The Baby Battle (10 page)

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” the girl said, rising and bobbing her head with a quirky nod.

After showing the teen to the door, Olivia returned to find Tag in the kitchen eating a fudgsicle. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” With a playful poke to his stomach, she said, “Can you believe our luck? She’s perfect.”

“You’re kidding, right?” The speck of fudge on his chin made him look younger than their nanny candidate.

“What’s the problem? She’s flawless.”

“She’s pierced!”

“And you obviously judge books by their covers, but—”

“Don’t go there,” he said, slamming his fudge wrapper in the undercounter trash. “I will not have my son watched by a punk rocker.”

“News flash—Flynn is
our
son, and assuming Tabitha’s references check out, I can’t imagine finding anyone more suitable.”

Deep into her personal space, he clamped his hand to her forehead.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping a few feet back.

“Checking you for fever.”

“Now you’re just being insulting.” Turning her back on him, she returned to the living room, where she’d left the baby monitor on the coffee table.

“Oh,” he said, close on her heels, “and your cracks about my character-assessment skills—or lack thereof—aren’t the least bit offensive?”

Hands on her hips, Olivia raised her chin. “Not if they happen to be true.”

“Listen up, Ms. Punk Rocker Lover, the day I—”

Flynn’s wail made it clear that he didn’t care who
was watching him, just as long as they changed his diaper ASAP.

Much to Olivia’s dismay, Tag beat her up the stairs and to their son’s crib. “What’s the problem, big guy?”

The infant cried all the harder.

Tag hefted Flynn from his crib, only to blanch. “Whew. Smells like you dropped a stinky egg.”

Olivia frowned.

“What?” Tag asked, already headed for the changing table. “You mean to tell me you don’t mind dye-haired, pierced sitters, but potty humor’s unacceptable?”

“You’re totally missing my point.” While Tag unsnapped Flynn’s pale blue shirt, Olivia took a diaper from the stack on the table’s middle shelf. “What kind of message would we be sending if we teach our son to judge people by the way they look?”

“That wasn’t any old ordinary look,” Tag said, expertly removing Flynn’s diaper. In the past few days he’d practiced. “But I see where you’re coming from.”

“So you’ll agree to at least give Tabitha a try?” Olivia handed Tag a warmed wipe.

“If you’ll agree to let my secretary check the girl’s references. Alice knows everyone in town. If the kid’s not on the up-and-up, she’ll sniff it out.”

“Agreed,” Olivia said, wrapping the old diaper and putting it in the trash. “But when Tabitha does turn out to have a flawless background, I want a formal apology.”

Tag’s only answer was a grunt.

“Does it taste okay?” Olivia asked Tag Sunday afternoon, holding out a spoonful of baked beans. His parents, along with her aunt and uncle, were due any minute for supper. Though Easter was still nearly a month away, she’d baked a ham and Tag had helped her make all the trimmings. Candied yams, homemade potato salad and strawberry shortcake for dessert.

“Delicious,” Tag said, pinching Flynn’s bare toes.

The baby sat in his high chair in the midst of all the cooking mayhem.

When he thought she wasn’t looking, Tag fished out a mini-serving of sauce for Flynn. He gummed and giggled and kicked.

“I saw that,” Olivia said, also seeing the goopy brown mess all over her son’s chin.

“He likes your cooking.”

Scowling, she said, “What he likes is the sugar, which, as you well know, he’s not supposed to have.”

“Who appointed you the health police?”

“Flynn’s birth certificate,” she said as she added diced
celery to the potato salad. “Now, while I finish setting the table, would you mind dressing Flynn in something presentable?”

“What’s wrong with him? He’s adorable.” The baby wore jeans and a red polo, but he didn’t have shoes or socks on and his hair and face were a mess.

“For an occasion like this, he needs to be beyond adorable.”

“Like me?” Tag asked, stepping up from behind her to kiss her cheek. Though she needed to be putting flowers on the table and double-checking the glaze on the ham, she instead put her hand to her cheek.

“W-what was that for?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, reddening and then sharply looking away. “I wasn’t thinking. More than you know, I appreciate you putting on such a nice spread for my folks.” Tag scooped Flynn from his high chair. “Anything special in mind for our little heartbreaker to wear? Or do you just want me to clean him up?”

With her mind still foggy from Tag’s kiss, she could hardly remember her name, let alone the specifics of Flynn’s wardrobe. “Um, surprise me.”

“Will do.” Taking Flynn’s arm, he helped the baby salute. The move was corny, ridiculous and so cute Olivia felt as if her heart were caught in her throat.

“T
HERE’S MY CUPCAKE
,” Olivia’s aunt Caroline crooned, getting all up in Flynn’s face. Tag couldn’t tell whether their son was happy about this or needed to burp. For
his mission to make the baby more presentable, Tag had found railroad-striped overalls that he’d put over Flynn’s red shirt. He added the red high-top sneakers Liv had told him about, gave his face a quick scrub and, voilà, his son was a masterpiece.

If only the same could be said for the pudding in Tag’s brain. Kissing Liv had been an impulse he hadn’t thought through. One thing was for sure, though—it wouldn’t happen again.

They sat in the living room, sharing embarrassing childhood stories and an after-dinner round of tea and coffee. Olivia’s meal had been a great success. All present raved about her cooking skills.

“He’s not a cupcake,” Uncle Brian complained. “A manly man like him is more like a truck.”

“I agree,” Tag said. “He’s getting to an age where we need to lay off the girlie stuff.”

While Olivia’s aunt and uncle sorted out nicknames, Tag’s mother pulled him aside.

“He truly is beautiful,” she said, standing next to the baby grand piano, tears glistening in her eyes. “I can’t believe we’ve already missed so much of his life.”

“I know,” Tag said, trying not to sneeze from the heavy scent of the lilies that Olivia had placed in vases all over the house, “but no more. Olivia and I are committed to raising him together.”

His mother clapped. “Then you
are
getting married. Oh, your father will be thrilled. Me, too.”

Brow furrowed, Tag asked, “How can you infer marriage out of a simple commitment to our son?”

“What else would you have meant?” His mom leaned over to sniff the flower arrangement on the piano. Gold from a lily’s stamen brushed onto her nose.

“Mom,” he said, gesturing to the streak, “you’ve got something—”

“Don’t try changing the subject, Taggart. When can I take your future bride out to pick china? And I’ll need to reserve space at the country club for the reception.”

Loosening the tie that was suddenly choking the life out of him, Tag said in a low tone, “You know how I feel about this. There isn’t going to be a wedding. Ever.”

“Tag, it’s been three years since Maria’s death. She would want you to go on. Especially with the mother of your son. No one was a bigger fan of family than your wife, and it would break her heart that you’re not even giving Olivia a chance.”

“Just stop, okay?” Sighing, he stared out the window at the river churning at the bluff’s base. It was raining and the rivulets running down the windows marred the usual expansive view. “Olivia feels the same as I do. That what we share is a love for our son. Nothing more.”

“Then she’s lying.” Tag’s mom put her hand on his navy suit’s lapel, swiping at invisible lint. “At the table, when you said grace with Flynn in your arms, your father and I saw the look of adoration in her eyes. I understand you’re still hurting over Maria, but honey, you owe it
not only to yourself, but your son, to at least explore a genuine relationship with Olivia.”

Aggravated by his parents’ interference in his life—even if they meant well—Tag clenched his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret.

“Great party,” Tag’s father said, strolling up with a bowl of potato salad in hand.

“Charles, you just finished dinner.”

“And?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.

Tag’s mother shook her head.

Tag was so annoyed by her buttinsky questions that he didn’t even tell her she still had lily pollen all over her nose.

“I’
M EXHAUSTED
,” Liv declared once they’d made their goodbyes to their guests.

Tag watched as she kicked off her brown leather sandals and collapsed on the living-room sofa. The flowery dress she wore was a pretty change from her usual staid business attire. She’d worn her auburn hair up in a formal knot, but she now released it, sending it tumbling about her freckled chest.

Flynn had long since crashed in the playpen they’d set up in a quiet corner of the room.

Leaning her head back, Liv closed her eyes, exposing the elegant column of her throat. She was a stunning woman. The polar opposite of Maria’s dark, petite beauty. His mother’s assessment of Liv’s hidden feelings for him had caught him off guard. In the short time
they’d been together, he’d developed a great affection for her. But it was based upon nothing more than their mutual love of Flynn.

“Me, too,” he said, hovering with his hands in his pockets on the other side of the room.

“Huh?” She cocked one eye open.

“You said you were tired?” he reminded her. “I’m agreeing.”

She laughed. “You must be sleepy, since you waited like five minutes to even reply.”

“It hasn’t been anywhere near five minutes,” he argued.

“You’re horrible with time,” she said. “So how would you even know?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He joined her on the sofa. When she shifted to allow him extra room, he snagged her ankles, pulling her feet onto his lap for a rub.

“That feels heavenly,” she said with a contented groan. “But back to the subject—you’re chronically late.”

“Am not,” he protested, making sure to press extra deep on her arches because she’d complained of them giving her trouble when she stood in heels all day in court.

“When we were at Rolling Rock, you said you’d be right over to pick us up from our cabin. It took you seven minutes.”

He rolled his eyes.

“And when we showed up with all of our boxes at
your house, and you’d called my cell to tell me you’d be right home to let me in, how long did it actually take?” Her grin showed lots of teeth and the dimples that came out only when she was especially relaxed.

“Hey, the only reason I was late was because I stopped to get your favorite flavor of ice cream.”

“Oops.” She at least had the good grace to blush.

Moving his massage to her ankles, and then silky calves, he said, “That’s right. Score one for me, and minus ten for you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” She wrinkled her nose.

“That’s the beauty of it,” he said with a wink, skimming his hand along her calf. Her skin felt so good. Good enough to turn his platonic thank-you massage into something neither would want. Gently moving her legs while easing off the sofa, he continued, “It effectively changed the subject without you even realizing what happened.”

“You’re nuts.”

“Probably,” he admitted, “but you’re stuck with me, so what’re you going to do?”

L
YING IN BED THAT NIGHT
, Flynn softly snoring in his crib, the central heating humming, Olivia couldn’t keep from analyzing Tag’s seemingly carefree statement. For all practical purposes, she was stuck with him. But interestingly enough, far from feeling stuck, the more time they spent together, the more fun she had.

Now that she’d gotten used to it, the rambling house was amazing. The kitchen inspiring. The movie room entertaining. The enormous tub she’d once poked fun at was beyond belief relaxing. Olivia had even gotten used to Maria’s ghost being everywhere she looked.

At one point in the evening, Tag’s mother had drawn him aside. The look on his face while she’d been talking had been dark. After everyone had left, Olivia wanted to ask what had gotten him so riled up, but his massage and their playful banter had been so nice that she hadn’t wanted it to stop.

“Knock, knock.”

“Tag,” she said, hand to her pounding heart. “Jeez, you are always scaring the fool out of me.”

“Sorry. Can I come in?” Though she slept with her door open, Tag stood at the room’s threshold, dressed in nothing but red pj bottoms, his bare chest illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon.

“O-of course,” she said, pushing her no doubt wild hair over her shoulders.

“Leave it,” Tag said, crawling into bed beside her. The king-size mattress meant there was plenty of extra space. He wasn’t anywhere near touching her, yet she fought the craziest urge to slide close to him, resting her head on his chest, snuggling for warmth. “Your hair looks pretty down.”

“Oh.” He’d developed a preference for her wearing it a certain way?

“Dammit, Liv,” he said, leaning against the headboard
with his hands linked behind his head. “I’m not getting any sleep over something my mom nagged me about.”

How interesting that one of the very things keeping her awake was also affecting him.

“Making a long story short, she and Dad apparently saw you put some extra oomph behind your smile, and they’re now convinced you’re pining for me, and that we should get married right away.”

“W-what?” Olivia pushed herself upright in the bed.

“It’s the craziest damned thing you’ve ever heard, right?” Lowering his hands, he repositioned onto his side, stroking her forearm. In the process, he unwittingly made heat streak through her entire body. “I explained to her that we have a mutually beneficial arrangement that doesn’t require a legal commitment, but she wasn’t having it.”

Olivia laughed.

Tag barked, “I fail to see anything funny about this.”

“
Ironic
would probably be the better word, since when my aunt and I were whipping cream for dessert she gave me the shacking-up lecture.”

“She actually accused you of
shacking up?
” Rolling even closer, he balled a pillow under his head.

“Not in those exact words, but her meaning was clear enough.”

“Yeah.” Reaching out, he tucked flyaway strands of hair behind her ear. Then he leaned closer and closer
until his lips had nowhere else to go but against hers. His kiss shot silvery warmth through her, feeling crazy good.

Groaning, she pressed against him, yearning for more.

Unfortunately Tag pulled away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I just…” His expression was unreadable. As if instead of enjoying their intimate moment, he was in pain.

“Tag…it’s okay.”

Ignoring her reassurance, he shifted a good two feet away before clearing his throat. “I’ve, ah, been meaning to tell you this for the longest time, but I guess pride has stopped me.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Sitting up, she asked, “Should I be worried?”

He snorted. “More like ecstatic. As much as it pains me to admit, that sitter we interviewed?”

“Wait—let me guess. Tabitha’s references all turned out impeccable?”

Judging by his scowl, yes. “That still doesn’t mean we should hire her. There are those piercings to consider.”

She laughed. “I guess now wouldn’t be the time to tell you I’ve been considering a belly button ring?”

Making a sexy rumble deep in his throat, he raised her shirt, skimming his fingers along the tender rise of her stomach. For a moment her arousal was so intense, she held her breath, but once she regained her sanity, she asked, “Tag?”

“Uh-huh?”

Turning toward him, she whispered, “If our kissing apparently bothered you, why do you keep touching me?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” With the backs of his fingers he stroked her cheek. “Want me to stop?”

“Yes.”
No.

When he chastely covered her hand with his, she closed her stinging eyes, losing herself in the intimate sensation. It had been years since anyone had touched her in a man-woman way. In her head, she got the fact that Tag was only trying to be friendly, but her emotions felt strapped to a runaway train.

“What’re we going to do?” He took her hand and traced the fine lines on her palm.

“About what?”

“Our families?” Sighing, he said, “My brothers and sister are chomping at the bit to meet you and Flynn. Likewise, so are all of the folks I work with.”

“My circle’s curious about you.” The more he stroked, the more she felt near purring. “They don’t understand how we went from being bitter enemies to housemates. They think I’ve gone off the deep end.”

“Have you?” Moonlight shone off his strong, white-toothed grin.

She tried swatting his chest, but he captured her hand, leaning still closer. Beneath her palm, his heart beat as erratically as hers.