“Two is always better than one,” Jaci repeated their mantra for dealing with Jerry’s nonsense.
“In this case one to do chest compressions while the other runs for the defibrillator after I inform Jerald he’s an uncle to two illegitimate little Piermonts,” Jena said.
“I call the defibrillator.” Jaci held up her hand. And if she should happen to trip and sprain her ankle on the way to get it … oh well.
Jena handed Jaci the baby from the changing table and lifted the other twin from the double stroller.
Jaci cuddled her niece close, rubbed her cheek over fine silky hair, and inhaled the scent of baby shampoo and powder and sweet, loving innocence. “Which of my adorable, unhappy nieces is this?” She rubbed her tiny back in an attempt to calm her.
“For the time being, I dress Abbie in pink and Annie in yellow, until I can tell them apart.”
“Promise me you won’t let anyone label them.” The quiet/sweet/shy one. The mouthy/wild/disrespectful one. Childhood labels were near impossible to outgrow no matter how much a person tried to change or improve.
Jena—who’d often complained of feeling stifled under the expectation of her labels—shook her head. “Promise.”
After Jena changed Annie, Jaci followed her into the kitchen, noting she’d lost all her pregnancy weight and then some. In the bright light she looked drained. Exhausted. Well Jaci would fix that with good food, lots of loving care, and a much needed second pair of hands. “Mom would have liked you naming one of your twins Annie.” After her.
Jena smiled sadly. “I know.”
Jaci settled into a kitchen chair. “I can hold Annie, too, while you make the bottles.” She held out her left hand. “After all, I can’t be the favorite aunt if I come off looking like I’m playing favorites.”
“They’re all of four weeks old, Jaci.” Jena put her free hand on her hip and gave Jaci the give-me-a-break look. “And you’re their only aunt.”
Was she? Without knowing the father’s identity, how could she be sure? Jaci reached for a yellow-socked foot. “Come on. You’ve been hogging them for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”
Jena placed Annie in Jaci’s available arm and she gave her second little niece some loving. “I was trying to clear my schedule before you got here, so I’m on call this week and have to head out for work early tomorrow morning. And I’ve got a full schedule after that. Will you be okay alone?”
“We’ll be fine,” Jena said with a tired smile.
“You know I may have mentioned you were coming home with the twins to Mrs. Calvin up on seven.”
Jena shot her an aggravated look. “I specifically asked you not to tell anyone.”
“How was I supposed to find a quality babysitter, who we are not friends with and doesn’t know Jerry, to babysit on Saturday night without telling them about the twins? She seems nice and always smiles at me when I see her. And she looks so sad sitting in the lobby after her grandchildren leave every Sunday. I wanted to cheer her up. Hey.” Jaci snapped her fingers. “I bet she’d love to come down and give you a hand if you need it tomorrow. It’d be a good opportunity for you to get to know her and show her how you like things done. I’ll leave her number on the refrigerator before I head out in the morning.”
After lifting Annie and handing Jaci Abbie’s bottle Jena smiled. “It’s good to be home.”
With each baby now voraciously sucking on her bottle, the room got suddenly quiet. “How long do you plan to stay?” Jaci couldn’t stop herself from asking. The stress of the next three months, of Jerry intensifying his crusade to marry them off to two of his business associates by their birthday, would be so much easier to handle with Jena by her side.
“Twenty-five years old,” Jena said, as usual, knowing the real question behind her question.
“It’d always seemed so far away.” Jaci stood, had to move. “Damn, daddy. It wasn’t enough to control our every move while he was alive. He has to do it from his grave.” Which he wouldn’t be in if not for Jaci. So many times she’d wished him dead. Death by car accident, bullet wound to the chest from random mugging, asphyxiation from some outrageously expensive food delicacy lodged in his airway. He probably died the way he did on purpose. So she’d be blamed. So she’d have to live with the guilt.
Abbie stirred in her arms. “Ssshhh.” She rocked the tiny bundle. “No one will ever hurt you, sweetie,” she whispered. “You or your sister. Not as long as Auntie Jaci is around.”
Ian couldn’t breathe. Something heavy lay across his chest. He tried to move. Couldn’t. His left leg caught in a vice. On fire.
Something dripped on his chin. He wiped it away. Tried to focus through the darkness.
Heat.
Another drop hit his mouth. He tasted blood. What the …?
Gunfire. In the distance.
Ice reached for his M16. Found a body part instead.
What the hell happened?
More gunfire.
He struggled to get free.
The vacant, lifeless eyes of his buddy, The Kid, stared at him from a blood drenched face. The picture of the man’s wife and one-year-old daughter flashed.
The smell of fire. Burnt flesh. Death.
A baby cried. His baby. He could not die.
A hand touched his shoulder.
They would not take him prisoner. Ian tore his leg from its restraint, pushed at the mass crushing his chest, and twisted free. He tackled his attacker, the enemy, responsible for the death of his team. He raised his fist, inhaled, and smelled … her. Jaci. Felt her warm, willing body beneath him.
Ian junior perked up with interest.
Oh how he’d missed her, dreamed of her, aroused and undulating beneath him. He rocked his hips, needed her, to escape. To forget.
“Ian. Stop.” Not the words he wanted to hear right now. Usually she was so happy to see him. So welcoming. “Wake up. Get off me.” Instead of pulling him close, she pushed at his chest, sounding … angry.
He opened his eyes to the shadowed greys of an overcast early morning—the wind and rain from last night still raging outside. He lay on his side between Justin’s sofa and coffee table, on the floor, partially sprawled over a fully clothed Jaci.
A skilled tactician, Ian quickly scrolled through his options.
1) Retreat with an apology
2) Engage with an explanation
3) Instigate with an accusation
4) Distract with arousal
Since, by his estimation, lucky number four held
