Kids Is A 4-Letter Word (4 page)

For an instant, anger sparked within her. As a woman, she was expected to like and want children. Even the close friends to whom she’d confided her true feelings on the subject had patronized her. “You’ll feel differently someday,” they’d said.

And her mother. Oh, God, that was another story.

She forced her attention back to her clients. Standing, Jo faced the seated couple and made eye contact. “I’d like the chance to visit one of your day-care centers and then take a few days to develop a full computerized presentation. My bid
will be competitive, and you’ll be able to view the entire job before you spend a dime.”

Mr. and Mrs. Patterson glanced at each other again, and Jo saw the woman nod almost imperceptibly. A barb of excitement bolted through her and Jo resisted the urge to grin. But Mr. Patterson frowned slightly. “We would need to see your presentation Monday afternoon—can you be prepared by then?”

Jo’s mind spun. Today was Thursday. She’d have to work most of the weekend, but she could easily finish the presentation with time to spare. “Yes. But I’d like to arrange a visit tomorrow morning at one of your day-care centers to make a few notes.”

Mr. Patterson turned to her and said, “We like what we’ve seen so far, Ms. Montgomery. It seems you have both the personal and professional qualifications for the job. If your presentation is as impressive as your preliminary legwork, I think we’ll be doing business.”

Despite the worry triggered by his comment about her “personal qualifications,” Jo conjured up a professional smile and extended her hand to the Pattersons in turn. On the way to the door, Jo consulted her day calendar to set up a time Friday morning to walk through one of the day cares.

“We’ll meet you there tomorrow at ten,” Mrs. Patterson said, smiling. “Bring your children along—I like to gauge the reactions of little ones to our centers.”

Jo’s smile froze and she could only manage to say, “I’m not sure what their father has planned for them, but we’ll see.”

Mrs. Patterson stopped at the door and leaned toward Jo, giving her a generous smile. Pointing to the dark wet stain on Jo’s hip, she said, “I see you’re potty-training your toddler. I noticed his creative diaper sticking out of his waistband. Diapering him with a towel is a wonderful idea because he’ll be uncomfortable when he wets. He should be trained in no time. You’re a good mother, Ms. Montgomery.”

An uneasy smile found its way to Jo’s shocked mouth. She managed to nod and mumble something nice in return. As
soon as the door closed behind the Pattersons, her body went slack with relief. Then she grabbed her purse and dashed into the ladies’ room. One look in the mirror elicited a groan. Her hair was a mess, her dress rumpled and wrinkled. Her makeup had vanished, except for the black smudges of mascara beneath her dark eyes. She reached into her purse for a hairbrush, but her fingers touched pink vinyl. Withdrawing her palette of birth control pills, Jo impulsively popped one into her hand and downed it without water.

Another glance in the mirror revealed a dark brown stain over her left breast. Cautiously, Jo lifted the fabric and sniffed, confirming her worst fear. Closing her eyes, she valiantly fought the urge to swallow a second pill.

“T
HIS IS
John Sterling. I need to speak with Jo Montgomery.” He switched his cellular phone to his left shoulder and squinted at the street sign he passed.

An older woman who’d identified herself as Hattie responded in a tone somewhat higher than when she’d first answered. “Oh, Mr. Sterling. May I say what beautiful children you have?”

Pride outweighed his annoyance at not yet being able to get through to the woman who’d taken his children without his permission. It wasn’t often people praised his children. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, then glanced around frantically to get his bearings. Savannah was still new to him, and, after dark, landmarks looked different But now the third appearance of a neon sign flashing Pinky’s told John he was indeed driving in circles. Banging his fist on the steering wheel in frustration, he turned his attention back to the phone and asked, “May I speak with Ms. Montgomery?”

“She just left, sir. We fed the children and she’s taking them back to your house.”

John closed his eyes briefly, then thanked the woman and hung up. He’d hoped to beat them home, anxious to see his children’s faces and to tuck them in. A dull worry descended when he remembered he didn’t have a sitter for the following
day. He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Seven-thirty. Probably too late to round up someone tonight Then he brightened.

This Montgomery woman sounded as if she was good with kids. Perhaps he could persuade her to watch them tomorrow, then he’d have the weekend to line up another sitter. He sighed at his wishful thinking, suddenly craving a cigarette. The desire for one hadn’t been this strong in the three years since he’d quit, but he forced it back.

One hour later, John pulled into his driveway. He’d left the damned garage-door opener inside, so he parked next to an unfamiliar sport sedan. A low light burned from the den window, and various other lights glowed throughout the big house. At least the children were still awake. John drew his briefcase and suit jacket from the passenger seat, and walked the short distance to his new home, shivering in the late chill. As always, he hesitated at the door.

God help him, he didn’t want to go in. Into a houseful of sad kids he couldn’t console or control. Into empty, unfamiliar surroundings. Into a big lonely bed. Some nights were more overwhelming than others. Tonight, unlocking the door was pure torture. Only the thought that his kids were probably unsettled and upset at having spent the afternoon with a stranger moved him forward.

Quietly closing the door behind him, John stepped into the foyer which opened immediately into the large family den. “Father Knows Best” played on the television, the canned laughter echoing in the large room. John automatically reached up to loosen his tie, scanning the room, but his hand froze in midair.

On a small cream-colored rug in the middle of the wooden floor, a slim woman lay asleep on her side, her knees and arms bent in repose, her slender legs extending from her slightly rucked-up dress. Her pumps had slipped off her shapely feet and lay on their shiny sides, a stray silver icicle from the Christmas tree wrapped around one stiletto heel. Short dark hair swept across her face, obscuring it from his view. And
piled around her were all three of his children, Billy nestled against the woman’s chest, Jamie close behind him, and Claire flat on her back less than a half foot away, her small fingers touching the woman’s limp hand.

John inhaled sharply, stretching his neck forward and squinting to refocus. His heart pounded, and all moisture left his mouth. He swallowed painfully, then took a silent step forward before setting down his briefcase. As he moved closer, the woman moaned and turned her head. He stopped and watched the dark hair slide from her face, revealing a beautiful profile of straight nose, high cheekbones, full mouth and sculpted chin. As she worked her mouth in sleep, a dimple appeared and disappeared beneath her right cheek.

Holding his breath, John allowed his eyes to travel down the length of Jo Montgomery, taking in her rounded breasts, the curve of her hip, the fine bones of her slim legs. John felt an unfamiliar tightening in his groin and pulled at his waistband. The two years alone had been excruciatingly long. Taking a cautious step forward, he bent at the waist and searched for the one item he sincerely hoped the slumbering beauty didn’t possess: a wedding ring. Her shapely left hand curled toward the rug, her fingers hidden. Damn! The most unusual scent reached him, kind of…fruity. Apples? No. He sniffed again. Pears. The woman smelled like pears. He shifted uncomfortably.

His children were motionless, except for Billy’s occasional sucking on the two fingers he’d thrust into his mouth. John sighed. Between that mangy blankie, the finger-sucking and the aversion to potties, Billy was fast becoming a therapist’s dream. Jamie lay tangled in his black terry-cloth shadow, his red hair in wild disarray. Shaking his head, John wondered if he’d made a mistake by playing along with his son’s fantasies, which seemed to have grown more creative in the past few months.

And Claire. John smiled, and squatted to stroke the fine white-blond strands splayed across the rug. The very image of Annie, but as introverted as her mother had been outgoing.
Bookish and solemn, his daughter rarely spoke, and displayed emotion even less. His concern was greatest for Claire because she remembered Annie the most and missed her so.

Nothing to worry about, a child psychologist had told him. Love, patience, and time healed all wounds. Children are more resilient than they look, she said. And other comforting words John prayed were true. Here they were, so starved for female affection, they lay curled up to a virtual stranger. His eyes began to sting again.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice whispered.

Starting badly, John blinked and caught himself with one arm to keep from falling on his behind. “Hello,” he said quietly. Sleeping Beauty had the biggest, brownest eyes he’d ever seen.

Jo squinted into the light of the ornate ceiling fan, trying to focus. She sincerely hoped the man squatting near her was John Sterling and not a burglar, because she didn’t have the strength to run for help. Billy stirred beside her, then quieted.

“I’m afraid to move,” she said, grimacing at the blurry man. “I might wake them.” A thought so harrowing she was willing to lie there until the Second Coming.

“Give me your hand and I’ll help you up.” She immediately recognized his deep voice. Hesitantly, Jo lifted her hand and was pulled gently to her stockinged feet. She swayed to gain her balance, and his strong arm steadied her.

Jo lifted her head to thank him and stopped. John Sterling’s eyes were the palest green, framed with gold lashes and set in a tanned face sprinkled with dark freckles. Deep auburn hair as thick as an animal’s pelt faded to burnished gold around his temples, the same color as his sunlightened eyebrows. His square jaw glinted with a day’s growth of red-gold whiskers—he looked like the type who might have first shaved in the sixth grade, a man who could sprout a beard over a long weekend. A half smile played upon the man’s mouth, revealing laugh lines that promised to become deep channels with the accompaniment of a grin.

She searched his eyes, and found…surprise, awareness,
confusion. His lips parted slightly and Jo experienced a strong sensation of déjàvu. She knew this man, but had never met him. An age-old acquaintance in a stranger’s body.
Where have you been?
she felt on the verge of asking.

He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and imposing. His tie was loosened and his shirtsleeves rolled up just below his elbows, revealing more golden hair on his thick forearms. He could not have looked more masculine if he’d been wearing a loincloth and carrying a shank of raw meat. Jo knew her mouth hung open because she could feel her breath moving across her teeth, but only two words came readily to mind.

“Me Jane,” she murmured.

His forehead creased and he leaned toward her slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Me Jo,” she said more loudly, then recovered and stepped back, causing him to relinquish his hold on her arm. “That is, I’m Jo. Jo Montgomery.” She smiled awkwardly, then extended her hand. He clasped her clammy hand in his warm one, sending so much electricity through her nerve endings, Jo was sure he could see her skeleton like a flash of green X ray.

“John Sterling,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting higher. “It seems I’m indebted to you, Ms. Montgomery.” He released her hand and waved an arm toward his sleeping children.

Jo glanced at the tangle of little arms and legs, and gave him a small shrug. “They weren’t much trouble,” she lied outrageously.

He laughed softly. “Your clothing tells a slightly different story.”

Self-consciously, she ran a hand over the neckline of her ruined coatdress, coming up with a gob of stale peanut butter. With a little laugh, Jo wiped it on her smudged lapel and said, “Okay, maybe they were a little less than
angelic.
”

John had the grace to blush. Splaying his hands apologetically, he said, “When I made the remark this morning about my kids being angels, I didn’t realize you’d be stuck watching
them most of the day. I’m sorry, and I’m also very grateful. Please send the bill for your dress to my office.”

“I’ll put it on your account,” Jo said cheerfully, referring to her future design job.

“It’s pretty bleak around here, isn’t it?” John asked, surveying the room. “How soon can you get started?”

“I didn’t get a chance to look around today, so I’ll come back tomorrow if someone is going to be here.”

Shifting uncomfortably, John said, “I don’t have a sitter lined up yet, so I might have to take the kids to the office with me in the morning, but I’ll be back around lunchtime. You can wait until then or I’ll give you a key.”

Remembering her morning appointment with the Pattersons, Jo made a snap decision. “I can come by in the morning to make some notes and watch the kids until you get home.”

Incredulity registered on John’s face.

“That is,” she continued nervously, “if you don’t mind me taking them on a quick errand.”

“No,” he nearly shouted, and Jamie turned over on his stomach. They both glanced down and held their breath. “I mean, no,” John said, his voice lower. “I don’t mind at all. But,” he hastened to add, “that’s not necessary.”

“I want to,” Jo said, smiling tightly.

John angled his head. “Really?”

Swallowing guiltily at the delight shining in his eyes, Jo put her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. “Really.”

“W
HERE’S
J
O
?” Jamie murmured sleepily, his eyes only halfopen. Claire and Billy were already safely tucked in and slumbering. Normally, John saved Jamie until last, since he was the most difficult to persuade to go to sleep. Which amazed John considering the energy his son expended in a day.

“She had to go home,” John said gently, pulling the sheet over Peter Pan pajamas and up to his son’s strong little chin.

“She’s a nice lady,” Jamie said, blinking heavily.

John smiled. “Liked her, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jamie nodded, his hair dark and unruly against the white pillowcase. “Can we keep her, Daddy?”

The question slammed into John like a steel beam. His smile vanished and he searched his son’s questioning green eyes, swallowing the lump that lodged in his throat. Slowly reaching forward to tousle Jamie’s hair, he said, “She’s not a puppy, son.”

“But she’s pretty—don’t you like her?”

“Jamie—”

“And she’s no one else’s mommy—I already asked.”

John blinked fiercely. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

He couldn’t fault his son’s taste. “Well, there’s more to it than that.” John spoke carefully. “Being a mommy is tough work, and not every lady wants to have children.”

Jamie’s face crumpled. “She didn’t like us?”

“Of course she liked you,” John assured him. “And she’s going to fix up our house, so she’ll be around a lot.”

“When will I see her again?”

“She’s coming back in the morning to start working. In fact, she’s going to keep an eye on you guys until I get home at lunch.”

A grin appeared, revealing small white teeth. “So she
does
like us.”

“I guess so,” John said, his heart crashing at his son’s elation. He raised his index finger and wagged it with mock fierceness. “But no more quizzing her about being a mommy, okay?” He leaned forward and whispered, “We don’t want to scare her off!”

Jamie giggled, and John kissed his forehead. “Now go to sleep so you’ll be wide-awake when she gets here.”

In a rare moment of obedience, the little boy rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut. John patted him on the behind before he stood up. He switched on the Tinker Bell night-light, cast one more glance over his sleeping boys, then left the room with a hundred emotions, new and old, jabbing at him.

Ten o’clock. Too early for bed, but he didn’t feel like opening his briefcase. John slipped off his dress clothes, tossed his rumpled shirt into a dry cleaner’s bag and rehung his suit. He turned his wallet over in his hands several times, then opened it, flipping past the credit cards until he came to Annie’s picture.

Just a snapshot, the picture had been taken when she was pregnant with Jamie. Radiantly round, her pale blond hair was tossed over one shoulder, her hands resting proudly on her protruding tummy. John remembered the day, he’d insisted on taking the picture because she had never seemed more beautiful.

Carefully, he removed the faded photograph, cropped to fit inside the plastic sleeve, and rubbed his finger over the image of her smiling face. Gone but not forgotten. In a split second of revelation, John suddenly realized he still compared every woman he met to Annie. But it wasn’t fair to the other women, it wasn’t fair to him and it wasn’t fair to his children.

John slowly walked to his nightstand and slid open the drawer. Annie’s family Bible rested near the bottom, under
paperbacks, magazines, old newspapers and other odds and ends. He opened the cover and placed her photo inside, on the page where her ancestors’ names were logged, where he’d penned her date of death the afternoon he’d returned from the funeral. “Goodbye, Annie,” he whispered as he closed the cover and replaced the volume.

John dragged his hand over his face and exhaled noisily, then turned toward his cavernous bed. Alone again. He was beginning to loathe the smell of his own faded aftershave on the pillows, night after night. The scent of pears suddenly seemed especially appealing.

He stretched out on top of the comforter and reached for the remote control, again experiencing the need for nicotine. John ground his teeth and wondered if Jo Montgomery had gone home to a vacant bed, and absurdly hoped so. She hadn’t been wearing a ring. Then he frowned at his wishful thinking. Fat chance. A beauty like her, married or not, undoubtedly had someone to keep her warm at night.

J
O REACHED OVER
and ran her fingers across Victor’s furred chest, and smiled at his growl of contentment. Presenting his pink tongue to Jo with a gigantic yawn, he snuggled deeper into the covers.

“I know,” Jo crooned sympathetically to her aged collie. “Twenty-three hours of sleep a day just isn’t enough, is it, boy?” Too late, he was already in dreamland. Which is where Jo had thought she would be by now. Especially after a day with the Sterling stampede. She sighed. Eleven-thirty, and sleep was nowhere in sight.

Flat on her back, Jo blinked at the rotating ceiling fan. She had to concede it was John Sterling who had trampled her emotions more than his needy children. Why had he caught her by surprise?

Because she associated fatherhood with thinning hair, a spare tire. The words
virile
and
sexy
shifted her parenthood paradigm. And John Sterling turned it upside down.

As Jo’s lids became heavier, she brushed away the shiver
of anticipation at seeing him again, and strained to remember the last time a man had shaken her to the core. Long ago, Alan had affected her that way…hadn’t he?

T
HE NAGGING BUZZ
of the alarm gave way to a nagging buzz at the base of her brain, some leftover negativity Jo couldn’t dredge up until she rolled over and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Then she grimaced. The Pattersons. In four hours she was expected to show up with her three little darlings in tow and her best mothering face in place. Jo soothed her guilty feelings by reasoning she desperately needed the account, plus she didn’t plan to charge John for baby-sitting. They’d be even.

As she made the bed, she mentally ticked off her morning route: drop by the office to open up and leave instructions with Hattie, on to John Sterling’s to begin her stint as interior designer/impromptu nanny, then over to the Pattersons for a combination idea-generating and schmoozing session.

Stepping over the silky pile of ruined coatdress, Jo smiled wryly. If she’d learned anything yesterday, it was what she
shouldn’t
wear around children. She opened her closet door and flipped on the light. So the imminent question was, did she have anything hanging in her closet made of paper, plastic or metal?

Settling on a washable dark gray knit ensemble, Jo slipped in and out of the shower in record time, finger-fluffing the damp layers of her hair. She quickly applied makeup, then stepped into one-inch heels to lend a dressier look to the leggings. She had one dangling silver earring on before she remembered Billy’s inquisitive hands and switched to posts. Then Jo shrugged into a stadium-length jacket, yanked her shoulder bag from the bureau and trotted out the door of her duplex into the chilly winter air. The sun was already shining, though, so it looked as though another record warm day was on tap.

As she backed out of her driveway, she glanced over at Hattie’s half of the house to see if her aunt was up and about.
Jo wasn’t a bit surprised when Hattie emerged in a chic running suit, gloves and muffler, bouncing from foot to foot, warming up. Jo rolled down her window and yelled, “You’re up early!”

“The early bird gets the can of worms!” Hattie shouted before waving and jogging off in the opposite direction. Shaking her head, Jo laughed out loud. Hattie was an original, and at the age of sixty-four, had more energy than most women half her age. Indeed, at thirty-one, Jo sometimes had a hard time keeping up with her.

Always a bit outrageous, her widowed aunt seemed to grow a little more eccentric every year. Several months ago she’d confided to Jo she’d been having vivid dreams about her first love, a military man she’d fallen in love with during college, but had lost track of when he left to fight in the Korean Conflict, as Hattie called it. Eventually she’d met and married Uncle Francis, but he’d died suddenly several years ago.

Jo was astounded to hear that Hattie intended to research the whereabouts of a man she hadn’t seen in more than forty years, especially since she’d thought her aunt and the older woman’s longtime friend, Herbert Mann, were a couple. Hattie insisted the recurring dreams meant her soldier was still alive, and wanted to reunite with her as much as she did. Jo worried what it might do to her aunt if she discovered he was married and unavailable, or perhaps had passed away. But Hattie was determined to find him.

Shaking her head, Jo wished her mother was as adventurous as her spirited older sister. It seemed that Helen Montgomery’s sole purpose in life was to see her daughter properly engaged, then married.

Weekly Sunday dinners consisted of familiar rituals where her mom cleverly pried into Jo’s love life, extracting updates and offering her own remedies for inducing Alan Parish to propose. “Josephine, three years is long enough for a man to make up his mind,” had become a running part of her mom’s matrimony monologue.

Thank goodness for Dad, she thought, tapping her finger on the steering wheel to the distinctive beat of John Mellencamp.

City police officer Madden Montgomery had raised Jo with a stern hand and a kind heart. Although he’d never said, Jo secretly suspected he’d wanted a boy when she’d been born. He’d dubbed her Jo, a nickname that her mother refused to use to this day. Since she was an only child, he’d waved aside convention and raised Jo much as he would have raised a son.

But when Jo entered college and declared interior design her major, her mom had noisily proclaimed victory, asserting she knew all along Jo was best suited to taking care of a home and children.

Which couldn’t have been further from the truth.

In fact, she’d first chosen to study architecture, but an unending semester of physics and drafting, combined with a part-time job in her aunt Hattie’s design firm, convinced Jo her talents lay elsewhere. Her mother refused to understand there was more to interior design than picking out pillows to toss on a sofa. Jo specialized in commercial design and not only graduated with honors but received awards for her term work in ergonomic office layouts. She was a natural to buy and take over Hattie’s business, and now her aunt worked for her.

The future of Montgomery Group Interiors rested solely in her hands.

Jo wheeled into the parking lot and pulled into the first space, feeling responsibility descend on her shoulders like a yoke. She forced herself to take a deep breath and smile, then left her car in a burst of energy, feeling her spirits lift with pride as she unlocked the office door and flooded the rooms with fluorescent light.

Within minutes she had the coffeemaker bubbling and the radio on her favorite classic-rock station. Pulling out a sheet of clean paper, Jo made a list of the sample books she’d need to pull for the day’s schedule, then checked her calendar for notes from Hattie. A bright yellow adhesive note announced,
“Alan arriving Friday afternoon—will pick you up for dinner at duplex around seven.”

Jo waited for a wave of pleasure to wash over her. After a few seconds she decided she’d be satisfied with a simple
splash
of pleasure. When none seemed forthcoming, Jo sighed and settled for a trickle.

Okay, so it wasn’t…
electric
with Alan. But he was a good man and easy to look at, and they shared common goals. And he loved her very much, of that she was certain. He’d been in Atlanta for ten days, and had wanted her to go with him for a minivacation, but she’d declined. Worry over the precarious foothold she had on her business kept her rooted, guilt eating at her for concealing her financial woes from her boyfriend of three years.

But Alan wouldn’t understand. He’d be furious if he knew how deeply over her head she’d dived. Alan had never failed at anything. His computer consulting firm was fast becoming one of the largest in the state, and he was well respected in the community. He could easily bail her small business out of debt, but Jo was determined to succeed or fail on her own.

Anyway, the fact that Alan hadn’t called since he’d left only proved how comfortable and solid their relationship stood. The thought he might want to spend the night skittered across her mind, but she dismissed it. After mentally tracking Alan’s libido for three years, Jo thought she had his schedule pinned down: every other holiday. At this point Presidents’ Day looked lucky.

Jo scolded herself and began to jot down notes for Hattie on where she could be reached and what deliveries to check on today. The phone rang, a low bleeping sound. Jo glanced at her watch and frowned. No one called this early except bill collectors and long-distance companies. “Hello?”

“I knew you’d be there.”

Oh, and Pamela Kaminski.

“Hi,” Jo said to her lifelong friend. Then she added more cautiously, “What’s up?”

“Does something have to be up for me to call? Can’t I just
be calling my bestest friend in the world to say I’ve been thinking about how much you mean to me and I hope you have a wonderful day?”

“What’s up, Pam?”

Pamela sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. I need to borrow Alan.”

“Again? I’m starting to wonder about the two of you.”

“Cripes, Jo, you know he’s not my type—I prefer men who have a pulse.”

“If you’re trying to butter me up, it’s not working.”

“I’m joking, okay? You know what I mean, Alan’s the perfect gentleman. I tend to bring home the strays. Unfortunately, my latest stray doesn’t have a tux and I need an escort to the art council’s charity dinner tomorrow night. Is Alan back in town?”

“Uh-huh.”

Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. So, can I have him?”

“I’m not his keeper, you know. He might have other plans.”

“I’ll call him, but I wanted to check with you first.”

Jo smiled, shaking her head. “By all means, call.”

“I owe you one.”