The Marine's Babies. Laura Marie Altom

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      “Um, you okay?”

      Turning her back to the baby’s father, Emma pulled herself together. “Sure…” Heart shattering, Emma held the baby close. Henry, you’re back in my arms. Safe. Mommy’s here, my love.

      “Do you need something to drink? Coke? Water?” The man’s hovering alerted her to the fact that if she didn’t want to end up alone back at her beach house, she’d better snap out of it. Of course, she realized this baby—even two babies—couldn’t take the place of her dear son, but if only for a moment, her pain had been eased. Her endless questions—why? What had she done wrong? Given a second chance, could she have saved her baby boy?—answered “I’ve probably got milk, too. But I’m not a big fan, so it might be spoiled.”

      “Thank you,” she said, spinning to face him. “I’m good.”

      “You don’t look it,” he said, instantly reddening. “Sorry. That came out wrong. You look fine. Compared to my last candidate, you’re amazing. Tears and all. Only…” Almost cautiously, he approached, holding out his arms for the baby girl she held. “I’ve gotta say, I am curious what it is about my interview skills, or lack thereof, that has you crying.”

      “Sorry,” she said with a sniffle, passing off the infant, stiffening when the Marine’s fingers brushed hers. “You must think I’m nuts. But your little one reminds me of…someone I used to know.”

      “Sure,” he said, though his puzzled expression clearly stated that, yes, he did find her to be at least somewhat off her rocker.

      “What are their names?”

      “The girls?”

      “Yes,” she said with a faint smile. “Unless you have cats and dogs, as well?”

      “Nah,” he said, scooping up the other baby, and then settling into an oversized recliner with both infants. “Truth is, I couldn’t handle much more.”

      Following his lead, she eased onto a brown leather sofa. “So, their names?” she repeated.

      “Right. One is Beatrice. The other is Bronwyn. Only way to tell is by the freckle on Bron’s big toe.”

      “Oh.” Emma wondered why the marine sounded so detached, as if he was reading a dishwasher-repair manual. “Um, if you don’t mind my asking, where’s their mother?”

      Repositioning himself, he said, “Here’s the part where you’ll think I’ve sniffed too much napalm, but truth is, I don’t have a clue.” After relaying the fantastic story of how the twins had been thrust into his life, he added, “The pediatrician I took them to gave them a clean bill of health.”

      Brow furrowed, Emma scratched her head. “So their mom abandoned them?”

      “Yep.” Jace told her about the one-night stand. How the woman hadn’t even told him she’d been pregnant until caring for two babies on her own had made her come undone. Yes, as Emma well knew, the first few weeks on your own with a baby were tough, but in a wonderful way. What kind of mother just up and left her children? A monster. Emma, having lost her son to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, having missed him every day since, couldn’t conceive of voluntarily giving up one child, let alone two!

      Though she was bursting with questions, the only one Emma gave voice to was, “So the job would be permanent? I would stay on, even if you do find the mother?”

      “Most likely. I mean, though I’m still learning this whole parental thing, I’ve always been a quick study, and one pretty basic item is that you don’t leave your kids. I’ve got the PI on retainer, but once I do find her, I’m not sure what’s going to go down.”

      How could this Vicki not have left an address? Even if caring for the infants had been overwhelming, wouldn’t the woman at least want pictures? Reports of their growth?

      “Anyway, with me being a single dad, that’s where you come in. I’m a helicopter pilot. Work ungodly hours. Sure, I’ve always wanted kids, but to have them dropped on me with as much finesse as a stork…” He sighed. “Bottom line, I need help. Reliable help. You said earlier that these guys reminded you of someone. That mean you have experience with diapers and bottles and stuff?”

      Emma cleared her throat. “Yes. Extra emphasis on stuff.” Emotional stuff that she still didn’t fully comprehend.

      Though she hadn’t meant her comment to be funny, the Marine—Jace—laughed.

      “Have references?”

      From the white leather purse she still held slung over her shoulder, she withdrew a handwritten reference sheet, and then stood, handing it to him. “Sorry it’s not typed. I don’t have a computer.”

      “Don’t sweat it,” he said, reading over the top of the infants’ heads. “All of these are in Chicago. You’re not from around here?”

      “Is that a problem?”

      “Not at all.” One of the babies he held in the crook of his arms wriggled and fussed.

      “Want me to take her?”

      “Sure.” He cast Emma a smile. “And to make things interesting, how about a wager?”

      “Like what?” Leaving her purse alongside the sofa, she took the complaining infant.

      “Like if you manage to quiet that little lady, I’ll give you the job.”

      “And if I don’t succeed?” Emma asked over increased wails.

      He winced. “Then I guess I’m back to playing Mister Mom.”

      FOR JACE, the next few minutes were entirely too long. Why had he said such a stupid thing? Betting the woman for the job? He, more than anyone, realized how desperately he needed her—even if Vicki showed up one day, he wasn’t just handing over the girls. Maybe if she proved she’d gotten therapy, or something, he might agree to partial custody, but that’s it.

      Lucky for him, before he worked up too big a worry over what might happen should Emma lose the bet, she’d already won, having rocked and cooed the girl back into an adorable, three-toothed grin.

      “How’d you do that?” Jace asked, in awe of the woman’s skill.

      “No biggee. She probably had a gas bubble. Just needed to be jiggled out.”

      “Even so, let’s make it official. Want the job?”

      “Is it mandatory that I live here?” Was he only imagining it, or was she turning up her slim nose at his modest digs? “It’s lovely, but…”

      As her words trailed off, it occurred to him how awkward it could prove having the woman move in. When he’d placed his ad, he’d anticipated a grandmotherly type sharing his digs. Someone who could not only tame a couple of babies, but make gravy and cookies and tackle the laundry. Emma was striking. Long, black hair and sun-bronzed skin. High cheekbones. Eyes clear and ocean-blue. Her flowery yellow sundress was modest, but short enough in all the right places to reveal toned arms and legs. Pink-tipped toes peeked out from white sandals.

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