Authors: Emily March
“Oh, I am. It’s been entirely too long. We get to see the other two kids every six weeks or so, but my wanderer doesn’t stay in one place long enough for us to catch up to him. It leaves me with a hole in my heart.”
“Kids can do that to you,” Rose observed.
Sarah hitched her little Michael up on her hip, then gave Ali a one-armed hug. “Well, he’s coming home in a couple of weeks, and he’s bringing a maybe daughter-in-law with him. Perhaps you’ll get that grandchild you’ve been wanting.”
Grinning, Ali scooped Michael from his mother’s arms. “If not, you and Sage are doing a fine job of filling
that particular hole in my heart. Oh, Mikey”—Ali gave his chubby cheek a smooch—“you feel so good in my arms.”
Rose clutched Daisy’s twenty-some pounds a little tighter. She knew the feeling. Her arms were fuller than they’d been in what felt like forever.
Cicero didn’t share her point of view.
“I’m trying not to take that comment personally,” he grumbled into the phone later that evening after she’d repeated the sentiment to him. “I feel like I’ve been replaced by a snot machine.”
Sitting in the window seat of her attic apartment at Angel’s Rest, she stared across the grounds of the estate toward the lighted windows of the cottage where Cicero and his new family lay tucked in their beds.
Grinning, she said, “Stop whining.”
“I’m serious. We have to find some time to be alone together. How about I sneak out and up to your room right now?”
“No, Hunt. You cannot leave those children alone in the cabin.”
“I’ve done it before. Misty can—”
“No. Nine is too young. You are lucky nothing bad happened. Anyway, it’s late. I worked a double shift today, and I have the early shift tomorrow.”
“I miss you,” he complained, a hint of a whine in his voice.
His words warmed her like brandy on a February night. “I miss you, too.”
His voice dropped to a low, needy rumble. “What time do you get off work tomorrow?”
“Two o’clock.”
“Oh yeah?”
She heard a rustling of paper, then he said, “Huh. Tuesday afternoons are tough. Looks like Maggie Romano
is a possibility. Think it’s too late to call her tonight?”
“For what?”
“Babysitting. She’s on the list. Available until three p.m. I’d like more time, of course, but I can do good work under pressure. It could tide us over until—when is your day off?”
“Friday.”
He groaned. “Friday is bad. We have the soft opening of Whimsies. But you could come over after the shop closes. You could sleep over.”
“We’ve had this discussion. I’m not sleeping over.”
“But—”
“Good night, Hunt. Sweet dreams.”
“Bella Rosa,”
he protested.
The sound of her name on his lips was lovely music by which to fall asleep.
Days passed, and they slowly established a bit of a routine. Cicero got the older children off to school and dropped the younger two with the volunteer babysitters of the day. Having a constantly changing group of playmates who weren’t his siblings allowed Galen to thrive. Daisy proved to be different. As the days went on, she grew anxious, fussy, and extra clingy. Cicero fretted and asked Rose to give the little girl a thorough medical checkup.
Recognizing that what ailed the two-year-old was the lack of stability in her life, Rose took action. She proposed a solution to bridge the gap until day-care slots opened up. “I’ll switch to evening shifts until school is out,” she told Cicero as she lay naked in his arms during a stolen half hour in the bed of his studio loft apartment. “I’ll keep Daisy and Galen in the mornings.”
He rolled up onto his elbow, resting his head against his hand, and frowned down at her. “That’d be great.
Except—what about you and me? We won’t ever have time alone.”
“Welcome to parenthood, Uncle Hunk.”
“This really sucks.” He flopped back on the bed. “We have all the responsibility, but we didn’t get the playtime that created it.”
“Oh, hush. You’ve had plenty of playtime.”
“Not lately.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“My heart isn’t the organ that’s giving me grief.”
She picked up her phone from the bedside table and checked the time. “I still have twenty minutes. It’s too bad you’re not up for another—”
He was on her in seconds—and she was ten minutes late to work.
For the next week, Rose reveled in motherhood. As Racer Rafferty’s aunt, she was no stranger to babysitting, but this was different. These children—all four of them—had already made a place for themselves in her heart. Little Daisy with her chubby cheeks and shy disposition. Galen, who teetered between boyhood and babyhood. Keenan, the oh-so-live wire. And Misty, the quiet, thoughtful, still-waters-run-deep sort of girl. A part of Rose knew she should protect herself. The relationship with Cicero was still new, and experience had taught her that her heart could be shredded when she least expected it. But life was so good now, so fulfilling.
For the first time in a very long time, Dr. Rose Anderson was well and truly happy.
In hindsight, she wasn’t the least bit surprised when that happiness came crashing down on top of her.
“What’s the matter with Rose, Uncle Hunk?” Misty asked on the eve of Memorial Day weekend as they sat down to a supper of beans and weenies and broccoli that nobody would eat.
“What?” Cicero asked. “What do you mean? Did something happen?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
He looked at her blankly.
“For heaven’s sake, Uncle Hunt. Don’t you notice anything?” Misty rolled her eyes in disgust. “Rose isn’t acting right.”
“What do you mean she’s not acting right?”
“Uh,
duh
. You really are clueless, aren’t you?”
“Hey. Watch your mouth.”
She sniffed huffily. “You should watch your girlfriend closer. She didn’t go to Galen’s T-ball practice yesterday and she left Daisy with Mrs. Rafferty so that she could go running. Today, her eyes were swollen as if she’d been crying.”
Cicero speared a hunk of hot dog with his fork and chewed it slowly, considering Misty’s comments. He hadn’t noticed Rose having swollen eyes. Wouldn’t he notice something like that? “It’s springtime. She probably has allergies.”
“Sure.” Misty gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
“She’s spent all her spare time with you guys. She’s due a little time to herself.”
“Right.”
Keenan glanced up from his plate. “I saw her cry.”
“What? When?”
“Yesterday. Daisy called her Mama, and Dr. Rose told her not to call her that, then she burst into tears. Daisy started crying, too.”
Huh. Absently, Cicero spooned a stalk of broccoli onto his plate. He didn’t like broccoli, didn’t know how it had ended up in his refrigerator, and he didn’t really want to eat it. But he had to set an example, didn’t he? Ranch dressing might make it more palatable.
He grabbed the Ranch bottle from the fridge, then squirted some on his plate. He speared the broccoli with
his fork, swirled it in salad dressing, and ate it. Now that he thought about it, Rose had acted a bit distant the past week or so. Last night when she’d begged off stopping by the cottage for a glass of wine after her shift, claiming to be tired. And she’d canceled the “lunch” he’d gone to great lengths to arrange for them after they’d gone an entire week without managing to have sex.
Something was wrong. He’d been too busy to see it.
He had a flash of memory of their fight on the island, when she’d declared she wasn’t a doormat. Had he been treating her that way? Was this his fault?
He rose from the table and carried his plate to the sink. He rinsed it, loaded it into the dishwasher, and tried to recall their interactions during recent days. Yes, she’d skipped the T-ball game, but she’d gone kite flying with them. She’d seemed perfectly fine day before yesterday when he got tied up with work and called because he was going to be late. She’d flat-out told him not to worry, that she’d find a sitter. She hadn’t bothered to scold him at all.
Yes. Something was definitely wrong
.
He glanced at the clock on the microwave. Her shift wasn’t over for a couple of hours yet. “What sort of homework do you have tonight, Keenan?”
“I don’t have none.”
“You don’t have any.”
“That’s what I said,” Keenan replied, his eyes going round with exasperation.
“You have homework every night. What is it? Math? Reading?”
The boy scowled, but he eventually admitted, “Math.”
“Go do it now.”
“My mommy didn’t make me do my homework.”
“I’m not your mommy. Misty, what about you?”
“I did my homework after school.”
Of course she had
.
“I want homework. Can I have homework?” Galen asked.
“Yeah. Get the broom and sweep the kitchen floor.”
“What?”
“This is your home. Sweeping is work.”
The kid lit up like a July Fourth sparkler, and as he scampered to find the broom, Cicero lifted Daisy out of the high chair. Her chubby little legs kicked and she chortled. Cicero’s grin died as his nose wrinkled. “Oh, geez. Another dirty diaper, Squirt?”
He looked from the baby to Misty. “Worm? Sweetheart?”
“Nope. Your turn.”
She returned her attention to her book—
Old Yeller
, he noted. Great. He’d have another crying female to deal with before long.
Sighing, he carted the toddler into the bedroom and plopped her down on the changing table Celeste had provided. He was getting pretty good at the diaper changing thing, but this particular one had gone nuclear, and it took him some time to get her cleaned up.
He was fighting her chubby little legs into a romper when Misty joined him. He started to ask if the dog was dead yet, but she had interest rather than tears in her eyes, so he deduced the answer to the question before she asked, “So what do you think is wrong with Rose?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to ask her.”
“You are?”
“Yep. When Captain Arithmetic finishes his homework, I thought we’d walk over to the ice cream shop and take some to her.”
Misty slumped with obvious relief.
“I’ll check on Keenan.”
“Do not do his homework for him!”
Half an hour later, they stood in the ice cream shop
choosing flavors. The kids picked theirs quickly. They took some time debating what flavor to choose for Rose. Finally, they settled on strawberry—because, Galen insisted, she had a pink name.
Keenan pointed out that some roses were yellow so maybe they should get her a dip of lemon chiffon and another of vanilla for white roses. “And then we should all get three dips so that it’s fair.”
“Forget it, Boyo.” Cicero ruffled Keenan’s hair. “Life isn’t fair.”
“I know. If it was fair, Mommy wouldn’t have died.” The matter-of-fact way he said it gave Cicero’s heart a twist.
Cicero brooded as they walked the rest of the way to the clinic. For a man who knew a whole lot about women, he apparently didn’t know very much about women. How had he missed Rose’s recent distance toward him and the hellions? Why had it taken a nine-year-old to call his attention to trouble with his love life?
Because he was swimming as hard as he could manage just to keep his head above water, that’s why.
He held Daisy in his arms and brought up the rear as Keenan pushed open the clinic door. He and Galen rushed inside. Misty offered, “I’ll hold Daisy while you talk to Dr. Rose.”
He considered a moment, then nodded. “Thanks.”
Keenan rushed up to the desk where a receptionist checked in the patients and declared, “We brought Dr. Rose ice cream. Three scoops! But in a cup because Uncle Hunk said the dips would slip and fall off the cone if Dr. Rose had a patient and couldn’t eat it right away.”
The middle-aged receptionist whom Cicero knew also worked part-time at the local sandwich shop smiled at Keenan. “That’s very smart of your Uncle Hunk. I’m afraid Dr. Rose isn’t here right now. Are you here just to
visit or does one of you need to see a doctor? Dr. Sage is covering for Dr. Rose this evening.”
“Really?” Cicero frowned. She hadn’t said anything to him about having the night off. He wondered what had come up. Even as he framed a question to ask, an inner door swung open and Sage Rafferty strode into the waiting room wearing a white coat and carrying a tablet computer.
“Lena, what is the password for—” Spying the demons, she broke off. “Hello, kiddos. Is someone not feeling well?”
“We brought ice cream for Doctor Rose,” Keenan said.
“Three scoops,” Galen added.
Sage’s lips twitched. “If my sister eats three scoops of ice cream then she’ll be the one with a tummy ache.” Glancing up at Cicero, she said, “I guess I misunderstood. She’s making a run into Gunnison for supplies for our clinic—though it’s really an excuse to eat Mexican food for supper. I thought you were going with her.”
That bit of news sparked his temper.
“No. Though we talked about going.” Just yesterday. He’d told her that he’d been craving Mexican food. “When did this trip come up?”
“This morning.”
Sage’s brow creased, but before she could say more, Keenan piped up. “Can I eat Doctor Rose’s ice cream since she’s not here?”
“No,” Cicero replied, a little more sharply than necessary. He scooped the paper dish out of the boy’s hands. “I don’t need any bellyaches tonight. I guess Rose and I got our wires crossed. C’mon, brats. Who wants to play a round of Putt-Putt on the way home?”
“Me! Me!” shouted the boys, dashing toward the door.
Cicero handed Sage the ice cream. “Here, you have
this. Isn’t calcium good for expectant mothers? If you see your sister, tell her—”
“Yes?”
“Never mind. C’mon, Misty. We need to catch up with the hooligans before they decide to rob the liquor store on the way to miniature golf.”
A few minutes later, when he set Daisy down in order to pull out his wallet and pay for the game, he absently rubbed his hand across his chest. Damned if this wasn’t the strangest sensation, one he’d not experienced in what seemed like forever.
He felt like such a loser. Rose had hurt his feelings.