Baby in His Arms (8 page)

Oh, if only things were that easy. He was right, of course, but her faith wasn’t that strong. She wanted it to be. It simply wasn’t, which only proved how little she trusted God. “I wish I could.”

He nodded, still studying her with those obsidian eyes. “We’d have a great time.”

She had no doubt of that and felt immensely sad that she couldn’t allow this one thing he wanted to do for her.

* * *

Creed ran a hand over the back of his neck. He’d known he was treading on dangerous ground by asking Haley to fly with him and wasn’t surprised at her refusal. But he was surprised that he wasn’t walking out of her house without a backward glance.

At that moment, baby Rose set up a howl and Haley rushed out of the room. The distraction was the perfect opportunity for him to make his exit. He should go home and not come back.

But he didn’t. He followed the wailing cries, a sound that should run a sane man out the front door.

When he reached the hallway, he heard Haley’s gentle voice cooing to Rose. The baby hushed as suddenly as she’d cried out. The door was ajar, so Creed hovered in the opening. Haley, in her long purple dress with her hair falling forward, leaned over the bassinet, one hand patting Rose’s chest.

“You’re okay, baby girl.
Shh. Shh.
”

“May I come in?”

Haley glanced over one shoulder and smiled. Creed’s chest expanded. “Sure. Flip that light out, will you? She drifts off faster in the dark.”

“Why did you turn it on?”

One shoulder hitched. “Reflex. I couldn’t see her well and thought...you know.”

He didn’t but he didn’t admit as much. He simply flipped out the light and joined her.

“Why was she crying?” he asked.

Again that lifted shoulder. “Who knows? Babies cry.”

“Yeah, I guess.” But as he stood over Rose’s borrowed bed, a terrible sense of the inevitable swamped him. “I loath the idea of her going home with some stranger.”

He heard Haley swallow, though she didn’t reply. In the dim, shadowy light from the hall, he studied the side of her face, the swing of auburn hair darkened by the night, the curve of her neck and shoulders.

He desperately wanted to put his arm around her and hug her close to his side. To stay the urge, he added his wide hand to hers atop Rose’s bird chest. There was something soothing about the rise and fall of the baby’s breath. And something unsettling about Haley’s skin against his.

Haley turned her head then, observing him from the shadows. Her fresh lemony scent stirred the air, blending with Rose’s baby fragrance. He breathed them in, these two females that he couldn’t get out of his mind.

“She’s asleep,” Haley whispered. “Feel how her chest moves in a different pattern now?”

He did. And he marveled.

Touched in ways that both bewildered and enthralled, he curled his fingers around Haley’s and lifted, slowly turning them until they faced one another, joined together by entwined fingers.

“Pretty amazing,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he meant her or Rose. All he knew was that his heart yearned.

He took a step closer.

Haley’s other hand touched his chest.

“Don’t kiss me,” she whispered.

His heart thudded against his rib cage. “Why not?”

“Because...” She heaved a sigh.

Creed frowned. “You sound...sad.”

“I am.”

“Don’t be.” He laced his fingers through her hair and caressed the soft skin of her neck, tugging gently.

She moved against Creed’s chest and looped her arms around his waist. With another sigh, Haley rested her head against his shoulder. Her breath against his shirt was warm and sent shivers over his skin.

“Just hold me,” she whispered.

He could do that. He stroked her back, reveled in the smell of her hair, in the delicate bones of her shoulders. She felt soft and vulnerable the way Rose had, an illusion he knew. Haley was strong.

And when she lifted her face to his, her eyes gleaming in the soft darkness, Creed needed all his willpower not to kiss her.

With a rueful smile, he pressed his lips against her forehead and rested his face in her hair.

Chapter Eight

T
he first dizzy spell lasted only long enough for Creed to know it had happened. The second one lasted longer.

With a prayer stuck in his throat, he landed the heli without incident. After seeing his passengers on their way, he entered his office and collapsed in a chair. His hands were shaking. His gut felt hollow. And his ears rang.

He considered but dismissed giving a holler to the maintenance guy working in the next hangar. What was the point? He’d be okay in a minute.

He pressed a hand to his forehead.
Sweaty.
He’d had a mild headache for a couple of days and now this. What was going on? He hadn’t been sick since a stomach bug swamped him on vacation in Mexico two years ago. He was never sick. Never.

He couldn’t be sick. He’d invited Haley to his apartment for grilled steaks tonight. She’d said yes, unable to resist his promise of a killer rib eye. If he hadn’t felt so weird, he would have grinned. She liked him, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Tilted back in the chair, he closed his eyes. All thoughts of Haley evaporated as the room spun. Like a drill sergeant with a vendetta, pain hammered at his temples.

He couldn’t fly in this condition.

“Oh, man!” he said, finding his lips dry. Thirsty, he wobbled to his mini-fridge. He grabbed a bottled juice and gulped the fresh orange drink.

Back at his desk, Creed rested his head on the glass-covered wood. His heart thundered as if he’d run guard drills—twice. His stomach growled.

He grappled in the top drawer for a nutty granola bar and scarfed it down, chasing the power snack with another bottle of juice. He’d had a light breakfast. Maybe he was just hungry.

Like a floundered fish, he sat with mouth open, sucking shallow breaths until the strange episode subsided. Then he sat another few minutes until his body returned to normal—all except for a worried feeling in the pit of his stomach.

By the time his next charter arrived, he was feeling good again and put the episode out of his mind.

* * *

Haley found Creed’s apartment with ease because the only apartments in Whisper Falls, other than the senior complex, were either private spaces over garages and old buildings or in the row of modest town houses spread along the bluff overlooking town. Creed made his home in one of the latter. He let her in, made the usual show of interest in Rose and Thomas and showed her through the small, military-neat apartment before leading the way out to the patio.

“This is nice,” she said. “Great view.”

In the distance, mountains framed the town in navy blue and in the valley below the bluffs, a serpentine river glistened in the sunlight. “No wonder you live up here.”

“The view’s even prettier from the air.”

He wouldn’t let go of the flying thing. She pointed at him. “You invited me here. Now be nice.”

He laughed and rubbed one hand down his shirtfront. For once he wasn’t wearing his customary black golf shirt. Instead, he’d tossed on a blue plaid flannel and left it unbuttoned over a white tee. The change made her notice him more. If that was possible.

Four nights ago he’d held her in his arms and she’d been surprised when he hadn’t kissed her. When did men ever do what she asked of them?

Now, she remembered the feel of those strong, pilot’s arms around her and wondered at her resistance. Creed was a nice guy. Funny. Easy to be around. Really good to look at. Unlike her mother, Haley didn’t have to have a man underfoot all the time to feel alive. Nor did she have to fall in love with a guy to enjoy his company.

“Think Rose will be all right inside by herself?” Creed pointed a giant spatula toward the patio doors.

“We can hear her if she needs something.” Haley glanced through the glass to where Rose Petal lay on her padded gym, intently watching brightly colored toys circling overhead.

“I brought my helicopter,” Thomas said, holding up the red wasp. “Can I fly it out here?”

“Sure,” Creed said. “But don’t sail that baby over the bluff. It might land on Chief Farnsworth. She frowns on unidentified flying objects.”

Thomas snickered. “Okay.”

Creed lifted the lid to the charcoal grill and shot Haley one of his winks. Smoke rolled up and out, fragrancing the evening air. He coughed and waved a hand, teasing. “I hope you like your steaks well-done.”

“I haven’t had a steak in so long I don’t care how it’s cooked.”

“So only the lure of good steak brings you over here tonight?”

Oh, wasn’t he a sly one? “Free food is hard to resist. What can I do to help?”

He’d covered a small patio table with a white cloth and had already set out the dishes and silverware.

“Grab the salad from the fridge and maybe get the drinks. Rolls are in the oven.” He turned with the spatula, grinning. “And don’t step on Rose.”

She made a face at him, chuckling as she went inside. When she came back out, Creed was watching Thomas chase the remote control helicopter around his small backyard.

Without turning in her direction, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Super.” Haley set the mixed-greens salad on the table. “His mom is making great progress, and that always makes him happy.”

“Good news.”

“At this rate, he’ll be home with her soon.”

“Yeah?” He slowly closed the grill. Smoke puffed around the edges. “You okay with that?”

Haley’s stomach dipped, a familiar sinking feeling she got whenever one of her charges was on his or her way out. She drowned the emotion with a sip of cold, tart lemonade. “Sure.”

“He told me he’s not having as much problem with the school bully.”

“Thanks to you.” She set her chilled glass on the table. “Don’t worry about him, Creed. He’s strong. He’s going to be okay.”

“I hope so.”

So did she.

* * *

The headache he’d battled off and on all week was back. Creed pushed back from his half-eaten steak to rub his temples.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Haley said.

“Guess I breathed too much smoke.”

“The steaks aren’t
that
well-done,” she said, smiling.

Creed wanted to return the smile. Haley had been great tonight and not once had they argued about anything. She looked great, too, in a flowy turquoise skirt and ruffled top with sandals on her pretty feet and silver feathers dangling from her ears. His hippie girl was a knockout.

“Just a little headache.” With a hammer to beat his brains out.

“Want some ibuprofen?”

“I’ll be okay in a minute.”

She got up from her chair, ignoring her unfinished meal, and came around to stand behind him. “I know a little therapeutic massage that works wonders on tension.”

The only tension was caused by these weird headaches. He’d had another dizzy episode before she arrived. Maybe he should call Dr. Ron for a checkup. To be on the safe side.

“This massage doesn’t involve crystals or chanting and waving incense, does it?”

She snorted. “Relax. You’re in good hands.”

Her strong gardener’s fingers took hold of his trapezius muscle. She stuck a thumb in the base of his neck and began to move. In seconds he was almost drooling. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“A guy I knew.”

In other words, an old boyfriend.

“You should have married him.”

“How’s your headache?”

“Still there, but now I don’t care.”

Her laugh was good medicine. She stopped massaging and stepped away. “Tell me where you keep them and I’ll get you a couple of pain tablets.”

Creed stood up. Black dots danced in front of his eyes. He grabbed the patio table which promptly tilted. Steak plates crashed to the rock patio and splintered.

“Creed!”

He held up a hand. “I’m good. A little dizzy.”

His head was starting to clear. Enough to see Haley and Thomas staring at him with wide, anxious eyes.

Tomorrow he was seeing Dr. Ron.

* * *

Dr. Ron Johnson flipped the pages of Creed’s chart, a small furrow across his freckled brow.

“Don’t frown, Doc. You scare me.”

Whisper Falls’ one and only physician gave him an amused look. Amused but serious. “You fly helicopters, but something like a little physical exam scares you?”

“I can’t fly if I’m not healthy.” The thin, white paper crinkled as Creed shifted on the end of the exam table. “So what’s the verdict? Am I good to go?”

“I’m not seeing anything too specific, but I’d like to run some more tests.”

An apprehensive twinge tightened the muscles of his back. His fingers folded around the end of the table. “What kind of tests? I had a physical last summer.”

“Not from me.”

“The military has this weird rule about pilots. Tip-top shape or grounded.”

“I’d like to do a complete blood workup, check out your chemistry, run a fasting blood sugar. Let’s start there.”

Start? As in there could be more? “Blood sugar?”

Dr. Ron scribbled something on the chart. “Mmm-hmm. Any history of diabetes in your family?”

“Not that I know of.” Which was true. He didn’t know anything at all about his biology.

“You might want to ask your parents.”

Dr. Ron was not a born and bred Whisper Falls citizen. He’d come to town on one of those rural grants that paid his student loans and had chosen to make the little town his permanent home. He didn’t know Creed’s background. “I’m adopted, Doc.”

The blond doctor lifted his head to hold Creed’s gaze. “Do your adoptive parents have any medical information on your birth family?”

“I don’t know.” He wasn’t inclined to ask, either. He could. He just didn’t want to. Mom and Dad had always been honest about the way he’d arrived into their lives but Mom, especially, was sensitive. Creed was her baby, end of subject. They hadn’t discussed his adoption in years. “Are you saying I have diabetes?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. Test first, diagnosis last. Could be something as simple as an infection. But it
is
something I’d like to check. Your symptoms fit, and your blood sugar
is
on the high side.”

The knock of fear grew louder. His life was in the air. His passion was flying. Diabetes could ground him for good.

* * *

At lunchtime, after a busy morning that included one medi-flight to Little Rock and a business charter to Bentonville, Creed was feeling better. Not once had he experienced a weird episode. Maybe the incidents had been a fluke.

But the pit of his gut gnawed and fretted over that one scary word. Diabetes. So much so that he’d phoned his dad.

He clicked the lock on his office and drove to the Iron Horse for lunch, and if he could gather the nerve, a father-son conversation about his birth history.

When he arrived, his dad, tall and angular and dear, was already at the snack shop, carrying on a conversation with the owner, Uncle Digger Parsons, and the waitress, Annalisa Keller.

Blond and beautiful, Annalisa looked happier than she had the first time he’d seen her. The diamond engagement ring sparkling from her left hand could have something to do with that. The Sunday paper had carried the announcement of her engagement and approaching wedding to rancher Austin Blackwell.

Creed wanted that someday.

Haley flashed through his head. She was the only woman who had caught his interest lately. A tree-hugging hippie girl who hated flying. God had a sense of humor.

After an exchange of pleasantries with the shop’s proprietors, he and his dad found an empty table in the corner. The smell of microwaved cheese sauce battled with the cinnamon and sugar of Miss Evelyn’s almost-famous apple pie. Today, he’d pass on that extravagance. Better stick with salad.

They’d no more than scraped their chairs up to the table when Dad said, “What’s going on, son?”

A lump tightened his throat. Dad had always known when something was wrong. “Got some things on my mind I wanted to talk to you about.”

“A woman? Maybe this Haley who’s been helping Grandma with her roses?”

“What? Haley? No, no.” Creed shook his head. “Not Haley.”

Although she’d been on his mind about every fifteen seconds.

“Too bad. Your grandma thinks she hung the moon. I was over there this morning. She and Haley were digging in dirt up to their elbows and chattering like magpies. I haven’t seen your grandma that perky since she moved from the farm.”

“I’m glad.”

“Grandma alternated between petting that cute little baby and discussing the fragrance of old-fashioneds versus the new-fangled hybrids.”

Creed gave an answering smile, but his belly hurt at the mention of Rose. Like him, she might someday face a health crisis with no answers available. Chief Farnsworth was no closer to solving the mystery of her birth than she’d been from the beginning.

Annalisa arrived with two glasses of water and a notepad. “Are you two ready to order?”

There were no menus at the Iron Horse other than the white marker board hanging above the counter. Customers squinted at the letters and ordered.

“Chef salad for me,” he said.

“Chicken salad sandwich,” Dad said. “Chips on the side. And a slice of that apple pie.”

“À la mode?”

“Sounds good, but hold it until I eat the sandwich, okay?”

“Be glad to.” Annalisa smiled. “How about you, Creed? Pie and ice cream?”

“Better pass today.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Coffee,” his dad said, no surprise.

“Water’s fine.”

Annalisa noted their orders and zipped away, her golden ponytail swinging above a Whisper Falls T-shirt listing business sponsors for last fall’s Pumpkin Fest. Carter’s Charters’ logo was right in the middle of her back.

“Eating light, aren’t you, son?” Dad asked after she’d left.

“Not much appetite today. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dad frowned, not understanding. “Your appetite?”

Creed took hold of the water glass but didn’t drink. He slid his fingers up and down on the wet surface. His dad, he noticed, did the same. They were amazingly alike in so many ways, though his dark tanned skin didn’t match his father’s much lighter complexion.

“Not exactly.”