Some kind of wonderful (8 page)

Shadows filled the room. From outside the windows, the glow of the Christmas lights sparkled like jewel-toned stars. Wind rattled the windowpanes and a flickering light flashed from the muted television as space aliens battled the valiant defenders of Earth. Ordinarily, Carol would have been on the couch, with a bowl of popcorn, cheering the good guys on. Tonight, though, she was fighting a battle all her own.

Carol jiggled the baby gently and patted her diapered behind and swayed and hummed and, as a last resort, tried singing. But even she couldn't relax when she was singing, so she stopped that pretty damn quick.

Liz's cries continued, as if she were an opera singer trapped in a time loop, stuck singing the same aria over and over again.

She was really out of ideas.

The baby's face was now beet red and that couldn't be a good thing, right? Couldn't babies have strokes or something? And if not Liz, Carol was pretty sure she was close to a stroke.

"Oh, I so suck at this," she whispered, her words getting lost in the storm of Liz's screech. Shaking her head, Carol reminded herself just how many times over the years that she'd dreamed of this. Of having a child, building a family. Who knew that she had, apparently, no talent for child care?

Carol glanced at her phone, sitting silent and useless on an end table beside the overstuffed floral-fabric

couch. She couldn't call Phoebe—the one person she would ordinarily turn to in a crisis of this magnitude— because Phoebe had deserted her in her hour of need. Instead of being in Carol's apartment watching the Star-gate marathon on the sci-fi channel and eating buckets of popcorn, Phoebe was out having sex. Yes, sex.

Carol's back teeth ground together. Whether the flash of emotion that shot through her body and was gone again in an instant was self-pity or envy didn't really matter. The point was, Phoebe had thrown her best friend over for a chance at mind-boggling sex with a gorgeous carpenter.

Some people, Carol thought, had absolutely no loyalty.

Although, she really couldn't blame Phoebe any. Cash Hunter, the carpenter in question, filled out his Levi's in such a way, he could melt the resistance of a nun—much less that of an overworked doctor.

Sadly, it had been so long since Carol had had sex herself, she was pretty sure she wouldn't remember what to do if the opportunity presented itself. Which she really didn't have to worry about, since the chances of that opportunity popping up were slim to none. Especially at the moment. A screaming newborn was a better birth control device than a condom.

"Come on, Liz," she murmured, softly stroking the baby's stiffened spine, "give me a break here, okay? I'm doing the best I can." And her best was apparently pretty pitiful. Carol's ears rang with the echo of the baby's screams and her heart ached for the poor little thing. Something was obviously wrong and Carol obviously had no idea how to fix it.

Nothing like a baby to make you feel completely inadequate.

Lizardbaby had her own issues and seemed, Carol

thought as the headache behind her eyes cranked up another notch, able to go without breathing for exceptionally long periods of time. The baby's wails went on as one, long howl, unbroken by gasps for air.

The Alien Baby thing flitted through her mind again, but she let go again almost instantly. Carol was just too damn tired to play the game.

"It's okay, sweetie, honest." If her voice sounded a little strained, she was hoping the baby wouldn't notice. "You're safe. You're warm and dry and ... really cranky." She blew out a breath that ruffled the fringe of bangs over her forehead and did nothing to ease the frustration simmering inside.

Quinn sat down in front of her and his big head nearly reached her waist. He looked up at her, watching, clearly offering silent doggie support.

Carol hardly noticed.

Cranky.

That one word echoed over and over again in her brain until it finally rang a bell.

Maybe you had to fight cranky with cranky.

And she had the veritable king of cranky living right across the hall.

But was she desperate enough to go to him for help? Was she really willing to swallow what was left of her pride and admit that she couldn't handle a six-pound shrieking baby?

Another screech sounded in her ear and rattled through her brain.

Yes, she thought. Yes, she was willing to ask for help. She was willing to baiter or bribe to get it.

So there was nothing else to do.

She had to admit defeat.

Hey, if Mr. Charm was going to live across the hall,

she might as well get some use out of him. And if it wasn't exactly the kind of use Phoebe was even now getting out of the carpenter, well, no one but Carol had to know she felt any twinge of regret.

Starting across the room, she barely heard Quinn's nails clicking, first loudly, then muffled, as he raced across bare wood and throw rugs, keeping pace with her.

"It's okay, Quinn. We're good. We're just calling in the cavalry."

She grabbed the doorknob, threw the door open, and ... ducked—just in time to avoid Jack's knuckles, raised to knock.

Quinn growled, a low rumble of sound that almost overwhelmed the baby's cries.

Almost.

"I was just coming to see you."

Jack's gaze shot first to Quinn, then slammed back up to Carol's. "What the hell are you doing to that baby?" he demanded at the same time she spoke.

"Doing?" Carol repeated, hearing her voice climb to a note it had never reached before. Swaying and jiggling and rubbing, she glared up at him. "Well, clearly, I'm abusing her viciously. Can't you tell by how pleased I look?"

He rolled his eyes.

Wow, Carol thought. Animation. But before she had time to be thoroughly stunned, he ducked his head, stepped into her apartment, and scooped the wailing infant right out of her arms.

Silence dropped on the room.

Absolute silence.

It was eerie.

Carol yawned widely, trying to pop her ears, sure for one brief, terrifying second that she'd gone deaf. But a

heartbeat later, she was reassured by the sniffling sound the baby made as she stared up adoringly at Jack Reilly.

"You little traitor," Carol muttered. One look into those big blue eyes of Jack Reilly's and little Liz had curled up and cooed. Irritating as hell. Especially irritating because damned if she didn't want to do the same thing.

Jack held Liz cradled in one strong arm and he swayed gently from side to side, like a man who knew what he was doing. His eyebrows lifted as he inclined his head toward Carol, as if accepting a standing ovation for a role well played.

"How did you do that?" she demanded, silently figuring that if she'd done all of her pacing in a straight line, she'd probably have made it to Utah by now. But despite her every effort she hadn't been able to do in hours what Jack had done in seconds. "Come on, spill the secret. How?"

"Charisma."

Carol choked out a laugh.

"The evidence is in front of you." His lips twitched into what might have been a smile if he'd tried just a bit harder.

No doubt just as well he hadn't, Carol assured herself, since that one, brief glimpse of a not-quite smile, had done some interesting things to her blood pressure. Wow. She must be even more tired than she'd thought.

He stared at her for a long minute or two and the look in his eyes softened as one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "What?"

"You know," she said, before she could stop herself, "you're pretty cute when you're not frowning at the world."

Instantly, the scowl she was becoming so familiar

with was back in place. "And," he said, "you're not at all annoying until you open your mouth."

"You know, remarks like that will not get you a cup of coffee and a piece of cake."

He stilled. "You have cake?"

Ah, Carol, she told herself, you can really snag the men. Just bring on the baked goods and they're putty in your hands. "Chocolate."

"Sold."

"On one condition."

"I have to listen to you?"

"That, too," she admitted, then added as she leaned in and watched Liz's eyes slowly, inexorably close, "But the main one is, you have to put Liz to bed and make sure she stays asleep."

"Hmm. Listen to her scream or you talk? Quite the dilemma"

"Don't toy with me, Reilly. You're looking at a woman on the edge."

One dark eyebrow lifted again and Carol had to remind herself that he hadn't come to sweep her off her feet and into a passionate embrace. A shame, really. But in the long run, probably just as well.

"You get the cake. I'll take care of the baby," he said after a long second or two.

"I'm on it."

She turned and left him and Jack's gaze just naturally dropped to the curve of her truly excellent butt. The hem of her denim shorts was frayed and a few long, white threads fell against her tanned thighs as she walked into the kitchen. Her T-shirt was short and Jack caught tantalizing, mouth-watering glimpses of her sleekly tanned back as she moved with a grace that was smooth and easy and, he thought, all too intriguing.

She hit the light switch and he blinked against the sudden brightness.

Jack had had no intention of sticking around Carol Baker's place. One, it was the middle of the night and, two, he didn't think it was a smart move to spend too much time with a woman he'd already noticed smelled like springtime. Now that he was noticing her thighs and the narrow span of her waist, there was even more reason for him to head for the hills.

Women like her were complications, and when a man's life was as seriously screwed as his was, one more complication just wasn't something he should be looking for.

Deliberately, then, he looked away from the bright light of the kitchen and retreated to the shadows. His apartment was laid out exactly like hers, so he went toward the short hall and took a quick right into her bedroom. He saw the crib his sister Maggie had loaned her, set up on the far side of Carol's bed, and headed for it.

A slash of moonlight speared through the window, illuminating the darkness enough that he didn't trip over the quilt rack Carol kept at the foot of her bed. Or stumble into the little stool sitting in front of an old-fashioned dressing table and mirror. In the pale wash of light, he noticed the framed landscapes on the wall, the antique quilt covering the queen-sized bed, and the Tiffany-style shade on the bedside lamp. Her closet doors were open and he saw that her clothes were as organized as her shop. There was a lot of stuff in the room, but somehow, it didn't look messy. Everything was neat and tidy and ... cozy.

Unlike his own place across the hall, which was... serviceable. But then, his place wasn't a home, was it? He wasn't surrounding himself with memories and scraps of his past, as Carol so obviously was. In fact, he was doing

everything he could to completely forget about his past.

Which would be a hell of a lot easier if he could just get through a whole night without dreaming about it. Like most other nights, that recurring nightmare had had him up and pacing his apartment like a caged animal. He walked because he couldn't sit still under the onslaught of images racing through his brain. He stayed awake because in sleep, came pain. And he was here, in Carol's apartment, because dealing with a screaming infant was still better than being left alone in the past.

The baby squirmed in his grasp, and with that gentle movement, she dragged him back to the matter at hand. Just for a second or two, he stared down at the baby and smiled. Her dark hair was just a dark wispy promise and her tiny mouth puckered and worked like she was sucking on a bottle. Her long, dark eyelashes brushed her cheeks and her little chin wobbled as her mouth worked.

"You're a cutie, aren't you?" he whispered, running his finger along her cheek. "You ought to take it easy on Baker, though," he said, one corner of his mouth tipping up. "She's doing her best."

The baby yawned hugely and Jack grinned. "Apparently, I'm boring you."

He'd always had a gift with babies. They just seemed to like him for some reason. When his little sister Peggy was born, no one in the house could make her stop crying—except Jack. His father had called it the magic touch.

Magic touch.

Yeah, like Midas in reverse, Jack thought. One touch from him and his world turned to shit. Shaking his head,

he reached over the bars of the crib and laid the baby down on the freshly ironed sheets.

"Liz," he whispered as he drew up the soft blanket to cover her. Lizardbaby. Shaking his head, he asked himself, What kind of woman comes up with something like that? He chuckled softly, amused in spite of himself. Carol Baker was different. Intriguing.

But even as he thought it, he told himself it wasn't that he was thinking about Carol, so much as he was trying not to think about himself.

Christ, he'd been thinking about nothing but himself and his own problems for the last two years. Even he'd had enough of him.

Carol stood in the open doorway and watched him as he studied the baby. The slant of moonlight defined his silhouette as he leaned in to cover Liz with a blanket and something inside her shifted at his tenderness. What was it about the image of a strong man with a baby that could stab at a woman's heart?

"Is she asleep?"

He turned, and even though his face was in shadow, she felt the power of his gaze lock onto her. The night seemed suddenly darker and more intimate. Moonlight shimmered behind him. She heard him breathing, felt the tension radiating from him in waves of heat that reached for her from across the room. Her insides jumped and her pulse raced. A swirl of something dark and hot and needy opened up deep within her and Carol swallowed hard.

"Yeah," he said after several long heartbeats of time passed.

"Good," Carol whispered, squeezing the single word through a throat tight enough to strangle her. "Thanks."

He nodded and she wished she could see his features, read his eyes. Then she might know if he was feeling the same, surprising sense of... expectation that was spi-raling through her. And if she could, she asked herself, what then?