The Baby Agenda (17 page)

Moira yawned, too. “Oh, don't get me started.”

Very casually, he asked, “How'd the doctor visit go?”

“Fine.” She kept her back to him. “Great. She said I'm fine. Everything's…”

Fine.

Under other circumstances, he'd have grinned. As it was, his blood pooled in his groin. “Good,” he said after a moment, his voice rusty. “I'm glad you're—” not
fine
. Anything but fine “—recovered,” he finished firmly.

She nodded, still without looking at him. Will retreated to the living room.

While he entertained Caleb, Moira dished up dinner. They settled him in a reclining baby seat while they ate. Moira cheered up when Will told her that someone from Bright Futures, the nonprofit organization that wanted
to build the apartment house, would be calling her the next day.

“I can't tell you how excited they are. An architect and a contractor. And I talked a buddy of mine who owns an electrical contracting firm into offering his work cut-rate. You remember Dennis Mattson—he was at our wedding.”

“Dennis was nice.” Sounding thoughtful, she said, “I know a plumber who might be interested, too. Let me give him a call tomorrow.”

“Maybe we can build up a network of, er…”

Moira arched her eyebrows. “Persuadable people?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, something like that. Good meatloaf,” he told her.

Seeing Caleb's eyelids sinking, she said, “Oh, no you don't,” and tickled his stomach. He started and began to cry.

Will saw her frustration and guessed that she was exhausted. The thought made his heart sink. Was she too tired? Damn it, damn it.

He stood immediately and picked Caleb up, holding him tight to his chest, one large hand engulfing the baby's entire back. He silently begged,
Please cooperate. Please.

 

C
ALEB WAS SO TINY AGAINST
the breadth of his daddy's powerful body. The sight of Will with their baby always moved Moira, but tonight she felt especially emotional. Somehow, it was more amazing to see a man as big and strong as Will being so extraordinarily gentle.

His eyes met hers and seemed to darken. “Are you all right?”

She nodded and gave a sniff. “I just…sometimes…” She flapped a hand.

His mouth curved. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

She saw that he did. He so often seemed to. How did he understand her so well? Was figuring her out part of what he'd taken on when he decided she and Caleb were going to be his priority?

“Poor boy,” he was murmuring. “I know you're sleepy. But, see, there's a big picture you're missing. Mommy and I are sleepy, too. And if you nap now, we're in trouble.”

Caleb didn't care. In the next hour, Moira began to feel that they were tormenting him, keeping him awake. She might have buckled, but Will displayed a more ruthless streak than she'd seen yet. He shook rattles, bicycled Caleb's chubby legs, made obnoxious noises, played bounce the baby. Caleb alternated between grumpy and delighted.

Maybe it was her own tiredness, but a giggle kept bubbling in Moira's throat.

“Mean Daddy,” she said.

Amusement and something else in his eyes, Will retorted, “Desperate Daddy.”

That didn't strike her as nearly so funny. In fact, she had to clench her thighs together to contain a wickedly physical response to his expression and the low, rough sound of his voice.

They were both watching the clock. At eight on the nose, Will stripped off Caleb's sleeper and quickly and efficiently changed his wet diaper. Then he thrust their baby at her.

She already had her blouse unfastened and her bra unhooked. Caleb latched on with his customary eagerness. She gave him a couple of minutes, then switched him to the other breast. The entire time, Will sat staring. Tingling all over, Moira felt as if her skin was flushed from her toes to the crown of her head.

The suckling slowed. Caleb's small body went slack and his mouth slipped from her breast. Not looking at Will, she eased the baby to her shoulder, patted him until a burp escaped him, then stood. Will rose, too, and by the time she reached the bedroom, the lights in the kitchen and living room had already gone out.

She turned on the nightlight, laid Caleb in the crib and tucked his flannel quilt up to his chin. He never stirred.

Will was already waiting in their bedroom, where the lamp cast the only light. Her pulse skipped.

He watched her walk toward him. “Moira.” He spoke barely above a whisper. “Sweetheart.” She swallowed.

“You know I want to make love with you.”

She nodded. “I want that, too.” In her attempt to keep her voice low, too, she sounded almost sultry. She hadn't known she could. “We shouldn't until…until things are more settled. But I don't care.”

After nursing, she hadn't bothered buttoning up her blouse. Will caressed her cheek, then stroked his fingertips down her throat until he reached the front clasp of her bra.

“You have the most beautiful breasts. Watching you nurse has been killing me.”

“They're…awfully big these days,” she said awkwardly.

“I'm always leaking.”

“Beautiful,” he repeated huskily. He flicked open the clasp and her breasts spilled out. His big hands enveloped them the way she'd remembered. Her nipples peaked against his palms, and he rubbed gently, squeezed, whispered about how much he wanted her. She stood for the longest time doing nothing but soaking in his touch, as if every cell in her body was starved for it. Finally,
she had to touch him, too, and she tugged his sweatshirt upward.

As though they'd both lost all patience in that moment, they fought to remove each other's clothes. She was hardly aware of losing her shirt or bra; her hands were already on the metal buttons at the fly of his jeans. So quickly, they were both naked, and only then did she remember to be self-conscious.

She crossed her arms protectively. “Don't look at my stomach.”

Will groaned and thrust his fingers into her hair. “How many times do I have to tell you how sexy you are? I like you soft. You just had a baby. You
should
be soft.” His voice was ragged, the gaze that swept her so darkly appreciative Moira couldn't help but believe him.

“Where have you been all my life?” she asked, and quit trying to hide herself.

He laughed, scooped her up and laid her across their bed. Coming down beside her, he kissed her, a deep, drugging kiss that tumbled her back in time, to that first night. All the lonely months that had followed, all her fears, slipped away, forgotten if only for this moment.

His mouth finally left hers to nibble and lick and kiss her neck and her shoulders, her breasts and belly, her thighs and calves and the sensitive arches of her feet.

“Such pretty freckles.” He was nuzzling his way up her legs. “You make me want to connect the dots. All the dots.”

She half sobbed at the pleasure his mouth brought her. She wanted to explore his body, too, but that seemed too leisurely for this first time. “Please.” Moira gripped his shoulders, felt the muscles bunch beneath her fingers. “Will. Now.”

He surged up the length of her body, found his place
between her legs and thrust into her. Then they were both groaning, their bodies rising and falling in a rhythm that came so naturally, they might have done this a hundred times instead of only once. And yet there was nothing smooth about it. She strained upward, fighting him each time he pulled back, moaning at the depth of his plunges. The end came too quickly. She cried out and faltered; he had to grip her hips and lift her so that he could drive deep inside her again. Once, twice, three times, his body bucking and shuddering above and inside her. And then he sank onto her, and she pressed her lips to his damp skin and couldn't tell whether the vibration and thunder of the heartbeat she felt was his or hers.

 

T
HAT WEEK WAS THE SINGLE
happiest of Moira's life. When Caleb napped, she eagerly started work on plans for both the Russells' Warm Beach house and the Bright Futures apartment building. She hadn't felt so creative or excited in ages, she realized. Of course, the pregnancy had tired her, but it was more than that—maybe she'd needed the break. She loved talking to Will about her ideas, too. She and Gray used to talk about their work that way, but had done so less and less in recent years. Perhaps they'd both gotten stale, or simply too busy.

She adored being a mother, watching her gorgeous baby boy thrive and change day by day. His eyes had turned a warm, chocolate brown, lighter than his daddy's, but so pretty. She kept wondering whether he'd have freckles. A few would be okay, a dusting across his nose, maybe. A little wryly, she thought,
a sprinkle of cloves, instead of a warehouse club-size canister dumped.
Already she could see him as a tough little boy, missing a front tooth or two and grinning, both mischievous and deceptively innocent. She began to wonder if she really had to go
back to work full-time. Maybe she and Gray should start thinking about bringing in an associate. They hadn't so far, but they both had families now.

Then there was nighttime, after Caleb was asleep. From the minute Will walked in the door at the end of the day, Moira could hardly think about anything
but
going to bed. With him. Making love. Falling asleep with her head on his shoulder, her legs tangled with his. Waking to find his hand on her breast, his morning erection pressed against her belly or hip. If they were lucky and Caleb gave them time, they made love then, too.

Life was so perfect, it shimmered like the highway ahead did sometimes in the desert. She had this funny, uncomfortable feeling, as if she were a little girl who'd been trusted to carry a precious family heirloom and was proud and thrilled even as fear curdled in her stomach that she'd trip or do something foolish and drop it. The vision of it shattering was almost more real than the loveliness in her hands.

That was silly, of course, but being scared that this was only an idyll wasn't. Will wasn't in love with her, he hadn't married her because he couldn't imagine living without her. He'd made the best of it, and he did want her, but…for how long? They'd never had that talk, and she wasn't brave enough to suggest that they do. She didn't want to hear any harsh truths, however gently phrased. She didn't want to think about how only days ago Will was waiting for her to go to bed so he could go online and…and visit his former lover. That's what it felt like. As if she knew a big part of his heart was taken, and that it was only because he was a good, kind man that he hid his hurt and disappointment. For which
she
was responsible.

Moira felt adolescent, the way her worry continued to niggle at her. The fact that Will had loved his project in Africa—had loved Zimbabwe—didn't take away from anything he felt for her and Caleb. She was adult enough to know that. They weren't teenagers, to demand complete and utter devotion of each other. They'd both had lives, had work that was important to them, family and friends, opinions and values and goals that weren't necessarily shared.

This common sense had zilch effect. She kept wondering how the Bright Futures project could possibly compare to what he'd been accomplishing in Africa—an apartment house for a few mothers and their children, a temporary refuge against a dozen medical clinics and community hospitals that would have improved thousands and thousands of lives. Saved many of those lives. Was this another way he was…settling?

She wanted to clap her hands over her ears and shut out the doubts, but how could she? She wanted so much to believe she was lovable, but that didn't mean Will did—or could—love her.

And yet…he seemed happy. And he
was
in love with Caleb. She kept reminding herself of that.

On Wednesday the week after they had begun to make love again, Moira became so engrossed in drawing that she didn't notice when the mail was dropped through the slot in the door. Will picked it up off the floor when he got home, glanced through it and handed most of it to her before taking Caleb with an exuberant grin and a kiss for her.

But he kept one envelope aside.

She wasn't sure what he did with it. She didn't see him open it at all. Maybe it was junk mail. He didn't seem
to get much personal mail; Sophie and he emailed and even, occasionally, used Instant Messenger rather than exchanging letters. She knew he talked to her and both his brothers regularly.

Moira didn't really think about that piece of mail until the next day, when she passed the end of the breakfast bar where Will kept his computer, a battered address book and a heap of work-related notes to himself. She loved his handwriting, an emphatic scrawl that was a complete contrast to her own exceedingly tidy, careful script.

A long white envelope, torn open, lay there on top of his notes. The typed letter was beside it. One fold concealed the bottom, but she could see the letterhead—the foundation he'd worked for. It was probably nothing. He hadn't tried to hide the letter. He might have automatically gone on their list of potential donors, for example. But her heart had began to pound hard, and she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and unfolding the piece of paper. Reading. And feeling sick, when words leaped out at her.

We regret losing you… Projects have bogged down… Your skill at dealing with local authority…
And finally, their hope that he'd fulfilled the
obligation
that had interrupted his planned commitment to them. Might he be able to return to Zimbabwe?

They wanted him back. And he
had
fulfilled his commitment to her.

An obligation.
She felt sick.
I'm nothing but an obligation.

The last months of her pregnancy had been hard. The first weeks with a newborn, too. But she and Caleb would be fine without Will now.