trudged back to her house. She didn’t bother counting her few finds, choosing instead to leave them in their pink bucket, at the base of the steps.
She went through the motions of fixing herself a bagel, but since she wasn’t the least bit hungry, she left her meal on the counter in favor of opening the newspaper she’d brought in earlier.
Sipping hot tea that was only making her hotter, Emma skimmed local and national headlines—frustrating.
Entertainment news—boring.
Birth announcements—depressing.
In the classifieds, an ad for free puppies caught her eye. After the divorce, all of her friends had advised her to get a dog. But something inside feared mothering a beagle wouldn’t be enough.
She’d finished half of her tea when something else snagged her attention:
Marine dad desperately seeking
live-in help for infant twins…
Borrow a baby, her mother whispered in Emma’s head.
The very notion of taking a job that would, in a sense, allow her do just such a thing—borrow a baby—caused her hand to tremble so badly that tea sloshed over the lip of her mug. When the liquid pooled on the newspaper, she frantically dabbed at the mess.
Dare she call the number? What if she got the job? Worse yet, her heart cried, what if she didn’t?
Chapter Two
“Um, Becca,” Jace said, forcing himself to meet the Goth girl’s dark-shadowed eyes. Though it was only early Monday afternoon, his exhaustion level made it feel closer to midnight. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, but I’m thinking I may need someone with a little more experience.” Not to mention, fewer piercings!
“But I’ve got five younger brothers and sisters. And I just got evicted from my apartment, so I could really get into the whole sleepover aspect of this gig. Ready to talk money?” Kicking back on the sofa, she slipped off black flip-flops before putting her feet on the coffee table. Granted, he sat like that nine times a day, but it was his place. “Comfy,” she said, crossing her legs at the ankles. “Yeah, this is gonna work out fine.”
What worked for Jace was booting this applicant to the curb.
With one more interview to go, he spent the next thirty minutes reacquainting himself with the sticky tabs on the babies’ diapers. Though he’d been with them a week—and now faced the reality of being their father every second of every day—Jace still couldn’t fully wrap his head around the situation.
Just yesterday, the PI had informed him that Vicki had, for all practical purposes, vanished, meaning, Jace didn’t have any option other than to step up.
“Okay, kiddos,” Jace said upon finishing his task. “You’re good to go for at least another couple of hours.” Until Vicki could be found, he’d finished setting up his home office to double as a nursery. He felt bad about its plainness. Beige walls and a do-it-yourself computer station that leaned to the left. The cribs and changing table had been borrowed from fellow Apache pilot, Morris “Birdman” Harlow. He had three girls and one boy and all the gear that went along with them.
From their carriers, the babies stared up at him.
He stared back.
They were cute, he’d give them that, but what was he supposed to do with them? In the Marine Corps, there was a manual for everything. This whole father thing? Complete and utter mystery.
The baby nearest him cooed.
Kneeling in front of her, he touched the palm of her tiny hand with his pinkie. She curled her fingers around it, drawing it to her bow-shaped mouth to slobber.
“Hey,” he said with a laugh. “Do I look like a chew toy?”
Seeing how she kept right on gnawing, apparently, yes, he did resemble a giant teething ring. And her mini fangs were sharp!
After freeing himself, Jace grabbed a carrier in each hand, hauling them to the living room. He wanted to see how the next applicant interacted with the girls. Just because he didn’t have a clue how to be a father, didn’t mean he didn’t expect the highest level of professionalism from whomever he entrusted with the twins’ care.
He’d grabbed a Coke from the fridge when the doorbell rang.
Leaving his can on the counter, he jogged to the front hall, praying this woman was The One.
WAITING FOR her potential employer to open his door, Emma wasn’t sure what she felt. Nervousness. Worry that emotionally she had no business taking on such a task. Fear that if she didn’t get the job, she’d drown in loneliness and self-doubt. If she were given the responsibility of looking after this man’s babies, she wouldn’t just be working, but proving to herself that she’d been a wonderful mother. In doing that, she wouldn’t erase her grief over having lost Henry, but she would exorcise the demons Rick had created.
Inching her purse higher on her shoulder, she forced a deep breath.
The redbrick house’s front porch appeared as forlorn as she felt. Lining the two steps were three green plastic pots holding wilted flowers. Dust coated a porch swing as well as paned windows in need of a good scrubbing. The dandelion-strewn yard needed mowing. Any annuals adorning the flower bed had been choked out by weeds.
The door burst open, and there stood a broad-shouldered Marine, who’d presumably placed the ad. “Hey,” he said, holding open the door with one hand while shaking her hand with the other, “You must be Emma.”
“Yes,” she said, instantly at ease at her first sight of the man’s easy, white-toothed smile. He wasn’t handsome. Not in the conventional sense. His nose was slightly off kilter, as though it might have once been broken. A strong jaw held at least two days’ stubble. Like any good jarhead, his dark hair consisted of little more than short spikes. But then there were his eyes. Amazing green eyes that drew her in.
“I’m Jace. Please, come in.” Stepping onto the porch, he held open the door, gesturing her inside. “Have a seat. The place is an embarrassing mess. I usually run a tight ship, but I’m new to this whole baby thing.”
“Oh?” she asked, eyeing a white plastic laundry tub, brimming with tiny pastel apparel. The coffee table was littered with how-to-raise-baby books, rattles and disposable bottles. In the middle of it all, lounging on a fuzzy pink blanket were two gorgeous infants.
“The thing is,” he said, “I kind of—”
“Look at you…” Emma didn’t mean to be rude in ignoring her potential employer, but his babies were—Her throat swelled and her eyes welled with tears.
Since her loss, she’d avoided babies. Baby aisles. Baby magazine and TV ads. The pain was still too raw. But on Friday, having had a stranger’s infant thrust into her arms, something inside her had snapped. She could no longer avoid her pain. In that instant, she’d realized that if she were ever to regain even a portion of her former self, she’d have to face that gnawing emptiness head-on. Small steps. First, “borrowing” an infant, in this case, two, then maybe, if heaven were on her side, she’d be ready to live again
