My Husband, My Babies, page 7
Kristin gasped. It took Andi a second longer to get it. “And Jenny went along with this?” she croaked.
Jenny felt her face flood with color. “Josh wanted it so badly,” she said lamely.
Kris jumped to her feet. “Thank God he did. Where would we be right now without those two perfect babies to look forward to?” Tears filled her eyes. “And this way, they’ll have a father, too.” She surged toward Sam and gave him a hug. “Oh, Sam, you’ll be a wonderful daddy.”
Jenny read the bewildered look on his face. It wasn’t what he was expecting.
Andi leaned back, thrusting her tanned, toned legs into the room. “That’s well and good, but what about the logistics that comes with that kind of arrangement? Do you share the kids? You each take one? What?”
Sam lurched back as if struck. Jenny saw the look of horror in his eyes.
“No,” they cried in unison.
“Jenny is their mother. Babies need their mother,” he said, as if that was the last word on the issue. He turned and walked to the door. “I’ll be at the house if you need me, Jenny. I assume you’re spending the night here.”
Jenny nodded; she wasn’t ready to face her empty bed.
A minute later the low roar of the diesel filled the air. She wondered how she’d missed his arrival.
No one said anything. “I know this looks bad, but at the time Josh was healthy. Who knew this would happen?”
Andi made a gruff sound. “I’m sorry, Jen. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m used to dealing with jerks who think with their dicks, pardon my French. Sam’s a good man. You can trust him.”
Jenny felt a tiny glimmer of hope. Maybe there was a chance she could pull this off. “I love you guys. Thanks.”
They started to leave the room, but Andi stopped suddenly. “Are you going to tell Ida Jane?”
Jenny sighed. “Not now. Maybe someday, but Josh’s death has been hard on her. I don’t think she can handle much more.”
Andi stepped back to squeeze Jenny’s shoulder. “I think that goes for all of us.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“DON’T USE POWDER. Powder is bad for babies’ lungs.”
“Oh, phooey. We always used powder on your behind. Your lungs are fine, aren’t they?”
“Andrea’s right, Ida. My granddaughter told me that, too. She was picky about everything—even the kind of water she mixed with little Tory’s formula. Water was water in my day.”
Jenny tuned out the voices coming from the nursery. Her house was small, and the busy hum of people—her sister, her aunt, Beulah Jensen and the other volunteers—added to her exhaustion. She couldn’t seem to find the strength to get up and care for her month-old babies.
Tears filled her eyes; sorrow twisted in her gut like a living, breathing monster. How was she supposed to be a mother to two tiny babies when her soul had been ripped from her body—right through the hole in her heart?
She curled into a fetal position. Her breasts were swollen—primed for feeding time; her cotton nightshirt felt damp against her knees.
She continued to nurse her babies, but each feed was a struggle. Lara fought the breast as if she were suffocating every time Jenny tried to put the nipple in her mouth. Tucker, on the other hand, latched on and suckled like a vampire then cried for more. And there just wasn’t any more to give, which added to Jenny’s sense of failure.
Staring at the glimmer of light filtering through the cracks in the miniblinds, she tried to make her mind go blank.
The door to her room—the room she used to share with Josh—opened a sliver. “Oh good, you’re awake,” Ida Jane said, peeking inside. “Sam didn’t want to disturb you, but Tucker just will not take the bottle. He wants his mama.”
Jenny longed to treasure each minute with her beautiful babies, but grief was robbing her of the ability. She didn’t know what she’d have done without Ida Jane, her sisters and Sam.
“Go ahead and bring him in,” she said. “I’m awake.”
Ida disappeared. Jenny carefully scooted backward. She plumped a pillow against the plated-brass head-board. The bed—a wedding gift from Ida—was an antique that had been in the bordello when Ida’s father bought the place. It took a double mattress, small by today’s standards. When Jenny once suggested trading it in for a queen-size bed, Josh had argued against the idea.
“This our marriage bed, Jen,” he’d said. “I can’t walk by it without picturing your hands gripping those dowels…the look of passion on your face.”
At the time, his words had embarrassed her. Now she’d give anything to hear his voice.
Blinking back tears, she tenderly ran her fingers over the metal.
“He’s a bit cranky,” a deep whisper said.
Startled, Jenny turned toward the door. Sam walked to her, a tiny bundle in his arms. He carried the baby as if born to the role.
“Lara’s happy as a little pig with the bottle,” he said. “Beulah’s feeding her now, but Tucker here won’t have a thing to do with it. He says it’s Mommy or nothing.”
Jenny moved over to make room for Sam to sit down beside her. It made the transfer of the baby easier, she’d found. Plus, she liked Sam’s unflappable calm. She’d always known he was rock-solid and dependable, but she’d never seen his leadership abilities put to the test. This little exercise in small-town helpfulness would have tested the patience of a saint.
During the eleven days that the twins were in the hospital, Sam had regulated visitations and food donations, shielding Jenny from the well-meaning but at times overwhelming support she’d received from the citizens of Gold Creek. When the pediatrician finally gave them permission to bring Tucker and Lara home, Sam had politely but firmly set restrictions on the number of volunteers who could help.
Although Diane regularly hinted that Sam should move back to the ranch so she and Gordon could park their RV in his spot, Sam seemed to ignore her. Jenny was glad. She liked her mother-in-law, but the woman was almost cruel in her criticism of her son.
For the most part, Jenny tuned everything out. One small part of her felt guilty about leaving Sam alone to deal with his mother—he was grieving, too. But ultimately, she just couldn’t muster the energy.
His weight made the mattress sag. “Let me get you a pillow for your arm,” he said, passing Tucker to her. Wrapped in a lightweight blue cotton receiving blanket and a yellow skullcap, Tucker was all face—a red, angry face. Sam disappeared before she could tell him not to bother.
Jenny took a deep breath and looked down. “Hello, son,” she said softly. Jenny was ashamed of the fact that she’d spent as little time as possible with her children since they came home from the hospital. But her friends and family—including Sam—assured her that she would be her old self after she had time to mourn.
“Time,” she murmured, unbuttoning her top with her right hand. “When will I even care about time?”
She was just reaching for the flap of her nursing bra, when Sam returned.
“Oops, sorry. Here. I’ll be quick.” He lifted her left arm—the one cradling the baby—and slid the pillow underneath.
“Let me fill your water glass, then I’ll get out of your way. Somebody’s hungry.”
Tucker, as if sensing that mother’s milk was near, let out a series of short, sharp cries. “Hang on, Buddy, Mom’s coming. Just let Uncle Sam get this for her.”
He paused midstep. A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “You know, Josh started calling me that when you first found out you were pregnant,” he mused. “But he stopped a good month before he saw the oncologist. I wonder if he knew something was wrong even then.”
“He knew,” Jenny said flatly. But did he know before I got pregnant? The question plagued her.
“Call me when he’s done, and I’ll come get him.”
With that, Sam walked away.
Jenny opened her bra and helped guide her son’s lips to her engorged breast. She studied the baby’s smooth pink cheek in the light from the lamp beside the bed. He’d changed so much in a month. Red wrinkles were gone, replaced by full cheeks and new hair—dark brown. Lara’s was reddish blond—more Sullivan than O’Neal—but everyone insisted Lara favored her father. “I think Lara has Josh’s nose,” someone said just yesterday.
Jenny heard that kind of thing almost daily from the concerned friends and volunteers who stopped by. Everyone was eager to point out a resemblance as if that link might keep Josh’s memory alive. Unfortunately, all it did was make Jenny feel guilty. She could have handled the duplicity with aplomb if Josh were at her side. But what was she supposed to do now?
Why aren’t you here, Josh?
As her milk started to flow so did her tears. Tucker hung on while her diaphragm heaved. She used the sheet to staunch the deluge.
“Jenny? Are you okay?” Sam asked from the doorway.
She let a low cry of anguish. The door flew open. “To hell with modesty,” he muttered, clearing the distance in three strides. “What’s wrong, Jen? What can I do?”
“Nothing. Go away,” she sobbed. She didn’t understand how she could have a single tear left inside her body.
“I can’t do that,” he said, sitting beside her. “I’ll do anything you ask—except that. You need me here. The babies need me.”
He ran a hand through his uncombed hair. For the umpteenth time, Jenny noticed the pallor around his lips, the deep lines bracketing his eyes.
“Please don’t ask me to leave, Jen,” he said finally. “If I were alone at the ranch, I’d go crazy with worry.” He looked at her, and in his eyes Jenny read the same anguish she saw in the mirror every morning. “Diane spends half her time at the golf course with Gordon. Ida can’t handle a set of twins by herself, even with the Garden Club ladies helping out. And thanks to that advertising campaign, Andi’s swamped at the store.”
Jenny knew he was right, but she wanted the world to disappear and leave her to her memories, her very private pain. Tucker’s lips stopped their fishlike motion. Without thinking, she switched him to the other breast.
Looking up, she caught the expression on Sam’s face—wonder and awe were the only words to describe it. Is that how Josh would have reacted? she wondered. No, he’d have curled up beside me and tickled me until I laughed.
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “When, Sam? When will it stop hurting? I can barely breathe without feeling as though someone has scooped out my insides.”
He touched her knee. Even through her baggy sweatpants Jenny felt the warmth of his hand, his support. Sam was kind. He was wonderful…he just wasn’t Josh.
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way, Sam. I can’t do this without him. It’s just not fair.”
“I agree,” he said, surprising her. “It’s not fair to any of us—Josh included. But it’s not like he could help it. The cancer spread too fast.”
She’d heard others say the same thing, but she didn’t buy it. “I think he knew it even before we did the in vitro,” she said, her bitterness obvious. “He sensed it and that’s why he pushed for you to be the one. He manipulated us, Sam. And I hate him.”
Sam didn’t say anything for a minute. His profile could have been carved from granite, but then he blinked rapidly, as if suppressing his emotions. Suddenly, his handsome face contorted in anguish, and Jenny was filled with remorse.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You don’t mean it,” he said, his voice gruff.
Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but Sam isn’t the person to burden with my anger.
“How are things at the ranch? Don’t they need you?”
He heaved a sigh. “Does it matter? This is where I am.”
She felt Tucker’s lips disengage from her breast. Sitting forward, she quickly closed the gap in her gown. The baby lay on her lap, eyes closed, satiated. A smile tried to find its way to her lips.
“That should help,” she said, feeling a tiny glimmer of satisfaction. She pushed back a lank lock of hair. “Would you take him for me? I need a shower.”
Sam leaned forward to pick up Tucker. The movement brought him within an inch of Jenny. The intimacy of the moment struck her hard. This should have been Josh, she thought, swamped by bitterness again.
“Well, there you go, little man,” Sam said, rising. He placed Tucker against his shoulder and efficiently burped him. “Good job. Just like your daddy. I used to burp him, too, you know.”
Sam nestled Tucker in the crook of his arm and walked to the window. He turned the little plastic wand and sunlight flooded the room. Jenny could tell by the angle of light coming through the long silvery needles of the bull pine that it was still early.
“Diane’s in the kitchen, by the way,” he said flatly. “She wanted to fix us all a big breakfast to thank Ida for letting them park the travel trailer in the lot behind the bordello.”
“Your mother can cook?” Jenny had been surreptitiously fastening her bra and just happened to catch Sam’s smile. The oddity of the question suddenly struck her, too.
“I’ve never thought of Diane as the domestic type,” she added. To her surprise, talking with Sam seemed to help perk her up a little. “Josh used to tell the most bizarre stories about her.”
“Did he mention the time she left him in the car at the 7-Eleven because the beer-delivery guy offered to take her out to dinner?”
Jenny immediately regretted bringing up the topic. Sam’s expression went sour, and he paced to the far side of the room and back. His broad shoulders seemed bunched with tension, but he continued to cradle Tucker with utmost care.
“Usually, when something like that happened, Josh would dig around for change and call me if he got scared or too bored. I used to lie awake at night worrying about what might happen if I missed his call.”
“You never did, did you?”
“Not that I know of. He used to say he lived a charmed life.” The irony in Sam’s tone was tinged with anguish.
Again, Jenny felt guilty for dumping so much on his shoulders. She slowly rose and walked toward him.
“He lived a good life, Sam. Too damn short, but Josh packed a heck of a lot of living into his twenty-seven years.”
Sam leaned one shoulder against the wall. He stared out the window, but his gaze seemed fixed on something well beyond her small backyard. “I think he knew his time was limited, Jen. I don’t mean specifically last fall. I mean years ago. Josh once told me he felt as though he’d cheated death, and every minute from that point was borrowed.”
Jenny returned to the bed and sat down. She looked at her bare toes. “Did you know he used to paint my toenails? He’d buy the wildest shades of magenta or green or lavender nail polish then make me sit still so he could apply it.”
She wiggled her toes. The nails were dull and needed clipping.
“You have nice feet,” Sam said.
Jenny smiled, remembering the first time she and Josh met. “You must be that Jenny Perfect girl I’ve been hearing about,” he’d said, catching her outside the Frosty Freeze, where she was sweeping up cigarette butts.
“What makes you think so?” she’d returned.
“Because you have perfect feet.”
She’d been wearing sandals because a tub of ice cream had fallen off a shelf and broken her baby toe the day before.
That was the summer Josh and Sam moved to the Rocking M. Josh had been in town registering for school.
“I’ve decided not to go back to work after my maternity leave is up,” she said suddenly.
Sam pushed off from the wall and walked to her. He stood a foot away. “Good. You have a full-time job with the twins. The school will hire you back when the kids are older,” he said equitably.
His tone irked her. She didn’t want equitable. She wanted to lash out at someone. She wanted things to be different. “That’s easy for you to say. You have an income.”
He tilted his head as if hearing something she hadn’t meant to say. “Hold on,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
When he was gone, Jenny walked into the adjoining bathroom. She glanced in the mirror, but quickly averted her gaze. Her hair was a rat’s nest; there were bags under her eyes and her skin looked like freckled construction paper. She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth then returned to where Sam was waiting with a tall glass of orange juice.
“Gordon says nursing mothers often forget that their body is feeding two—in your case three,” he said.
Jenny accepted the glass and took a long drink.
“I’m worried about you, Jen. You don’t eat enough.”
She shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“I know, but you need to make yourself eat—or at the very least, you need someone around to nag you to eat.”
Jenny smiled then. Josh would have sat on her until she ate every bite.
“That’s one of the reasons why I want you and the babies to move home with me.”
Sam’s tone was so nonchalant it took Jenny a minute to comprehend the meaning of his statement. “To the ranch?”
Sam nodded. “Think about it. I have plenty of space plus a housekeeper who could help with the twins. If you rent this place, you’ll have a steady income. And you might even find time to work on your books.”
Jenny swallowed. “And what do you get out of this?”
When he looked at her, his eyes—for once—were surprisingly easy to read. “I get to be a father.”
MOVE TO THE RANCH? Was he crazy?
Jenny pushed her sunglasses back up on her nose and returned her gaze to the road. Sam had been called to an emergency at the ranch before she could ask her questions. She’d waited as long as she could for him to return. Finally, she’d loaded up the twins for a drive to the Rocking M. The babies hadn’t made a peep since the car pulled out of the driveway, but it bothered her that she couldn’t see them. As per the directions, their infant seats were in the back seat of her Honda Accord, facing away from her.
“They’re fine,” Diane said, reaching over to pat Jenny’s arm.
