The Next Little Thing (Jackson Falls #4) (7 page)

At the nursery window, he paused. There were only two babies, but
even if there'd been a dozen, he could have picked out Emma without hesitation.
She was asleep, tiny fists curled, her lips pursed and moving every so often,
as though she were suckling in her sleep. He lay his hands against the glass
and drank her in, her essence filling him, melting and spreading through his
veins like warm honey.

When he'd drunk his fill, he made his way to Casey's room. He
silently pulled up a chair next to the bed and, elbows propped on the edge of
the mattress, he watched her sleep.

She must have sensed his presence. Her eyes opened, solemn and
unsurprised, and gazed into his, mere inches away. She reached out, brushed her
knuckles across his cheek, slid her hand around to the back of his neck, and
drew his mouth to hers in a kiss so sweet, so gentle, it left him shuddering.

"It's the middle of the night," she whispered, fingers
playing in his hair. "And you've been up since yesterday. Why aren't you
home, sleeping?"

"I couldn't. I didn't want to be there. I couldn't be there
without you."

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his cheek. Said, "My
poor baby. Climb into bed with me. There's plenty of room for two."

"I'll get tossed out on my ass."

"I'll tell them you're a necessary component of my
recuperation from the rigors of childbirth."

He ran a fingertip along her jaw. Said, "You make everything
seem so easy."

"It is easy. Get your carcass into bed, MacKenzie. I need to
hold you."

Sometimes love was so damn complicated. And sometimes, love just
was. He crossed the darkened room, silently closed the door. Kicked off his sneakers
and tucked them beneath the chair, shucked off his jacket. His goddess scooted
over on the bed, lifted the covers, and he crawled in beside her. He took her
in his arms and buried his face in her dark cloud of hair.

"There," she said, winding her arms around him.
"Isn't this better?"

It was. And finally, gratefully, he slept.

Paige

Her Aunt Trish was the first to arrive, and she came bearing
gifts:  two sleeves of Styrofoam cups and the biggest coffee urn Paige had ever
seen. Fifteen minutes later, the house was filled with people and awash in the
intoxicating smell of fresh-brewed coffee.

Five minutes after that, her dad showed up, carrying three dozen
donuts from Dunk's. His clothes were wrinkled and he needed a shave, but he
looked rested. While the assembled multitude fell on the donuts like slavering
beasts, Paige and Trish went over their game plan for the day. They had two
trucks and sixteen people to tear down and move an entire household, then set
it back up, in just a few hours. They would take turns visiting Casey and the
baby at the hospital, so she wouldn't be suspicious. If she gave birth and
nobody showed up to meet the new little princess, she would definitely know
something was going on.

Once everything was loaded and driven to the new house, Paige
would be there with Casey's diagram in hand, ready to direct traffic to various
rooms. She and Trish made a list of names and assigned a team of two people to
work in each room, taking down furniture, carrying boxes, then setting it all back
up, unpacking, and organizing the new place. It was a daunting undertaking, but
together, they could manage it.

They started with the furniture. While her dad and Uncle Jesse
unscrewed table legs and headboards, Grampa Bradley backed his big farm truck
up to the front door, and her cousin Luke and his bandmates started loading
furniture onto the truck. Trish wandered off to do what she did best—give
orders—and Paige started removing the food from the fridge.

She'd nearly finished packing the contents of the freezer into two
picnic coolers when she turned around, a frozen beef roast in her hands, and
there he was, the one person she hadn't expected to see here. He stood casually
in the midst of all the stacked boxes from the IGA, watching her with those dark
eyes of his. Of their own volition, Paige's fingers loosened, and she dropped
the roast. It hit the floor with a dull thud, barely missing her foot.
"Shit," she said, aggravated beyond belief. "What the hell are
you doing here?"

Mikey bent and picked up the roast. "Same thing you are.
Better be careful. You keep this up, you might lose a couple of toes."

She scowled. "We don't need your help, so you can just get
out of my house now."

"It's not your house. It's my Aunt Casey's house."  He
handed her the roast. "You can't throw me out."

"Watch me."  She chucked the roast into the nearest
cooler and closed the lid. "Luke!" she shouted. "Come get these
damn coolers and drive them over to the new house!"

Luke didn't answer. "This is my family, too," Mikey said.
"And if you want to get technical, they were mine first."

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a coin, and heaved it at
him. "Here's a quarter. Go call somebody who cares."

"Come on, Paige. I've managed to avoid you at school, haven't
I?  I even let you have custody of Christmas with the family. Are you planning
to hate me forever?"

Considering how totally intermarried their families were, they'd
actually done a bang-up job of avoiding each other over the past six months.
"I don't hate you," she said. "I don't feel anything for you. As
far as I'm concerned, you're
persona non grata
."

Of course, it wasn't true. But it felt better to say it anyway.
What he'd done to her was unforgivable. He'd broken her heart and walked away
like it was nothing.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
As far as Mikey Lindstrom was concerned, there would be no going back.

"Why are you so bitter?" he said.

"Why are you so incapable of getting a clue?"

"I'm leaving in a month, you know. Right after graduation."

"How nice for you."

Ignoring her gibe, he said, "You know Jeff Morrison?  He's
going to Stanford, too. We're driving cross-country together. We'll be bumming
around until school starts in September."

"Have a nice life. As a matter of fact, why don't you start
it right now?  Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

"I'd really like to stay in touch. Can I write to you?"

She gaped at him, wondering how he could possibly be this dense.
She didn't need this shit today. Today, of all days, she needed to keep her
wits together. "You can do whatever you want," she told him.
"Just don't expect me to read the damn things."

And she turned and left him standing in the kitchen, surrounded by
cardboard boxes.

Casey

It had rained overnight, and the storm was breaking up. Heavy,
mottled clouds scudded across the sky, randomly punctuated by patches of
brilliant blue. They swung through Dunkin' Donuts for coffee on the way home
from the hospital. Decaf for Casey, because she was breastfeeding; good
old-fashioned hi-test for Rob, who’d been unnaturally subdued ever since he’d
come to her in the middle of the night and crawled into her hospital bed.
Something was off with him, and she couldn't put her finger on it. Rob
MacKenzie ran on one of two speeds. His normal mood was laid back, sunny, easy.
Almost bubbly. Until he was crossed, and then a black and fiery Irish temper
would emerge to scorch everything in its path.

But this mood was like neither of those. He'd occasionally been
known to brood when something weighed heavily on his mind, but this seemed less
a matter of brooding than one of  distance. It was as though he'd surrounded
himself with a force field that swirled with strange energies. She could see
him, could tune in those odd vibrations, could almost feel them physically. But
she couldn't read them at all.

For a couple who knew each other so well they could finish each
other's sentences, it was puzzling. Even more so because Rob never kept
anything from her. They'd been each other's support, each other's sounding
board, since the beginning of time.

Which left her only one conclusion. Whatever was bothering him had
something to do with her. She'd never, not once since the day they met, had a
single doubt about Rob. Even when they fought—and some of their fights held
legendary status—she’d never doubted his devotion. Rob was the real deal, a
warm, affectionate man who loved too easily and too hard, and wore his heart on
his sleeve.

Was it possible that the unglamorous experience of labor, rife
with every body fluid known to womankind, had changed his feelings for her? 
That the sight of her all sweaty and bloody and straining had somehow rendered
her distasteful to him? Or that, having witnessed her giving birth, he now saw
her as a maternal figure, and not as a sex object?

If so, being Rob, he would struggle painfully with that kind of
change. He would hide the truth from her, because he loved her. She didn't
question that he loved her; it was a given. It was just that for a decade and a
half, his love had been platonic. They'd been friends first, for years and
years. Only in recent times had it ripened into something sexual. What if, with
the birth of their first child, that love had reverted back to platonic?

It was a ridiculous notion. One that, once thought, she couldn't
unthink. Anxiety knotted her insides, even as she reminded herself that Rob
wasn't Danny and she shouldn't paint him with that brush. But she couldn't
shake it off, the trauma she'd gone through during those thirteen years she'd
spent as Danny's wife. It had left a vulnerable place inside her that was far
bigger and far more tender than she had realized.

Post-traumatic stress. Danny'd had it because of the time he'd
spent in Vietnam. She had it because of the time she'd spent with Danny. How
else to explain the recurring nightmares that turned her late husband into some
kind of fanged monster? She had always considered herself a well-adjusted
person, but if you scratched that smooth surface, if you dug deep enough, you'd
inevitably uncover her unique brand of neurosis.

And right now, that neurosis was in full control.

She clutched her coffee cup so hard her knuckles went white. She
hadn't expected this kind of stress today, of all days. They were headed home
from the hospital with their new baby, the baby they'd waited so long for. This
was supposed to be a joyful occasion. Her stomach wasn't supposed to feel like
it was spinning circles on some upside-down carnival ride.

When Rob passed the intersection with Meadowbrook Road and
continued driving, she said, "Where are we going?"

"I need to swing by the new house for a minute."  He
didn't offer any further explanation, and she didn't ask for one. He reached
for her hand and threaded fingers with hers. She shot him a quick glance, but
he was concentrating on his driving. Maybe she was reading too much into this.
Maybe she was imagining those weird vibes. Maybe it was some kind of
post-partum psychosis. She was certain such a diagnosis must exist somewhere in
the DSM.

He swung onto Ridge Road, and she tamped down the negative
emotions swirling inside her and tried to enjoy the scenery. At this elevation,
it was spectacular. Beyond vivid spring foliage, the White Mountains stood
majestic in the distance, the highest of them still capped with snow. The car
rounded a curve, and their house came into view. Her gaze was immediately
attracted by something attached to the mailbox at the end of the driveway,
something that bobbed and dove like a live creature. She narrowed her eyes in an
attempt to identify it. As they drew closer, she finally recognized the
flapping object as a cluster of pink and white balloons.
What the hell?

Then she saw the cars, at least a dozen of them, lined up on one
side of the newly-paved driveway and circling around the back toward the
studio. Several of them had Massachusetts plates. Above the front door, hanging
from the porch eaves, a hand-lettered banner said,
WELCOME HOME, BABY EMMA
.

She gave him a pointed look. He clicked on his blinker and said,
"Just roll with it, okay?"

"Flash?  What have you done?"

"Nothing. I've done nothing. Except give the okay. This is
all Paige's doing."

"I don't understand. Why are we here?  The house is
empty."

"Not any more, it isn't. Welcome home. We live here
now."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. He nodded. She opened her mouth.
Closed it again. Said, "How?  When?"

"Yesterday. With a little help from our friends. Otherwise
known as the whole damn family."

"And Paige organized all of this?  Why?"

"Because she worships the ground you walk on. In case you
hadn't noticed."

"But…how'd you manage to carry it off?  Everybody came to
visit me yesterday at the hospital."

"Paige and Trish choreographed the whole thing. The rest of
us just followed directions. We took turns going to the hospital, so you
wouldn't get suspicious."

He turned into the driveway, squeezed past the line of cars and
came to a stop near the front porch. "You and Emma need some down
time," he said, turning off the car, "which is why everybody has
strict orders. Two hours. That's it. When we hit the two-hour mark, I'm tossing
everybody out on their collective asses. Then you can rest, and it'll be just
us."

"Rob, your parents are here. They drove all the way from
Boston. You can't throw your parents out!"

"They can spend some time with Rose and Jesse for a change.
Rose is always complaining that they never visit."

"I think I might cry."

"Save the waterworks for later. Paige needs to see a big
smile first. Then you can leak all over her if you need to."

* * *

They were waiting for her inside, all of them, with tears and hugs
and smiles. Family. Hers. His. Brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, in-laws
and outlaws, two families brought together as one by the birth of this child.
Trish took custody of the baby while Rob went back outside to bring in Casey's
overnight bag and the rest of Emma's gear. Mary MacKenzie drew her
daughter-in-law to her ample bosom and they embraced with ferocious affection.
"Sit," her mother-in-law said. "Your favorite chair's right over
there." And whispered in her ear, "Be sure to tell Paige what a good
job she did, darlin' mine. She worked hard to make this special for you."

The house looked amazing. Everything was exactly where she would
have placed it, from the sofa right down to the last knickknack. All of this
was Paige's doing?  With one eye on Emma, Casey moved through the assembled
multitude towards her chair, accepting hugs, words of congratulation, warmth
and love along the way.  Meg and Maeve, Rob's younger sisters, had driven up from
Boston together.  As had her brother Travis, with his wife, Leslie, and their
three kids.  The positive outpouring from friends and family was so unexpected,
so touching, she was overwhelmed by it. In the midst of hugs and kisses and
tears, she searched for Paige, but her stepdaughter was nowhere to be found.

Meanwhile, Emma was passed around from auntie to auntie like a
particularly desired Christmas gift they couldn't wait to unwrap.  While young
cousins crowded around the baby's face, grown women crowed in delight at each
little peep she made.  The peeps were getting louder, and Casey already knew
Emma well enough, after only two days, to recognize that her daughter was
getting ready to start squalling. All these strange faces and unfamiliar voices
were probably terrifying to the poor little thing.  And she had to be hungry. 
It had been several hours since she'd been fed.

Rob came back through the front door, laden with baby equipment. 
Their eyes met, and Casey sent him a silent plea for help. Assessing the
situation, he dropped his heavy load near the door, strode through the crowd,
and rescued the baby from his sister Rose.

His sister arched a brow.  "A little possessive, are we,
Dad?"

"My kid," he said. "My house. My rules."

"Well.  Aren’t we in a mood today.  Brat."  But the word
was spoken without rancor. Rob and his twin sister might bicker and tease each
other, and sometimes they fought like a pair of wild rhinos, but for the most
part, the sibling rivalry was a cover-up for the deep affection between them.
They'd once shared a womb, and that connection was unbreakable.

Casey breathed a sigh of relief when he gently placed the baby
back in her arms.  "She's none the worse for wear," he said quietly,
"but it makes me nervous, everyone handing her around like she's some kind
of toy.  Kids manhandling her and breathing germs all over her."

"Tell me about it." Casey brushed the tip of her nose
against Emma's velvety cheek.  Recognizing her mother, Emma began rooting
around. "She's hungry," Casey said.  "I need to feed her."

"You want to go upstairs?"

"Can you just bring me a blanket?  We'll be fine right here. 
But I can't find Paige.  Do you have any idea where she is?"

"I haven't seen her.  Maybe she's hiding upstairs. Yesterday
was Crazytown, she's probably exhausted.  You want a big blanket or a baby
blanket?"

"Baby blanket."

"Can I bring you something to eat?  I think there's food
around this joint somewhere. It's my house, but I have no idea what's going
on.  I just keep my mouth shut and follow directions."

"I'll eat later. After I've fed Emma."

  He turned to leave, but she reached out and caught his wrist,
pulled him back.  He studied her quizzically, those green eyes of his more
somber than usual. "Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For her. For us." She waved a hand. "For the
house. The life. For all of this."

"I can't accept the blame for all of it. In case you've
forgotten, you had a pretty big hand in it yourself."

"
Au contraire
, my friend. This is all your doing. 
Every last little bit of it.  You brought me back to life, like a cool drink of
water, when I was parched and defeated and ready to give up.  And for that, I
will love you until the day I die."

"Ah, baby," he said, "that road runs both
ways."

She brushed his cheek with a fingertip, ran it up to his eyebrow,
followed the line of his brow.  Planted a soft kiss on his lips.  "I
know," she said.  "I just really needed to say it."