The Next Little Thing (Jackson Falls #4) (6 page)

Somehow, she always knew the right thing to say, was always able
to smooth over any awkward moment. Was fully accepting of his many flaws. It
was one of the things he loved the most about her. She could have rejected the
out-of-wedlock teenage daughter he hadn't even known about until last year.
Especially considering the headaches Paige had given them during those first
few months. A lot of women would have tossed the kid out on her posterior, and
her old man with her. But Casey had accepted Paige as part of her nuclear
family before she even met the girl. Had loved her from day one. And once Casey
loved you, that was it. Her love was precious, immutable, eternal.

Paige moved toward the bed and stood there staring at the baby.
"She's so tiny!"

"She is," Casey said. "All newborn babies are
small, but Emma's smaller than most. Maybe because she came a few weeks early.
Or maybe because she's going to have my bone structure instead of your
father's."  Casey beamed at her stepdaughter. "Would you like to hold
her?"

Paige sucked in a sharp breath. "Could I?"

"Of course. Grab a chair, and Dad can hand her to you."

Rob set the vase of tulips on the night stand and leaned over the
bed. His wife gave him an intimate little smile that arrowed directly into his
heart. She reached up a hand and touched his cheek, and he turned his head to
kiss her palm before scooping up the tiny, warm body bundled tightly in a pink
receiving blanket. He held the baby close to his chest, near his heart. His
gaze locked with that of his newborn daughter, he said softly, "Hi, there,
my little Emmy Lou Who."

"Don't call her that. You know it'll stick."

He flashed his wife a grin and said to Emma, "Are you ready
to meet your big sister?"

The baby didn't answer, but she was alert and clear-eyed,
listening intently to everything he said. "She knows your voice,"
Casey said. "She's been hearing it for months."

The idea that his newborn daughter recognized him pleased him
immensely. "What do you say, Emma? Are you going to be a Daddy's
girl?"

"Of course she is. Have you ever met a woman of any age who didn't
find you irresistible?"

He rolled his eyes. "Stop. You'll embarrass me. And not all
women fall at my feet."

"You don't possess the capacity for embarrassment. And you
know I'm right."

"You should have seen the nurses when we came in," Paige
said. "They were all—" He gave her the evil eye, and she shut up. She
didn't stop grinning, but she shut up.

"I rest my case," his wife said.

Ignoring her, he moved cautiously to Paige's chair and crouched in
front of it. Said, "Have you ever held a baby?"

"Nope."

"See how I'm supporting her head?  You have to do that,
because her head's pretty heavy, and her neck muscles aren't strong enough to
hold it up yet. It'll be a while before they can."

"Okay."

"Now touch the top of her head. Gently."  Paige reached
out and touched a hand to Emma's downy head. "She has a soft spot,"
he said, "right there. Feel it?"  Paige nodded. "We have to be
very careful with that. Her skull hasn't fused yet. It's designed that way to
make it easier for her to get through the birth canal, but it leaves her
vulnerable. Later on, it'll close up, and she'll be as hard-headed as her big
sister. But for now, if we're not careful, we could hurt her."

His daughter eyed him suspiciously. "How come you know so
much about babies?"

"I have seven nieces and nephews. I've changed more diapers
than you want to know about."

"Ew."

"Might as well get used to it. I suspect you'll be doing your
share of diaper duty before we're done."

"Oh, joy."

"Quit with the smart mouth. Are you ready? Remember what I
said about supporting her head."

Still crouching, he gingerly handed the baby over to his daughter.
Paige was a little awkward at first, and he hovered nervously. But it didn't
take her long to catch on and cradle the baby in the crook of her elbow like an
expert. Only then, when he was convinced she wasn't about to drop her little
sister and break her, did he stand back up.

But Emma, being a MacKenzie, had a mind of her own. She took one
look at her sister and began wailing.

"She doesn't like me," Paige said. "How can she not
like me?"

"Oh, honey, that's not it at all," Casey said. "She
just doesn't know you. The world is a big, scary place for a little baby.
Everything is new. She just needs to get used to you."

Emma's wailing intensified, and her face, scrunched up like a
little old man, was getting redder by the minute. "Hey, Emma," Paige
said. "Don't cry. I'm your big sister."  But Emma was having none of
it. Paige looked helplessly at her father. "Dad?"

"Want me to take her?"

"She sure doesn't want to be with me."

He gathered the baby in his arms and rested her warm body against
his shoulder. She settled in against him, and the wails turned to hiccups, then
silenced altogether. "It's all right, baby," he cooed. "Daddy's
here."

Paige rolled her eyes. Casey said, "What did I tell
you?"

He buried his nose in Emma's neck, breathed in that wonderful baby
scent. Swallowed hard. Felt his knees weaken.

"I need to get out of this bed," Casey said, sitting up
and swinging her legs over the side. "Paige, sweetie, can you hand me my
robe?"

She pulled it on, tucked her feet into fuzzy pink slippers. Eased
herself off the bed and said, "Let's take a walk."

"Can I watch TV?" Paige said.

"Of course. The remote's on the table. Come on, Flash, this
tired old lady needs to stretch her legs."

Side by side, the sleeping baby cradled against his shoulder, they
walked the hospital corridor with a slow, measured gait. A beaming nurse
passed, and he nodded a greeting.

"You're quiet," Casey said. "What's with the weird
vibes?"

"I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's all. This morning, I
stepped off a plane, and tonight, I'm standing here, in the hospital, holding
our new daughter."  It was the truth. Just not all of it. He needed to
work it out in his own head before he shared it with her.
If
he ever
shared it with her.

The look she gave him said she wasn't buying it, but she didn't
challenge him. That was the trouble with their relationship; neither of them
could hide anything from the other for longer than twenty seconds. They knew
each other too well.

"I called everyone," he said, to distract her.

"I know. Dad and Millie have already been here. And Trish
called. Worried as usual. Emma surprised all of us, coming early."

"She's a MacKenzie. You can never tell a MacKenzie what to
do. Or when to do it."

They reached the solarium, where the last dying rays of the sun
fell in a reddish puddle on the carpet. Together, they watched it fall, her
cheek pressed against his chest and his free arm wrapped around her. He rested
his hand on her belly. Patted it and said, "You've lost a few pounds
there, Mrs. MacKenzie."

"And look what I got for it."

He smiled, kissed the top of her head. "How long do you think
they'll keep you locked up in this joint?"

"As long as Emma continues to thrive, I should be out of here
on Sunday morning."

"Good. I don't deal well with sleeping alone."

"Likewise. But it's probably just as well that you weren't
home this week. I would've kept you awake. I was very restless the last few
nights. Or should I say Emma was very restless."

"She was getting ready to make her appearance. She wanted
out."

"In a big, bad way."

He fingered a strand of her hair and adjusted the weight of the
baby on his shoulder. "I should probably be going. You look so tired. You
need your sleep. And visiting hours are over."

"Not for you. You can be here any time you want, twenty-four
hours a day. The hospital likes to encourage family bonding."

"I know. I read every piece of paper they gave us in Lamaze
class."

"Before you tossed them in a drawer, never to be seen
again."

"Hey!  I resemble that remark."

"Which reminds me. I packed most of your stuff while you were
gone. I figured every box was one step closer to being moved."  She
sighed. "This really complicates things, doesn't it?  I'd so hoped we
could move before the baby came."

"Don't worry about it. Billy and Alison aren't in any hurry
to move in. We can take our time."

"Easy for you to say. You haven't been living out of boxes
for the past week."

"No.  I've been living out of a backpack. That trumps boxes
any day of the week. Don't worry. It'll all fall into place. You just need to
focus on getting rested."  He shot her a wink. "And eat your Wheaties
every day, so you'll be ready to hoist heavy furniture over your head."

* * *

Without Casey here, the house seemed lifeless, suffocating. Paige
had long since gone to bed, after spending more than an hour on the phone,
rallying the troops for the big move. With her blunt, in-your-face
assertiveness, Paige was nearly impossible to say no to. It probably hadn't
hurt her mission that she'd enlisted her Aunt Trish as second-in-command. He
had no idea how many people she had lined up for tomorrow, but he could pretty
much guarantee it would be more than enough to get the job done.

So here he was, he who'd been up for nearly twenty-four hours,
left to wander the house alone with his thoughts. He would have loved to settle
down and get some sleep, but it felt unnatural without his wife, and he
couldn't seem to quiet the voices in his head. Instead, he took a Corona from
the fridge, grabbed his Gibson acoustic, threw on his bomber jacket, and went
out to the porch swing.

He loved the feel of the old wooden swing, loved the creak it made
as he swayed gently. Propping his ankles on the porch railing, he twisted open
the beer and took a long, slow swallow. Set it on the floor and began fiddling
with the guitar.

This was how he always worked through his problems. Music was his
religion, and it had gotten him through more than one crisis of faith. He
pictured Emma's face, those eyes gazing into his with absolute trust. How was
it possible that somebody so tiny could have rendered him utterly helpless with
just a glance?  How was it possible that holding her, looking into those wide,
innocent eyes, made him feel like he'd been cut off at the knees?

The first instant he held her in his arms, he'd recognized his
inadequacies as a father, had clearly seen all his shortcomings and realized he
couldn't possibly give her what she needed. How could he be responsible for the
life and well-being of this tiny scrap of humanity when he couldn't even be
responsible for himself?  He'd never been Mister Responsibility. He was a
musician, an artist, a creative soul. Translated, that meant he was
disorganized, impetuous, a dreamer, and far too loosey-goosey for his own good.
How could he hope to be a father to that helpless little baby until he cleaned
up his act, pulled his head out of his ass, and became the sober, responsible
dad that Emma deserved?

The question gnawed at him, but the answer was elusive. Was he
even capable of change?  He'd always flown by the seat of his pants, with
varying results. Suddenly the enormity of what he and Casey had done loomed
over him, massive as the Hindenburg. If he couldn't change, if he couldn't become
the father that Emma needed, would that dark and ominous dirigible crash and
burn directly on top of him?

He swallowed back the panic squeezing his insides and focused on
his guitar. Here, he could be his authentic self. Here, he could pour out all
the chaotic crap that had shredded his guts like raw hamburger, could try to
forge that chaos into something comprehensible.

It took him a half-hour of working long, lean fingers over the
fret board, a half-hour of dredging and sweating and bleeding, to get what he
wanted. When he was done, he had the unvarnished beginnings of a new piece of
music.
A Song for Emma,
that's what he would call it.

Exhausted, still needy and raw, he sat in the darkness, listening
to the spring peepers, and finished his beer. He took the empty bottle and the
Gibson into the house, left the bottle in the sink and carried the guitar
upstairs and lay it on the bed.

Back downstairs, he wrote a quick note to Paige, stuck it on the
fridge, grabbed his car keys from the hook on the wall, and locked the house
behind him.

* * *

At this time of night, he had to use the Emergency entrance
because after 11 p.m., the front entry was locked. He wound his way to the
elevator and took it to the second floor. Here on the maternity ward, the
lights were dimmed, the corridors silent. A lone R.N. sitting at the nurse's
station glanced up from her paperwork in surprise. "Hey," he said,
and kept moving.