Murphy's Child

by Judith Duncan

  Mitch grinned broadly as Murphy tried to cough his lungs out. As shots went, it was a good one—an old family joke among the kids about their father. Whenever things got a little too uncomfortable around the dinner table, or if the tensions were high and Patrick Munroe didn’t know what to do about it, he would do something exactly like that. Something—anything—to change the subject. It became such a joke that Caroline, the eldest twin, would have to leave the table whenever he did it. As for the Cannons, Murphy couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a baseball game, and he didn’t have a clue where they were in the standings. Finally clearing his throat; he gave Mitch a dirty look. “I’m going to remember that, Mitchell.”

  His brother grinned and tucked his hands under his head. “I’m sure you will.”

  Jess had finally gotten her hands on the baby, and she was holding him under his arms, his feet pedaling on her bare legs as she talked baby talk to him. And J.J. was chuckling at his aunt. Murphy fixed his gaze on Jordan, wondering how she felt about everyone taking over her son. But it only took one glance to figure that out. She was watching the two of them, with an odd, gratified expression on her face, a glow of maternal pride beneath it all. And it hit him. This was what she had wanted so much for her son—family and acceptance.

  As he watched, Jessica’s two-year-old daughter, Sarah, came running up, barefoot, with a shoe in her hand. Unable to get her mother’s attention, she plopped herself on Jordan’s lap, handing her the shoe and jabbering something at her. The look on Jordan’s face was absolutely amazing to watch—startlement, hesitancy, then a kind of pleasure that lit her up from the inside out. Shifting so she was sitting cross-legged, she encircled the toddler with her arms, her head alongside Sarah’s as she undid the laces on the shoe. Murphy’s chest got real tight. It was a picture that was going to stick in his mind for a very long time.

  Her shoe back on, Miss Sarah clambered off Jordan’s lap and went running off to join the rest of the kids, with one shoe on and one shoe off, just as J.J. started making squawking sounds. Getting up, Jordan reached over and took him from Jessica, and Cora, the second twin, led her toward the house. Murphy finished off his beer, then got up, sticking the bottle in the case with the other empties. All the baby stuff had been taken into the house, but Jordan had left her brightly woven shoulder bag on the picnic table on the deck, and Murphy knew there were things in there she would need—like fresh liners for her nursing bra or maybe a change of tops. Swinging the bag up from the table, he took off his sunglasses, hooked them on the neck of his tank top and followed her into the house.

  He met Cora coming out of the living room, and she gave him a big wink and two thumbs up, then headed down the stairs to the family room. The drapes in the living room had been closed to keep the heat out, and he found Jordan sitting cross-legged on one of the sofas, with J.J. already gulping down lunch. He set the bag on the coffee table in front of her just as she looked up at him, and there was something in her eyes—perhaps heartfelt gratitude, maybe a tiny feeling of actually belonging—but whatever it was, it put such an unbelievable softness in her eyes that it made his chest tighten. And there was something in that look that he just could not resist. Resting one hand on the back of the sofa, he caught her along her jawline with the other, then bent down and covered her mouth with a light, soft kiss.

  Which was a really stupid thing to do, because all hell broke loose inside him. His heart pounded, his lungs seized up and a crazy weakness pumped through him, clogging up his veins.

  Her breath caught and Jordan grasped his arm as if to steady herself, her mouth moist and oh so yielding. Making a low sound, Murphy slipped his hand to the back of her head and deepened the kiss, his whole body straining for more, but J.J. let out an annoyed yell. Murphy closed his eyes and rested his head against hers, trying to get a full breath past the commotion in his chest. She was hanging on to him so hard that her nails were digging into his skin, and her breathing was even more ragged than his. J.J. made another protest, and Murphy released his hold and straightened. Without looking at her, he turned and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. He just couldn’t take it any longer. No damned way.

  By the time he returned, J.J. was nursing on the other side, and Jordan looked up, a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. He’d gotten a lemonade for her and one for himself. Setting hers on a coaster on the end table, he sat down on the coffee table right in front of her. Cradling his glass in his hands, he rested his forearms on his thighs and glanced up. He met her worried gaze and gave her an off-center smile. “I’ve gotta quit doing that to myself, Jordan.”

  His frankness totally discombobulated her, and she looked down at the baby and blushed like he had never seen her blush before. He reached out and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “You do pack a punch, lady.”

  She closed her eyes and abruptly turned her face against the pressure of his hand, and Murphy got nailed with such another rush of emotion that it made his mind swim. He was damned sure he could never want anyone the way he wanted her.

  “You,” scolded Baba from the doorway. As if they’d both gotten caught with their hands in the cookie jar, Murphy and Jordan jumped apart. Baba shook her finger at Murphy. “Let the poor thing be.” She bustled into the room carrying a glass of beer. “Here,” she said, handing the beer to Jordan with one hand, snagging the glass of lemonade with the other. Her tone gentled. “For you. Makes strong, healthy milk, and baby will sleep.”

  Jordan took the glass, a hint of shyness showing as she smiled at the old woman. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to bring that all the way in for me.”

  Baba sat down on the coffee table beside Murphy. There was a sly twinkle in her eyes when she looked at him. “If we break this table, hoy, we will be in big trouble.” Murphy grinned at her and draped his arm around her shoulders. Baba reached over and patted Jordan’s knees. “Serious. Beer is good. Always in the old country, mothers drink beer.” She patted Jordan again. “You drink.” Then she patted Murphy’s thigh—Baba was a great patter. “Go get the albums, so Jordan sees the whole family.”

  Murphy rolled his eyes. “Baba, she doesn’t want to see the damned family albums.”

  “Yes,” said Jordan, butting in. “I do.”

  Baba flapped her hands at him. “See? I tell you. Go. Go.”

  Shaking his head, Murphy got up and did as he was told. She still bossed them around as if they were all five years old. He went into the den and collected a stack of albums and brought them out, setting them on the coffee table by Baba. He gave his grandmother a “gotcha” look and opened the top one, showing Jordan the sepia picture on the first page. “This is Baba when she married my grandfather.”

  Holding the now sleeping J.J. with one arm, Jordan looked at the old photograph, then cast a glance at Baba. “Oh, Baba. You were just beautiful.”

  Baba chuckled and tapped her finger against her temple. “Better than beautiful, I was smart.”

  Jordan’s eyes lit up and she laughed out loud. “I’m sure you were.”

  Baba’s expression clouded over, and she gently touched the face of the groom in the picture. “I married a very good man,” she said softly. “A very good man.” Then she looked up at Murphy and shook her finger, a twinkle in her eyes. “And you have his bad act, Murphy. The one that gets you into trouble.”

  Grinning at her “bad act” comment, Murphy leaned down and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “Hey. I know what you’re up to. You’re trying to stir up some trouble of your own. So I’m clearing out of here.”

  Her eyes still twinkling, Baba pinched his cheek. “Is good. You go. We will talk woman talk.”

  Murphy shot Jordan a glance, and her eyes were dancing just about as much as Baba’s. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  It was going on ten when they finally packed up and left Murphy’s parents’. The traffic was light on the drive home, and Jordan was very quiet. As Murphy drove through the darkening streets, he con
sidered the subtle change he’d seen in her It was as if something very tight in her had let go; he could even see it in her body language and in her posture. As if all her anxiety had turned into a limp elastic band. As if something in her had been satisfied.

  And he was pretty sure what had brought the change about.

  In all honesty, the day couldn’t have gone better. The family had made a huge fuss over the baby, and it would have been obvious to a blind man that the kid had been accepted as part of the clan. And Murphy was well aware of how important his being accepted was to her. More than anything, she wanted him to have everything she’d missed. There had been one specific incident that stood out among the rest—when she discovered Grandpa Munroe carting J.J. around as Grandpa played ringtoss with the rest of the grandkids, trying to get a six-week-old kid to throw his bright yellow ring. The look of pure delight on Jordan’s face had been something to behold.

  But there was more to it than that. It was as if she had found something for herself. He could see with his own eyes that a definite bond had developed between Jordan and his grandmother. And he had to admit that it gave him quite a jolt to see how solicitous and attentive she had been toward the old woman, so—hell, he couldn’t find exactly the right words—but so full of respect. And it also made him realize just how much he had taken for granted his entire life.

  “She’s wonderful—your grandmother,” Jordan said softly.

  Murphy shot her a glance, as if she’d read his mind. She was sitting with her arm braced on the window ledge, her head propped on her hand. “It must have been so terrifying for her, moving here, knowing no one, barely speaking the language. That must have taken such courage.” She dropped her arm and looked at Murphy, the city lights casting half of her face in shadow. “You’ve got a great family, Murphy. Your sisters, your parents, Mitch.” She looked down and began fiddling with the strap of her handbag, as if gathering her own courage. Then she looked at him again, her gaze solemn. “Thank you for not letting me back out. It was wonderful.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. They can be a bit over-whelming at times.”

  Dropping her gaze, she continued to roll the handle of the bag between her fingers, and Murphy wanted to reach across and stop her from worrying the rolled fabric. It was as if her inner tension was feeding his own. He slowed for a car that had pulled out in front of him, his expression growing taut. If he couldn’t smell the scent of sunshine on her, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe if she weren’t so close. Or maybe if he were stone-cold dead.

  Somehow or other, he had to get through the next couple of hours without doing something stupid. Like getting even closer. Like being driven by another part of his body instead of his brain. Like getting in over his head.

  If he was smart, he’d find some excuse to go back to his house for the night, but he was afraid she would misunderstand, misinterpret. And the last thing he wanted to do was destroy all the positive things that had happened today. But he was afraid if he so much as touched her, he’d bloody well lose it.

  Feeling suddenly edgy and strung out right to the limit, he pulled into the ramp for her underground parking, reached through the open window and punched in her security code, then waited for the garage door to open. He had to do something that would drain him absolutely empty, or he really would lose his mind. Just the thought of a brightly lit gym made his skin crawl. What he needed to do was go for a long run. Yeah, a run. Maybe that would do it. Having an escape plan eased the tension chasing around in his belly, and he loosened his grip on the wheel. He would get everything unloaded and make sure she and J.J. were okay, then he’d put on some sweats and he’d run until he burned off all that awful edginess or until he dropped dead—whichever came first.

  The garage was well lit, and he squinted against the bright halogen lights as he pulled into her second stall beside her BMW. Experiencing a sensation that could best be described as sexual claustrophobia, he put the vehicle in Park, switched off the engine and took the keys out of the ignition.

  Jordan opened her door. He spoke to her, his tone clipped. “You take J.J., and I’ll bring the rest of the stuff up.”

  She hesitated, then slid out of the vehicle. “All right,” she said, her voice very quiet.

  Murphy clenched his jaw, wanting to bang his head against the steel girder. Damn, damn, damn. He’d sworn he wasn’t going to do that. To get cranky with her.

  Jordan actually held the elevator for him, but she didn’t say a word. She just jiggled J.J. and watched the numbers flash by. When the elevator stopped at her floor, she stepped out ahead of him, immediately exited, and she had her apartment door unlocked and open by the time he got there. That prissy-accountant’s look was on her face, which made him even more cranky, and for some reason, it ticked him off all over again.

  But that feeling collapsed onto itself when he saw how stiff her spine was and how erect she was holding her head. That had always been Jordan’s first line of defense. She turned to hang her handbag on the knob of the closet door, and Murphy caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes. Disgusted with himself, he grimly wondered why he kept doing such stupid things. He hauled the baby stuff into the nursery and dumped it in a big pile in the middle of the floor. Yanking open the closet door, he dug out his gym bag and emptied the contents on the single bed. Swearing to himself, he dug through and located his track shoes and a pair of biker shorts. He should never have kissed her. Then maybe he could have kept a lid on it. But no. He had to go stick his head into a loaded cannon. And now he was going to have to pay for it. He’d have to run all the way to Banff and back to unload all the sexual edginess screaming around inside him. Then he would probably have to turn around and do it all over again.

  Her bedroom door was closed when he left the nursery, and he hesitated, a sweatband in his hand. If he was smart, he’d turn the other way. Exhaling heavily, he yanked the band around his forehead, then opened her door without knocking. She hadn’t turned the lights on, and she was sitting in the chair feeding J.J. The instant the door swung open, she quickly wiped her face with the heel of her hand, keeping her head bent.

  His hand on the doorknob, Murphy studied her, then letting out another sigh, he crossed the room and crouched down in front of her. He stared at the floor for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. Finally he looked up at her. “It’s not you, Jordan. It’s me. I need to blow off some steam so I’m going for a run, okay?”

  She avoided looking at him, and instead wiped a tiny bit of mucus out of the corner of the baby’s eye. Her voice had a taut edge to it. “Are you coming back?”

  He should be getting used to feeling like a heel, but lately every time was like the first time. He caught her by the back of her neck and gave her head a little shake. “Yeah, I’m coming back. But if you were smart, you wouldn’t let me back in.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted and Murphy knew he could do something really, really dumb right now if he didn’t use his head. He could still smell sunshine on her, and now there was the scent of mother’s milk, as well. And his whole body kicked into gear. As if he wasn’t in a big enough mess as it was.

  He gave her neck a light squeeze and stood up. “I won’t be long.” Yeah, right. After being this close to her, he would have to run from here to Vancouver before he’d be able to put a lid on it.

  Chapter 8

  Unfortunately, a nice, easy jog didn’t cut it. Murphy’s brain kept running at that speed, and he kept thinking about her, about the taste of her mouth. He knew he had to do something to shut down all systems, or all his galloping around town in the middle of the night was going to be a total waste of time and energy.

  So in the end, he went for speed instead of distance. He wasn’t sure how far he ran, but by the time he got back to the condo, he felt as if both his lungs were on fire, and he had the kind of cramps in the calves of his legs that blocked out thought altogether.

  Wiping the sweat off his forearm, he entered the stairwell, jogged up t
wo flights, then used the steps and handrail to do some stretching exercises. He used every swear word in his vocabulary when he tried to stretch out the painful muscle spasms in his legs. His teeth gritted, he hung on to the stretch. Lord, he’d forgotten how damned much that could hurt.

  But he figured he had a handle on his testosterone, at least he did until he entered the apartment. Maybe it was the fading scent of roses, or maybe it was the fresh scent of lilies, or maybe it was the lingering scent of Jordan. But by the time he got to the guest bathroom, he was in the exact same condition as when he’d left. Ripping off his sweat band and T-shirt, he turned the shower on cold. It was more of a punishment than anything—if a killer run hadn’t bled off that feeling of having too much blood pulsing through his body, a dose of cold water wasn’t going to touch it, either.

  And it didn’t. Barely drying off, Murphy pulled on the blue jeans he’d left on the hook behind the door earlier, then he shut off the light and left the bathroom.

  They’d gotten in the habit of leaving two lights on so they weren’t staggering around in the dark during the night—a small night-light in the hallway and one under the built-in microwave in the kitchen. But there was no light on in Jordan’s room, and Murphy entered the nursery, leaving the door open so he’d hear the baby, who had obviously been put to bed in the cradle in his mother’s room.

  That same old edginess was back as Murphy tossed the contents of his gym bag back in the bag, aware that the pile of baby paraphernalia had been cleared away. He zipped the bag and dropped it on the floor at the end of the bed, thinking he should get as far away from her as possible and bunk out on the terrace for the night.

  A movement at the door distracted him, and he turned. His stomach shot to his shoes when he saw Jordan standing there, the soft illumination from the night-light in the hall framing her. Even in that weak light, he could see the nervous tension in her, and he could also see that his son was definitely not with her. Which meant this little visit had nothing to do with putting baby to bed.