Tara Quinn - Merry Christmas, Babies

After the death of her family, he’d become her protector.

There’d been a time of despair—of separation—when he’d fallen from his pedestal. He’d published photos of her at the various stages of her plastic surgery. She’d long since forgiven him, though.

Now he was just a man. And a very dear friend, with faults and failings like everyone else.

And he’d created the woman who now stood on expensive carpet in a spacious bedroom in a beautiful old home in Lowell, Michigan.

“I’m pregnant, Thomas.”

“Congratulations!” her ex-doctor said with real joy. “So it took the first time!”

“It more than took.” She turned away from her image as fear twisted her features. “I’m carrying quadruplets.”

He swore—something he rarely did. And that scared her anew.

“You’re worried,” she said.

“No,” he answered immediately, his voice reassuring even halfway across the nation. “Just wishing that something would come easy for you.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Silence. He had doubts. She’d known he would. Feared he would.

Sinking to the handmade floral quilt on her king-size bed, she asked, “What am I going to do, Thomas?”

“Follow doctor’s orders explicitly and have healthy babies.”

The answer surprised her.

“And after that?”

“You’ll raise them.”

“How?” She only had two arms.

“You lived through six years of agonizing pain and debilitation, Elise, beating all the odds over and over again. And you did most of it with a smile on your face. What’s raising four children after that?”

Four children was one thing. Four children at once was another.

“They talked about selective reduction.”

“It’s an option.”

“What do you think?”

“Removing one or two fetuses is common enough practice in quadruplet pregnancies. But it also poses risks to the remaining fetus or fetuses.”

“Do you think I should do it?”

“Do you want to?”

No. Not at all. She could hardly bear the thought. But for the sake of doing the right thing, she was forcing herself to consider the option.

“You can do this,” he said. “You can go through this pregnancy, have these babies, do a good job raising them.”

“I’m scared to death.”

“It’s not the first time, is it?”

He knew it wasn’t.

“Hey.” His voice came again, softer now. “Have you forgotten the one rule of life?”

His wife, Elizabeth, had taught it to her. And to emphasize the message, after every single procedure Elise had undergone during the six years of her recovery, there’d been a gift waiting for her when she awoke.

“To always look for the gift in every situation,” she repeated now.

“You wanted a family. You’re thirty-two. By the time you’re thirty-three, you’ll have a full house.”

With a trembling chin, Elise faced the mirror again. “Mama raised four babies. So can I.”

“That’s my girl.”

JOE DIDN’T GET ANGRY OFTEN.

Anger brought chaos, for which Joe had a deep-seated aversion.

He avoided glances from everyone in the payroll department as he strode the short distance from his office on one end of the fifteenth-floor condominium suite to Elise’s office on the other.

It had been two weeks and a day since he’d met the real Elise Richardson—or at least a more complete Elise.

Two weeks and a day since she’d told him she was carrying four babies at once.

Neither of them had mentioned the conversation since.

He could think of little else.

She was on the phone when he arrived. The second she disconnected he announced, “I just heard you climbed fifteen flights of stairs with a bag of groceries.”

He could only see the top half of her sleeveless white summer dress, and she wasn’t sweating a bit.

“I had salad dressing and meat for the chicken Caesar salad we’re having for lunch. I couldn’t leave them in my car. It’s summer outside, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t humor me, Elise. I’m not out of line here.”

“You’re upset over nothing.” She didn’t have to flick her fingers through that short dark hair to make her opinion perfectly clear.

“You climbed fifteen flights of stairs!”

“The elevator was out.”

“You’re carrying four babies! You should have called someone.”

She glanced to the hall outside the big glass windows on either side of her door. “The bag wasn’t heavy and exercise is good.” Her voice had lost much of its force.

“You still haven’t told anyone.”

She shook her head.

“When are you planning to do it?”

“As soon as the timing’s right. At the moment we’re hiring a new pay tech to take care of the payroll-only clients. And something’s up with one of our couriers—checks have been misdelivered twice.”

“Lunch today would be good timing,” Joe said, refusing to be distracted by business when what he really wanted was to never again speak of anything else with his partner. “Putting yourself—and your babies—in danger is ludicrous.”

“There was no danger, Joe! I’m not stupid. I went slowly, took breaks when I needed to. I just saw my doctor this morning and she says the more I exercise the better we’re all going to be.”

He closed her door, then stood in front of her desk like some kind of drill sergeant. Unusual for him.

“On to something that matters,” she said, eyeing him with warning. “First International is threatening to raise our group rate again. I’ve got an appointment on Monday with Great State.”

Both substantial and reputable insurance companies, and nothing to do with the stairs she’d climbed—or the reason he cared that she had. “I suspect their quotes will be similar.”

“Our value comes in offering insurance to employees of independent companies at a rate their companies can’t afford to offer. If our rates change too much, we lose that value.”

“We offer a great package,” he said. “Payroll, workers’ comp, tax compliance—and group insurance. And if our rates raise, so will everyone else’s. Unless they drop the lower rate structure for larger groups—which would put them out of business—we’ll still have the advantage.”

“I have an idea that will give us more of an advantage.”

He recognized the glint in her eye and sat in a visitor chair. “I’m listening.”

“What if we bundle a package of vendors? You know, a workers’ comp specialist, a strategic planning counselor, a tax consultant, a retirement counselor, psychiatric counselor, a corporate lawyer and maybe some kind of team facilitator—all things that are offered to employees of larger companies.”

“Benefits that bring higher levels of success,” he added, already hearing the presentation in his mind as he imagined himself selling the idea.

“Exactly.” Elise folded her hands on her desk, watching him. “The vendors would all bill us and we’d bill the companies, based on how many options they choose.”

“Individual services billed at a package-deal rate.”

“Correct.”

He loved it. Would have thought of it himself if he didn’t have her there to do that kind of thinking for him. Or not.

The tension that had become almost a constant companion to Joe these past couple of weeks returned in force. He needed Elise. Couldn’t afford to lose her. B&R couldn’t afford to lose her.

But how could four newborn babies possibly fit into the mix? Or four toddlers, for that matter?

“SO WHAT ELSE DID the doctor say?”

Elise stared at Joe, at the closed door to her office, then the hallway. They were working. In ten years, they’d never talked about personal stuff during working hours. At least not her personal stuff. She wasn’t forthcoming. He never asked. This was the second time in an hour.