always want to protect you. I can’t apologize for that, but I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Well, that was considerably more than Seth figured he’d get. He remained frustrated with Jace, and he was drowning in the knowledge that he might have a child coming into this world. How could Rebecca keep that away from him?
The possibility existed the baby wasn’t his, and that was why Rebecca had stopped communicating. On a logical level, that scenario made the most sense. But his ramped-up intuition and the facts of that weekend told a different story. Even without those facts, Seth had learned years ago to trust his instincts. He wasn’t about to stop now.
Clenching and unclenching his empty hand, he considered if he should push the subject with Jace. Why, though? Wasting minutes arguing wasn’t the smartest use of Seth’s time. A better use would be deciding how to proceed.
In any mission, the first step was gathering all of the necessary intel. Only then could the following steps be planned and executed with success.
“Fair enough,” he said in a controlled manner. “I’ll set your misguided actions aside because you’re my brother and I believe you were operating with good intentions.” Seth finished his beer, waited a beat and said, “Tell me everything you know.”
If a room could be a living, breathing entity, then this room had devoured hundreds of stuffed pink teddy bears, swallowed several dozen bottles of Pepto-Bismol and then spewed all of it out in a massive spray of pink. There were pink streamers, pink balloons, pink plates, pink glasses, pink napkins in pink napkin holders and pink flowers. Not to mention the multitudes of little pink cakes and pastries, which the guests could wash down with pink punch that had pink ice cubes frozen in the shapes of tiny baby feet and baby rattles.
In other words: a major overabundance of pink.
Rebecca Carmichael rubbed her swollen belly while holding back a groan. Her unborn daughter responded with a flurry of miniature kung fu kicks, as if expressing her profound agreement with her mother’s silent assessment.
Yes, definitely too much pink.
Rebecca could only blame herself. If she’d gotten out of bed earlier, she could have helped Jocelyn decorate, and by doing so, limited the explosion of color that had overtaken her earth-toned living room. But she’d slept in and her sister had taken full advantage.
Planting her hands on her hips, Rebecca spun in a slow circle, taking in the entire spectacle. Maybe she could get away with pulling down a few of the Congratulations! It’s a Girl! banners, along with a good handful or two of the streamers.
Except the last thing she wanted was to hurt her sister’s feelings. Jocelyn had put considerable effort into planning today, and the baby shower was important to her.
“What do you think, kid?” Rebecca asked her rounded belly. “Will your aunt notice if a few of her decorations go missing?”
Before her brilliant daughter—because of course, she would prove to be brilliant—had a chance to respond, the familiar sound of Rebecca’s mother and sister arguing floated from the kitchen. Now what? When Allison and Jocelyn got into it, they could keep going for hours.
Resigned to playing peacemaker, Rebecca trudged toward the kitchen. Jocelyn was only twenty-two, seven years younger than Rebecca, and hadn’t yet learned to pick her battles with their mother. Allison Carmichael, as much as Rebecca loved her, was the type of mother that completely took to heart the saying, “Mother knows best,” even when she didn’t.
Rebecca paused at the threshold, taking stock of the situation before making herself known. The two women were on the other side of the room, each gripping one end of a large, plastic platter filled with tiny, cutout sandwiches that, thankfully, were not pink.
Allison’s platinum-blond-dyed hair was loose and disheveled, the greater part of it no longer clasped behind her head. Her cheeks were flushed a flustered red and her green eyes held the fire of defiance. She was definitely in mother-knows-best mode.
She tugged on the platter. “Let it go, Jocelyn! I’m not finished with it.”
Rebecca’s sister, a shorter and much younger version of Allison, whose blond hair had yet to need the help of a colorist, tugged the tray back toward her. “You are too finished, Mother! There is nothing wrong with the amount of sandwiches on this platter.”
“You have at least twelve people coming here today, young lady. With you, me and Rebecca, that’s a minimum of fifteen. You need to serve enough sandwiches so everyone can take two.” Allison yanked at the tray again. “Why don’t you ever listen?”
“Because that’s stupid! Not everyone will want—”
“Stop! Both of you,” Rebecca said, deciding if she didn’t halt this now, her kitchen would shortly be decorated with flying mini-sandwiches. “Mom, let go of the tray. Jocelyn’s right. She’s planned this, so let her do it her way.”
“Happy baby shower day!” Jocelyn said, her voice changing to its normal chipper tone. She continued to grip the platter with everything she had. “Did you see the living room?”
“Yes, Rebecca. Did you see the outlandish amount of pink this child used?” Allison pulled the tray toward her. “I told her it was too much, but she refused to listen. As normal.”
Wow. Rebecca didn’t agree with her mother often. Had the world stopped spinning on its axis when she wasn’t paying attention? “I think the living room looks terrific,” she said to save her sister’s feelings. “But I came in here to ask for your help, Mom. I see you’re busy, so…”
“Oh!” Allison let go of the platter, causing Jocelyn to back up several paces in quick succession. “What can I help with?”
Thinking fast, Rebecca said, “The nursery. Can you pop upstairs for a second?”
“Of course I can.” Allison tucked a few strands of hair into place before focusing on Jocelyn. “Do what you want with those sandwiches, but I’m telling you there are not enough on that tray. The shower will barely get started and you’ll be back here refilling it.”
Jocelyn set the platter on the counter while tossing Rebecca a grateful smile. “It’ll be fine. Go help Rebecca, Mom. I have this under control.”
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Allison whisked her petite form to the other side of the kitchen. “Are you coming, Rebecca?”
“Go on up. I’ll be there in a minute.” Her mother nodded and exited the room. Rebecca waited until she heard Allison’s footsteps on the stairs before facing her sister. “Can you please try to get along with her today?”
Jocelyn’s eyes—a mirror of their mother’s—narrowed. “I am trying. She’s ridiculous! She wasn’t even supposed to come with me this morning. She’s a guest! But no, she had to force her way into this like she does everything else.”
“She means well. I know she’s been more high-strung lately than normal, but she loves us.” Rebecca stepped forward and pulled her sister into a tight hug. Well, as tight as she could with a seven-and-a-half-month-size stomach between them. “I’m having a baby. You’re leaving for grad school in the fall. For the first time in forever, Mom and Dad will be completely alone in that house. Give her a break.”
Disengaging
