Hammer It Home: Powertools, Book 6 (8 page)

“No problem. They’re going to have to pick up your car anyway. Let me give them a call. I’ll have them stop then meet us at your apartment, okay? You can take a little nap while we wait.”

“Good idea.” Morgan’s eyes were already closed, her head tipped back against the rest.

Kayla shut the door, then whipped her phone out of her purse. She monitored Morgan through the glass. Speed dial had her connected to her husband in less than a second.

“Hey, sexy.”

“Dave.”

“Ah shit. It’s not
that
kind of call, huh?” He laughed. When she didn’t, he caught on. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Morgan.” She tried to explain quickly so he didn’t panic. “She’s all right. But we went to the mall, and she’s acting… Well, like Kate did at first, I guess. Crazy emotions. Tired. Sick. Cranky. Just off. I’m taking her home.”

“Joe! You’d better come down here.” Dave’s shout was muffled, as though he held the heel of his hand over the mouthpiece.

They arranged for the guys to swing by to collect Morgan’s car and the supplies. Kayla pressed her hand to the butterflies in her stomach. If she felt this unsteady, Morgan must be a mess. She said goodbye and wrapped their call quickly, jogging to the driver’s side and slipping in. Only then did she realize she hadn’t told Dave she loved him like she usually did when they spoke. There’d be plenty of time tonight to make sure he realized how much she appreciated his reliability. No matter what, he always made her feel safe.

“Okay, everything’s set. A half hour or so, and all will be just fine. You’ll see.” Kayla rambled the rest of the way home though Morgan never once responded. Dozing or not, she seemed to relax at the news of her husband’s impending arrival.

Kayla could definitely relate.

Joe dodged the headlock Dave attempted to put him in. Noogies wouldn’t relieve the knots in his guts.

“Looks like you’re going to be a dad, buddy. Your wild days are done.”

“Huh. Not if I have anything to say about that.” Mike saved Joe from Dave and Neil, who danced around him, whooping, tossing light punches and hollering. “Guys. Tone it down until we know something for sure.”

“Thanks.” Joe bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. He couldn’t stand it if they all had to go through the disappointment he’d endured for close to a year. Too many false alarms had him on edge. Could this be the time? Terrified to hope, he couldn’t squash the spark of optimism catching fire inside him.

“You got it.” Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “You and Dave head out. We’ll be right behind you as soon as we stash the supplies inside. Don’t need any of this lumber walking off before we get back tomorrow morning.”

Sounding like a broken record but not caring, Joe said, “Thanks,” again.

His lips were numb and his fingers beat an irregular rhythm on his ripped jeans as he loped to Dave’s truck. His wingman never strayed from his side. The rest of the crew cheered them on, shouting good luck in their wake.

Joe reached Dave’s monster black pickup first. He didn’t ask before opening the driver’s side door. Without something to do he’d go crazy by the time they reached their wives. The pair piled into the cab. Dave tossed the keys across the bench seat. Joe snagged them in one hand, jammed them in the ignition and backed out of the new paver driveway they’d laid last week fast enough to chirp the tires. “Whoa there buddy, no sense in wrecking now. Things are finally going your way, remember?”

The click of Dave’s seatbelt echoed in the space between them.

Joe nodded, taking a shaky breath. He fastened his own harness, then moderated his speed to something he wouldn’t go to jail for if a cop spotted him.

“It’s gonna work out, Joe.” Dave slapped Joe’s thigh hard enough to leave a bold handprint beneath the denim. “This time next year, you’re gonna be exhausted, broke and wrapped around your kid’s eensy-weensy finger. I have a feeling.”

The big man had pulled his psychic shit one too many times for his friends to dismiss his intuition easily. Somehow that only accelerated the pounding of Joe’s heart. What if… “Dave?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Am I ready?”

Raucous laughter ricocheted around the truck. “Kind of late to wonder that, isn’t it?”

Joe couldn’t answer past the tightness of his lips.

“Shit, shit. Sorry.” Dave rubbed his flat belly. “Right. You’re not joking. This is like me freaking out at my wedding, remember?”

“No. I mean, yes. I remember. But they’re nothing alike.” Joe took his eyes from the road long enough to laser a stare at Dave. “That was ridiculous bullshit. Standing there at the edge of the resort, waiting for Kayla, you lost your mind. Babbled like a crazy man. Not good enough, not rich enough, not hung enough. Whatever. That last one killed me, by the way. How much bigger could one cock get?”

“Exactly.” Dave shifted his muddy boots on the thick rubber mat. “Not my finest moment. Don’t pull that shit on me now. You’re going to be a kickass father. And if you’re really lucky, you’ll have a son so you can rub it in Mike’s face.”

Joe couldn’t help but laugh. As usual, his friends knew exactly the right thing to do to shake things into perspective. He flipped on the turn signal, taking the exit to the artsy-fartsy mall the girls preferred over the department stores he’d have frequented. In, out, done—unless he was picking out something special for Morgan.

Maybe he should have gotten her a present just in case. He’d work on a surprise for her after they verified… After it was really real.

But in his heart, he knew Dave was right.

He hoped they had halfway decent flowers at the drugstore.

“Okay, I’ll stop somewhere and get the stuff.” He slipped from the truck, leaving it running as Dave came around the hood. “I know where they keep the tests in each store in a ten mile radius at this point. I’ll run in, and be right behind you. Tell Morgan I love her.”

Dave grinned and saluted. “Sure will. I’ll probably beat you by an hour or two with you driving that recycled tin can.”

Joe shook his head as he bent to move the seat back at least a foot in Morgan’s hybrid sedan. She loved the miniature neon green car so much he didn’t have the heart to suggest she upgrade to something a little more peppy or spacious. Though she might have to soon. He was finding out from Mike that a baby required a ton of shit they’d never considered.

The rumble of Dave’s truck pulling away yanked Joe from his vision of a cute toddler with Morgan’s eyes, who smashed a plastic toy hammer against his car seat, and everything else he could reach.

With a smile, he slid behind the wheel, then puttered off to the drugstore.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Joe stared at the empty slot on the shelf where the pregnancy tests should have been piled fourteen boxes high.

“Sorry, sir.” A zit-faced teen in a smock with a giant store logo printed on it looked up from where he was slashing tape with his box cutter. “There was a recall on the store brand and the others sold out. I heard they have some down at the supermarket on the corner.”

“Right. Damn. Okay, thanks.” He jammed his hands in his jeans and turned Morgan’s keys over and over across his knuckles. This was the third unsuccessful stop he’d made so far. What were the odds of that?

Rather than waste time with the lights and fighting soccer moms in enormous SUVs for spots, he dashed out of the store and down the block. He zoomed around displays, a motorized cart blocking most of the walkway and a pallet of two-liters temporarily parked at the entrance to the feminine hygiene aisle. It was like some bizarre nightmare, trying to swim upstream to a place every man dreads being sentenced to in the first place.

There at the end of the aisle, he spotted the purple and white box of the test brand Morgan preferred. He stood on the bottom shelf, ignoring its ominous creaking, and reached to the back of the top row, snagging the lone survivor.

Score
!

He grinned as he sprinted for the check-out. Of course, when he got there, it seemed only one lane had anyone working and that cashier had a huge yellow
In Training
ribbon on her apron. The line looked long enough to stretch the whole length of the Great Wall of China. Twice.

Joe worked hard to never in his life be
that
guy. The asshole his dad had been so many times he could recall. It took every ounce of his patience to keep from growling until shoppers scattered and cleared the way.

The lady in front of him turned her head. Blue-gray curls bounced as she not-so-subtly eyed the package in his hand. With the brashness only age could generate, she peered up at him from somewhere near belly button height and shook her finger. “I hope you intend to take care of your girl.”

He tried not to grin, but couldn’t help it. “I swear, ma’am. My
wife
is the most amazing woman on the planet. I’m lucky to have her.”

“Good boy.” She patted his arm. 

Some punk chose then to squeeze past, so intent on texting on his iPhone or posting a picture of the outrageous line on Facebook, accompanied by some smartass caption, that he bumped into the lady. She stumbled, but Joe kept her upright.

“Watch where you’re going, kid.” Joe’s bass had the boy turning, eyes wide, before he hustled off into the crowd.

“I didn’t think there were gentlemen like you left in the world.” The granny beamed. “I’d say your wife is pretty lucky herself, son.”

“Ma’am.” A manager approached them. “I can take you over here so you don’t have to stand in line.”

“Thank you.” She nodded once, then swiped the pregnancy test from Joe more deftly than he would have imagined possible. “My son and I appreciate that.”

The wink she tossed in his direction caught him off guard. He laughed, then hurried to keep up with her surprisingly swift pace. In the end, she even refused to let him pay for his item or the single red rose he’d selected from the checkout station.

“Best of luck.” Mildred, his new BFF, blew him a kiss when he finished packing her groceries in her trunk.

“Thanks!” He smiled as he trotted back to Mo’s car. He glanced at his watch. Holy crap, that had taken about a decade longer than he’d hoped. Thank God for Mildred.

He hopped the guardrail dividing the lots, only to find a three-wheeled, blue-and-white meter-maid-mobile, light flashing, parallel to Morgan’s ride. “No, no, no.”

“I’m afraid so.” The petite woman spiked one hand onto her hip as though to ward off a verbal assault he didn’t intend to launch. “This lot is for customers of the Drug Shop only.”

“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to tell you about how I tried to buy a pregnancy test there except they were all out, so I had to go to the supermarket instead?” He sighed, resigned to his fate. If he had to endure the shitstorm of a lifetime in order to find a rainbow at the end of this day, he’d do it a million times over.

Hell, this would make a good story to tell his kid someday.

“Don’t waste your breath.” She shook her head. “Want to pay this here and now or through the mail?”

“Does it take longer to pay now or for you to give me some kind of voucher?” He reached for his wallet.

“Normally, I’d say paying now is faster, but our wireless credit card doohickey’s been on the fritz.” She shrugged. “You can take your chances. Heh. Maybe you already did that. Doesn’t look like your luck is so great.”

Joe tried not to glare. “Not that it’s any of your business… I’m praying this test is positive. Write me the ticket. Quickly. Please.”

She snagged a pen from her clipboard and scratched away at the triplicate forms. Joe’s teeth gritted with each swipe of her pen. How much info could there be on that damn paper?

He peered over her shoulder. Only halfway finished. Shit!

“Quit breathing down my neck, buddy.” It might have been his imagination, but her writing seemed to slow. He shuffled backward, tapping his foot when he reached his new outpost.

In a few seconds, she was scribbling along the line on the bottom, some indecipherable signature worthy of a doctor. “Here you go. Have a nice day.”

“I’m trying,” he snarled.

“Never any love for the meter maid.” She shook her head in chagrin.

Joe paused, half-crumpled into Mo’s tiny car. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was shitty of me. Enjoy the rest of your day too.”

“Hope your girl has a bun in the oven.” She tucked herself into the mini-wagon, outrageously blanketed with flower stickers and pastel stripes, then toodled off down the street. It had to suck having a job no one appreciated. He’d give her that.

Banging his head on the steering wheel, he hauled out his cell and dialed Dave. After the third beep, he gave up. Either the guy was driving on the highway and didn’t hear the AC/DC ringer he refused to give up or he was already at the house, taking care of their women.

Probably the latter.

I’m coming, Mo. Hang in there.
Joe flipped on the radio as he merged into traffic on the side street, debating whether or not to risk the beginnings of rush hour on the freeway or stick to ground roads. He checked the flow of traffic over the railing of the bridge heading out of the main part of the city, toward Sweet Treats and the small yet lush apartment he shared with the love of his life, and maybe their child.

Red lights snaked along the pavement like a bold satin ribbon. He swore and jerked the wheel with a cursory glance in the side mirror, avoiding getting trapped in the jam. Holy hell, that had been close. In his rearview, he caught sight of emergency vehicles. Their sirens ballooned then wailed, distorting as they passed him by.

Joe cursed the delay, but stopped to let another batch of emergency trucks, these heading from the other direction, join the ambulance. Probably some douchebag—on his cell phone, not paying attention—jacking everyone up. They should fine dumbasses like that for imposing on everyone else. How many times had he been snagged in the aftermath of a senseless collision on his way home from a job site?

Joe eased off the shoulder, still shaking his head.

Finally, finally,
finally
he swung onto their cute little street with its adorable row houses. Most of them hosted businesses on the first level. He zipped around to the garage in the back, then took the stairs two at a time with the paper bag crumpled in his fist and Morgan’s rose tucked into the front pocket of his work shirt.