Some Kind of Wonderful Read online

  "For heaven's sake, you're not bleeding "

  He glanced up and caught her eye through the side window. "There are some things more important to a man than a slashed artery."

  "Pizza and beer?"

  "That, too."

  She smiled. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm a soprano, but I'll live."

  "Not that you're exaggerating or anything."

  That smile of hers was damn near lethal. He watched her face in the glow of the streetlights and almost wished he was a different man. But if he was a different man, he wouldn't be back in Christmas and he never would have met her, so no sense in that.

  Climbing to his feet, he glared at the big dog as it jumped out with a lunge of movement and stood beside him. The damn thing nearly hit Jack's hip. He'd never seen a dog so big. Well, except for a Great Dane ... but somehow, this dog even looked bigger than a Dane. Maybe it was the coarse, wiry gray hair that stood up on end all over his body. Like a punk rocker dog. Or maybe it was the deep rumblings of sound that kept roaring out around them. And maybe, he thought, pulling his foot out from under one huge paw, maybe it was just its weight.

  Soon, he promised himself silently, Sheriff Thompson

  would be back at the helm of Christmas where he belonged, Jack took a breath and got a grip. Hell, he'd grown up in Christmas. He could handle the place for a few more weeks. Then he'd be gone again, and from now on, he'd limit himself to weekend visits with his family. Preferably somewhere far, far away from Christmas.

  He opened the back door for Carol, and she held the baby out for him to take her. He took one step forward, the dog growled, low and throaty and with a definite threat, and he stepped back, hands in the air. Glancing at the dog first, he then looked at Carol and said, "I don't think so. Your personal guardian doesn't approve."

  "But—"

  "You take her," he said. "I'll get the stuff from the trunk."

  Carol just stared at him. She didn't think it was just because of Quinn that he'd backed off from handling the baby. For one brief second, she'd thought she saw a sheen of panic in his eyes. But that was ridiculous. He was the oldest in a family of five kids, and two of his sisters had children, so he'd had to have been around babies more than she had.

  But, now that she thought about it, she realized, he'd kept his distance from the infant from the moment he'd stepped into Phoebe's office.

  Interesting.

  But not fascinating, so she scooted inelegantly out of the car, holding the baby carefully, terrified of dropping her, and then walked around the back end of the black Mustang and headed for the house. Quinn padded right behind her, his nails clicking in a comfortable pattern against the asphalt.

  It was her habit to let her gaze sweep across the home she'd made in the last two years, and as always, the sight

  of the old Victorian filled her with a sense of... belonging. She'd carved out a space of her own in this little town. She'd planted her petunias and stock and columbine. She decorated her porch, stocked her store, and kept her Christmas lights blazing all year round.

  Comfort and coziness surrounded her every time she approached the house, and tonight, those feelings were even more profound. She held a baby, close in her arms. The slight weight and subtle warmth of its body snuggled close to her felt way too good. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to volunteer to be the emergency foster parent.

  But could she really have done anything differently? Could she, in a pitiful attempt to protect her own heart, have allowed this tiny girl to go into an anonymous nursery filled with more needy children? No. Just as she couldn't live with the fact that if she had turned her back, it would have been like the baby being abandoned twice in one night.

  A fine birthday gift.

  No, she'd had no choice, really. None at all. Oh, she wasn't an idiot. She knew this wouldn't last. She was a temporary mom. She, better than anyone, knew how the foster system worked. So she'd do her best not to get too attached to the baby she held so close to her heart. She'd try not to give in to the urge to resurrect long-dead fantasies she'd had about a family of her own.

  She took the steps quickly but Quinn still beat her to the door. He sat down and waited while she fumbled for her key, then once the door was open, he slipped first into the house as if to assure himself that all was safe.

  "We're home, little girl," she whispered and hit the light switch by the door as she stepped into the foyer. The polished wood floor gleamed. The glass covering theiramed

  Currier & Ives prints winked with reflected light and the pale, rose-colored walls looked soft and homey. The staircase on the right led to the upstairs apartments and the door on the left opened into her shop.

  She ignored the store and started up the stairs as she heard Jack coming up the walk. "It's upstairs," she said and thought she heard him mutter, "Naturally."

  Another hallway greeted her at the head of the stairs and she waited there for him. A long carpet runner decorated with fat, faded, yellow roses lined the narrow hall dividing the upstairs into two one-bedroom apartments. An iron wall sconce in the shape of a Christmas tree threw indistinct, watery light into the shadows.

  Carol stared down at the baby in her arms and her breath caught as the infant opened her eyes and looked back at her. "Hello," Carol crooned softly. "My name's Carol and I'm going to take care of you for a while if that's okay with you."

  "She's not in a position to argue, if that's what you mean," Jack said and his voice came from so close by that Carol jumped.

  She shifted her gaze from the baby to the very male man standing now at the head of the stairs. Somehow, in her hallway, in the shadows, he looked even taller and ... crabbier than he had at the clinic.

  But Carol wasn't about to let him ruin this moment. For now, for however long it lasted, she had the baby she'd once longed for. It was a gift and she was going to make the most of it.

  "You never answered me before."

  "About what?" he asked and stepped onto the top step beside her, toting the plastic bags of baby supplies.

  Carol tipped her head back to look up at him. "About the whole grumbling thing. Are you this way with

  everyone or is there something about me that brings it out in you?"

  He looked at her for a long time and she tried to read what was going on behind his eyes, but he was either a master of disguise or the light just wasn't good enough. Because in those blue depths, shadows shifted and hid whatever he might be feeling.

  "Look, it's been a long night," he said. "Can we just get the kid settled, then I'll go home and grab a quick hour or so of sleep."

  "Fine," she said and turned away. After all, it wasn't her business if he went through life with a telephone pole up his behind. 'This is my place right here." She walked up to the door on the right, painted a brilliant, cobalt blue and straightened out the little white Christmas Angel hanging on it.

  He rolled his eyes, but she ignored it.

  "Who lives there?" he asked, pointing to the red door across the hall.

  Carol glanced at it and shrugged. "No one, yet. My last tenant moved out last month."

  Jack nodded as she opened her door and let him inside.

  The scent of cinnamon and apples greeted them. Strings of tiny white lights ringed the walls at ceiling level, shining like stars in the semidarkness. Overstuffed furniture was drawn together to form a small conversation area in front of a brick fireplace, which was cold now, but held the makings for a fire. Bookcases stuffed to overflowing with well-read paperbacks lined one wall and framed prints of faraway places dotted the dark red walls.

  A tall bay window overlooked Jingle Bell Way and reflections of colored lights stained the wispy white curtains hanging there.

  "Nice," Jack said after a long minute.

  "Thanks. I like it." She led the way across the room and through an arched doorway into a kitchen that looked as though it had been last remodeled in 1940. Even the fridge was an antique.

  A chrome-legged tab
le claimed the center of the room and Jack set the bags down there as he turned in a slow circle, to get the whole image of the place. Plants. Looked like hundreds of 'em, he thought. They lined the windowsills, hung from the ceiling, decorated the worn countertops, and graced the center of the table. It was like a damn rain forest in there.

  "If the world ever runs out of oxygen, I'll know where to send everybody."

  She glanced around, then back at him and shrugged. "I like growing things."

  Quinn stepped into the room, sat down next to Jack and glared at him.

  He sighed. "Your dog have something against me?"

  "He's very protective."

  "I'm sensing that." He shot a look at the dog. Quinn never blinked. "Look, if you're set—"

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you want to get back to your mom's house "

  He winced.

  "Problem?"

  "No." But the thought of going to his mom's—when he knew without a doubt that his sister Maggie, after hearing about the abandoned baby and putting Carol temporarily in charge, had no doubt called their mother to share the news—was a little daunting. His mom would be sitting in the living room, waiting for him to fill her in on every damn detail and he'd probably never get back to sleep.

  Instantly, memories of his mother waiting up for him to get home from his dates rose up in his mind. Weird how many years had passed and some things didn't change.

  No man over twenty-five should live with his mother, Jack thought. Even temporarily.

  He pushed thoughts of Mom and the coming interrogation out of his head for the time being. "So do you need any more help with anything before I go?"

  She looked at him, then at the baby, then back at him. "I just have one question."

  "What's that?"

  Her dark brown eyes went wide and he caught a flicker of panic darting across their surfaces as she asked, "What do I do now?"

  Journal entry

  I did it.

  I had the baby and nobody knows.

  I put her in the manger and then hid in the bushes until Carol and her dog came. I knew they'd come. They always walk around at night and they always go through the square.

  Carol took the baby, just like I knew she would.

  And now I'm alone again.

  What do I do now?

  to straighten the soft terry towel she'd used as a blanket to cover the baby. "But then, this is probably only for now anyway, right? I mean, the mother will probably turn up and then—" She looked up at him again. "Then what? Would they give the baby back to her?"

  "I don't know," he said. "It would depend on a lot of things. There'll be an investigation. And she may not be found. Seems like she went to a lot of trouble to leave the baby and disappear."

  "We shouldn't be talking in front of her," Carol muttered and stepped out of her bedroom, back into the living room.

  "It's not like she's listening and taking notes," Jack countered.

  "She can hear," Carol said, but didn't really want to get back into that argument again. What was the point? He'd never admit she was right, anyway.

  Her eyes widened as she took in the changes in her apartment. A few hours ago, the place had been, as always, tidy. A place for everything and everything in its place. Good God, how often had she had that little phrase drummed into her head as a kid?

  The women in charge at the group home where she'd grown up had insisted on organization being the key to good living. Of course, when you were running a home for a dozen or more kids and were forced to work around a revolving door that spit kids in and out of the system with dizzying speed, organization was your only defense.

  And Carol had learned her lessons so well, being neat had simply become part of her nature.

  Until tonight. Now, she had a true mess on her hands. Bags of baby supplies littered the room. Disposable diapers were stacked on one end of the couch and cans of

  formula and brand-new baby bottles were lined up on the coffee table like soldiers awaiting orders. A few tiny undershirts that she'd spotted on the baby aisle at the grocery store were lying on the table along with powder, shampoo, diaper-rash ointment, and a few other things she'd simply grabbed and thrown into her shopping cart.

  Who would have guessed that babies required so much .. . equipment!

  Oh, yeah, she was perfect for this job.

  She picked up one of the undershirts and blankly studied it for a long second or two. So tiny. So incredibly small. And the baby who would wear it was so helpless. Unable to defend herself against a well-meaning-but-completely-out-of-her-depth adult.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack heading for the front door and a small curl of panic blossomed in her chest. "You're leaving?"

  "You're quick," he said. "Gotta give you that."

  She ignored the sarcasm. "You could stay a while."

  "Gonna miss me?"

  "You're crabby, but at least you know your way around a baby."

  "The oldest of five picks up a few things."

  And children who'd grown up in foster care knew exactly squat, Carol thought. The babies who'd drifted in and out of the group home had never stayed long enough for any of the older kids to connect with them. After all, everyone wanted to adopt a baby. Carol pushed old memories aside and tried bribery. "I can make you some breakfast or something ..."

  One corner of his mouth tipped up briefly. "I don't think so. If I hurry—and can avoid getting sucked into a Reilly family interrogation—I should be able to get a good ..." He checked his watch. "Fifteen, twenty minutes

  36 Maureen Child

  of sleep before sunup." He opened the door, stepped into the hall, and paused, looking at the closed door across from him.

  Carol stopped just short of walking right into him. God, he was leaving. Okay, he wasn't friendly. Or charming. Or particularly nice. But he was another grown-up, and right now she was beginning to feel just a little too much alone. Maybe she hadn't given this idea enough thought. Maybe she'd just reacted emotionally to the thought of that tiny girl being tossed into the system. Maybe, she thought finally, Lizardbaby would have been better off with someone who knew what the hell they were doing.

  "Basically," she said, "with the baby, I mean, I feed one end and change the other one."

  "Yeah." He glanced at her and that brief look from those ice blue eyes shot straight to her already ragged nerve endings and gave them a good shake. "Just don't confuse the ends and you'll be fine."

  "Great You're a regular Dr. Spock."

  "Live long and prosper"

  "Doctor Spock, not Mister Spock." Ordinarily, she might have enjoyed knowing that Jack Reilly, despite his crabbiness, obviously enjoyed sci-fi. But at the moment, she was too intent on trying to keep him there.

  "Whatever." He slid his gaze from hers, took a single long step across the hall, grabbed the doorknob of the empty apartment and opened the door.

  Surprised, Carol followed him. "What're you doing?"

  "Looking." He walked into the furnished room and hit the light switch.

  "At what?"

  "Peace."

  "Huh?" Behind her, she heard the click of Quinn's nails

  as he came out to join them. The big dog leaned against her side and Carol automatically slapped one hand to the doorjamb to hold herself—and Quinn—upright.

  She watched as Jack moved through the empty living room and kept one ear tuned to her own apartment, just in case the baby woke up.

  "You need a tenant?" Jack asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

  She stared at him, but he was already moving farther into the room, letting his gaze slide across every square inch of the place. Carol did the same thing. It wasn't quite as decked out as her own apartment, but she thought it looked cozy.

  Dark, hunter green walls with chenywood crown molding made for a traditional-looking room. Sort of an Early American gentleman's-study effect. Twin overstuffed chairs huddled in front of the brick fireplace and there were a couple of t
hrow rugs to warm up the polished oak floors. A table or two, a matching pair of Craftsman-style lamps throwing puddles of light across the room, and dozens of books crammed into custom-made bookcases completed the place. The bay window had the same view of Jingle Bell Way as her apartment, and the colored lights lining the outside of the house tossed blurred splashes of color against the glass.

  Her last tenant, Sandy Davis, had stayed a year, then moved on, and Carol was looking forward to finding someone new to rent the place. It was nice having a friendly face so close by.

  But she sure wouldn't consider Jack Reilly a 'friendly" face. Gorgeous, yes. Friendly, no. One long stare out of those icy blue eyes of his and he had her babbling even more than normal. Which probably wasn't a good thing. 'The apartment's for rent, but—"

  "Good." He cut her off before she could come up with a good reason that he shouldn't have the apartment.

  "You know," she said, talking to his back as he stalked through the hall to take a quick look at the bedroom. She knew what he saw. A bed, a dresser, and two nightstands plunked into a long, narrow room painted the same hunter green. A moment or two later, he came back through the hall, then marched across the room into the kitchen. "It's not all that peaceful here."

  Quinn followed him, his nails clicking against the floor, his low grumble of discontent rolling through the room.

  The kitchen light flashed on, spilling a shaft of bright light into the shadows.

  "Hey, watch it, you big moose," Jack muttered.

  "Quinn—" She called the dog, but since he didn't respond, he was apparently more interested in keeping an eye on Jack. Carol could hardly blame the dog. She'd been watching the man all night, herself.

  "You're sitting on my foot," Jack complained.

  Carol smiled briefly, imagining the man and dog glaring at each other. But then she realized that was just one more reason why this wouldn't work.

  "The shop's downstairs," she called out, hoping to dissuade him. "People coming and going all the time and—"

  He was opening cupboards, probably not even listening to her. Stubborn, she thought. And rude. This was her place, after all.