow out from under her head and put it under her legs.”
Johnny Smith gave Tom the same look he probably would have if Tom had suggested they undress her and take pictures of her. “It’s for the blood flow to her brain,” Tom quickly explained…before he found himself in handcuffs. “Her head needs to be lower than her feet. Trust me. It’ll work.”
“It better.” Johnny eyed Tom a moment more but then set about doing as he had instructed.
“That’s it. We’ll wait a minute and see if she comes around.” Tom once again rearranged his grip on the wet and—blessedly—now softly mewling baby. Poor kid. “In the meantime, Sheriff, what happened back there at the door? Did Darcy just seem dizzy all of a sudden? Or did you say something to her?”
Johnny Smith removed his hat and scratched at his balding head. “Well, I don’t know about dizzy. But I did say something to her. I said I had some bad news, that it was about her mother—”
“Her mother?” Tom froze…and then felt weak. “What about her mother? What happened?”
“Nothing that I know of. Is she here?” Johnny Smith made a slow visual sweep of the room.
Tom rocked the softly hiccuping Montana…anything to keep his hands busy so one of them didn’t just take a notion to pop the cop upside the head. “No, she’s not home,” Tom responded. “Don’t you think she’d be right here yelling at us, if she was?”
Drive-By Daddy & Calamity Jo Page 9
