Yours, Mine & Ours (14 page)

Mike never wanted her inebriated. He just wanted her to talk. She was wound so tight, he was wary that she could crack into a zillion pieces.

And even after two shots, he figured the bottom line. No amount of liquor was going to loosen her up. But maybe from exhaustion, or the late hour, she curled her bare legs under her and kind of hovered inside the pale blue wing chair.

“You told me before this that your ex was applying for partial custody. So this was it? That hearing?” By the time he got around to asking, he tried to make his voice as lazy and safe as a hum in the night.

“Yup.” She didn't seem to want to continue, but finally, out it came. “Thom won. I lost.”

“Tell me.”

“It's a real short story. I failed her. There's only one darned thing in this life that I
have
to do right—and that's protect Molly. And I failed big-time.”

Mike unclenched his jaw. Maybe later he'd find out Thom's address and tar and feather the son of a seadog. But just then he was listening. And he was going to stay calm while listening if it killed him. “There has to be a little more to it.”

“Thom was pushing for joint custody. Obviously I've known that for a while. And here's the thing. He's
her father. I never wanted to deny him the right to be her father, or to spend time with her. She needs her father and loves him. But damn it, Mike…”

“Keep talking.”

“It isn't about being a dad for him. It's about manipulation. Because when she's over there, he's somehow an absentee. There'll be some woman friend of his that does the babysitting. He doesn't actually
want
joint custody, because he doesn't spend half the time with her that he could. He just wants not to have to pay me child support.”

“Keep talking.”

And about then, she bolted out of the blue wing chair, as if sitting still even a second longer was impossible. She was still wearing the navy-and-white outfit thing she'd put together for the court, but it was coming undone mighty fast now. The white shirt was no longer tucked in, no longer buttoned at the neck. She'd lost the shoes. The navy skirt was twisted around. Her hands started gesturing. The hair got wilder. She stumbled and circled and ambled around in her bare feet, not crying. Sometimes her eyes spit out some moisture, but those tears were hot and mad, not soft.

“I don't
need
the child support. But I've been using that money to put together a college fund for Mol. He makes over six figures. Don't you think it's fair that he contribute?”

“Absolutely,” Mike agreed.

“I told the judge that Thom cancels half the time he sets up a visitation with Molly. I told him that he's repeatedly left her with strange women she doesn't know, and that often enough she comes back upset and shaken up. The judge didn't care.”

“Who's the judge?” Mike asked, thinking there was another tar-and-feather candidate. He knew a good number of judges, but not so many in the family court setup. She told him the name. Unfortunately all he knew about the guy was that he'd been on the bench for over a decade.

“The judge said…that unless there's abuse or specific proof of neglect, that Thom is entitled to more time. Initially he didn't grant equal custody. But as of right now, Thom gets an overnight every two weeks.
Mike.
I'm supposed to just spring this on Molly. After she just talked to me about not wanting to spend nights there!”

She spun around, and he saw her expression in the colored light from the Tiffany lamp. “Aw, Red. That's the worst sting, isn't it?”

“It is. This is supposed to start this coming weekend, which means I have to start talking to her about tomorrow. My job as a mom is—obviously—to make this as smooth and stress-free as I can. So I have to say something like, ‘Hey, lovebug, you know your dad loves you, and you'll have fun on those sleepovers, and you know I'll be there when you get back.' So I'll
try.
But, Mike, I'm afraid it'll come out fake, because
it's such a lie. She doesn't have a choice. How am I supposed to make her do something that I think is wrong? And make out like I think it's okay?”

“I hear you.”

“When I got out the courtroom…Thom grabbed my hand. He said there'd be another custody hearing after this. I could count on it. And in the next one, he'd win full joint custody. That I shouldn't kid myself. He'll end up not paying a dime of child support.”

“Come here.”

“It's not
about
the money. It's about his using Molly in the wrong way.”

“Come here.”

“It's about her feeling she's lied to when she's with him. That's why she doesn't feel safe there. And I always promised her that I'd protect her. And now I can't.”

“Come here.”

She heard him, because she finally quit pacing around like a caged cat and faced him. “Mike, you can't help me. And if you could, I wouldn't want you to. I need to fight my own battles. And I swear, I'm
trying.
This is just the worst kind of thing to lose. I feel cut off at the knees. I failed my daughter.”

That was it. Mike strode over, scooped an arm under her legs, and lifted her in his arms.

He'd wanted her to talk. Well, she had. She'd spilled thoroughly. Only, now she was saying such ridiculous things that she obviously wasn't in a reasonable mood.

And no one, but no one, could be more unreasonable than Red when she was upset.

Come to think of it…he was damned good at being unreasonable when he was upset, too. And right now, he was more than upset.

For her.

And with her.

A
manda was beyond shocked. She had no idea what triggered Mike, much less what changed him from a listening, empathetic friend into a wildly out-of-control lover. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe.

She
really
couldn't breathe. Once she'd started talking about the afternoon in court, the story had burst out like a runaway freight train. She hadn't cried, but her throat was thick with unshed tears…and Mike, out of nowhere, took her mouth in a deep kiss.

He'd picked her up as if she were lighter than pearls and just…taken off. He seemed to be careening up the stairs to her bedroom, because the pale
lamplight in the living room had disappeared and they were galloping somewhere in the darkness. His shoulder bumped into a wall.

That didn't stop him from kissing her.

Nothing seemed to stop him from kissing her.

She was a disaster. Surely he'd noticed? She was unbrushed, undone, un-everything. She felt sick, anxious, lost. Her self-worth index seemed to be hovering around a negative ten.

And still he kissed her. He lifted his head for a gulp of air, smiled at her as if they both had something to smile about, then dipped down again. The last time he'd seen her bedroom, she—and the room—had been covered with paint. Moonlight streamed through the froth of curtains, ribbonlike on the thick, soft carpeting she'd put in.

The next time he came up for air, he dragged his T-shirt over his head, then started stripping her. He didn't seem to notice that she had drastically low self-esteem issues. He seemed to esteem every part of her quite thoroughly. He pulled down the zipper on her navy town skirt…popped off the button on her proper white blouse.

She should have smacked him from here to Timbuktu.

She considered it.

Temporarily, she seemed to be kissing him back and fumbling for the snap on his jeans…but she was still considering it.

He groaned as if she were killing him…when he was the one being the devil. He backed her to the bed edge, slipped her bra straps down, then laid her down on the poufy, soft comforter. The comforter didn't last long. He pushed away the covers and the pillows in one long swoop…then swooped back on her.

“You prepared to suffer?” he asked her.

The question made as much sense as anything else he'd done, but it wasn't like he gave her time to answer. His face dipped in and out of moonlight, and he made her giddy, the way he looked at her. As if it was his first time with a woman, and he'd waited a hundred years—not just for this—but for
her.

That tongue of his. His hands. He made it seem like no woman ever had more gorgeous knees. More delectable elbows. More fascinating navels. It didn't seem to occur to him that these weren't erogenous zones. You couldn't seduce a woman by kissing her elbow.

Except her.

He seemed to be seducing her, no matter what he touched, no matter where, no matter how. She wasn't sure how a woman who could have been so, so low earlier in the evening could somehow, someway, now feel more powerful than any woman alive.

He seemed to be the somehow and someway.

He played and kept playing, until her skin had a silken sheen, and her heart was thundering a symphonic drum and she couldn't stop touching him back.
She felt on fire, inside and out, with need, with want, with…love.

“Enough,” she said.

“I haven't even gotten started.”

With the sudden superwoman power she'd developed, she twisted and miraculously moved him around until she was on top of him, and he was lying at her mercy on the rumpled sheets. “I've had it with you, Mike.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no. You're not sorry. But you will be.”

“Hey. Red?”

“No more talking.”

“I just wanted to mention. I'm in love with you. I don't know if it's right or wrong, sane or insane. This isn't going away. It's
bad.
The worse case I've ever had. Times a hundred. I thought I knew what love was. Until you.”

“If you think that's going to get you out of trouble, think again,” she said. Being a man, he probably wanted to go fast. Tough.

She sipped in a sigh as she closed around him, feeling how he filled her, how they connected, perfect as a lock and key. She was the lock.

He was the key.

No one else had ever brought out the redhead in her. She'd always been laced up. Liked being laced up. Except with Mike. She had a terrible feeling it would always be that way with him. That she wouldn't be
able to hold back. That he'd bring out the lusty and earthy side of her, even when she had always, always liked everything tidy.

She lifted, sank…testing a rhythm, then finding one that seemed as natural as flying. “I love you right back,” she whispered, and then couldn't talk anymore. Her heart took off in a soar, past earth, past sky, into a place where she felt weak with yearning, fierce with wanting. On fire, with need, for him, with him.

Finally, release came on a whoosh of a cry. She collapsed on top of him, breathing hard. She closed her eyes, felt his long strong arms cuddle around her. Felt his kiss on her brow.

That was the last thing she knew…until the rock-and-roll ring of his cell phone startled them both.

Amanda didn't know what time it was. Only that Mike popped awake as if shot with a bullet. Still, he took the time to ease her on her side before jerking across the bed, patting the floor until he located his pants, found and flipped on the phone.

She knew it was about Teddy. What else? Her blurry eyes eventually made it to the bedside clock. 3:00 a.m.

Definitely Teddy.

The conversation was hard to transcribe. Someone on the other end was talking; Mike's voice sounded as if he were talking through mud. “Okay. Okay. Okay. I'll be right there.”

When he snapped off the cell, she said, “Ill? Or scared?”

“Ill. Just woke up. Rash and a fever.” He was already out of bed, pulling on jeans. “At least he didn't wake up from being afraid. He was making it the whole night. My mom's best guess is chicken pox. I could have sworn he had every vaccine known to the universe. I thought kids couldn't get any of those ‘spot' diseases anymore.”

He'd immediately gone into dad mode, which she completely understood. When a child was sick, parental instincts took precedence over everything else. She didn't expect him to be thinking of her…yet the minute he pulled on his shirt, he leaned over and kissed the side of her neck. Slowly. Tenderly. Softly.

Before swearing, and grumbling that he had to go.

“But we have unfinished business, Red. And don't you forget it.”

She smiled in the darkness, closed her eyes.

She thought she'd sleep…not only had Mike completely worn her out, but the day had been long and traumatic before that. Yet moments later, her eyes popped wide-open.

The day
had
been traumatic, the custody hearing agonizing. She'd been building character and strength and some skills, she'd thought. All blown away when
she couldn't get the judge to listen about Molly. She'd left the stupid hearing feeling beyond inadequate.

Now, though, it occurred to her that was kind of how she'd felt after Mike bailed her out of her plumbing mess. She'd been so clueless. Because she'd
been
clueless. He'd been a hero for her that day.

The blackest night slowly brightened, turned into a pre-dawn dusty charcoal…then finally the pearl fog of a new day. It was still only five o'clock. She faced the window, from the pillow where Mike had laid his head, curled up tight. Now she got it. He hadn't stopped over by accident with that god-awful whisky.

He'd been her hero.

Again.

He hadn't changed the outcome of the stupid hearing. But he'd made her put it in a different perspective. He'd known perfectly well what he was doing. He'd planned it.

By five-thirty, she was biting her nails…and she hadn't bitten her nails since she was six. This was precisely how they'd screwed up before. That's what happened when you had kids, of course. Instead of being able to cuddle and talk things out and just
be
together after making love…they'd had to separate. And in the hours apart, they'd both frozen up.

Both of them. Not just her. He'd frozen up, too.

She felt as if she were on the cusp of grasping it
all—grasping what really mattered, about her, about him, about the two of them…when suddenly she heard Molly cry out.

 

There was no way Teddy was staying at his parents' house. None. Teddy was beside himself crying when Mike showed up…and burning up, as well.

His mom never freaked in a crisis, but she was clearly upset. “I know what to do for a sick child, Mike, for heaven's sake. It has all the symptoms of chicken pox. Nothing worse. But I just couldn't seem to comfort him. All he wanted was you.”

“It's okay. I'll get him home.” Teddy immediately simmered down—at least temporarily—once Mike picked him up.

Except, Mike was the one shaken up after that. Teddy's little body was so darned hot. Mike wrapped him in the sheet he'd been sleeping in, added a blanket, strapped the whole bundle into the truck and took off for home.

Before daylight, he'd called the new pediatrician, the old pediatrician, the E.R. They all gave him the same answer. The pinpoint-size spray of spots on Teddy's chest and tummy were symptomatic of chicken pox. So was the l02-degree fever. And a mild case of chicken pox was running through the county. They gave him the rundown on the course of the disease, things he could try, what to expect for the next ten days.

They all said the same thing.

This was a normal childhood illness, nothing to worry about.

Right. His kid was miserable, threw up the child's fever reducer, didn't want to sleep, just wanted to be held on his dad's lap in the recliner. Eventually Cat joined them. Then Slugger.

He wanted to call Amanda. Couldn't—without dislodging his entire family. And then she called, sometime early in the morning. He couldn't reach the phone fast enough, and the answering machine picked up.

“Mike…Molly came down with chicken pox. I'm guessing if you're dealing with a rash and fever, your Teddy has the same thing. Call if you need a hand.” Then her softer voice. “We'll catch up. You can count on it.”

He brooded on that. For him, their night together had been an Armageddon…but there was every reason to fear she wouldn't take it in a positive way. Hell. It could look to her like he'd plied her with liquor and been insensitive to the custody hearing thing she'd been through.

He made red Jell-O soup and scrambled eggs, then blue Jell-O soup, then finally got the hang of making the Jell-O gel. But then it gelled so tight that you could turn the bowl upside down and it wouldn't come out. Teddy asked for peanut butter and jelly—which he promptly threw up. Mike microwaved chicken
noodle soup. Then more scrambled eggs. Then he ran out of Jell-O and scrambled eggs.

The tiny dots formed blisters two days later. Teddy's fever broke, but now he was itching and miserable and crabby.

Mike played trucks. And watched cartoons. And read books. And played fish. He coated the kid with everything he had in the medicine cabinet to stop the itching.

When he heard the knock on the door, he wasn't sure if it was Tuesday or Thursday, what month, what year. It was daylight. That's all he was sure of.

He opened the door, squinted at the sudden sharp sunlight…saw Amanda. Well, mostly what he saw was her flaming hair and shocked expression.

“Holy kamoly. You look
horrible.
Why didn't you call me? I was—”

He wasn't coherent. Wasn't going to be coherent again. Maybe ever. So he just blurted out what he needed to say. “I wasn't trying to get you drunk.”

“I never thought you were.”

“I didn't mean to be so…physical.”

“Of course you did. That's you. You'll always be more fantastic with action, especially that action—than talk. Chitchat isn't your thing. No sweat.” She closed the door and took a long gander at his living area. “You are such a dimwit. Why didn't you tell me
you were in trouble?” Then she took an even longer gander at him. “You haven't shaved. You look as if you haven't slept. You look as if—”

“It's been horrible,” he confirmed.

“Molly's taking a nap. My mom came over to watch her for a couple hours. I needed to get out to the grocery store, and I came over to see if I could pick up anything for you two.” She raised her eyebrows. “No point in asking, I can see. It's obvious you need everything. Let's see how good you are at following orders.”

“What orders?”

By nightfall, Mike figured she was akin to a cyclone. They were at her house by then. The kids were in pajamas in front of the TV. Both had had oatmeal baths, rubdowns, a liberal application of calamine, then dressed in their pj's. They'd gobbled down toasted cheese sandwiches, then lemonade, then small bowls of sorbet.

Nobody was crying. Nobody was whining. Both kids looked a pinch away from going to sleep for the night.

“I think,” Amanda said quietly, as she handed him a serious bowl of chili sprinkled with sour cream and melted cheddar, “that you and Teddy should take the spare room tonight. Molly can sleep in with me. My guess is that you really need a night's sleep, and I can handle a round if the kids need someone in the night.”

She could handle both kids behind her back. And him. They'd stayed at his place until she'd transformed it. The dirty dishes went away. The Jell-O bowls disappeared. The heap of messy cutlery seemed to all fit in the washer. She'd stayed with Teddy while he showered and found clean clothes. Then she'd herded them to her place—kicked her mom out—and started in with the little ones. The baths, the cooking and feeding. The calm, no-nonsense orders. Even Slugger and Darling obeyed her. They were sacked out by their respective charges by the couch.