The Baby Battle Read online

  “Oh.” Heat rose in his face. He’d tried the gentleman thing by averting his gaze, but the image of her sweetly rounded derriere had been seared into his brain. “I, ah, made you breakfast in bed, but it looks like you’re already up, huh?”

  Grinning and shaking her head, she said, “You sound like a fourth grader who accidentally walked into the girls’ bathroom. It’s all right, Tag. Living together like we do, a situation like this was bound to happen.”

  “Yeah, but…” And since he didn’t have much else to say other than the fact that he felt like a fourth grader, he laughed. Damn, but she’d looked hot without pants. “Okay, so you got me. Anyway, when you’re ready, here’s something to eat.”

  “Thanks. It smells delicious.”

  “As opposed to the establishments you pick out,” he teased, “I go first class.”

  “Ha-ha.” Gazing down at Flynn in his crib, smoothing his wild hair, she said, “Rolling Rock wasn’t that bad.”

  “You didn’t eat the meat loaf.” Though the banter was lighthearted, Tag had the strangest pang in his chest. An odd craving had begun right around the time he’d seen Liv smile. Yes, her body was smoking hot, but beyond that, he was growing perilously attracted to every part of her. Not good. He wasn’t in the market for a fling.

  She scooped Flynn into her arms, careful not to upend the breakfast tray, and sat at the head of the bed. “Before I eat, this guy needs to be fed.”

  Looking away, he asked, “Want me to leave?”

  “Actually, it’s nice having company. During my breast-feeding classes, all the videos showed the attentive husband hovering, ready to grant his wife’s every need. Going through all of this on my own has been bittersweet.”

  “I can imagine. There are a lot of firsts I would have liked to share. Was your delivery tough?”

  “Indescribable.” Her expression clouded. “After fifteen hours of labor, I had an emergency C-section. I had a friend with me, but even after Flynn was born, it took a while to feel up to my normal speed.”

  Longing washed through him. Flynn was his child. Tag would’ve liked to have been there for Liv. He sat hard on one of a pair of floral upholstered wing chairs.

  “Now that this angel’s here, though, I’d go through it again in a heartbeat.”

  With the only sound breaking the room’s heavy silence being his son’s occasional soft suckle, Tag asked, “Do you ever feel resentment toward me?”

  “Initially,” she admitted, “when I thought you were out to take Flynn from me.”

  “I get that.” He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m talking about my not being there during your pregnancy. It had to be tough. Going it alone.”

  She looked down, stroking Flynn’s cheek. “It was. But I made the choice. I knew from the start that was the way it had to be.”

  “Yes, but does it anger you that it didn’t have to be? I mean, all along I’ve been right here, Liv. Do you ever wish that quack lab would’ve let us in on this snafu in your first trimester?”

  “As I’ve already explained, Tag, I didn’t want a man in my life. That’s why I opted for artificial insemination. You’re acting as if we were a couple and you feel guilty that you couldn’t be with me, but you and I both know that’s just not how it was.”

  True. So why now was a part of him wishing that was how it could have been?

  TAG AND OLIVIA SHARED the living-room sofa.

  Part-time nanny candidate number six had centered herself on the love seat. Her nose ring featured a dangling pink Hello Kitty charm. Otherwise, she was all business in a formfitting black business suit and red tie that matched the red streak in her long, otherwise black hair.

  Leaning in close to Olivia, Tag whispered, “Tell me again why your Mrs. Troyer won’t just move in with us?”

  “Could you at least try behaving?” Olivia elbowed Tag hard to his ribs. Clearing her throat, she asked nineteen-year-old Tabitha, “What makes you qualified for this job?”

  “I graduated a year early from high school with honors, and am currently a junior in premed at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. I eventually plan to specialize in pediatrics, but until then I like to spend as much time as possible with toddlers and infants. I’m the recipient of numerous prestigious scholarships, a member of Mensa and have excellent references—including one from the chief of staff at St. Vincent hospital.”

  Wow. Olivia elbowed Tag again, this time for a happy reason. “Tabitha, thank you so much for coming. Please leave your reference sheet, and I have a feeling we’ll be calling you soon.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” the girl said, rising and bobbing her head with a quirky nod.

  After showing the teen to the door, Olivia returned to find Tag in the kitchen eating a fudgsicle. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” With a playful poke to his stomach, she said, “Can you believe our luck? She’s perfect.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” The speck of fudge on his chin made him look younger than their nanny candidate.

  “What’s the problem? She’s flawless.”

  “She’s pierced!”

  “And you obviously judge books by their covers, but—”

  “Don’t go there,” he said, slamming his fudge wrapper in the undercounter trash. “I will not have my son watched by a punk rocker.”

  “News flash—Flynn is our son, and assuming Tabitha’s references check out, I can’t imagine finding anyone more suitable.”

  Deep into her personal space, he clamped his hand to her forehead.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, stepping a few feet back.

  “Checking you for fever.”

  “Now you’re just being insulting.” Turning her back on him, she returned to the living room, where she’d left the baby monitor on the coffee table.

  “Oh,” he said, close on her heels, “and your cracks about my character-assessment skills—or lack thereof—aren’t the least bit offensive?”

  Hands on her hips, Olivia raised her chin. “Not if they happen to be true.”

  “Listen up, Ms. Punk Rocker Lover, the day I—”

  Flynn’s wail made it clear that he didn’t care who was watching him, just as long as they changed his diaper ASAP.

  Much to Olivia’s dismay, Tag beat her up the stairs and to their son’s crib. “What’s the problem, big guy?”

  The infant cried all the harder.

  Tag hefted Flynn from his crib, only to blanch. “Whew. Smells like you dropped a stinky egg.”

  Olivia frowned.

  “What?” Tag asked, already headed for the changing table. “You mean to tell me you don’t mind dye-haired, pierced sitters, but potty humor’s unacceptable?”

  “You’re totally missing my point.” While Tag unsnapped Flynn’s pale blue shirt, Olivia took a diaper from the stack on the table’s middle shelf. “What kind of message would we be sending if we teach our son to judge people by the way they look?”

  “That wasn’t any old ordinary look,” Tag said, expertly removing Flynn’s diaper. In the past few days he’d practiced. “But I see where you’re coming from.”

  “So you’ll agree to at least give Tabitha a try?” Olivia handed Tag a warmed wipe.

  “If you’ll agree to let my secretary check the girl’s references. Alice knows everyone in town. If the kid’s not on the up-and-up, she’ll sniff it out.”

  “Agreed,” Olivia said, wrapping the old diaper and putting it in the trash. “But when Tabitha does turn out to have a flawless background, I want a formal apology.”

  Tag’s only answer was a grunt.

  Chapter Ten

  “Does it taste okay?” Olivia asked Tag Sunday afternoon, holding out a spoonful of baked beans. His parents, along with her aunt and uncle, were due any minute for supper. Though Easter was still nearly a month away, she’d baked a ham and Tag had helped her make all the trimmings. Candied yams, homemade potato salad and strawberry sho
rtcake for dessert.

  “Delicious,” Tag said, pinching Flynn’s bare toes.

  The baby sat in his high chair in the midst of all the cooking mayhem.

  When he thought she wasn’t looking, Tag fished out a mini-serving of sauce for Flynn. He gummed and giggled and kicked.

  “I saw that,” Olivia said, also seeing the goopy brown mess all over her son’s chin.

  “He likes your cooking.”

  Scowling, she said, “What he likes is the sugar, which, as you well know, he’s not supposed to have.”

  “Who appointed you the health police?”

  “Flynn’s birth certificate,” she said as she added diced celery to the potato salad. “Now, while I finish setting the table, would you mind dressing Flynn in something presentable?”

  “What’s wrong with him? He’s adorable.” The baby wore jeans and a red polo, but he didn’t have shoes or socks on and his hair and face were a mess.

  “For an occasion like this, he needs to be beyond adorable.”

  “Like me?” Tag asked, stepping up from behind her to kiss her cheek. Though she needed to be putting flowers on the table and double-checking the glaze on the ham, she instead put her hand to her cheek.

  “W-what was that for?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, reddening and then sharply looking away. “I wasn’t thinking. More than you know, I appreciate you putting on such a nice spread for my folks.” Tag scooped Flynn from his high chair. “Anything special in mind for our little heartbreaker to wear? Or do you just want me to clean him up?”

  With her mind still foggy from Tag’s kiss, she could hardly remember her name, let alone the specifics of Flynn’s wardrobe. “Um, surprise me.”

  “Will do.” Taking Flynn’s arm, he helped the baby salute. The move was corny, ridiculous and so cute Olivia felt as if her heart were caught in her throat.

  “THERE’S MY CUPCAKE,” Olivia’s aunt Caroline crooned, getting all up in Flynn’s face. Tag couldn’t tell whether their son was happy about this or needed to burp. For his mission to make the baby more presentable, Tag had found railroad-striped overalls that he’d put over Flynn’s red shirt. He added the red high-top sneakers Liv had told him about, gave his face a quick scrub and, voilà, his son was a masterpiece.

  If only the same could be said for the pudding in Tag’s brain. Kissing Liv had been an impulse he hadn’t thought through. One thing was for sure, though—it wouldn’t happen again.

  They sat in the living room, sharing embarrassing childhood stories and an after-dinner round of tea and coffee. Olivia’s meal had been a great success. All present raved about her cooking skills.

  “He’s not a cupcake,” Uncle Brian complained. “A manly man like him is more like a truck.”

  “I agree,” Tag said. “He’s getting to an age where we need to lay off the girlie stuff.”

  While Olivia’s aunt and uncle sorted out nicknames, Tag’s mother pulled him aside.

  “He truly is beautiful,” she said, standing next to the baby grand piano, tears glistening in her eyes. “I can’t believe we’ve already missed so much of his life.”

  “I know,” Tag said, trying not to sneeze from the heavy scent of the lilies that Olivia had placed in vases all over the house, “but no more. Olivia and I are committed to raising him together.”

  His mother clapped. “Then you are getting married. Oh, your father will be thrilled. Me, too.”

  Brow furrowed, Tag asked, “How can you infer marriage out of a simple commitment to our son?”

  “What else would you have meant?” His mom leaned over to sniff the flower arrangement on the piano. Gold from a lily’s stamen brushed onto her nose.

  “Mom,” he said, gesturing to the streak, “you’ve got something—”

  “Don’t try changing the subject, Taggart. When can I take your future bride out to pick china? And I’ll need to reserve space at the country club for the reception.”

  Loosening the tie that was suddenly choking the life out of him, Tag said in a low tone, “You know how I feel about this. There isn’t going to be a wedding. Ever.”

  “Tag, it’s been three years since Maria’s death. She would want you to go on. Especially with the mother of your son. No one was a bigger fan of family than your wife, and it would break her heart that you’re not even giving Olivia a chance.”

  “Just stop, okay?” Sighing, he stared out the window at the river churning at the bluff’s base. It was raining and the rivulets running down the windows marred the usual expansive view. “Olivia feels the same as I do. That what we share is a love for our son. Nothing more.”

  “Then she’s lying.” Tag’s mom put her hand on his navy suit’s lapel, swiping at invisible lint. “At the table, when you said grace with Flynn in your arms, your father and I saw the look of adoration in her eyes. I understand you’re still hurting over Maria, but honey, you owe it not only to yourself, but your son, to at least explore a genuine relationship with Olivia.”

  Aggravated by his parents’ interference in his life—even if they meant well—Tag clenched his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret.

  “Great party,” Tag’s father said, strolling up with a bowl of potato salad in hand.

  “Charles, you just finished dinner.”

  “And?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.

  Tag’s mother shook her head.

  Tag was so annoyed by her buttinsky questions that he didn’t even tell her she still had lily pollen all over her nose.

  “I’M EXHAUSTED,” Liv declared once they’d made their goodbyes to their guests.

  Tag watched as she kicked off her brown leather sandals and collapsed on the living-room sofa. The flowery dress she wore was a pretty change from her usual staid business attire. She’d worn her auburn hair up in a formal knot, but she now released it, sending it tumbling about her freckled chest.

  Flynn had long since crashed in the playpen they’d set up in a quiet corner of the room.

  Leaning her head back, Liv closed her eyes, exposing the elegant column of her throat. She was a stunning woman. The polar opposite of Maria’s dark, petite beauty. His mother’s assessment of Liv’s hidden feelings for him had caught him off guard. In the short time they’d been together, he’d developed a great affection for her. But it was based upon nothing more than their mutual love of Flynn.

  “Me, too,” he said, hovering with his hands in his pockets on the other side of the room.

  “Huh?” She cocked one eye open.

  “You said you were tired?” he reminded her. “I’m agreeing.”

  She laughed. “You must be sleepy, since you waited like five minutes to even reply.”

  “It hasn’t been anywhere near five minutes,” he argued.

  “You’re horrible with time,” she said. “So how would you even know?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He joined her on the sofa. When she shifted to allow him extra room, he snagged her ankles, pulling her feet onto his lap for a rub.

  “That feels heavenly,” she said with a contented groan. “But back to the subject—you’re chronically late.”

  “Am not,” he protested, making sure to press extra deep on her arches because she’d complained of them giving her trouble when she stood in heels all day in court.

  “When we were at Rolling Rock, you said you’d be right over to pick us up from our cabin. It took you seven minutes.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “And when we showed up with all of our boxes at your house, and you’d called my cell to tell me you’d be right home to let me in, how long did it actually take?” Her grin showed lots of teeth and the dimples that came out only when she was especially relaxed.

  “Hey, the only reason I was late was because I stopped to get your favorite flavor of ice cream.”

  “Oops.” She at least had the good grace to blush.

  Moving his massage to her ankles, and then silky calves, he said, “That’s right.
Score one for me, and minus ten for you.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” he said with a wink, skimming his hand along her calf. Her skin felt so good. Good enough to turn his platonic thank-you massage into something neither would want. Gently moving her legs while easing off the sofa, he continued, “It effectively changed the subject without you even realizing what happened.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Probably,” he admitted, “but you’re stuck with me, so what’re you going to do?”

  LYING IN BED THAT NIGHT, Flynn softly snoring in his crib, the central heating humming, Olivia couldn’t keep from analyzing Tag’s seemingly carefree statement. For all practical purposes, she was stuck with him. But interestingly enough, far from feeling stuck, the more time they spent together, the more fun she had.

  Now that she’d gotten used to it, the rambling house was amazing. The kitchen inspiring. The movie room entertaining. The enormous tub she’d once poked fun at was beyond belief relaxing. Olivia had even gotten used to Maria’s ghost being everywhere she looked.

  At one point in the evening, Tag’s mother had drawn him aside. The look on his face while she’d been talking had been dark. After everyone had left, Olivia wanted to ask what had gotten him so riled up, but his massage and their playful banter had been so nice that she hadn’t wanted it to stop.

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Tag,” she said, hand to her pounding heart. “Jeez, you are always scaring the fool out of me.”

  “Sorry. Can I come in?” Though she slept with her door open, Tag stood at the room’s threshold, dressed in nothing but red pj bottoms, his bare chest illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon.