Some kind of wonderful (19 page)

"What do you think, Liz?" she whispered, as the bells over the door clanged to announce yet another visitor to the shop.

Looking up, Carol smiled at her UPS man. "Hi, Tony."

"Hey." He nodded and balanced a large box on his hip as he handed her the electronic pad. "Got a package for somebody named.. ." He checked the label. "Jack Reilly. He your new tenant?"

"Yeah, but he's not here."

"Doesn't matter. I'm way behind today. Hit a traffic pileup on 101. You sign for it and I'm outta here."

"You got it," she said and scribbled her name on the Etch A Sketch-like space provided. He dropped the box on the counter next to the baby.

"See you, Carol," he called out as he headed for the door again.

"Right. See you next trip." But she wasn't watching Tony. Instead, she looked at the box. The return address read, "Detective Hal Jacobson, LAPD." Curious, she tucked the box below the counter, then tried to forget

about it while she faced a customer buying an entire set of hand-carved wooden angel ornaments.

Journal entry:

The baby smiled at me today.

And it felt. . . weird.

Almost like she knows who I am or something. But she can f t. She's just a baby. And besides, nobody knows the truth.

Carol's going to be her foster mother for real, now. That means she gets to keep the baby forever. But that's good. I left the baby in the square so Carol would find her. I wanted Carol to have the baby because I knew she 'd love her.

Tm happy.

Really.

"Somebody got lucky."

Carol's eyebrows lifted. "It showsT

"Only to those who love you," Phoebe assured her as she threw open her front door and stood back so Carol could step inside her house. "So, details."

Carol set the baby carrier down on the coffee table, then reached down and undid the straps holding Liz safely inside. Lifting the tiny girl into her arms, Carol turned to look at her friend, already plopping down on one of the two red floral couches in the big room.

"It was ..." She fished for an appropriate word and just couldn't find one. Nothing was big enough. Complex enough. Great enough. She blew out a breath. "Really good."

"Well, that was nice. And annoyingly vague." Phoebe

brushed her red hair back from her face, propped one elbow on the arm of the couch and studied her. 'This wasn't just sex for you, was it?"

Carol frowned at her friend. For heaven's sake, was she really that transparent? "Are you giving up medicine for fortune-telling or something?"

Phoebe grinned and shook her head. "It doesn't take a gypsy to see what's in your eyes, Carol," she said. "God, you're glowing like a nuclear reactor."

"Swell. Now I'm a nuclear accident."

"Hand over the baby and tell me what's going on."

Carol bent down and slipped Liz into Phoebe's waiting arms. Then she turned and started walking in circles around the living room.

She'd been in Phoebe's house so many times, it was as comfortable as her own place. Her gaze moved idly across the oversized furniture, the Tiffany lamps, and the polished oak floor. There were medical books stacked on the coffee table and thrillers and romances tucked into the bookshelves. An army of pewter and crystal fairies danced along the mantel over the fireplace and the wooden blinds at the windows were thrown open, allowing sunlight to slant into the prisms hanging there, throwing pale, wavering rainbows around the room.

"I didn't mean to do this, you know," Carol said, not sure if she was speaking to Phoebe or herself.

"Fall in love, you mean?"

Carol whirled around and stared at her friend. "I haven't. Not yet. Not completely. Probably. I'm pretty sure."

Phoebe shook her head and cuddled the baby close, running one unpolished fingernail along her tiny cheek. "Face it, Carol. You're sunk."

She sighed and let herself drop over the back of the sofa onto the cushions. "I am. It's pitiful."

Phoebe laughed gently. "No, not pitiful. Just you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Her friend sighed and lifted her gaze from the baby to Carol. "You're just not the casual-affair kind of woman, Carol. Face it. You're the home and hearth and kids and dogs type."

"And you're not?"

Phoebe winced a little.

Carol saw it and said quickly, "I'm so sorry, Phoebe. I wasn't even thinking."

"It's okay. Long time ago." Not in her heart, of course. There, it was always yesterday. The day she'd gotten a phone call telling her that her husband and son had been killed in a traffic accident. But in reality, it had been five long, lonely years.

"I'm really sorry, Phoeb"

She smiled at her friend and eased old pain into the locked room in the bottom of her heart, where she usually kept it. "Relax, Carol. I'm good." She inhaled sharply and forced a smile she hoped didn't look as brittle as it felt. "My point here was ... I had my white picket fence, the family, and the dog. I'm not looking for that again."

Carol looked at her for a long time and Phoebe hoped dearly that her friend would just let this go, because she really didn't want to stare at her own past anymore. Thankfully, Carol seemed to sense that.

"Just call you Footloose Phoebe?" she asked, smiling.

"That's right." She blew out a breath and nodded to herself. "Love 'em and Leave 'em Phoebe. That's me. But you're different, Carol."

She smirked. "Whether I am or not isn't really

important. The thing is, I'm falling for the wrong guy again. And I can't seem to stop myself."

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"Huh?"

"I mean it, Carol." Phoebe glanced down at the sleeping baby and felt her uterus contract in regret. "If Jack is what you want, maybe you should go for it."

"And forget about what happened the last time?"

"You were a kid."

"I was twenty-two."

"Exactly."

"I loved him." Carol stared at the ceiling. "I really did, you know? And he let me build up all these fantasies about us and having a family and how good it would all be. He never said a word. Never told me that he didn't want what I did. Never told me about—" She stopped, as if she'd changed her mind abruptly about what she'd been about to say. Then in a heartbeat, she started up again. "Never told me that he was sleeping with the bimbo down the hall from his place. I almost married him, Phoebe."

Phoebe watched her with sympathetic eyes and felt a really strong urge to go and hunt down the little bastard who'd hurt Carol, just to punch his lights out. " 'Almost' is the key word in that sentence, honey."

"Yeah, I know." Carol shot her a look. "But I was wrong about him, Phoebe. So way wrong, it's amazing. If I didn't see what a jerk he was ... how can I be sure I'm seeing the real Jack?"

Phoebe sighed. "Your ex was a total creep and he hurt you. But that doesn't mean Jack will, too."

"He keeps warning me off of him," Carol admitted "Even last night, I could see it in his eyes, that he wanted me to say no. To turn away. But I couldn't Didn't want to."

"See?" Phoebe said, delighted when the baby opened her big blue eyes and stared up at her. "The jerk didn't try to warn you off. He just sucked you into his orbit, chewed on you for a while, then sent you spinning off into space. Jack's already trying to keep you from getting hurt. Which means, at the heart of him, he's a nicer

guy."

"Maybe you're right," Carol said as she sat up. "And speaking of nice guys ... how's your favorite carpenter?"

Phoebe's smile slipped just a little. "Ah, Cash has moved on."

"Really?"

"Yep." Phoebe knew she'd miss Cash's company, but her heart wasn't wounded and that's how she liked it. She wouldn't get so involved with a man that losing him would kill her. Not again. "He finished my new closet, then packed up his little tool belt and stole off into the night. Well, okay, not night. Late afternoon. But you get the picture."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't be," Phoebe assured her as she stood up, still cuddling little Liz close to her chest. "Cash was ... well, amazing, really. But we both knew it wasn't a permanent thing. Want to see my new shoe and purse rack?"

"You bet."

"Afterward, we'll nuke our popcorn and watch the movie." She glanced over her shoulder at Carol. "Which one did you rent?"

"Star Wars."

Phoebe sighed. "Han Solo and popcorn. Does it get any better than that?"

Remembering the night before, Carol thought, oh, yeah. It got way better than popcorn and a great movie.

But on the other hand, Han Solo couldn't reach into her chest, pull out her heart, and stomp on it. Now, could he?

Carol got home late.

Liz was sound asleep and didn't even stir when Carol gently lifted her from the infant carrier to the crib. Standing over the baby, she tucked a soft, pale yellow blanket around her, then smoothed the palm of her hand over the baby's wispy cap of dark hair.

"We're home," she said, her voice a whisper as soft as the moonlight trailing through the window to lay in silver squares along the floor and the end of her bed. Smiling to herself, Carol turned on the baby monitor, picked up the receiver, and then looked down at Quinn, already curling up in sentry position beside the crib.

Her heart twisted and she bent down to stroke the big dog's head. He pushed into her hand and Carol obligingly scratched behind his ears. 'Take good care of our girl, okay?"

He huffed out a breath, then dropped his head to his paws, prepared to drift into doggie dreams of giant biscuits and wide-open meadows.

Still smiling, Carol left the bedroom door open and walked into the living room. For some reason, she was antsy. Didn't really feel like going to sleep, but couldn't find anything to occupy her enough that she couldn't think. Even during the movie, her mind had kept sidling back to the night before. And when Han Solo couldn't keep your brain busy, you were in bad shape.

Jack, she thought, giving in to her mind's insistence on thinking of him.

She hadn't even seen him today.

Between working and then the movie with Phoebe, she'd hardly been home. But remembering the look on his face when he left her bed the night before, she had the distinct impression that even if she'd been hanging around outside his front door, he would have walked right past her. Back to avoidance.

Walking through the shadow-filled living room, she stopped at the wide front window and stared down at the dark street below. Why did she feel so... unsettled? Stupid question, she told herself. It was him. It was all Jack.

Her body was still thrumming in memory of his touch. And fires that hadn't burned inside her in years were now nearing flash point. Resting her forehead on the cool glass windowpane, she closed her eyes and remembered it all. Every touch. Every sigh. Every rocketing sensation that had splintered through her body and left her eager for more.

Blowing out a breath, she opened her eyes and turned from the window to walk the confines of the room. Her steps were slow, measured, as steady as her heartbeat, which really wasn't all that steady at the moment. God, she missed those midnight walks with Quinn.

She'd had time then to wander through the darkness and let her mind drift. But she couldn't be taking Liz out in the damp night air, so the walks were history now.

Holding on to the baby monitor, she came around the corner of the sofa and spotted the box. She'd forgotten all about it earlier. And now... she checked the antique pendulum clock hanging on the wall above the television set—it was midnight—too late to take it to him.

But she could set it outside his door so he'd find it in the morning. Hooking the monitor receiver onto the

pocket of her shorts, Carol bent down and picked up the big box and was grateful that despite its size, it wasn't heavy. Opening her own door, she stepped across the hall and set the box down again.

Then she straightened up and laid one hand on Jack's door as if she could sense what was going on inside. Dumb. And even while she told herself to go back to her own apartment, she was leaning closer to his door, listening. If she heard a TV or a radio, she'd just knock on the door and give him the box tonight. If she didn't... she'd just have to talk to him tomorrow, she thought.

And that's when she heard it.

Jack's voice.

Shouting.

Her heart jolted. She whipped her head around and looked at the closed door to Jack's bedroom. His voice sounded ... desperate.

"Will!" he shouted. "No!"

Her heart jolted. Was he being attacked? Carol went on instinct again. She grabbed up a nearby lamp and hefted it high in her right hand, ready to use it as a weapon if she had to. Running across the room to the bedroom door, she grabbed the knob, gave it a turn, and pushed the door open. Stepping inside, she came up short as she realized that Jack wasn't under attack.

He was asleep.

Carol's heart pounded in her chest and she had to fight to even out her breathing. All prepared for a fight, she paused in the open doorway to give the adrenaline still pumping through her bloodstream a chance to fizzle out.

Moonlight danced across the bed where Jack lay tangled in the sheets. Sweat beaded on his bare chest and his features were screwed up into a mask of frustration and pain. His hands fisted in the sheets as his legs thrashed like a drowning man trying to kick his way to the surface of the water.

She set the lamp she still held down onto the table beside the door. Then, rushing to the side of the bed, Carol leaned over and looked down at him. He wasn't under attack by an intruder. This was Jack's own mind turning on him. He was tortured, fighting his way through a nightmare that was so vicious it even gave her cold chills.

She reached for him, laying one hand on his bare shoulder. His skin was damp with sweat and cold despite the warmth of the room. She felt the tension in his bunched muscles as he battled whatever demons were chasing him through sleep. Her heart ached for

him even as her stomach pitched with worry. "Jack ... Jack, wake up."

"No!" The word charged from his throat in a frantic cry. Then he came up swinging. Sitting straight up, eyes wild and still focused on the images clouding his mind, he grabbed her. Throwing her across the mattress, he pounced, straddling her, pinning her shoulders to the bed and glaring down at her as though she were the guardian to the gates of hell.