way we won’t distract you.”
Reaching around Marlee’s belly, Wylie topped up his coffee.
Mick rose and set his cup in the sink. “Sis, that new outfit you’re wearing is a big improvement over what you had on when I landed.”
“Wylie didn’t even notice I’m wearing real maternity clothes,” she said, wrinkling her nose at her unobservant husband.
Guilt brought a flush to her husband’s tanned cheeks. “You always look great to me.”
“You are so full of it!” said Mick, laughing. “When I got here she had on a stretched-out pair of too-big sweats, and one of your faded flannel shirts that had a button missing right over her watermelon stomach.”
The waterworks Mick had been treated to earlier erupted again.
Wylie gathered Marlee into his arms and with a hand behind her back motioned Mick out. As he clomped toward the mudroom, Mick stored this exchange for future reference. Don’t joke with pregnant women.
He shouldn’t have teased her. He knew Marlee wanted to make a good impression on Wylie’s coworkers. Mick vowed he wouldn’t be the cause of any more tears on this visit.
He dragged his jacket from one of several hooks lining the mudroom wall. Last time he’d toured the addition, Wylie hadn’t yet installed heat. That was in September. Not half as cold as it was now. The wind whistled around the house.
Mick was pleasantly surprised when he stepped into the two new bedrooms separated by a full bath. Baseboard water heaters sizzled softly. He shed his jacket and dropped it over the doorknob.
“Whaddya think?” Wylie walked in behind Mick and gestured around at his handiwork. “The electricity in this entire section runs off a freestanding generator. I may convert the main house to another one next spring. Regular power is so iffy out here, especially if we get a bad winter, and starting the booster generator sometimes takes an hour.”
He sipped from his mug. “I remember how I struggled to keep Dean warm during power outages when he was a baby. I don’t want Marlee to have to go through that….” His words trailed off.
Mick knew that Wylie’s first wife, Dean’s mother, had walked out, leaving him with an infant. Even though he’d heard the woman was a flake, Mick had been floored when Marlee told him that Dean wasn’t Wylie’s biological child. Mick had never met anyone prouder of his son than Wylie Ames. At first Mick had doubted the story. Although, he’d had to admit the two looked nothing alike. Wylie had visible Native American roots; Dean was a classic blue-eyed, freckled carrot-top.
Mick pondered what he would’ve done in Wylie’s place. Ultimately, he gave up. He couldn’t imagine. Dean’s mother had led Wylie to believe he’d gotten her pregnant, and Wylie must have had cause to consider it possible. Mick was glad that the navy had taught him never to have sex without protection. Not that that lesson had come into play lately. He’d had a longer dry spell than he cared to admit.
“Wylie, are you worried about Marlee’s decision to have the baby at home? I mean, forecasters and the almanac are predicting a helluva winter.”
Wylie stared into the depths of his mug. “I try not to dwell on it. Having babies anywhere is risky. But I love her so much, it’s scary. If anything were to happen to Marlee or the baby because of me…” He shook his head at the thought and turned to look at Mick. “I can’t force her to stay in Kalispell for the month before the baby’s born. If you have any influence…”
“I don’t,” Mick hastened to say. “She’d just dig in harder if I say anything. It’s the Callen stubborn trait. I recognize it well.” He grinned to lighten the mood. “So, what can I do to help get this addition shipshape for guests? Marlee said you’ll earmark one room for Rose and the second for the midwife, in case she has to bunk over.”
“Right. She owns a snowmobile, but in the event of a blizzard, she’ll have to wait it out. I’ll finish laying the wood flooring in the smaller room if you’ll start painting these walls. If I don’t get them painted soon, Marlee will be out here wielding a roller herself.”
“Bring on the supplies.” Mick ran a hand over the smooth wallboard. “I don’t mind staying here tomorrow. I can easily finish a second coat while you’re at your potluck.”
“No, you don’t. I never have been gung-ho on company potlucks. In the past, too many well-meaning friends dragged over women they dug up God knows where. This time I’m actually looking forward to showing off my wife and family, but until you phoned, Marlee had jitters.”
“She never said there might be single women at this shindig. Is that why my sister’s so keen on dragging me along? She’s always pestering me to get out and find a nice person of the opposite sex.”
Wylie, who rarely laughed out loud, did so, and thumped Mick’s back. “You’d rather we fixed you up with somebody of the same sex?”
“Ha, ha,” Mick said. “I like women fine. Better than fine. But I’m picky. The woman I like best of the ones I’ve met in Montana so far, is kinda—well, probably attached to another guy. So it’s obviously not going to pan out. And since it’s not, don’t you dare spill a word of this to Marlee. She’ll be on my case until she worms out of me who it is. Then she won’t let up.”
The ranger smiled in sympathy for his younger brother-in-law’s plight. “I won’t say a word. How about I bring in the paint and rollers, while you spread that canvas sheeting.”
Mick brushed aside thoughts of Hana Egan and bent to the task of making sure the canvas covered all corners. Wylie had done a great job installing tongue and groove hardwood. Mick forced himself to focus on the room. His house could stand renovation. Rather than head for sun and surf this winter, maybe he ought to stick around and spruce up the old place.
If he did that, he wouldn’t have an opportunity to meet a suitable prospect for the position of Mrs. Mick Callen. Not that marriage was at the top of his list. Yet he envied what Marlee and Wylie had. And it was lonely rattling around that big, empty house.
He cleared his mind until Wylie returned to pour warm butterscotch paint into Mick’s roller pan. Each stroke he made on the wall unfortunately reminded him of Hana Egan’s eyes. He hurried around the walls so he could move on to the pale yellow of the smallest room, which made him think only of Stella’s homemade banana cream pie.
Mick was primed for eating by the time they were called for supper. After the meal Marlee opened all the baby gifts Mick had bought and cried over each one.
He shrugged off her thanks, grateful when Wylie asked if he wanted to stay up late to hang the flower-sprigged wallpaper down to the wainscoting in the bathroom.
Marlee and the kids came out shortly after to say good-night. “Mick, I made up the bed in Dean’s room for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll be quiet going in. I know you said we need to get an early start in the morning.”
Later, he tiptoed into the dark room. Piston and Wingman had already found his bed, and Mick shooed the disgruntled dogs off. As he listened to the wind howl outside, Mick stepped to the window to see if it’d started to snow. Deciduous trees were bare, but their fallen leaves rustled around their trunks. Fir and pine boughs swayed in the wind, and the silver moon shone cold and crisp. Turning away, he climbed between sheets
