The Baby Agenda (19 page)

He surged to his feet, wanting nothing more than to get in his truck and head home to West Fork to confront her. To tell her he was crazily, permanently in love with her, and she could by God
learn
to believe it.

As the engine roared to life, he felt a hard kick in his chest. Was he kidding himself, thinking she wanted him to love her? Moira had never said anything to indicate she was in love with him. He was judging solely on the way she responded to his kisses, to him in bed, the expression in her eyes sometimes, the trusting way she slept in his arms. The fact that she had agreed to marry him in the first place. He'd presented marriage to her as a sensible solution to their dilemma, but Will knew he wouldn't
have gone that far if he hadn't already felt too much for her. And he couldn't imagine that she'd have accepted him if
she
hadn't felt enough to know she could live intimately with him. They'd both gambled on something they hadn't been willing to name, not at that point. And he'd believed—still believed—they had won.

But he had to hear her say those three words, too.
I love you.
Until he did, until he had her in his arms again, he was going to stay scared.

 

“T
HERE
,” M
OIRA SAID
, lifting Caleb from the small plastic bathtub she'd set on the kitchen counter. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

The first few weeks of his life, he'd wailed every time he was put in water. He'd progressed to looking worried, and tonight he'd become briefly entranced with a floating soap bubble. He'd grinned once, too, kicking his legs and splashing the counter and her.

Bundled in a towel, he wriggled happily.

“Now I'm wetter than you are,” she told him, kissing him on the nose. She carried him to her room and laid him on the bed while she peeled off her shirt and grabbed a dry one from the drawer. But, unable to resist, she picked him up before she put the T on, loving the feel of his plump, naked body against her own bare skin.

She'd read in books about how important touch was to babies. Dry diapers and enough formula weren't enough. Something inside shriveled and died if babies weren't cuddled often enough. They lost the potential to feel emotions and trust for the rest of their lives.

Holding Caleb, Moira wondered if that's what had happened to her. Not when she was a baby, of course; she knew her mother had loved her. But later. After college, she'd had no one to hold her. An occasional hug from a
friend or her mom wasn't the same as this, loving and warm, or the thigh to chest, skin-to-skin contact she'd had with Will. His kisses and his arms around her, the way he had of constantly touching her, that big hand making her feel secure in a way she didn't ever remember feeling. Sitting on the edge of the bed, tears welling in her eyes even as her body soaked up the contact with her baby, Moira ached for Will's touch. For Will.

No, she hadn't lost the potential to feel these emotions, but hope had certainly shriveled in her. The belief in forever.

Cheek pressed to her baby's head, she gasped with the pain, and tried to believe she'd done the right thing in giving Will an out. The only thing possible, for the man she loved.

Caleb began rooting for her breast and, no matter her inner turmoil, she opened the cup of her bra. He happily latched on.

Even as she bent and kissed the silky, damp hair on top of his head, she let herself consider an idea that would once have been unthinkable.

What if Will had meant what he said? What if he really
had
felt only a pang? What if he truly
wanted
to stay with her and Caleb?

What if she hadn't been acting out of love for him at all, but out of her own fears? Her own belief that he couldn't possibly choose her over his dreams?

He'd been angry, she knew he was. If he didn't think she wanted him to stay, might he be mad and hurt enough to call the foundation today and say, sure, what the hell, I'll go?

An awful sound escaped her. Caleb let loose of her breast and lifted his head to stare at her with perplexed brown eyes.

Moira made reassuring sounds despite the anguish that tore through her. She kept looking at her baby—at
their
baby—and thought as she often did how well he blended parts of her with parts of Will. The eyes were Will's, if a lighter shade than his. The square, determined chin was his, too. The red in Caleb's hair was from her, the nose, she thought, hers. He probably
would
have freckles, but also his daddy's size and, someday, powerful shoulders and big feet.

She wished desperately that she'd been brave enough to tell Will she loved him. He'd have been kind no matter what. Why had she been so afraid of baring herself?

Now, all she could think was that, while Will had been angry, mostly what she remembered was the pain in his eyes, the hoarse disbelief in his voice. And she hadn't listened to what he tried to tell her, had refused to hear.

Caleb had fallen asleep. Moira slipped away, fastening her bra and pulling on her T-shirt. He only scrunched his eyes tighter closed when she put on his diaper and carried him to his crib.

She stood for a moment, looking down at him, her chest hurting. Will would be home after work. They could talk then. It wasn't as if he'd left her because of the things she'd said. All she had done was ask him to think, to be honest with himself. That wasn't so bad, was it? She
wanted
him to be honest.

And maybe it was better that she'd never told him she loved him, even if that was cowardly. Because he might tell her tonight that what he really wanted was to go back to Africa. If so, it was better that he never knew. She wouldn't bind him further with more guilt, barbed to draw blood.

 

W
ILL STOOD ON THE PORCH
and actually thought about ringing the doorbell. The way he and Moira had left it
last night and this morning, he didn't know how welcome he was.

But, damn it, he lived here, and after a minute he shoved the key in the lock and opened the door. The foyer was empty. There was a moment of silence and he had the sudden, irrational fear that the house was empty.

But the next instant, she stepped from the living room with Caleb in her arms, as if he was coming home from work any other day.

“Will,” she whispered, her face pinched and eyes huge.

Caleb beamed at the sight of his daddy. Without saying a word, Will held out his arms, and she put his son in them. Damn. His eyes burned.

Moira backed up, as if to give him space. For a moment he laid his cheek against Caleb's head and inhaled the clean, milky scent of baby.

“How could you think even for a minute that I'd walk away from you?” he whispered. He had to blink away the blur in his eyes to focus on her face. “I miss you every day, just going to work.”

“Oh, Will.” She flung herself at him. He barely got his free arm out in time to catch her. He lurched back and pushed the door closed.

Their baby was squished between them. Moira wrapped both arms around Will's torso as if she were drowning and he was the life preserver. She burrowed her face against his chest. She was trying to talk, but the words were muffled in his shirt.

Caleb struggled in protest. Heart pounding, Will said, “Let me put Caleb down. Sweetheart, let me set him down.”

It seemed to take her a minute to hear. Then she slowly let her arms fall and backed away. Her face was wet. Will
looked around and saw a crib-size comforter on the arm of the sofa. He grabbed it and spread it on the floor with one flick, then laid their son down on his tummy. Caleb pushed up right away, stronger than he'd been a few days ago.

Will turned and hauled Moira into his arms. Once again, she pressed herself to him as if she wanted to crawl inside him. He wanted that, too. Holding her as close as was humanly possible meant more to him right now than anything else on earth.

He heard himself saying things, but he didn't know if they were any more coherent than whatever she'd mumbled into his chest. He was crooning to her more than making any sense.

It had to be a couple of minutes before she began to relax. Just a little, then a little more, until her body didn't feel as frantic to him and he could loosen his own grip some. Finally she stepped back, her wet, puffy face wrenching his heart, and cried, “Oh, I've got to blow my nose.” She fled for the bathroom.

While she was gone, Will swiped his eyes with his forearm. He crouched beside Caleb and patted his diaper-padded butt. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Man, you're going to be crawling before we know it.”

When he heard the bathroom door, he stood and watched Moira come down the hall then, more hesitantly, across the living room to him. Her face was still puffy and the red splotches didn't go well with the golden dust of freckles, but she wasn't crying anymore and, damn, she looked beautiful to his eyes.

After a hesitant moment, she said, “I kept being afraid you wouldn't come home. That you were mad, and I'd hurt your feelings, and you wouldn't want to see me.”

“You did hurt my feelings,” he said gruffly, but he was reaching for her to draw her close.

“I just…needed to know…”

“I understand,” he heard himself say gently. He rubbed his cheek against the top of her hair. “I gave you every reason to wonder.”

“I…” Moira went very still in his grip. “Did you get in touch with the foundation?”

“Yeah. The day the letter came. I sent them an email saying thanks, but I'm not available.”

She pulled back enough to look up at him, searching his face with grave eyes. “You truly didn't want to go?”

“And leave you and Caleb?” His voice sounded rusty now, the hurt thickening it. “No. I didn't want to go.”

Moira retreated farther. The hands that had been pressed to his chest writhed as she wound her fingers together. “I thought I was doing the right thing for you. But today I realized I was listening to my fears more than anything.” She swallowed. “Did you think, Will? The way I asked?”

“Yeah. I thought. And I realized that I'm not very good at communicating with people. Not about what I feel. I've never had to try before. I also realized that I wasn't completely honest with you. I was trying to hide the regrets I did feel. And that was stupid. I can talk to you. I just thought—” He stopped, lost for words.

“That I'd assume exactly what I did last night.”

He frowned. “But maybe you wouldn't have, if I'd been open all along. If I'd said, ‘I loved it in Africa, but I love it here, too. With you, Moira.'”

“Is that what you'd have said?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Will.” The strain on her face was heartbreaking, but
no more so than the hope. “Do you really want to stay married to me?”

His throat closed, his chest spasmed. In a harsh whisper, he said, “More than I've ever wanted anything in my life.”

“Oh, Will.” She rushed into his arms again, and they were ready for her. She pressed her face to his shoulder, and he buried his in her cloud of copper curls. They rocked in place, a subtle, reassuring motion that came instinctively, comfort at its most primal. He knew he was probably holding her too tightly, but she didn't seem to mind, and he couldn't make himself unlock his arms from around her.

“I love you,” he said to the top of her head. “Maybe you can't feel the same way about me, but don't ever doubt me. I love you so damn much, it about ripped me apart when I was afraid you didn't want me.”

Without loosening her arms at all, Moira tilted her head back to look at him. “You love me?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end, the vulnerability and uncertainty in it as excruciating as a blade between the ribs. “You really love me?”

He tried to smile. “I think I must have fallen in love with you that first night. I knew I shouldn't do something as dumb as go in that hotel room with you, but…I couldn't not. From the minute I saw you in the ballroom, I couldn't look away. I never got your face out of my mind. You'd have heard from me as soon as I got back from Africa. I think I'd have spent two years praying you didn't meet someone and get married while my back was turned.”

Her eyes filled again with a rush. “I fell in love with you, too. And, oh, so much more when you came to see me. And listened to Caleb's heartbeat, and laid your hand
on my stomach to feel him move. The expression on your face—” She choked to a stop.

“I should have told you,” Will said. “I thought you weren't ready to hear those words. But I should have said them anyway. Maybe you'd have known that I wouldn't leave you.
Couldn't
leave you.”

She was the one smiling now, although her lips trembled. “I don't know if I'd have believed you.”

His fingers tightened. “Do you now?”

There was something dazed in her eyes. After a moment she gave the smallest of nods. “Yes. I do. Part of me thinks I'm dreaming, but…I do believe you. Oh, Will. I love you so much!”

He kissed her then, using mouth and teeth and tongue to show her how hungry he was for her. The kiss wasn't just about wanting her body. Although he did. God, he did. She kissed him back so fervently, he knew she felt the same. She still wanted to get inside him, and she wanted him inside her just as much.

Caleb let out a cry. When his parents ignored it, he got serious with a frustrated wail.

Will and Moira separated, only a few inches. He felt a grin stretching his mouth and loved the answering smile on hers.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “He thinks this is his time of day with Daddy. He's not used to us ignoring him.”

Will stooped and picked up Caleb, murmuring, “You felt left out, didn't you? I'm so sorry, buddy. So sorry.”

Moira kissed Caleb's cheek, then briefly rested her cheek against Will's arm. “This is my second favorite time of day. When you come home.”