The Baby Battle Page 6
On this night, the sweet wood-smoke-flavored air was nippy, but not too cold. An owl had taken up residence in one of the trail’s oaks.
Only a few of the cabins had lights on inside, meaning that for the most part, they had the resort to themselves.
Mounting the lodge’s rear steps, Olivia forced a deep breath. “Did you rent your own cabin?”
“Right after you settled into yours.”
Mulling on that, Olivia made obligatory pleasantries with a teenage hostess/waitress who told them to take their pick of the dozens of mostly empty tables.
Tag deferred to her judgment, so Olivia picked an out-of-the-way alcove far from the room’s other diners.
Once they were seated, the waitress brought menus and water. “Sorry, but in the off season, our selection’s pretty limited. If you’re hungry for breakfast, we can hook you up, but the only things we have for dinner are meat loaf, stuffed green peppers and spaghetti. Mashed potatoes and green beans come with everything.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said.
Tag echoed the sentiment. Once the bubbly blonde was out of earshot, he leaned across the table. “So much for the steak I’ve been craving.”
“Meat loaf isn’t your thing?” Olivia asked.
“Not unless it’s Grandma’s.” He squeezed the lemon that had been catching a ride on the lip of his water glass.
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. Myrtle is ninety-three and still mows her own lawn with a hand-pushed reel lawn mower.” After stirring the lemon into his water, he added, “Of course, her lawn is the size of a doormat, but still, I’m impressed every time she asks me to haul the thing out of her garage.”
“She’s in Little Rock?”
He shook his head. “Tucson. It makes my mother crazy. Still, we visit every chance we get.”
“What do they think about your news?”
“You mean about Flynn?” He shrugged. “Truth is, they don’t know. Till I held the little guy in my arms, I didn’t want to get their hopes up. Losing Maria wasn’t just hard on me, but the whole family. She was like the sun that our solar system revolved around.” Fingering the edge of the menu, he said, “Sounds corny, but none of us are the same without her.”
Eyes misty with unshed tears, he feigned great interest in the resort’s limited menu.
Olivia did the same.
Myrtle sounded amazing. Like a woman she would very much like to meet. Strange, but she hadn’t given much thought to the fact that by denying Tag his rightful custody of Flynn, she was also denying his family their heritage. Flynn, his heritage. Yes, he had her side of the family, but how much richer would his life be with two sets of loving grandparents doting on him.
“Okay?” her dining companion asked, having regained his composure.
Swallowing the all-too-familiar knot in her throat, she nodded. “I’m thinking the cheese omelet and toast seem the safest way to go. How about you?”
“I’m a risk taker,” he said with much playful bravado. “Gotta go with the meat loaf.”
TAG, A FORMER MARINE, had had gunshots wounds that hurt less than this! Puking for what felt like the hundredth time in a row, he’d have killed for a Sprite. However, thanks to Olivia, who would henceforth be known as Ms. Runaway, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere in a cold, creaky hut that was half the size of hers and not nearly as nice.
Inching from the bathroom to the phone, he called her cabin. It rang about twenty times before she answered. “Hello?”
“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Tag. Sorry to bug you, but I’m over here dying from the killer meat loaf and wondering if you have a Sprite?”
“Oh, no. I told you to stick with a nice, safe egg.”
“Look,” he managed while holding another dry heave at bay, “spare the lecture for the morning. Did you happen to see a vending machine anywhere on the grounds?”
“Yes. Let me bundle up Flynn and I’ll be right over.”
“Bless you. Oh—and if a miracle box of saltines fell from the sky, that would also be welcome.”
Ten minutes later a knock that sounded more like a series of kicks landed on his cabin door. Before he summoned the power to move, it groaned open. Management really needed to invest in a can of WD-40.
Olivia appeared like an angel dressed in burgundy paisley pj’s and a black satin robe. Lord, even in the dead of night she looked ready for court. Working in her favor, though, was the fact that she presented two cans of cold Sprite and a fistful of individually wrapped crackers.
“You’re a saint,” he said, gripping his screaming stomach.
“No.” She set Flynn’s carrier next to the sofa, then foraged in the kitchenette for a glass and ice. “What I am is horrible for dragging you out here.”
“Forget it,” he said after the first delicious sip. “Crap happens. I forgive you. Where’d you find the saltines?”
“Alongside the vending machines was a small snack station. At this time of night the coffee would probably kill you faster than the meat loaf, but the crackers looked safe.”
“Mmph…they’re amazing. Thank you.”
Olivia graced him with a cautious smile.
“What?” he asked after another swig of soda.
“It’s just interesting to see this vulnerable side of you. It’s nice—not that I wanted to see you sick, but…”
“I know what you mean. We have spent a lot of time in battle.” Easing back on the sofa, he asked, “Have you much experience with nursing guys back to health?”
“Some.” Was it his imagination, or did her sudden obsession with Flynn’s hat signal she’d like to change the subject? Selfishly, Tag didn’t care. He needed to know what made a beautiful, successful woman turn to a sperm donor to have a child.
“Care to elaborate?” he probed.
“No, but thanks for asking.” Her exaggerated smile didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.
“Are we agreed that you running off after the judge’s verdict was a tactical mistake?”
“Yes,” she said, eyes narrowed, tone wary.
“Then, seeing how I agreed to keep your secret, you kind of owe me, right?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Something about the late hour, the weakened state his body was in, made him incapable of B.S. “I want to know why you didn’t have a baby the old-fashioned way.”
Standing, her cool, controlled lawyer mask in place, she said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. See you in the morning.”
“Will you, Liv?” He stood, as well. “Are you planning to run again? Should I take your car keys?”
Turning her back on him, she spat out, “You’re not only being ridiculous, but insulting.”
He shrugged.
“We might share a child, Tag, but that’s it. I don’t owe you my soul.”
“Did I say you did? I just asked a simple question. You’re the one getting all bent out of shape.”
UPON RETURNING to her cabin, Olivia nursed Flynn, changed his diaper, then tucked him back into his crib.
Lying in her own bed, she closed her eyes, but just kept seeing Tag. Who did he think he was, grilling her like that?
Her reasons for choosing to be a single mom were none of his business.
Outside, wind clattered branches against the windows. The owl was back to doing his thing. The darkness was a little too complete, making her wonder why she’d chosen such a remote locale to run off to. A luxurious high-rise Dallas hotel would have been a much better choice. Maybe then she and Flynn might have gotten lost in a crowd.
Then what? her conscience interjected.
Tag had been right on one thing—she couldn’t run forever. But she also couldn’t stand any more of his pointed questions. Why? Honestly, because they hurt too badly. They reminded her of the relationship she’d thought had been perfection. Her former fiancé, Phil, had been everything she’d ever wanted in a man. Tall and blond and handsome, so handsome. A fellow attorney, he’d always seemed to
know the right thing to say, no matter the circumstances.
Even on the night he’d shattered her heart.
Weary of reminiscing about matters she would never fully understand, she pushed back her covers and padded barefoot to stand in front of the dying fire. Glowing embers cast a comforting glow, but the radiant heat only brought on a fresh wave of matters best forgotten.
The August night she’d found Phil making love with her supposed friend, Dena, had been sweltering. Then a defense attorney at the prestigious D.C. firm of Wright, Patterson and Long, Olivia had just won a groundbreaking case. Phil had thrown a surprise party in her honor. Their Georgetown, turn-of-the-century brick bayfront had been packed to the rafters with friends and business associates. Aerosmith and rum punch were flowing—though Olivia hadn’t touched a drop of the latter.
In what was not one of her finer moments but an awful lot of fun, Olivia had been dancing on the coffee table with her secretary and one of the firm’s law clerks. Life had never been sweeter, and when throbbing rock faded into a slow song, she’d wanted the man who was to be her husband in just four short weeks to hold her in his arms.
Their wedding, to be held at the Mount Vernon Inn, would be divine. Their Fiji honeymoon even better. Even Olivia had to occasionally pinch herself in fear that her life’s perfection was but a dream.
After a thorough search of the house had netted zero results in finding Phil, she’d ventured outside to the candlelit patio. The center cherub fountain was tinkling, fragrant wisteria was still in bloom. Since she’d discovered she was pregnant, the flowers’ sweet scent turned her stomach. Ignoring the rush of nausea, she ventured down the garden’s winding stone path. In the yard’s far corner was a small pagoda, looking out over a reflecting pond. Phil had had it installed as a housewarming gift for her when they’d first purchased the home. Careful not to stumble in the dark on the stones’ uneven surfaces, she called out, “Phil?”
No answer.
Rounding a Chinese maple, the feathery leaves brushing her cheek, she grasped the handrail of the bridge gracefully arching over the pond. “Phil!”
A giggle?
Oops. Was she on the verge of disturbing a tryst? Ken and Marlene had been dating forever. Had Ken finally found the cojones to propose? Excited for her friend, Olivia stepped off the bridge, only to see a flash of bare skin.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in front of the pagoda, shielding her eyes. “Please carry on. I’m just looking for Phil.”
“Olivia…” a man said.
She froze. “Phil? Is that you?”
“FORGIVE ME?” Tag, still a little sore but otherwise on the mend, took the empty seat across from Olivia. The lodge’s dining room was surprisingly full, leading him to the conclusion that even the locals knew the only safe time to eat here was breakfast.
“For what?” Olivia snapped, not looking up from her Little Rock Gazette.
Flynn lounged in his carrier, happily gumming a pink rubber hippo.
Tag blanched at his son’s fascination with such a feminine toy. “In the future, could we please stick with blue teething devices?”
Olivia rolled her eyes.
“Anyway,” he said, turning over one of three spare coffee mugs on the table and helping himself to the fragrant brew in the carafe, “I feel bad for some of the things I said last night. Can we make a fresh start?”
For the longest time she just stared at him. Only then did he notice the dark circles under her eyes. “If by fresh start you intend to stay out of my personal business, then yes. By all means, I’m for it.”
“Ouch.” Stirring cream into his coffee, he said, “You are one tough cookie.”
Eyes closed, hand to her forehead, she said, “Forgive me, but thanks to a certain lughead who ordered the meat loaf, I was up half the night.”
“I resemble that statement.” Grinning, Tag hefted Flynn into his arms, blowing a raspberry on his neck. The baby erupted in a fit of giggles. “So what should we do today? The sun’s shining. Since it’s pretty, want to find a nice rock and lounge like a couple of turtles?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a very strange man?”
“For the record, I’m actually pretty popular.”
Eyebrows raised, she asked, “With whom?”
“Most everyone on the planet but you.” He winked, then consulted the laminated menu tucked behind the sugar shaker. “Okay, little man, what’s it going to be?”
“I’ve only introduced him to organic fruits. Please don’t feed him toast or anything. His one tooth couldn’t handle it.”
“And you think I’m strange?” To his son, he said, “We need to get you out more. There’s a whole world of good, gummable stuff out there you need to try.” When tickling Flynn’s stomach brought on a drooling grin, Tag’s heart swelled to a degree he hadn’t believed possible since losing Maria. Debbie Downer across the table was a drag, but his son was just about the best-looking kid he’d ever seen. “When your momma’s not looking, we’ll get ice cream and chili-cheese dogs. Maybe even chocolate frosting right out of the tub.”
Flynn giggled with an excited bounce.
“You’re a bad influence already.” Holding her arms out, Olivia said, “Hand him over. Everyone knows it’s not good for an infant to have this much stimulation so early in the morning.”
Ignoring the warden, Tag jiggled Flynn. “Who’s the man?” he teased in a singsong tone. “Flynn’s the man. Yes, you—”
The little man opened his mouth and spewed his breakfast all over Tag’s white oxford shirt.
Without a word spoken, Olivia’s satisfied look said it all.
“I know,” he said, mopping his boy’s face with a wad of paper napkins. “You told me so.”
She laughed. “Not that I’m happy you got thrown up on, but I know my own son.”
Had a buddy ralphed on him, Tag would’ve been ticked, but something about having his own son do it made it quite all right—especially since Tag himself had jiggled it out of him. “How about next time you tell me the reasoning behind your rule? That way, I won’t be so determined to break it.”
“Will do.” She folded her newspaper and reached into a blue diaper bag she’d stashed on the seat beside her. Setting a travel-size box of diaper wipes on the table, she said, “Let me take him so you can run to your cabin for a quick change.”
“Thanks,” he said, handing over his son. “But alas, due to the nature of my abrupt departure, I have no other clothes.”
She at least had the grace to redden. “They sell T-shirts in the lobby. My treat?”
“I’ll take you up on that offer.” While she fished in her wallet and pulled out a twenty, he stood.
Pocketing the money he ordinarily wouldn’t have taken, he said, “Thanks. This covers about one-thirtieth of the expenses I’ve incurred to chase you.”
In the lobby, from the same woman who’d checked him in, he bought an extra-large green Rolling Rock Resort T-shirt featuring a brown cabin on the front and a trout on the back.
“You know the lady with the baby?” she asked, pointing toward Olivia.
“Yes, ma’am.” He squared his shoulders with pride. “We share a son.”
“You’re married?”
“No, ma’am.”
Making a face, she said, “I don’t understand.”
“It’s complicated.” He took out his wallet. “Do you have another one of these shirts in a baby size?”
Apparently still mulling over his relationship with Olivia, she silently took a shirt from the shelf behind her.
Once he’d paid and she’d given him his change, she said, “You all aren’t in my cabins alone after dark, are you? It’s plainly stated on the rules on the back of the cabin doors that late-night commingling of unmarried guests isn’t permitted. We run a family establishment here.”
“Trust me,” he said with a wink. “There shall be no co-anything going on with that woman. She’s like ice. Brrr.”
Back at the table, wearing his dorky green shirt and black suit pants, Tag presented his son with his first gift. “I thought it might be fun if we match.”
Olivia looked at the shirt and then at Tag before laughing. “You’ll look like the Jolly Green Giant and his mini-me.”
“Who cares?” he said, more than a little miffed that as usual, she was spoiling his fun. “Hand over our kid.”
She did, and while it was tough getting Flynn’s damp red shirt over his head, Tag managed. Getting the T-shirt back on the baby was even tougher. Man, but the kid could squirm.
Finished and exhausted, Tag asked, “How do you manage?”
“What?”
“Caring for Flynn on your own? I mean, who comes to your rescue when you get spit up on?”
Returning the wipes to the diaper bag, she froze. Was she so focused on doing everything herself that it had never even occurred to her that she might need help? “I guess I’ve never needed rescuing. I’ve read enough on the subject that the whole baby thing wasn’t daunting.”
Eyes narrowed, he asked, “Is that your ego answering or your heart?”
Chapter Six
“Why is it,” Olivia asked, “that I’m the lawyer, yet you’re the one who’s always contentious?”
Flynn began to fuss, so Tag passed him across the table. “See? I’m more than happy to share.”
She held Flynn to her chest, breathing him in.
“But back to my question. I mean, just looking at Flynn rocks me to my core. It floors me to see you sitting there, so utterly unaffected by his magic.”
Leaning forward, she said, “How dare you say such a thing when I jeopardized my entire life to keep from having to share him? Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve doesn’t mean I’m an uncaring person. It just means there are certain matters I prefer to keep private.”
The waitress came with Olivia’s meal, but her appetite was gone.