Some kind of wonderful (6 page)

"Never mind." He picked up his bag, then stopped. Turning his head, he looked at her. "Liz? You named the baby Elizabeth?"

"Nah." Reaching over, Carol covered the baby's ears and whispered, "Liz—you remember. It's short for Lizardbaby."

"Oh, for—"

"Hey, you never know."

"Crazy," he muttered, heading for the door. "This whole town is crazy. Always has been. Always will be."

"Yeah?" she answered, raising her voice as he moved farther away. "If everyone around you is a loon and you're the only one sane ... maybe you're the crazy one."

He stopped at the door and, over his shoulder, shot her a long look through shadow-filled eyes. "That's been said before."

Then the bells bounced and clanged as he pushed through the door and went upstairs.

Quinn settled down for another nap as soon as Jack left.

Crazy, huh? Well, better crazy than boring. Better crazy than lonely. Better crazy than ... Carol shook her

head and dismissed thoughts of the surly sheriff with the amazing, haunted eyes. Instead, she shifted a look at the baby, now wide awake and watching her. "Well, hi, Liz ..." She scooped the tiny infant into her arms and held her carefully, gently.

She was getting better at this, she thought. She'd only been in charge of the baby for a few hours, but already, she felt almost... competent. "Poor baby," she whispered and instinctively swayed with a gentle, side-to-side motion. "You really got the short stick, didn't you? But don't worry, okay? Until they find you a mom and dad, I'll take care of you." Carol ran the tip of one finger along the baby's soft, full cheek and smiled when she turned into Carol's finger, expecting lunch. "They will find you parents, you know. You're a baby. Babies always get adopted."

Her mind drifted back, whether she wanted it to or not. Carol was ten when her parents died in a car wreck on the 405 freeway. There hadn't been any other family, so she was named a ward of the court and sent to the county home for kids. Distinct memories still lived in her mind. She could recall with perfect clarity the terror cringing inside her when she walked up those steps for the first time. She remembered kids freezing in place when the door opened and she stepped inside. Whatever game they'd been playing was forgotten as they checked out the latest addition to the already crowded house.

Before she'd lost her family, she'd had her own room and a backyard and a dog. And then almost instantly, she'd been just one more girl in a house full of kids, with no privacy, no backyard, and the knowledge that her dog had been sent to the pound.

Those first few months in the home, she'd spent most of her time crying for what she'd lost. But eventually,

she smiled again and learned to hope again and even dream about having a family again. Carol remembered wearing her best dress, smiling at prospective parents when they stopped in at the home. She remembered desperately trying to look smaller and younger than she actually was. Everyone knew that once you hit a certain age, adoption was not a part of your future. So for that first year, she'd slumped her shoulders and crouched and smiled, and when none of that worked, she'd pretended not to care when she was overlooked again and again.

The year she was eleven, she tried to fit in at the different foster homes she'd been placed in, but temporary children didn't seem to fit anywhere and soon she and the system had stopped trying. The year she turned twelve, she was back at the group home and there she'd stayed until her eighteenth birthday, when the state had said, "Happy birthday, Carol. Now get out."

She patted the baby and let herself remember the fear of standing on her own two feet at eighteen. No one to lean on. No one to count on. But she'd found a way. Her grades had won her a scholarship and she'd finished college with a degree in business and the vow to build herself the life she'd always wanted.

"I did it, too," Carol murmured, letting her gaze drop to the tiny baby in her arms. "I got a job, earned good money, and saved it. Then I bought this place." She ran one finger along the baby's cheek. "So don't worry. Things'U work out for you, too."

The baby's fists raged at the air, as though she were already trying to claw her way out of the situation.

Carol leaned over and kissed that tiny, sweet-smelling forehead and inhaled the scent of baby shampoo on her fine, dark hair. "I'll try to do a really good job of taking care of you, Liz. But I can't love you." Her fingertip

gently traced that rosebud of a mouth. "So, just don't do anything really cute, okay?"

The baby opened milky blue eyes wider and stared at her. Carol sighed. Maybe crankypants was right. Maybe she was crazy. Thinking she could take care of this baby and not forge a connection—when her heart was already melting.

The baby cooed and waved its tiny fists in the air again, as if demanding attention. "You're already cute, aren't you? So basically, I'm already in deep shit."

Jack stood at the window of his new apartment and thought about the landlady. From the moment he'd stepped into her shop, he'd felt it. An awareness of Carol Foster that he didn't like and didn't want. Apparently, though, he didn't have much to say about what his body responded to.

She'd looked ... too damn good, standing there, watching him out of whiskey-colored eyes. The blond streaks in her hair shone like gold and her skin was the color of warm honey and probably tasted just as good, dammit. She looked so at home, standing in the middle of what looked like an explosion of Christmas goodies. Crystal and pewter and porcelain and wood all competed for shelf space in a shop that was at once both cluttered and somehow neat and orderly. Just like in her apartment, the scent of cinnamon and apples flavored the air, making the place seem welcoming, despite the reminders of a holiday he'd just as soon forget.

But when Carol's mouth had twitched into a smile, he'd forgotten everything but her. Annoying woman. Hell, the whole situation was annoying.

Being back in town was enough to make him crazy

even while stirring a hornet's nest of some pretty good memories. Jack sipped at his coffee and remembered. He'd left home right after college. He'd always known that he wouldn't stay in Christmas. It just hadn't been big enough for him. It had felt too confining to a man who'd always wanted adventure. Well, he thought, he'd had the adventure and it hadn't been all it was cracked up to be.

In LA, he'd become a cop and found what he'd thought was a great life. He'd had everything he'd ever wanted, planned on. Everything had rolled his way. Until one night, when everything in his life shattered.

More memories stirred and images rose up in his mind before he could quash them. In seconds, the comfortable little apartment in Christmas faded away and Jack was back in the dark.

He could almost feel the cold drip of rain sliding down the collar of his shirt to roll along his spine. If he let himself he'd hear the wind whistling past the drunks and homeless crouched inside their cardboard mansions, trying to escape the pounding rain that eroded their homes. His fingers curled into a fist as if he could still grip the police-issue revolver he used to carry. He squinted into the sunlight and instead saw neon-shattered darkness. He could almost smell the stink of garbage that had littered the alley the night his world blew up.

But almost wasn't good enough. Coming up out of the past like a drowning man striking for the surface, he pushed the memories down into the dark hole that used to be his heart. Cold filled him and he shivered, taking another swallow of coffee he hoped was hot enough to ease the chills away. But this cold had been with him for two long years and he had a feeling he'd never really be warm again.

He glanced down and grimaced tightly to see his hand shaking. What the hell kind of cop was he that memories could shake him to the bone like that? "No kind," he muttered, fisting that hand helplessly.

As the images faded, he told himself the knot in his stomach would unwind. Eventually.

But his world would still be shattered.

Nothing could change that.

He took another swallow and let the too hot liquid scald his throat like a penance.

Now he was back in Christmas. And he was still Catholic enough to believe that this was some kind of just punishment. A sort of Purgatory—a home for those not quite ready for Hell.

Not ready for prime-time sinning.

He snorted a choked-off laugh and slapped one hand on the wall beside the tall bay window to stare out at the street below. Since moving to LA, he'd only come back home for brief visits with the family. He'd never planned on moving back here. But plans had a way of falling apart on a man when he wasn't paying attention.

"Not for long, though." He took another gulp of the coffee that was strong enough to leap out of the cup and jump down his throat on its own.

Maybe it was fate dragging his sorry ass back to Christmas. If he'd never answered the phone that day his mother had called asking him to step in for Sheriff Thompson, he wouldn't be standing here now, talking to himself. But he knew more than most that you couldn't go back. You couldn't change what had already happened. If you could .. . things might have been different.

Now that he was here, though, there was no way out of this mess. He'd given his word and though his "honor" was a little ragged around the edges these days, it was all

he had left. The best he could hope for was that Sheriff Thompson recovered in time to reclaim his job and save Jack's sanity.

Staring out the window of his new apartment, he watched a group of teenage girls start up the walk toward the shop. In the summer light, they looked impossibly young and carefree. Their giggles floated up to him like bubbles on the breeze. He spotted Peggy in the bunch and that was enough to convince him to do without the nap he'd been planning on and go back to the office. His baby sister had learned at the master's—their mother's— knee. And he knew without a doubt that given half a chance, Peggy would be in here, giving him a pep talk or yelling at him or in general being a pain in the ass. Well, he didn't need another pain. He'd just moved in across the hall from one.

Setting the coffee cup down on the windowsill, he walked across the room, grabbed his keys, and shot down the stairs.

When the bells over the door clanged again, Carol looked up, though she needn't have bothered. She'd heard the girls long before the door opened. Their bright laughter and eager chatter shattered the quiet in the store and drowned out the soft music playing on the stereo behind the counter.

"Morning," Carol called out.

Two of the girls simply headed straight for the counter Carol liked to think of as her bread and butter. Though the shop specialized in "An Old-fashioned Christmas," with one-of-a-kind, handcrafted gifts and ornaments, she also carried little specialty items like lipsticks, eye shadows,

and nail polishes. Just the thing to keep the town's teenagers coming back in a steady, loyal stream.

But apparently, at least three of her customers were more interested in little Liz than in OPI polish today.

"Wow, is this the baby?" Lacey Reynolds asked and leaned in for a better look at Liz, sleeping in the crook of Carol's arm. Lacey's soft, blond hair swung over her cheek and her blue eyes lit up with interest as she tugged the hem of her oversized sweatshirt down over her belly.

"Dork," Peggy Reilly said with a laugh and shoved the other girl. "Of course it's the baby."

A flicker of movement caught Carol's eye and she glanced to one side in time to see Jack, ducking his head as he left. He looked like a man trying to escape and a part of her wondered just what it was he was running from. And why he hadn't bothered to say hello to his little sister. Then she shrugged her thoughts away and turned her attention back to the girls.

Lacey grinned, and tugged at her sweatshirt again. Always overweight, the girl had been diligent about Weight Watchers for the last several months or so, and though she was thinner now than she used to be, she was still self-conscious enough to wear clothing two sizes too big for her.

"It's so little." Donna Flynn pushed her dark hair back from her face, then stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts as if half-afraid someone might ask her to touch the infant.

"Most of us are when we're brand-new," Carol said, smiling.

"Yeah, but you never really think about it until you see one up close and personal," Peggy said and leaned in to watch Carol lay the baby into the carrier sitting atop

the counter. "I mean, my sisters have kids and all, but who pays attention, you know? Is my brother here? I mean, he lives here now, right?"

"Yes, he does. But I think I saw him leave," Carol said and to herself added, Running like ghosts were chasing him.

"Bummer," Peggy said.

"How is your sister Eileen?" Carol asked, keeping one eye on the girls over by the lipstick counter. They were all good kids, but temptation was a strong motivator and she'd hate to have to be on the phone to their mothers complaining about shoplifting.

"Crabby," Peggy said shortly.

Must run in the family, Carol thought, remembering the scowl on Jack's face and his shuttered eyes.

"Somebody just left the baby in the manger?" Lacey asked quietly, reaching out one finger to stroke the child's closed fist. Then she lifted her soft blue gaze to Carol. "Everybody's talking about how you and Quinn found her last night."

At the mention of his name, Quinn pushed himself to his feet and walked around the counter to lean against Lacey in welcome. Lacey worked part-time in Carol's store during the summer and the girl was one of Quinn's favorite people.

"Hi, sweetie," the girl said, running one hand over the dog's big head.

"Word about the baby traveled fast," Carol said.

"Are you kidding?" Peggy grinned and looked from Lacey to Donna before shifting her gaze back to Carol. "Every mother in town is having 'the talk' with their daughters. Like we've never heard of sex before. And hello? The baby's here already. A little too late for the sex-ed campaign, you know?"

Donna groaned and moved along the counter, studying the silver earrings hanging from a rack near the cash register. "My mother's off the deep end. Started asking if I know anyone who was fat and suddenly got thinner."