Laura Altom - The Marine's Babies

In that instant, not only had Jace connected with Bea, but with Emma, and the realization was somehow exhilarating and appalling.

Sharply, Emma looked away.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “since I’m home early, we might—”

“Sorry,” she said, standing, “but I just remembered that I have an appointment. Think you can handle getting the girls home on your own?”

“Yeah, but—”

Fighting a queer tightness in her throat, a panicky need to be free of his piercing green stare, she started off down the winding trail. “Really, I have to go.”

“Son,” Jace’s mom said that night on the phone from her RV campground in Maine. She and his dad had been touring the east coast all summer, but if you asked Jace’s opinion, it was past time they hightailed it home. “I wish I could tell you what to do, but you’re a grown man, capable of getting yourself into huge messes, and I pray to God every day that you’re equally as capable of getting yourself out.”

“That’s just it, Mom, this isn’t my ordinary mess. Those I can fly or sweet talk my way out of, but this…”

She laughed. “For this, you’re going to have to use your heart.”

He wasn’t going to dignify that with a comment.

“Once you find this Vicki woman—and you will—swallow your pride and marry her. The rest will work itself out.”

“M-marry her? She abandoned her own kids! Why would I want to live the rest of my life with a woman like that?”

“Man up, Jace. That’s what Oprah would say.”

Jace rolled his eyes. Great. Looks like his mom had a new favorite afternoon show. Whatever happened to her quoting The Young and the Restless? “Mom, how about putting Dad on the phone?”

“He’s off sailing with our new friends, Ed and Louise. They have the sweetest little boat moored in Bar Harbor.”

Swell.

“You were always a stubborn, strong-willed child, Jace, but this is one time when you need to put aside what you think about this whole matter, and surrender to what you feel.”

After hanging up, Jace realized he should have stayed on the line, asking his mom why he couldn’t seem to figure out exactly what he felt.

That afternoon, in the park with Emma, when she’d shown him how to hold Bea properly, for a split second an unfamiliar warmth had crept through him. But then Emma had left, and so had his warm-and-fuzzies.

He knew in his head that he was a father. That he’d suddenly been thrust into a role of responsibility larger than anything else with which he’d been charged. So what was wrong with him that he couldn’t connect that knowledge with his heart?

“GOOD MORNING.” At five-thirty the next morning, Jace opened his front door to a dark, pouring rain, and a soggy Emma.

Thunder rolled.

Taking her umbrella, then ushering her inside, he said, “Did you make it to your appointment?”

“My what?” Emma set down her purse, and then shrugged out of her yellow raincoat, hanging it dripping on the hook beside the door.

“Yesterday, when you left the park, you said you had an appointment.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “I forgot.”

“Why’d you lie to me, Em? Why the rush to get away?”

“First, my name’s Emma, and second, I…” As if utterly spent, she crumpled onto the sofa. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have to be anywhere. I just couldn’t be around you any longer.”

Jace winced. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you?” Grabbing his cell phone from a charger, he parked alongside her, checking for messages. “Why would I do that?”

“For lying.”

“Then you admit it?”

“Again, I’m sorry.” She had a funny look on her face. As if she wanted to say more, but wouldn’t. “I, um, was having female problems.”

“Whoa—” Turning all of his attention to rummaging through his flight bag, he said, “say no more. That’s all I needed to hear.” Plus, he was damned glad she hadn’t been ticked at him. His track record with women wasn’t all that great, and he sure as hell didn’t need to lose his girls’ nanny this soon into her tenure.

“Want something to eat before you head out into this nasty weather?”

“What about your, er, problems? Because with those sorts of—you know…” He flopped his hands on his lap, gesturing to where her general womanly region would be. “Well, I don’t want you overdoing it.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Promise. You go ahead and finish getting ready, and I’ll whip something up.”

MAKING BREAKFAST, Emma was almost quivery with relief. Just up and taking off the previous afternoon hadn’t been a smooth move. What if she’d been fired?

“Smells good,” Jace said fresh from the shower.

He hadn’t yet put on his shirt, and moisture still clung to the dark hair on his chest. Emma’s stomach returned to fluttering, only this time, it had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with Jace’s proximity. “I, um, hope you like it.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, thank you. Everything’s just about done.” Easing his three fried eggs onto a plate, she asked, “How did the girls sleep?”

“Great. I was only up once, which is a record since their arrival.”

“I figured introducing solid food would help. But then for all we know, they’ve been used to it.” She buttered his toast, and then eased four strips of bacon alongside his eggs. Setting the plate and utensils in front of him, she asked, “Anything else before I check on the babies?”

“Yes.” He stood, walked to the cabinet to grab an extra plate, fork and napkin, and then pulled out the chair alongside him. “Join me. The last thing I intended when hiring you was for you to be my own personal serving wench.”

“I know,” she said, fidgeting her hands along the seat back of the nearest chair. “But I don’t feel comfortable sharing a meal with you.”

“Why?” he asked, already divvying up the food. “Because yesterday, in the park, I thought we’d had a connection.”

“That was different,” she bristled.

“How so?” He dug into his portion of the meal.

“We were discussing parenting. Sharing a meal would be…different.”

Shaking his head, he laughed. “You’re a tough one to read, Emma Stewart. Please, sit. Promise, I won’t bite a thing besides my food.”

She sat, but didn’t like it. The man was too playful for her tastes.

He shoved her plate and fork toward her. “Try some. It’s good.”

“I usually just have a bagel for breakfast.”

“That’s why you’re so skinny.” He helped himself to a piece of her toast. “Ask me, a woman needs meat on her bones. Something for a man to hang on to.”

Her mind’s eye focused on an image of him spooning her. How it might feel being cocooned by his strength. Heat flamed her cheeks. She hastily feigned interest in her food.

“I’m not too skinny,” she snapped. “There’s no such thing.”

“Think what you want, but trust me, you’re a decent-looking woman. If you’d pack a little junk in your trunk, I’ll bet you wouldn’t be able to keep guys away.”

Momentarily stunned, she just sat gaping at him. “Please tell me you didn’t say what you just said.”

He shrugged, and then calmly forked the last bite of his eggs. “In my line of work, I might die tomorrow. I believe in calling it like I see it.”

“Yes, well, I believe this conversation is out of line.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, blinding her with that slow, sexy grin. “My bad. You already have a guy, don’t you? Since you don’t wear a ring, I assumed you were single, but—”

Since her incident at the hotel, she’d permanently removed her wedding ring.