Linda Markowiak - And Baby Makes Six

Mis Jenny they hurt me. im bleeeding From Crystal.

Then she found the Send button and pushed.

MITCH WAS running late again. He had an eight-thirty appointment this morning with one of the high-school coaches to discuss the possibility of Serious Gear supplying all the sporting equipment for next year’s football program. Setting the meeting so early this morning had seemed like a good idea when the guy had called yesterday. Mitch had figured to get a jump start on the day, make a good sale before he’d even opened for business.

But last night, he’d been out until after 2:00 a.m., working on Luke’s slap shot and helping Luke’s minor league team, the Northern Lights, with practice.

Now he stood in his kitchen and raked a hand through his hair and tried to shut out the sounds of his kids. They were arguing again—or goofing around—who could tell the difference?

“Gotcha, Squirt.” Ryan put another Froot Loop on his spoon and flicked it at Jason. The bit of cereal hit Jason on the nose.

“I’m gonna get you for that.” Jason jumped off the counter stool and grabbed the open box of cereal. Dancing away, he held the box out temptingly, then snatched it to his chest when Ryan made a grab. “I’ve got the ammo.”

Ryan dodged Tommy, who was going to the refrigerator for another gallon of milk. Ryan grabbed Jason by the shoulder and swung the younger boy around. Jason kept up the taunts.

Mitch had finally had enough. “Cut it out,” he said at the same time Luke said, “Quit that.” Mitch looked up from where he was loading the dishwasher and shrugged at his eldest son as Jason and Ryan kept at it. Neither Mitch nor Luke were big on mornings; too many late-night practices at the rink had done in mornings long ago.

The kitchen floor was sticky; Mitch had felt it on his bare feet. The kids must have spilled milk again. Someone must have turned down the furnace; the air in the house felt chilly on his bare chest.

Weren’t millionaires supposed to live better than this?

Jason was still teasing Ryan. When Jason’s elbow hit Tommy’s cereal bowl and sent the empty bowl skidding across the counter, Mitch finally said, “That’s enough!” He marched over and held out his hand for the cereal box.

“Aw, Dad, I was finally getting to him,” Jason pleaded. Face-off was begging at his feet. Face-off loved Froot Loops.

Mitch ruffled the hair on his youngest. “You’ll get him next time.”

Ryan did a sneak attack and grabbed the box. Cereal flew. Face-off gleefully chased the windfall. Crystal’s kitten—which had been observing the shenanigans from the safety of a chair back—puffed out her tail and took off.

Mitch turned to Ryan. “Give me the box. Now.” After a couple of moments to see if Mitch really meant it—why did they always do that?—Ryan finally handed it over.

He peered inside. “You guys are done here. You’ve eaten your way clean through two boxes, and you’re going to be late for the bus. Luke doesn’t have time to drive you, and neither do I.” Absently, he scooped up the crumbs of cereal from the bottom of the box and fed them to Face-off, who’d finished his vacuum routine and sat before Mitch with his big wet tongue hanging out. Then Mitch crumpled the box and tossed it toward the trash.

As he started for the stairs, it dawned on him that Crystal was missing. “Hey, where’s Crystal?”

For a second, the boys, arguing about something, didn’t seem to hear him. Then the room got very quiet.

Not a good sign. He looked at the boys, who were looking at each other.

Luke said quietly, “Okay, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“No clue.”

“How would I know?”

They were looking everywhere but at Mitch or Luke. From the bottom of the steps, Mitch bellowed, “Crystal!” She didn’t answer, and alarm ran through him. Before he even realized where he was going, he was halfway up the stairs.

She appeared at the top of the stairs. Slacks and a flowered sweater, a toothbrush in her hand.

He stopped dead. She looked so normal. “Are you all right?” he asked foolishly.

She nodded, but she had this fearful, pinched look on her face, the one she often got around him.

“Oh. I just wondered—” She was still looking at him. He said, “You’re running late.”

Her face crumpled. “I slept too long,” she said in a small voice, and Mitch had the horrible thought that she was going to cry.

“That’s—uh, okay.” Don’t cry. “Listen, I can drive you if you miss the bus.”

“You’re not mad? You yelled.”

“I didn’t yell at you.”

“Yes, you did. I heard it from the bathroom. You yelled real loud. Crys-tal. I dropped the toothpaste.” Her lower lip wobbled.

“That was to see if you were okay,” he tried to explain. She didn’t look convinced, and he didn’t know what else to say—they seemed to have no conversation, no common ground at all, and she was so sensitive.

The doorbell rang.

Barking from Face-off, a call to the dog, the closing of the laundry-room door. Heavy, clumping feet heading for the hall. Then one of the boys called, “D—aaa—d.”

He was so relieved to have a reason to escape his niece’s scrutiny, he didn’t even consider the oddity of someone at the door at eight in the morning. He turned and headed back down the stairs.

“It’s some lady,” Tommy called as Mitch passed the kitchen doorway on his way to the front hall.

He had an appointment with a woman who was applying for the job of full-time housekeeper, but that interview was supposed to be at the store later. The door was agape a fraction. He pulled it open.

Jenny Litton stood on his doorstep, a small carry-on bag in her hand.

He froze, his hand on the doorknob.

“Is she all right?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She said impatiently, “Crystal. Just tell me, is she okay? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Crystal.” Hadn’t he determined that not two minutes ago? What in hell was Jenny Litton doing on his doorstep?

“Was she in the emergency room? What did the doctor say?”

Her southern drawl was hurried. He realized belatedly that the woman looked white as a ghost, and that her eyes were round and intent. That previously smooth-as-glass hair of hers was in tumbled disarray. She was wearing a suit, but the jacket was unbuttoned, and a silky scarf had come loose from some mooring or other and fluttered in the breeze. She looked like a pale butterfly.

A pretty butterfly. A sexy butterfly, if butterflies could be sexy.

An angry butterfly.

She was so pretty. That made him suddenly conscious of the fact he was bare-chested and bleary-eyed, and that he needed a shave. Besides, he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

“Please.” She held out a hand. “I won’t get you in trouble with the court. Just let me see her.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, Jenny seemed to make up her mind about something. Then she…charged him. She marched on him like a rookie defenseman, determined to send him flying into the boards. Stunned, he held open the door, certain that if he hadn’t, she would have shoved him aside.

Once in the doorway, she called, “Crystal. Crystal!”

“Miss Jenny!”

There was clatter through the house. Commotion. Then his niece was in the hallway, running so fast she skidded on the hardwood floor.

Jenny dropped her bag and knelt and grabbed her, hugging hard. “Oh, my Lord, you’re all right. Oh, my Lord…”

Mitch raised his eyes. All four of his sons were in the hallway now, and all of them were watching Jenny and Crystal. Jenny was rocking her, and there were tears on her cheeks. “Oh, sweet baby, I was worried sick. The phone was busy all night…I almost called the police…I caught the first plane I could…You’re okay…”