C.J. Carmichael - A convenient proposal

But maybe Abby had heard some of the old stories and been turned off.

She didn’t look turned off, though. Especially now as she caressed his wrist with her thumb. A gesture that was undoubtedly meant to be slightly erotic, but that he, instead, found slightly annoying.

“Mick?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What would you like to do now?”

Her voice invited him to think of activities in the bedroom. No way could he confess that what he really wanted was to drop her at home, then go to the house off Bow Valley Trail and check on the kids. He’d already come perilously close to blowing his chances with Abby.

“It’s snowing outside. How about we take a walk, down to the river,” he suggested.

“Oh, that sounds so romantic!”

Reprieve.

Mick signed the check for their meal with relief. Evidently, he’d finally said the right thing. Maybe this was going to work after all.

IT WAS ELEVEN by the time Mick made it to the little bungalow. Lights were still on, and he could hear loud music. What concerned him more was the string of vehicles parked on the street—including one newly familiar four-by-four truck.

Kelly Shannon spotted him before he reached the door to pound on her window again. She drew her long body out of the car—God, but she was thin. Her face appeared white and gaunt in the overhead glare from a streetlight.

For a long moment they stared at each other. His anger, justifiable though it was, sort of fizzled as he took in the dark smudges under her eyes and the grim, unhappy set of her mouth.

“What the hell is going on in there?” He turned toward the house. Through the front window, he could see almost a dozen people milling about in the small living room. The pounding of the bass from an overworked sound system marred the peaceful beauty of the winter night.

“The neighbors complained,” Kelly said, “and the police were here about ten minutes ago. The party is finally breaking up.”

As she spoke, the volume of the music dropped. A group of six appeared at the side door.

“’Night!” Sharon, barely able to stand, hung on to the iron railing on the landing as she saw her visitors out.

“Hey, baby.”

“Keep in touch.”

“My house next time.”

A couple more guests spilled from the door. Few appeared as sloshed as Sharon did, which was fortunate, since they were getting into cars now. Mick watched, fighting rage.

How could she do this? It was as if she didn’t care about the baby growing inside her. Or the two still-almost-babies who lived in that house with her.

He sensed Kelly slipping back into the shadow of a tree trunk. That was good. If Sharon saw her, she’d throw a fit. In her condition, the prospect was scary.

As the last car drove away, Sharon began to withdraw into the house. Mick took a few steps forward, catching her attention. Sharon held a hand to her forehead and scrunched up her eyes.

“Mick? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are the kids?”

“In bed. Sleeping.”

With all that racket? He doubted it. “Let me see them.”

Sharon shook her head. “Come back tomorrow. The party’s over.”

“I’m not interested in any bloody party. It’s the kids I care about. Did you feed them any dinner, Sharon? Are they wearing clean pajamas?”

“Of course.” Sharon spoke slowly, enunciating with the precision of someone who couldn’t be sure just what would come out of her mouth.

“Let me see.” He started for the door again, but she backed up, shaking her head.

“Tomorrow. My head hurts.”

Of course your head hurts, you moron. He felt like shaking her. How much had she drunk tonight? He loped up the sidewalk, but by the time he reached the landing, Sharon had shut the door against him. The sound of the dead bolt closing was conspicuous in the now-quiet night.

Mick cursed and slammed his hand on the railing.

From behind him, he heard a rustling. Before he had time to turn, Kelly was speaking. “We’ve got to do something, Mick.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” Her tone was placating. “But you haven’t been over much lately.”

Of course he hadn’t. Because he was too damn busy courting the woman he wanted to take care of Amanda and Billy. The mother figure that Sharon appeared neither willing to be nor capable of being.

“I’m not blaming you, Mick.”

“I would say not. If anyone was to be blamed…”

“I know—I know.”

Kelly’s quick acceptance of her culpability sapped the satisfaction out of lashing at her.

“If only Sharon could get a grip on herself. I took her to see a doctor and to an AA meeting.” But she’d only gone because he’d made a fuss. He realized that she wouldn’t make any progress in controlling her drinking unless it was something she wanted to do.

“To the doctor?”

“Sharon’s pregnant.”

Kelly gave a small gasp.

“Exactly.” He dug his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. “Just the complication Sharon needs right now, especially with—Kelly?”

The tall brunette put her hand to her mouth. Then she rushed to a hedge across the street. At the unmistakable sound of retching, Mick realized that Sharon’s unborn baby added yet another layer to the former cop’s guilt. He supposed he ought to have been more tactful.

He waited a minute, shuffling snow around with his feet. In his pocket, he had a paper napkin left over from lunch at the Bagel Bites Café. When Kelly was standing again, he went to her and offered it.

“Thanks.” She turned away from him as she cleaned herself up.

“Don’t take it so hard,” he said, quelling an impulse to put a hand to her shoulder. “I’ve got a plan. I’m hoping to get married soon. Then I’m going to offer to take Sharon’s children for a while, to give her a chance to settle down.”

“Oh.” Kelly’s eyes were huge in her pale face. “Who are you marrying?”

“Well, I haven’t asked her yet. But I’m hoping it’ll be Abby Stevens.”

“The kindergarten teacher?”

“Yeah. We’ve been dating for a while.”

“Oh,” she said again.

Somehow they both started walking along the road. The snow had stopped, but enough had fallen to turn the narrow street into a sparkling wonderland. Their boots crunched in the fresh drifts, and clouds of ice crystals formed with each exhaled breath.

“I know Abby,” Kelly said at last. “She invites me to her class every fall to speak to the kids about Halloween safety.” After a pause, she added, “She’s cute.”

“Yeah.” He was beginning to think Abby was too cute, and that that was the problem. After their walk, he’d taken Abby home. At the door, he suspected, she had hoped for more than one short kiss good-night. But again, he’d felt no urge to carry things further.

“She’ll be great with the kids,” he said.

Kelly stopped walking, so he did, too. “You’re in love with her, right?”

He bristled. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”

She took hold of his arm and forced him to face her. Those eyes of hers were so probing. And no wonder. She was a cop, after all.

“You’re just marrying her because of the kids.”

“Not real—” The denial jammed in his throat. That was the truth, so why not admit it? “Isn’t that what marriage is all about? Raising kids. What does it matter if they aren’t ours?”

“Of course it doesn’t matter, Mick. But marriage is about more than kids.”

“Not in my book. Too many of the stories I cover for the paper are about tragedies that happen because parents don’t put their children’s interests first.” Messy divorces, youngsters raised in poverty, family violence. God, he’d seen so many messed-up families. Not the least, his own brother’s.