Stand-In Mom

by Marie Ferrarella

  A bittersweet feeling filled her as she held the baby closer. Marta felt a bond form between her and the infant, a kinship.

  Finishing up, Shayne surveyed his work. He spared Ike a glance. Another difficult topic to broach. Would Ike be relieved or angry to hear it? “You know, the Langleys have been trying for a baby now for four years—”

  “No.” The word was uttered quietly, but firm for all that.

  Was that love or guilt talking? Shayne wanted Ike to think this over carefully. “Celine’d never want for anything—”

  “No,” Ike repeated more fiercely. “I can give her anything she wants, anything she needs.” There was a look of defiance in his eyes that Shayne had seldom seen. “I’m keeping her. I’m her family. She’s Junie’s daughter, and I’m keeping her. Junie signed a paper giving me sole, legal custody.” He had it in his safe. Ruth had given him the document before she’d left, a piece of paper with his sister’s faint signature on it, witnessed by the doctor who couldn’t save her. It would hold up anywhere.

  “How are you going to take care of her and run the saloon, too?”

  He’d come here silently seeking support, not a devil’s advocate. “I’ll find a way.” Ike tried to pull his thoughts together. “I’ve got Luc. We’ll work something out.”

  Shayne looked down at the hand he’d just bandaged. “For starters, how are you going to manage with just one hand?”

  Ike pulled it to his side. It throbbed and pulsed just as badly as when the initial burn had set in. He gritted his teeth. “I didn’t break it. I burned it.”

  “Try handling something with that hand right now and see how it feels.” Shayne knew that wouldn’t even be necessary. Unless there was something about Ike’s ability to heal that he was unaware of, the hand was hurting him even as they spoke.

  “I can help.”

  Both men turned to look at Marta with unabashed surprise. Judging by their expressions, Ike’s surprise was even greater than Shayne’s.

  She supposed that they weren’t any more surprised by the offer than she was. But it wasn’t in her nature to stand idly by when someone needed help, and there had to be some decency in Ike, since he was so willing to take in his sister’s child. There was no law that he had to. Just as there was no law that said that a mother had to keep her child if she didn’t want it, as long as she went through the proper channels to be rid of the obligation.

  That put Ike at least one up on her own mother.

  Marta shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal of her offer. “I’m here for a couple of weeks. I can divide my time between visiting with Sydney and taking care of Celine.”

  Ike had to admit, watching her, that she seemed to have an affinity for Celine. “Why would you do that?”

  She looked at him. “Let’s just say I have a weakness for babies. There’s not very much you can do for her with your hand all bandaged up like that. You were at a disadvantage even before that.” After a pause, she gave him his due and added, “And I also have a weakness for people who are willing to take on responsibilities.”

  She’d made it clear that she was determined not to like him. This was an about-face. “Is that the way to your heart?”

  “Leave my heart out of this.” She narrowed her eyes as she tried to regain ground. She didn’t want him misunderstanding her motive. “Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it.” He looked quizzically at Shayne as the latter placed a sling around his neck. “I never look a gift horse in the mouth. That goes double for a beautiful angel of mercy.”

  Well, he had certainly bounced back quickly, Marta thought. Was she being too softhearted, volunteering to help him this way? Or was that soft-headed?

  She wasn’t helping him, she amended, she was helping this poor motherless baby. But at least Celine would never know the pain of discovering that her mother had sent her away willingly.

  “What’s this?” Ike tugged on the sling Shayne had just tied around his neck.

  “It’s a sling.”

  “I know it’s a sling.” Unaccustomed to being confined, he struggled to be patient. “What’s it doing around my neck?”

  “In place of a noose?” Marta suggested sweetly.

  “It’s to put your hand through.” Gingerly, Shayne positioned it for him. “I want you to rest it for at least twenty-four hours. Your firefighting days are going to have to be put on hold for now.” He glanced at Marta. “Looks like you came along just in time.”

  That, she thought, was a matter of opinion. But she’d volunteered and there was no backing out, not with a clear conscience.

  “Doctor—” turning, she presented Celine to him “—I believe you have another patient to tend to now.”

  Shayne grinned. “Ever think of being a nurse? I could certainly use one.”

  “All I have is first-aid training.”

  “We all have to start somewhere,” he murmured. Laying Celine down on the table, he began to slip off her shirt. “And with Sydney needing her rest, I could use the extra help.”

  A little overwhelmed, Marta could only shake her head and laugh. “You people certainly do make a woman feel wanted around here.”

  Ike smiled at her. All his other feelings were banked down for now, and he struggled for his identity. “Darlin’, you don’t know the half of it.”

  The look she saw in his eyes had her feeling just the slightest bit uncertain, and more than a little unsettled.

  Chapter Seven

  “You’ve decided to put her to work advertising the saloon?” Marta asked bemused. She was staring down at the red cloth affixed to Celine’s bottom with the words “The Salty Saloon” written across the middle.

  It wasn’t often that Ike felt at a loss. He was a man who made his own way in the world, expecting nothing from anyone and being pleasantly surprised when he received something anyway. But Celine’s appearance in his world had changed a few of his known parameters. He’d had to rely on invention and inspiration.

  Ike spread the one hand he had at his disposal in a semi-surrender. “It’s one of the napkins from the Salty. She was wet, I didn’t have anything else to use.” He looked at Shayne, who wasn’t even trying to hold back his laughter. “It’s not as if I could send Luc out to the corner supermarket to get a fresh package of diapers in the middle of the night.”

  Marta took charge of the napkin after Shayne took it off Celine. Thank God, Sydney had taken to stockpiling diapers. They were going to have to temporarily dip into her cache until Celine had her own supply.

  About to fold up the wet napkin, Marta noticed a pasty whitish residue clinging to the inside. She looked at Ike suspiciously. “What did you use for powder?”

  “Cornstarch.” It was a case of making do with what he had, and he’d vaguely remembered hearing that the product could be substituted for powder.

  Cornstarch. She supposed it was a viable substitute, in a pinch—no pun intended, she silently amended, glancing toward Celine.

  Tiny, thin legs were kicking up a storm, as if the infant was privy to some tune they couldn’t hear and was marching to it.

  “Lucky for Celine you didn’t use flour and turn her into a popover.” Unable to resist, Marta bent over and kissed one of the little feet. Her heart was lost on the next kick.

  For the first time since he’d walked into the Salty and learned the reason for Ruth Jackson’s appearance, Ike laughed. The laugh mellowed into a smile that graced his lips as he looked down at the baby on Shayne’s makeshift examining table. It wasn’t Celine’s fault that Junie had died. Ike was already tucking the tiny being into his heart.

  “She’d hardly make more than two bites. Maybe not even that.”

  There was affection in his voice. Affection in the look he bestowed on the baby. Whatever else Ike LeBlanc might be or have been, Marta thought, he did seem to have a heart.

  At least, she qualified silently, he had one where a motherless infant was concerned. Giving him credit for anything more was being unnece
ssarily lenient, and possibly opening herself up for something she had no desire to cope with.

  “Well, let’s just see how many bites she would make.” Having divested her of her clothing, Shayne picked Celine up and placed her on a scale. He recalibrated, making a minor adjustment for the weight of the blanket he’d placed across it.

  Marta raised her eyes from the scale to Shayne. “A postage scale?”

  Shayne laughed at the skepticism in Marta’s voice, noticing that Ike, at least, seemed to take this in stride. But then, Ike was accustomed to improvising as much as he was. Here in Hades, more times than he liked to think about, it was the only way.

  “It does the trick,” Shayne assured her. “I have a real scale in my office.” But that required twenty-five minutes of travel, and he had a feeling that Ike wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Heading a piece of paper with Celine’s name on it, Shayne jotted down her weight. “Out here, you learn to make do.”

  “Obviously.” She supposed there was something to be said for that, for having your initiative prodded and stirred. But it was the monotony counterbalanced with the life-and-death situations that would have gotten to her, were she forced to live in a place like this.

  Ike looked at Marta sharply. The tone of her voice was almost identical to the one Junie had used. Time had done nothing to mute the dissatisfaction he’d heard in her voice back then. The dissatisfaction and the yearning.

  And now that voice was forever stilled.

  He pushed the memory as far away as he was able. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to dwell on that now. Celine needed him. He had to stay focused on that and not allow himself to be sidetracked. By anything.

  Sydney looked up as Shayne and the others walked out of the study. “Well?”

  “I’m happy to say that Hades’s newest citizen is healthy and thriving.” A look that was only slightly dubious came into his eyes as he directed them toward Ike. “Think you can keep her that way?”

  “With a little help from my friends,” Ike allowed, looking significantly at Marta.

  She was hardly his friend, Marta thought, just someone who’d been enlisted. No, that wasn’t strictly true. This was of her own making. No one had twisted her arm.

  Marta saw the puzzled expression on Sydney’s face. “I volunteered to help him get his feet wet.”

  Sydney zeroed in what Marta had just said. Well, well, well. It looked as if things might be moving along in an orderly fashion after all. The trick with Marta, Sydney recalled now, was not to push, just to position her to be in the right place at the right time.

  Sydney smiled, looking pleased. “You can always count on Marta to come through when you need her.”

  “Well, I need her,” Ike agreed wholeheartedly. “There’s no doubt about that.”

  Maybe she was being unduly suspicious, but Marta could have sworn there was something in his tone that went beyond just needing someone to help him out for a few days. If he meant to take advantage of this opportunity, he was going to be disappointed. The only one she intended to care for was Celine.

  Drawn by the commotion going on in the living room, Sara and Mac came bounding down the stairs, still dressed in their pajamas. They sounded like an army instead of just two children, neither of whom weighed an ounce more than seventy pounds.

  Sleep instantly vanished from Sara’s eyes as they widened, staring at the baby in Marta’s arms. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Mommy, you had the baby,” Sara accused. She flew over to Marta, then stood on her toes for a better view. Her small mouth closed into a petulant pout. “You weren’t supposed to do that without telling me.”

  Three years older and desperate to be worldly, Mac frowned at his sister’s obvious naiveté.

  “She didn’t have the baby, stupid. She’s still fat.” The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Mac flushed. Even at his tender age, he realized he’d just committed a horrible social error. He looked at Sydney, tongue-tied, oblivious to the fact that his father was laughing. “I didn’t mean—”

  Nodding, Sydney slipped an arm around his slim shoulders. “That’s all right, Mac, I am fat.”

  Shayne brushed a kiss on his wife’s temple as he laid a hand on her swollen belly. “But only in the very nicest sense of the word,” he qualified for his son.

  Ike pretended to ward off a shiver that went down his spine. “Lucky thing I took my coffee black. There’s enough sugar floating around here to rival the final harvest at a sugarcane plantation.”

  Her attention still focused on the baby, Sara stared at Ike, clearly lost. She shifted her eyes toward Marta and the baby in her arms. “Whose baby is it?” she asked impatiently.

  “It’s Ike’s,” Shayne told her.

  “No,” Sara said, looking confused. “Men can’t have babies.”

  “Not by themselves,” Ike agreed, looking at Marta. “But Marta’s helping me.”

  “You mean the baby’s yours and Marta’s?” Mac’s mouth fell open. His dad had told him all about this mysterious process of creating people. He couldn’t say he much cared for it, but his dad had said it was true, so it had to be. Dubious now of the information he’d just been given, his eyes swept over Marta’s flat stomach. “When did you get—you know—?”

  Trying not to laugh at the befuddled expression on his very serious son’s face, Shayne untangled the knot for him. “The baby is Ike’s niece, and we’re all going to help him take care of her.”

  Mac zeroed in on the only thing of importance that had been conveyed. “Oh, it’s a girl.” The frown on his young face deepened twofold.

  In a gesture of camaraderie, Ike confided, “Someday, boy, if you’re going to live around here, you’re not going to say ‘girl’ in exactly that tone of voice.” He winked when Mac looked up at him quizzically. “You’ll cheer, I guarantee it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mac said, turning toward the breakfast his mother had prepared.

  But if Mac’s interest had faded, Sara’s had only sharpened. She raised her eyes to Marta. “What’s her name?” she asked.

  “Celine,” Ike answered.

  Sara acknowledged him with a quick turn of her head. But though her heart belonged to Ike, it was obvious that she thought Marta was in charge here. “Can I hold her?” she asked hopefully.

  Ike looked dubious, but Marta had already taken Sara’s hand in hers and was leading the little girl over to the leather sofa. “Why don’t you get up there and sit down?”

  Sara was quick to do what she was told. Seated, she stretched out her arms expectantly, holding her breath.

  Very carefully, Marta placed the baby into Sara’s arms. “Keep her head up, like so,” Marta instructed, positioning Sara. “And Sara?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s okay to breathe,” she whispered.

  Sara beamed and exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Her eyes widened again as she saw Celine looking up at her with what could have passed for a smile on her small lips. Sara certainly took it to be one. “She likes me.”

  “That’s ’cause she’s little and don’t know no better,” Mac called out from the kitchen, his mouth stuffed with waffle.

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Marta told her. “You’re doing fine.” She glanced over at Mac. He was trying to appear nonchalant, but it was clear to Marta that he was trying a little too hard. “You’ll have your turn,” she promised. He lowered his head, inordinately preoccupied with his waffle. “And you—” Marta looked at Ike, surprising him “—could stand to learn a little something from Sara here. Even she holds the baby better than you do.”

  Ike nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Must be a female thing.”

  Marta crossed her arms before her, fixing him with an unimpressed look. “Good excuse. Doesn’t wash.”

  Ike glanced at Sydney. “Takes right over, doesn’t she?” He didn’t bother waiting for her to comment. “She’s probably trying to compensate for the fact that she’s short.”

 
“I’m not short. I’m petite,” Marta countered, her chin slightly raised. She watched Sara for a moment longer. The little girl was enjoying herself; she took to mothering naturally.

  Backing away, she whispered to Sydney, “Looks like you’re going to be getting a lot of good help when the time comes.”

  Hearing her, Sara looked up and beamed at the compliment.

  She was good with kids, Ike thought, looking at Marta. It wasn’t a quality he would ever have thought he’d find immensely comforting.

  But he did.

  The smell of wood was evident even before she closed the door behind her. It pervaded almost everything within the small general store, fusing itself with the air until it was all one and the same. She wondered if the smell had gotten to the tall, wide pock-faced man behind the counter. Sporting an apron that might have been white a quarter of a century ago but was now a very dull, worn gray, Tate Kellogg gave the impression of being asleep on his feet. She’d thought he was a statue when she’d first walked in, until Ike had greeted him. Kellogg had grunted something in return.

  Whether it had been an actual word or just indigestion was anyone’s guess, Marta thought. He’d grimaced a half smile when he’d noticed her. She’d nodded in return.

  “That’s Tate Kellogg. He doesn’t like to waste words,” Ike told her under his breath.

  “I guess he’s saving them for something important.” No doubt about it. Living here would drive her crazy in a week. Maybe less.

  “You never know,” Ike countered, following her.

  Closer than a shadow, his breath slid along the back of her neck, making her shiver. She hoped he hadn’t noticed. Looking up, she saw his reflection in the windowpane and knew her hope was futile. Ike was smiling to himself.

  Walking along the short, narrow aisles, looking at the paltry selection of items was a culture shock for Marta, to say the least. Accustomed to a mad profusion of goods, of being faced with a wide variety of choices for every item she wanted, the shelves of Kellogg’s General Store were a disappointment.