Be My Baby Tonight (38 page)

“Okay?” Tim said, leading Suzanna back toward
the blanket spread under a large oak tree, and to the two sleeping
toddlers.

“Look at them, Tim,” Suzanna said. Ally was
on her belly, her knees tucked up under her, her rump in the air.
Ellie lay sprawled on her back, her head resting on the stuffed
rabbit that went everywhere she went. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

“I do like them with their eyes closed,” Tim
said, earning himself a half-hearted poke in the stomach.

He looked down at his daughters, his girls,
his babies, as Suzanna unfolded a light, lacy blanket and spread it
over them.

Three redheads. The love of his life, and a
pair of angels, both the picture of their mother, who had given him
even more of Suzanna to love.

Suzanna stood up once more, and wrapped her
arms around Tim. “I love you all, so much. So very much.”

“And I love you, babe,” Tim said, turning her
fully into his arms. “What do you say we go home for an hour, and
let Keely and Jack practice being baby-sitters a little?”

“Do we dare? The girls will be up soon, and
tearing all over again. We don’t want to give Keely and Jack a
reason to beg off, do we?”

“Good point,” Tim said, “but I think we can
risk it. Think about it, Suzanna. A whole hour. Alone. You and me.
Me and you. A whole hour. Do you remember what I can do in an
hour?”

Suzanna looked at her babies, and then at her
husband. She had the whole world here... but, once in a while, she
wanted her whole world to be Tim, only Tim.

“Not Paris, Tim. But how about New York City?
I could go to Manhattan, and not worry.”

“New York City it is. But what about
now?”

Suzanna’s smile was positively evil... He
loved it when she was evil.

“Race you to the car,” she said, and he ran
after her, knowing she’d let him catch her.

* * * * * * * * *

Find out how Tim’s twin brother, Jack Trehan, met his
true love Keely in

LOVE TO LOVE YOU BABY by Kasey Michaels.

Read on for a sample!

“Simply adorable doesn’t begin to describe this
charming contemporary romance... a delight”

— Publishers Weekly (starred review) on LOVE TO LOVE
YOU BABY.

There is one word in America that says it all,

and that one word is, “You never know.”

— Joaquin Andujar, pitcher

“
Brrrrrnnng—brrrrrnnng.”

“Damn it.”

“
Brrrrrnnng—brrrrrnnng.”

Jack Trehan swore again, reached out blindly
in the dark, snagged the phone on his second try. The first had
knocked over the already tipsy lamp his Aunt Sadie had lent him out
of the goodness of her heart. And Aunt Sadie
had
no
heart.

His eyes still closed, Jack aimed the handset
in the vicinity of his ear and mouth and grumbled, “Nobody’s home.
At the sound of the tone, why don’t you go take a flying—”

“Jack? Jack, sweetie, is that you?”

Jack’s eyes opened all at once, sort of the
way they would if someone had just crept into his darkened bedroom
and dumped a bucket of icy Gatorade over his head. He transferred
the phone to his “listening” ear, pushed up the pillows behind him,
found the pull cord on the hula-dancer lamp with the neon pink
fringed shade. Aunt Sadie also had no taste. “Cecily?”

“Oh, you remembered my voice, Jack. That’s
so
insightful of you. But, then, I always said you were a
very old soul, with just
gobs
of intellect and earned
wisdom. Oh, wait. I think that was Daddy. You’re the one I used to
think was the reincarnation of Wyatt Earp. Strong, honest, but
maybe just a
tad
sure of himself. Cocky, even. At least,
that’s how both those actors played him in the movies. Kevin
Costner was one of them—you know, that actor who made a movie about
a mailman with webbed toes? Oh wait, that was something else,
wasn’t it? Maybe two something else’s?”

“Two something else’s, Cecily. Definitely,”
Jack said, grinning in spite of himself.

“Darn! Oh, well, back to Wyatt. I don’t
remember the other actor, even though I liked him better. I’ve
never figured out why they made two movies, Jack, did you? I mean,
okay, so maybe he
was
Wyatt Big-whoop Earp. But
two?
I really think one would have covered it, don’t you?”

“Absolutely. Cecily?” Jack said—almost
pleaded—his cousin’s childish, high–pitched voice making his ear
itch as he blinked at the dial of his alarm clock. He hadn’t seen
or heard from Cecily in over a year, but some people... well, they
make an indelible impression. “Could we cut to the chase here? It’s
two in the morning. And it was Kurt Russell. I liked him better,
too.”

“Ah, thank you, Jack. I would have
racked
my brain half the night if you hadn’t told me. But
why are you concerned about the time? Time isn’t relevant, Jack,
you know that. It’s artificial, just something someone made up.
Some neat freak who wanted to control everyone else. Probably anal
retentive, too, don’t you think? And it’s two-fifteen here in
Bayonne. Your clock must be wrong. That isn’t like you, Jack. Not
that
you’re
anal retentive, of course. I’d
never
say
that about you. I wish they’d find another description. That one’s
so
icky.
Must we constantly use
sex
and body parts to
describe things? Like male and female plugs—in electricity, you
understand. I find that particularly disgusting. And calling cars
she,
and then smugly gassing her up by sticking a
thing
into her
thing,
and—”

“God almighty, Cecily, you’re killing me
here,” Jack interrupted, holding a hand to his pounding head.
“You’re back home in Bayonne, right? Same artificial time zone and
everything. So can’t this wait for the morning? I’ll call you.”

“Oh, sorry, Jack. You know how I get carried
away. I’m
very
intense. Blue Rainbow tells me that
all
the time. I jump in with both feet, try to feel the
whole
experience, and sometimes lose my way. It’s a great
trial to me, but Blue Rainbow has promised, cross his heart, that
he’ll teach me how to channel my energy flow, harness it, find my
karmic center. Isn’t that
sweet
of him?”

“Yeah. Just darling.” Jack was out of bed
now, pacing on the bare hardwood floor. Blue Rainbow was a man.
He’d gathered that much. With Cecily, there was always a man. But
he’d be damned if he’d ask about the guy, because then Cecily would
tell him, and then
he’d
have to jump with both feet—out of
his second-story window and kill himself. “Cecily,” he said when
she ran down—or at least paused to take a breath. “Is there a
reason you’ve called me in the middle of the night, or are we just
being chatty?”

The small, chilly silence on the other end of
the line told Jack that he’d insulted his cousin, which was next
door to hurting her, and closer than he wanted to consider to
making her cry. He hated when Cecily cried. She talked when she
cried, and hiccuped, and it was pure hell to try to understand
her.

“Cecily? I’m sorry, honey,” he said—and he
really was. The last time Cecily had launched into a crying,
talking, hiccuping jag, he’d ended up owning five hundred shares of
stock in Creative Pyrotechnics, her boyfriend’s company. That had
gone bust—or boom—six months later, along with the boyfriend, and
one small town’s Fourth of July celebration. He’d heard later that
Cecily had buried the boyfriend in a jar. A small jar.

“You’re sorry? Well, that’s easy enough for
you to
say,
Jack,” Cecily said, and he could hear the tears
in her voice. “You can be really hor-
hic
-rid, Jack, do you
know that? And... and I always thought you li-
hic
-ked me,
that you were the
nice
one. That’s why I called you. Because
you always understand, and you always help. Just like... well, just
like Wyatt-
hic
-Earp.”

Sitting down on the edge of his bed—nearly
falling down, as he’d forgotten that his bed was no more than a
king-size mattress and box spring, stacked on the floor—Jack took a
deep breath and tried to control himself. “Okay, Cecily, honey,
okay. Let’s just calm down now. Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.
Honest, honey, all I want to do is help.”

Because then you’ll go away and I can get
some sleep.
But he didn’t say that.

He waited as Cecily tried to compose herself.
She hiccuped once more, blew her nose extremely close to the phone,
then took in a deep breath, let it out slowly. Jack could imagine
just how she looked as she did this. She looked cute. Cecily always
looked cute. Big blue eyes, soft blond hair, a petite package of
curves. So much on the outside. So little on the inside. Still, he
loved her. You’d have to be the kind of person who kicks puppies
not to love Cecily Morretti.

“Okay,” she said at last, “here goes. It’s
so
embarrassing. You remember how last year I was living in
that commune in Oregon? Reading all those self-help books? Trying
to educate myself? Pull myself up by my own—is that
bootstraps
? Does anyone really wear those anymore? Oh, we
wear boots, sure, but bootstraps? I don’t think we—”

“Cecily. Concentrate, baby. You can do
this.”

“Well, no, Jack,” she answered, starting to
cry once more. “That’s... that’s just it. I
couldn’t
do it.
I thought I had it right, but then I realized I had it wrong. The
books said get in touch with your inner child. But I thought that
meant the child inside. I was
so
wrong, and then I was sort
of
stuck,
you know. I mean, what do you do with the child
inside, once she gets
out?
You do see the
diff-
hic
-erence, don’t you, and how difficult that
could-
hic
-be.”

“Sure,” Jack agreed quickly. Hell, he’d agree
to anything his cousin said, if she’d just not start that
hiccupping again. “Inner child, child inside. Inner child, child
outside. There’s a difference. Got it. There. Does that help?
Because I just want to help, Cecily. Anything I can do to
help.”

She was crying again. Tears of joy, probably.
But even tears of joy came with hiccups. “Oh, thank you, Jack! I
knew you could understand, and I
knew
you’d help me. You’ve
always been so
kind.
Blue Rainbow insists that I leave with
him tomorrow, and Joey’s no help—
why
I came back to
Bay-
hic-
onne to ask for
his
help I’ll never be able
to tell you. My brother is a waste, Jack—a
total
waste!”

“Still trying to break into the local wise
guys, is he?” Jack asked, but Cecily was on a roll and didn’t
answer. She just kept talking.

Now Cecily’s words were tumbling over
themselves as her mind (always a dangerous thing) seemed to go into
third gear. “And how does one find one’s karmic center in Bayonne?
I mean, really, Jack—
New Jersey?
So I was at my wit’s end.
But you’re going to help. There’s time, if Blue Rainbow can just
find the keys to our rental. Oh, wait. Here they are, in my
pock-
hic
-et. Isn’t that
always
the last place you
look? But this is wonderful! We can get there, get back to Jersey
in time, and be on our way on the morning flight from Newark. You
still get up real early, don’t you? You probably do. Oh... I can’t
thank you
enough,
Jack. I just ca–
hic–
n’ t.”

“Then don’t try,” Jack said, feeling pretty
smug. He didn’t know what he’d said, but obviously he’d given her
the right answers. Not that he was going to push his luck and do
something dumb, like ask where in blazes she and Blue Rainbow were
going.
Get there, get back?
Go where, get back to where?
Bayonne? No, not Bayonne. Newark. The airport was in Newark. The
woman made no sense. Still, if he asked, she’d probably tell him
they were taking a hot-air balloon to Jupiter, and he didn’t want
to know that. He really didn’t. “Why don’t you call me when you get
back?”

“It could be months.
Years,”
Cecily
told him, but the smile was back in her voice—which meant she was
once more sounding like Betty Boop on helium. “And you’re all right
with that? Are you
really
sure you want to do this?”

Do what? What had he just agreed to do? Had
he actually agreed to do
anything?
He hadn’t the faintest
idea what she was talking about. Still, ignorance was bliss, and
with Cecily, very often ignorance was downright necessary to one’s
sanity. “Honey, if it makes you happy, I’m just fine with...
whatever,” Jack told her, already collapsing toward the pile of
pillows, more than ready to go back to sleep.

He aimed the phone at the cardboard box he’d
been using as a nightstand, saying through a yawn, “Just glad I
could help.”