The Baby Agenda (15 page)

No. No, it wasn't.

Caleb's mouth slipped off her breast. Moira eased him against her shoulder and patted his back until he gave a sleepy burp and nestled into her.

“I'm going to put him down,” she murmured.

Will didn't move as she stood and went down the hall. Moira hesitated once she'd settled Caleb into his bassinet. The coward in her wanted to hide out in the bedroom and
not
return to the living room. Will was in a strange mood tonight. She couldn't imagine what had set him off, unless… Had
he
felt excluded while Mom was here?

Heavens. Maybe, Moira thought unhappily, she'd made both of them feel unappreciated.

And maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe she was seeing Will's naturally pushy personality in action.

But when she entered the living room, he only said,
“Like some ice cream? I was thinking a bowl would be good.”

She moaned. “You can't keep tempting me like this.”

“Nursing takes a lot of calories.”

“Yes, but look at me.” Moira laid her hands on her still too-soft stomach. “I have so much to lose.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “There's no hurry, you know.”

“Easy for you to say,” Moira muttered.

“So no ice cream?”

She sighed. “Mocha almond fudge?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, God. Just a scoop. Okay?”

Will grinned and disappeared into the kitchen.

He brought two bowls back, hers containing one perfect round scoop, his mounded high. After a resentful glance at his bowl, she concentrated on eating her own ice cream in tiny increments, stretching it out, letting the richness melt on her tongue.

“Why do you worry so much about your weight?” Will asked after a time.

Moira looked up sharply. He sounded too casual.

“What did Mom tell you?”

He lifted those dark eyebrows. “About?”

Okay, maybe not.

After some internal debate, Moira said, “Even before prepregnancy, I wasn't exactly a sylph.”

“No, you had a luscious, curvy body that made me want to—” He broke off, color slashing his cheekbones.

Moira's eyes widened.

“You know what I wanted to do,” he muttered. “I did it.”

“You mean, I begged you to do it.”

Abruptly, Will frowned at her. “Begged? I don't remember any begging.”

“You were reluctant.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that's why I insisted on walking you to your hotel-room door. Because I wasn't dying to take you inside and peel that dress off you.”

“But you were such a gentleman. I thought—”

“Whatever you thought, it was obviously wrong. Any hesitation was only because of me planning to leave the country so soon.” He hunched his shoulders. “And I suppose I didn't like the idea of being a stand-in for the creep.”

“The creep.” She made an awful face. “Do you know, if I'd slept with him, and used that condom…”

Will didn't say anything. His expression was so unchanging, she could tell the thought had already occurred to him. And if it had…he must have wondered how she would have felt about Bruce Girard being the father of her baby instead of Will Becker.

“For your sake, I wish it hadn't happened,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But for mine, I'm really glad. Glad you're Caleb's father.”

His face relaxed, and she hadn't even been aware how rigid it had been. Voice scratchy, he said, “Don't be sorry. You think after holding Caleb I can regret anything?”

“No.” Moira felt inexplicably mushy inside. “That would be awful, not having him, wouldn't it?”

They were both quiet for a moment, and she could see that he was as incredulous as she was at the very idea: no Caleb.

“You've managed to evade my question,” Will pointed out.

She pretended not to know what he was talking about, even though she did.

“Do you really not know how sexy you are?” he asked.

With a shrug, she said, “Men tend to see me as best-friend material. I always figured it was the freckles. They positively shout girl next door. You know?”

“I've never lived next door to anyone who looked like you.”

With no idea why she was arguing, Moira still shot back, “I'm just saying…”

“I watched you at the gala.” Will sounded thoughtful.

“For quite a while. I told you that.” She nodded.

“You danced. Men kept coming on to you, and I didn't need to hear you to be able to tell you were saying, ‘Thanks but no thanks.'”

“That's ridiculous. I don't remember anyone special.”

Will looked at her.

Well, there was Stan Wells, when she'd first arrived at the gala, but then she'd decided she must have imagined the way he had reacted. So maybe…

“I used to be fat,” she blurted.

“Were you,” Will murmured. It wasn't a question. She had the awful sense that she'd answered all his questions instead.

He might as well know. “When I was a kid,” she said. “I don't know why. I was okay until…oh, third grade or so. The fatter I got, the more I wanted to eat. I'd sneak food. Mom would bake cookies and think they'd last for a week, only I'd have eaten the whole batch in two days. That's why I never learned to swim, you know. I didn't want anyone to see me in a bathing suit. I ended up getting dropped by the girls I thought were friends. And boys are such jerks in fourth or fifth grade.”

“I don't think they can help themselves.”

“They should,” she muttered. “I pretended I didn't care, but I did.”

“When did you lose the weight?”

“Oh, it was gradual. Being fat in middle school was really horrible. I had crushes on boys, but I knew they'd never in a million years look twice at me.” She shrugged.

“They probably wouldn't have anyway, but…” Moira heard herself and cringed. “That's what I always think, you know. That no guy could be interested in me.”

She hadn't known he could move so fast. One minute Will was lounging in the chair, the next he was on the sofa beside her, his hand grasping her chin.

“You're wrong. Guys can be. I am.”

She gulped. “I think maybe my self-esteem issues are left from those days. After a while, you sort of…give up.”

His thumb stroked her lower lip. His voice was a low rumble. “You shouldn't.”

Wow. Moira gazed into his dark eyes and felt this swell of complicated emotions. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He swore and took back his hand. “Damn it, there you go again.”

“Again?”

“Why would you thank me for wanting you?”

“I was thanking you for being nice!”

After a moment he sighed. “Okay. I can accept that.” He leaned back but kept watching her. “So, go on. How long did it take to
gradually
get slim?”

“I never got slim. It would have helped if I had. But… I'm not built to have skinny hips.”

“A woman is supposed to
have
hips.”

“Well, I do.” She didn't know why he was being so insistent about this, but she was, after all, the one who'd
decided to tell him why she maybe lacked confidence. “By the time I was a senior in high school, I'd mostly lost the pudge. Too late to be a social success.”

“You mean, the idiots you'd gone to school with didn't notice what was in front of their eyes.”

She smiled at him. “You're good for my ego.”

His mouth quirked in return. “I'd like to be.”

“I finally dated and then had a serious boyfriend in college. End of tale.”

“Okay, next question. Why do you hate the freckles so much?”

“Because hardly anyone else has them.”

He waited, something he was good at. Moira couldn't help squirming under Will's patient regard. “Maybe because they came from my father.” It had taken her a while to figure that out. “He was the redhead.”

“Ah.”

“What does
that
mean?”

Will took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Just that now it makes sense. You don't want to owe anything to him, but ignoring heredity is hard when it's right there every time you look at yourself in the mirror.”

Moira made a face at him. “Plus, kids teased me about my freckles, too.”

“
I
got teased for being big.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” He sounded wry. “I was always the tallest, from kindergarten on up. And talk about middle school. I had all the grace of a Saint Bernard puppy. My feet were huge.” He lifted one and they both looked at it. “I wore a size twelve by the time I was in seventh grade. I tripped over my own feet. I was too clumsy to be any good at sports until later. Way later. I was probably eigh
teen, nineteen, before everything really started working together.”

Why was she so dumbfounded? Did she really think she was the only person in the world who'd grown up knowing she was different, that she didn't
fit?

“I like your size,” Moira told him. “You're strong and gentle both. You make me feel…safe. Which I guess is a silly thing to say, since I'm not in any danger, but it's true anyway.”

“I like your freckles.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “And your hair, and your curves. Skinny, stringy women don't do it for me.”

“A match made in heaven.” She tried to sound sarcastic.

He grinned. “I keep trying to tell you.”

They sat in silence. Will didn't let go of her hand. Moira had butterflies in her stomach that reminded her of Caleb's tumbles in midpregnancy. Her skin tingled. She wanted…

Will released her hand and, before she could feel disappointed, cupped her face and turned it toward him. Then he bent his head and kissed her. His mouth moved softly over hers, not demanding anything, only…asking. Her lips parted, but his kept dancing over them, nibbling, licking, almost kneading them the way his big, strong hands did on her back, seeming to
know
her body better than she did. Moira quit breathing. Eyes closed, she only experienced, wonder filling her.

Finally, Will eased back and waited until she lifted heavy lids and looked at him. “Someday,” he whispered, “I want to kiss you all over. Just like that.” She swallowed.

“But not yet. I don't have enough self-control to stop.
For now, we'll pretend we're shy thirteen-year-olds who know Mom or Dad is only a room away.”

“Oh.”

He stroked one fingertip from her chin down her throat. It was all she could do not to moan. In a low, husky voice, he said, “Okay?”

Moira bit her lip. “Okay.”

“I think,” he said, “it will be fun to flirt with you, Moira Cullen Becker.”

Dizzy with unexpected pleasure, Moira tried for a saucy smile. “I might enjoy flirting with you, too, Mr. Becker.”

“Good.” He kissed her cheek, his breath warm, the small caress raising goose bumps on her nape. “And now, sweetheart, you'd better go to bed if you're going to get any sleep at all before our tyrant of a son starts screaming.”

“Yes.” She stood. “I take it you're going to stay up?”

“Yeah.” His gaze was heated. “Cuddling you sounds a little too dangerous right now. I'll, uh, be along in a little bit.”

Moira nodded, said, “Good night,” and fled. Tonight, she loved knowing that he'd risen to his feet and was watching her go.

C
LAY CALLED AND ASKED
if Will was interested in working, if only temporarily, as foreman on a job in Everett.

“Doug Redmond quit on me today,” he explained. “No notice. Not really his fault. His parents have been going downhill, and now his dad has had a minor stroke. Doug and his wife decided to move to Texas and take care of them.”

Doug was a nice guy who'd worked for Becker Construction as long as Will could remember. He was unimaginative but steady and reliable.

“You'll have to replace him,” Will said.

Clay grunted unhappily. “I'm thinking maybe Ward Stevens, but I don't want to pull him from that drugstore we're building in Lake Stevens.”

Will opened his mouth to comment, then closed it. The decisions weren't his anymore.

Instead, he said, “I wouldn't mind being busy for a little while. Moira doesn't plan to go back to work for another six weeks or so. It doesn't really make sense for us both to sit around staring at Caleb.”

His brother laughed. “Is that what you do?”

“Just wait,” Will said good-naturedly. “Man, there's nothing like seeing your own kid be born.”

“Does he do anything besides sleep, nurse and piss?”

“He craps his diapers, too. And sucks his thumb. That's riveting.”

Clay laughed. “Brother, you need to get out more.”

Amused, Will said, “And you're giving me the chance.”

Moira seemed fine with the idea when Will told her. Probably more than fine, he thought ruefully; having him hover 24/7 had to be getting on her nerves.

She was the one to catch his mood, though. They were loading the dishwasher and putting away leftovers when she said, “We haven't really talked about money.”

“No.” He guessed they should have. Knowing she was still paying utilities and a mortgage, if she had one, had been bugging him, but when he'd said something about splitting expenses she'd been evasive. He'd settled so far for buying most of the groceries and gas. “Well…do you
need
to go to work for your brother?”

Will set down the saucepan he'd dried. “Do you mean, financially?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “No. I have savings and investments. I put away most of my salary all those years. Living in the house we inherited from Mom and Dad, I didn't need much money.”

“Then…why did you say yes?”

“I feel pretty useless sitting around.”

“Now that you figure I don't need you anymore?”

That sent a cold chill through him. He hoped like hell she did still need him, if not in the same way. But he nodded.

“The thing is…” Moira hesitated again. “I could be wrong, but I just got an undertone there that you weren't very happy about working for Clay.”

He went still, thinking about it. “I didn't realize,” he said after a moment. “Hell. Are you reading my mind?”

Her face went blank. “If you don't want to talk about it…”

Damn it, he'd given the impression that he disliked her being so perceptive. He was shocked by a lightning quick thought: Did he? Will didn't let himself stop to examine the idea.

“No, you caught me by surprise. And you're right,” he admitted. “It's not that I mind working for Clay. It's that…” He hesitated.

“You're used to him working for you?”

“That's part of it.” Will fumbled his way, trying to figure out his own reluctance. Good God, was he oblivious to his own motivations? Did Moira understand him better than he understood himself? Unsettling thought.

“Maybe more of it than I want to admit,” he said finally, with a shrug. “It's not Clay, it's that I haven't taken orders from anyone in a lot of years. He started talking about promoting this guy and I almost said, ‘I think you could do better.' But the truth is, he has to make his own decisions and his own mistakes. It was easier to keep my mouth shut when I wasn't around.”

She closed the refrigerator. “I can see that.”

“I don't want to work for anyone else.” He frowned. “I don't think I want to run a business as big as Becker Construction again, either. I spent too much of my time shuffling papers, overseeing the books, hiring and firing. I guess I really do like building.”

Moira smiled at him. “I understand. I didn't like working in a big architectural firm, either.”

Will was swept by the odd realization that, in all his adult life, he'd never had anyone he could talk to like this. He'd been the boss at work, the grown-up, the parent, at
home. He'd become stuck in his roles. He had never felt able to confide, to talk problems out like this. Even though parts of this conversation had been oddly unsettling, Will thought he could easily learn to depend on having a real partner.

But all he said was, “Thanks,” and that came out roughly. “I've committed to this job, but I think I'll say no next time.”

“You do take commitments seriously, don't you.”

Will tensed. “Shouldn't I?”

She seemed to shake herself. “Yes, of course. Don't listen to me.” And she changed the subject, leaving him frustrated by his inability to figure out what she was really thinking half the time.

 

H
E GUESSED HE
HAD
BEEN
getting restless, because something settled in him once he started leaving for work every morning and coming home tired but satisfied. A brief stretch of good weather allowed them to get the roof on and walls framed in on a strip mall that would house three businesses. Tenants were already lined up for all three, so they were building to spec instead of planning open spaces. Will made any decisions and Clay didn't attempt to assert authority. During their brief business conversations, they were both tiptoeing around, Will realized, which reinforced his feeling that he shouldn't take on another job for his brother.

Damn, he looked forward every day to getting home to Moira and Caleb. Caleb changed so fast, and that was part of it. Will hated to miss anything. But mostly, he found himself thinking about Moira. He'd want to share something he'd heard, or a joke, or a random thought. He'd remember the plush feel of her lips beneath his, the delicate indentations of her spine when he slipped
his hand under her shirt and tugged her close to him. He thought about the nightly pleasure-torture of sleeping with her, of waking up to find her head on his shoulder and her breasts pillowed against his side. He'd remember the luscious white swell of her breast revealed when she was nursing their son, and the occasional glimpse he caught of her nipple, damp and swollen, when Caleb's mouth slipped from it.

He kissed her every day at least twice. The brief goodbye kiss in the morning was becoming a satisfying routine. She'd blush, but lift her face to his so naturally he rejoiced. Come evening, he would touch her whenever he could, and sooner or later he'd bend his head and explore her mouth. Most nights, he read for a while or went online after Moira disappeared to bed. He had to cool off before he could get under the sheets with her so temptingly close. He might have been able to maintain his sanity better if he wasn't sleeping with her, but he loved holding her at night. He was living for her six-week checkup and the all clear from the doctor. Will hoped and prayed she felt the same. Or—hell—that she was at least
willing.

Weekdays, she'd taken over doing most of the cooking. When he walked in the door, Moira would greet him, hand over Caleb and disappear to the kitchen, giving him some time alone with his son. By three weeks old, Caleb was staying awake more and holding his head up pretty well. He started cooing, a soft sound that always made Will smile. Usually Moira would nurse him again and put him down for a short nap while they ate dinner. Some nights he'd refuse to fall asleep, and they'd take turns bouncing him against a shoulder while they ate.

Painting the bedroom only took a couple of days. Moira commented on how much more quickly he worked than she could have.

“Dad made me learn the business from the ground up,” Will explained. “I painted the entire first summer I worked for him. Over the next few summers, I learned to wire and plumb a house along with framing a window, hanging a door, reading blueprints.” He shrugged. “I took the same tack with Clay and Jack.”

Her brows rose. “But not with Sophie?”

Will laughed at her tone. “Are you accusing me of sexism?”

“Should I be?”

“No. Sophie worked one summer in the office, but letting her even set foot on a construction site was out.” He chuckled, thinking about his sister's quirks. “She's really smart. You know that.” Moira nodded.

“She couldn't build a decent tower with wooden blocks when she was a toddler. I doubt that, to this day, she could assemble a Barbie house. She's got a great memory, so she gets herself most places with no trouble, but she can't read a map. We finally figured out it's some kind of spatial thing. She worked in a vet clinic a couple of summers, she's a whiz on a computer, but she'd be a menace with a tool in her hand.”

“I've heard about people like that. I'd never have guessed.”

“Sophie does plenty of things well. When she has kids, her husband can assemble the toys.”

“Are there many that
need
assembling?”

“Are you kidding?” He looked at her. “There was this pink plastic dollhouse that must have taken me four hours to put together one Christmas Eve. I was up half the night, determined to have it under the tree. I did a lot of swearing.” He grinned, remembering. “I kept worrying she'd hear me and sneak down the stairs. Maybe she secretly
still believed in Santa Claus and found out he had a foul mouth.”

He loved Moira's laugh.

Caleb was a month old when she took him for his first doctor visit.

“He's—what a surprise—in the ninety-ninth percentile in height,” she reported that evening. “Ninety-seventh in weight. He's going to be big like his daddy.”

“You mean, he'll start tripping over his own feet before we know it,” Will said, pleased despite himself. He was amused to discover how much he liked the idea of his son taking after him.

“Well…he has to learn to walk first.”

Caleb was five weeks old when Moira called Will one day when he was at work. In the middle of talking to the plumber, he was going to ignore the call until he saw Moira's number on the screen.

He felt a jolt. Not Moira's number.
Their
number.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he told the plumber, and turned away. God, what if Caleb was sick? he thought with quick panic.

“Moira,” he said, walking outside. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I didn't mean to scare you. I had to tell you.” Excitement rang in her voice. “Will, Caleb smiled! I was nursing him, and he let my breast go and just beamed. Now, every time I smile at him, he smiles back and flaps his arms. Oh, I can hardly wait for you to get home and see.”

“Damn.” He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a flood of emotion. “I wish I'd been there. Oh, hell. You make me want to come home right now.”

“He's about to go down for a nap, anyway. I—Well, I probably shouldn't have called, but I had to tell you.”

Voice low and husky, Will said, “I'm glad you did. I'll never mind you calling me, Moira.”

“Oh.” Abruptly shy, she said, “Okay. I'll, um, see you when you get home. I'm making a stir-fry tonight.”

Thoughts of stir-fry and smiles got him through the rest of the afternoon. He walked in the front door wondering if Caleb would smile for him, too, or only for his mommy, and not liking the twinge of jealousy.

But Moira, her own smile glowing, was waiting for him with Caleb in her arms, and when Will reached for him and said, “Hey, big guy,” his son lit up. He focused hard on his daddy's face and grinned a huge, toothless grin. Eyes that had turned brown sparkled. If Will hadn't already been in love, he'd have gone down for the count.

Moira had trouble pulling herself away to fix dinner, and he didn't blame her. Who needed any other entertainment?

After Caleb fell asleep Moira told Will about her day. She'd grocery shopped with Caleb in the stomach sling he seemed to enjoy. “Mom called,” she reported. “I think she'll visit again pretty soon. It's killing her not being able to see Caleb.”

“Has she ever considered moving over here?” Will asked.

“I don't know.” Moira's forehead crinkled reflectively.

“She seems to like her job, and she has friends. On the other hand, she's been grumbling more and more about the cold. She's getting arthritis in her hands, you know, and it's worse during the winter.” She was quiet for a minute. “I think I'll ask her.”

Will nodded. He thought Moira would like having her mother nearby. He wished the idea didn't feel like a threat to him. Would she turn to her mother instead of him?

Feeling petty and uncomfortable with it, he listened
as Moira continued to chatter. She'd talked to Gray today and to a new client.

“I'm meeting with her and her husband next week. They've bought some property at Port Susan and want me to design a house for them. I thought I could start working here at home.”

They'd talked about her doing some of her work from home, and perhaps hiring a part-time nanny instead of putting Caleb in day care.

“You must be going stir-crazy,” he realized. “Unless you're getting addicted to soap operas.”

Moira scrunched up her nose. “I've taken to watching a couple of talk shows, but no soap operas. And no, I'm not going nuts yet, but…it has been a big change. It's weird, having this completely different rhythm to my days. And no one to talk to. I can't tell you how much I look forward to you walking in the door.”

His voice roughened. “No more than I look forward to getting home.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “I didn't realize.”