Some kind of wonderful (4 page)

But Carol wasn't about to let him ruin this moment. For now, for however long it lasted, she had the baby she'd once longed for. It was a gift and she was going to make the most of it.

"You never answered me before."

"About what?" he asked and stepped onto the top step beside her, toting the plastic bags of baby supplies.

Carol tipped her head back to look up at him. "About the whole grumbling thing. Are you this way with

everyone or is there something about me that brings it out in you?"

He looked at her for a long time and she tried to read what was going on behind his eyes, but he was either a master of disguise or the light just wasn't good enough. Because in those blue depths, shadows shifted and hid whatever he might be feeling.

"Look, it's been a long night," he said. "Can we just get the kid settled, then I'll go home and grab a quick hour or so of sleep."

"Fine," she said and turned away. After all, it wasn't her business if he went through life with a telephone pole up his behind. 'This is my place right here." She walked up to the door on the right, painted a brilliant, cobalt blue and straightened out the little white Christmas Angel hanging on it.

He rolled his eyes, but she ignored it.

"Who lives there?" he asked, pointing to the red door across the hall.

Carol glanced at it and shrugged. "No one, yet. My last tenant moved out last month."

Jack nodded as she opened her door and let him inside.

The scent of cinnamon and apples greeted them. Strings of tiny white lights ringed the walls at ceiling level, shining like stars in the semidarkness. Overstuffed furniture was drawn together to form a small conversation area in front of a brick fireplace, which was cold now, but held the makings for a fire. Bookcases stuffed to overflowing with well-read paperbacks lined one wall and framed prints of faraway places dotted the dark red walls.

A tall bay window overlooked Jingle Bell Way and reflections of colored lights stained the wispy white curtains hanging there.

"Nice," Jack said after a long minute.

"Thanks. I like it." She led the way across the room and through an arched doorway into a kitchen that looked as though it had been last remodeled in 1940. Even the fridge was an antique.

A chrome-legged table claimed the center of the room and Jack set the bags down there as he turned in a slow circle, to get the whole image of the place. Plants. Looked like hundreds of 'em, he thought. They lined the windowsills, hung from the ceiling, decorated the worn countertops, and graced the center of the table. It was like a damn rain forest in there.

"If the world ever runs out of oxygen, I'll know where to send everybody."

She glanced around, then back at him and shrugged. "I like growing things."

Quinn stepped into the room, sat down next to Jack and glared at him.

He sighed. "Your dog have something against me?"

"He's very protective."

"I'm sensing that." He shot a look at the dog. Quinn never blinked. "Look, if you're set—"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you want to get back to your mom's house "

He winced.

"Problem?"

"No." But the thought of going to his mom's—when he knew without a doubt that his sister Maggie, after hearing about the abandoned baby and putting Carol temporarily in charge, had no doubt called their mother to share the news—was a little daunting. His mom would be sitting in the living room, waiting for him to fill her in on every damn detail and he'd probably never get back to sleep.

Instantly, memories of his mother waiting up for him to get home from his dates rose up in his mind. Weird how many years had passed and some things didn't change.

No man over twenty-five should live with his mother, Jack thought. Even temporarily.

He pushed thoughts of Mom and the coming interrogation out of his head for the time being. "So do you need any more help with anything before I go?"

She looked at him, then at the baby, then back at him. "I just have one question."

"What's that?"

Her dark brown eyes went wide and he caught a flicker of panic darting across their surfaces as she asked, "What do I do now?"

Journal entry

I did it.

I had the baby and nobody knows.

I put her in the manger and then hid in the bushes until Carol and her dog came. I knew they'd come. They always walk around at night and they always go through the square.

Carol took the baby, just like I knew she would.

And now I'm alone again.

What do I do now?

to straighten the soft terry towel she'd used as a blanket to cover the baby. "But then, this is probably only for now anyway, right? I mean, the mother will probably turn up and then—" She looked up at him again. "Then what? Would they give the baby back to her?"

"I don't know," he said. "It would depend on a lot of things. There'll be an investigation. And she may not be found. Seems like she went to a lot of trouble to leave the baby and disappear."

"We shouldn't be talking in front of her," Carol muttered and stepped out of her bedroom, back into the living room.

"It's not like she's listening and taking notes," Jack countered.

"She can hear," Carol said, but didn't really want to get back into that argument again. What was the point? He'd never admit she was right, anyway.

Her eyes widened as she took in the changes in her apartment. A few hours ago, the place had been, as always, tidy. A place for everything and everything in its place. Good God, how often had she had that little phrase drummed into her head as a kid?

The women in charge at the group home where she'd grown up had insisted on organization being the key to good living. Of course, when you were running a home for a dozen or more kids and were forced to work around a revolving door that spit kids in and out of the system with dizzying speed, organization was your only defense.

And Carol had learned her lessons so well, being neat had simply become part of her nature.

Until tonight. Now, she had a true mess on her hands. Bags of baby supplies littered the room. Disposable diapers were stacked on one end of the couch and cans of

formula and brand-new baby bottles were lined up on the coffee table like soldiers awaiting orders. A few tiny undershirts that she'd spotted on the baby aisle at the grocery store were lying on the table along with powder, shampoo, diaper-rash ointment, and a few other things she'd simply grabbed and thrown into her shopping cart.

Who would have guessed that babies required so much .. . equipment!

Oh, yeah, she was perfect for this job.

She picked up one of the undershirts and blankly studied it for a long second or two. So tiny. So incredibly small. And the baby who would wear it was so helpless. Unable to defend herself against a well-meaning-but-completely-out-of-her-depth adult.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack heading for the front door and a small curl of panic blossomed in her chest. "You're leaving?"

"You're quick," he said. "Gotta give you that."

She ignored the sarcasm. "You could stay a while."

"Gonna miss me?"

"You're crabby, but at least you know your way around a baby."

"The oldest of five picks up a few things."

And children who'd grown up in foster care knew exactly squat, Carol thought. The babies who'd drifted in and out of the group home had never stayed long enough for any of the older kids to connect with them. After all, everyone wanted to adopt a baby. Carol pushed old memories aside and tried bribery. "I can make you some breakfast or something ..."

One corner of his mouth tipped up briefly. "I don't think so. If I hurry—and can avoid getting sucked into a Reilly family interrogation—I should be able to get a good ..." He checked his watch. "Fifteen, twenty minutes

36 Maureen Child

of sleep before sunup." He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and paused, looking at the closed door across from him.

Carol stopped just short of walking right into him. God, he was leaving. Okay, he wasn't friendly. Or charming. Or particularly nice. But he was another grown-up, and right now she was beginning to feel just a little too much alone. Maybe she hadn't given this idea enough thought. Maybe she'd just reacted emotionally to the thought of that tiny girl being tossed into the system. Maybe, she thought finally, Lizardbaby would have been better off with someone who knew what the hell they were doing.

"Basically," she said, "with the baby, I mean, I feed one end and change the other one."

"Yeah." He glanced at her and that brief look from those ice blue eyes shot straight to her already ragged nerve endings and gave them a good shake. "Just don't confuse the ends and you'll be fine."

"Great You're a regular Dr. Spock."

"Live long and prosper"

"Doctor Spock, not Mister Spock." Ordinarily, she might have enjoyed knowing that Jack Reilly, despite his crabbiness, obviously enjoyed sci-fi. But at the moment, she was too intent on trying to keep him there.

"Whatever." He slid his gaze from hers, took a single long step across the hall, grabbed the doorknob of the empty apartment and opened the door.

Surprised, Carol followed him. "What're you doing?"

"Looking." He walked into the furnished room and hit the light switch.

"At what?"

"Peace."

"Huh?" Behind her, she heard the click of Quinn's nails

as he came out to join them. The big dog leaned against her side and Carol automatically slapped one hand to the doorjamb to hold herself—and Quinn—upright.

She watched as Jack moved through the empty living room and kept one ear tuned to her own apartment, just in case the baby woke up.

"You need a tenant?" Jack asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

She stared at him, but he was already moving farther into the room, letting his gaze slide across every square inch of the place. Carol did the same thing. It wasn't quite as decked out as her own apartment, but she thought it looked cozy.

Dark, hunter green walls with chenywood crown molding made for a traditional-looking room. Sort of an Early American gentleman's-study effect. Twin overstuffed chairs huddled in front of the brick fireplace and there were a couple of throw rugs to warm up the polished oak floors. A table or two, a matching pair of Craftsman-style lamps throwing puddles of light across the room, and dozens of books crammed into custom-made bookcases completed the place. The bay window had the same view of Jingle Bell Way as her apartment, and the colored lights lining the outside of the house tossed blurred splashes of color against the glass.

Her last tenant, Sandy Davis, had stayed a year, then moved on, and Carol was looking forward to finding someone new to rent the place. It was nice having a friendly face so close by.

But she sure wouldn't consider Jack Reilly a 'friendly" face. Gorgeous, yes. Friendly, no. One long stare out of those icy blue eyes of his and he had her babbling even more than normal. Which probably wasn't a good thing. 'The apartment's for rent, but—"

"Good." He cut her off before she could come up with a good reason that he shouldn't have the apartment.

"You know," she said, talking to his back as he stalked through the hall to take a quick look at the bedroom. She knew what he saw. A bed, a dresser, and two nightstands plunked into a long, narrow room painted the same hunter green. A moment or two later, he came back through the hall, then marched across the room into the kitchen. "It's not all that peaceful here."

Quinn followed him, his nails clicking against the floor, his low grumble of discontent rolling through the room.

The kitchen light flashed on, spilling a shaft of bright light into the shadows.

"Hey, watch it, you big moose," Jack muttered.

"Quinn—" She called the dog, but since he didn't respond, he was apparently more interested in keeping an eye on Jack. Carol could hardly blame the dog. She'd been watching the man all night, herself.

"You're sitting on my foot," Jack complained.

Carol smiled briefly, imagining the man and dog glaring at each other. But then she realized that was just one more reason why this wouldn't work.

"The shop's downstairs," she called out, hoping to dissuade him. "People coming and going all the time and—"

He was opening cupboards, probably not even listening to her. Stubborn, she thought. And rude. This was her place, after all.

"Did you know the cupboard door under your sink comes off?"

She winced. She'd been meaning to get to that. "Yes."

"I can fix it."

"So can I," she said. She just hadn't gotten around to it

yet. "Look, I don't know if this is such a good idea." Hmm. Handsome crankypants living within spitting distance of her? No. She didn't think so. One cowardly voice in a corner of her mind, of course, argued that hey, a guy who knew a little something about babies would be a handy thing to have around. But a more rational voice shouted the little coward down by reminding Carol that any man who could stir her up with a glance would be a dangerous one to keep too close.

"I wouldn't be here long," he called out. "Is there a coffeepot in here?"

"Of course there's a coffeepot. Wouldn't be a furnished apartment without the means to make coffee, would it?"

"Good."

He flipped off the kitchen light and walked back into the living room, Quinn just behind him. Jack stopped a foot or two away from her. "I'll take it."

Quinn sat down.

Jack sighed and pulled his foot out from under the dog.

She glared up at him. "I didn't say you could have it."

"Why can't I?"

"Because ..." Come on, Carol, she told herself, think.

His gaze steadied on her and Carol wanted to shift position nervously. So she didn't.

"You need a tenant," Jack said bluntly. "I need to get out of my mom's house for the time I'm in town before she drives me nuts. It'll work. For both of us."

Carol blew out a breath. He was standing so close, she could practically feel the heat from his body ripple off him in waves. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed and grim, and he stood, feet braced wide apart, arms folded over his broad chest, like a man set for a fight.