Bittersweet by Shirlee McCoy (15)

Mothering was hard work.

Willow had always known that.

Now she was living it.

Endless bottles. Endless diaper changes. Endless nights when she and Miracle barely slept. Six days into mothering, and Willow wasn’t sure how any parent survived.

She sure as heck didn’t think she was going to.

Three a.m. and Miracle was up again, crying in the little bassinet that Willow had moved into her bedroom. Sure, the nursery was nice, but getting up and leaving the room sixteen million times every night was not conducive to good rest.

Okay.

That was a slight exaggeration. Miracle didn’t get up sixteen million times. It was more like three. It just felt like more.

She rolled out of bed, shoved her feet into slippers, and shuffled to the bassinet, not bothering with the light.

She’d fed the baby an hour ago, so she knew she wasn’t hungry.

“Hey, sweet pea,” she said, lifting Miracle to her shoulder. The stitches had been removed a couple of days ago. There were no more bandages. No more monitors. No more twice-weekly visits from the nurse, either.

Thanks to Miracle’s stellar appetite, she was gaining weight like a champ, her little fingers and toes dimpled. Her thighs and arms filling out. The nurse would be coming out once a week for the next month, and then every other week after that.

Miracle might still be with Willow then.

Or she might not.

Things were still up in the air. One thing was for sure: She wasn’t going back to Phoebe. The judge had revoked her parental rights and granted custody to the state.

It wasn’t unexpected, but from what Willow had seen in news reports, Phoebe was devastated. The only good news was that the judge seemed to be sympathetic, and it didn’t look like the young mother would have to serve time behind bars. Currently she was living with Clementine, working for Millicent, and trying to get her life back on track.

At least that’s what Janelle had said.

She’d been out to see Phoebe. She’d also bought so many little girl outfits for Miracle that there wasn’t room in the apartment for them.

She was getting too attached.

Willow had tried to warn her.

Of course, that had been like the pot calling the kettle black since she was getting too attached too.

“It’s because you’re so sweet,” she whispered, kissing Miracle’s forehead and laying her back in the bassinet.

She was a sweet baby.

Despite the late night and early morning feedings and the million daily diaper changes, she was mostly content, mostly happy, mostly easy.

And Willow was falling in love with her.

Just like she was supposed to.

Mothering her.

Just like she was supposed to.

Thinking about a month or two or five or a year down the road . . .

Which she really wasn’t supposed to do.

This was a short-term placement.

Alison had made that clear. Now that the judge had made Miracle a ward of the state, it was just a matter of time before an adoptive family was found and she was placed in a new home.

That was a good thing, something to be celebrated. The sooner she was in her permanent home, the better. Willow should be jumping for joy and cheering the loudest.

She was doing both those things.

Really.

She was.

But . . .

She’d miss Miracle when she was gone.

The baby filled a hole in her life that she hadn’t realized was there. She’d never thought of herself as overly maternal. When she’d decided to foster kids, she’d been picturing tweens and teens, not infants. So the feelings she had for Miracle had taken her by surprise. She’d expected to love her. She’d expected to feel protective and maternal toward her, but she hadn’t expected to feel like her mom.

She frowned, all of her sleepiness suddenly gone.

She was wide awake, and anxious with nothing to think about except the day that she’d have to say good-bye.

Maybe Jax had been right when he’d warned her not to fall for the baby. At this point, he’d probably tell her he’d been wrong, that she should love Miracle and treat her like her own. He’d probably also say that she shouldn’t worry about the future. That she should just enjoy the days she had.

Maybe she’d ask him the next time she saw him.

She wasn’t sure when that would be. They didn’t make plans together. They didn’t go on walks or sit on benches or dance silently in the moonlight. He’d been around the past few days, stopping in for visits, walking into the chocolate shop to buy fudge or brittle or bonbons. He’d come to the apartment twice. Once to bring a baby blanket that Vera had made. Once to bring meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Because he knew she was sick of chocolate.

That’s what he’d said, and she’d smiled, because it was what she knew he expected.

She guessed they were trying the friend thing, seeing each other casually, asking about each other’s days, not intruding into private matters.

Like the check and the guy who’d sent it.

Jax hadn’t returned it to her.

She hadn’t asked.

So that was always between them. Even though she didn’t want it to be. She wanted to forget it, and she wanted to forget the way he’d looked and the way he’d sounded when he’d told her he was going to find out why it had been sent. She wanted to forget how much she’d needed to hold on to him, to ground herself with his strength and his compassion.

She hadn’t wanted to need him, but she did.

And she missed him.

Even though he was coming for visits. Even though he was smiling and being friendly and treating her like they were buddies.

“And that’s okay, because he doesn’t want to be anything more than that, and you don’t want to be clingy and needy and immature. So go ahead and miss him. Just don’t let him know it, because you’ll just end up looking like a fool, and he’ll just end up feeling guilty,” she said out loud, because she needed to hear the words, and she needed to believe them.

She covered Miracle with a light blanket and walked out of the room. Tea would be good, and she started the pot, the light in the kitchen making her feel marginally better. It would be dawn soon, and her mother would be arriving at six. Willow had to be in the shop early. Because of Byron.

He’d left town again.

This time for the weekend. He and a few of his buddies were going on a road trip.

Friday and Saturday and part of Sunday. She could expect him back on Monday. He’d said it like it didn’t matter, acted like she had everything under control. When she’d protested, he’d reminded her that Lamont fudge ran through her veins.

Maybe, but having it running through her veins wasn’t going to help her make fifty pounds of fudge for Jenny Bates’s bridal shower. A half pound for each of her guests. And she wanted three hundred chocolate-dipped pretzels served in pretty silver boxes that she’d provided herself. All by this Sunday. Which meant extra time in the kitchen, and more wasted ingredients, because Willow still hadn’t perfected the fudge. Fortunately, she had perfected the pretzels. They were done, wrapped up in boxes and ready to go.

But the fudge?

Yeah. No.

It wasn’t happening.

She’d tried.

God knew she had, but no matter how carefully she measured, no matter how carefully she watched the temperature, no matter what she did, the fudge would not turn out.

So she was going in at six, and she was working on the fudge, because Brenna and Adeline both had plans for the weekend. Chase hadn’t been given access to the fudge recipe, and Janelle was more interested in cooing at the baby than stirring up batches of chocolate. That left her, and she wasn’t going to fail. Not this time, because there was too much riding on it. One hundred people who may or may not have ever had the family fudge before. She had to make a good impression, because good impressions led to more customers.

And bad impressions?

They could drive away old customers and new ones.

“What a mess,” she muttered, pouring hot water over a tea bag and tensing when Miracle started to cry again.

It was going to be one of those nights.

Barely any sleep for either of them.

She waited a minute, listening to see if the crying geared up or calmed down. When it continued, she grabbed the baby carrier from the nursery and strapped it on.

If she was going to be awake, she might as well make herself useful. No way was she going to make the fudge while she was carrying Miracle around, but she could read the recipe again, see if she could figure out exactly what she was doing wrong.

The thought whispered through her mind as she wrapped Miracle in a blanket and settled her in the carrier. She ignored it. There was nothing magic about the fudge. She was making a mistake somewhere. She just needed to set her mind to the task of figuring out what the mistake was.

Not the temperature. She was certain of that.

Not the ingredients. She measured them to the quarter ounce.

Not the—

Someone knocked on the door, the light rap making her heart trip and race.

No one visited at this time of morning.

Ever.

The knock reminded her of the one she’d heard the night she and Jax had found Miracle. This time, though, she didn’t think there was a young girl waiting on the stoop, a sick infant in a box in her arms.

Willow flipped off the light, moving out of the living room and into the hall, the nightmare clawing at her mind, daring her to let go of control, run screaming into her room, call the police.

Call Jax.

That was what she really wanted to do.

And she didn’t see why she shouldn’t. He was close. Just a few blocks away. He could be there quickly.

More important, he would be there quickly.

If she needed him.

And maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe whoever had knocked would go away.

Another soft rap, and she grabbed her cell phone, dialed Jax’s number as quickly as her fear-numb fingers would allow.

He answered on the first ring, his voice groggy with sleep. “Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Willow?”

“Yes.”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone at my door.”

“Doing what?” He sounded more awake now, and she could picture him getting up, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, shoving his feet into shoes.

“Knocking.”

“Don’t answer it.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“I’m on my way. Stay on the phone, okay?”

“Yes.”

Whoever it was knocked again.

This time more loudly.

The baby startled and started crying, and Jax said something Willow couldn’t hear. Her heart was beating too loudly, the hollow pounding in her ears mixing with the sound of Miracle’s cries and drowning out everything else.

“Shhhh,” she soothed, her focus on the door, on the handle that seemed to be turning.

Was it turning?

Oh God! Was it going to open? Was—

“Ms. Lamont?” a woman called, and the doorknob rattled as if whoever was out there was trying to get in. “Willow?”

“I’ve called the police,” she responded.

“Oh. No. There’s no need for that. I just . . . I wanted to see my grandbaby, and it took me a while to find my way here.”

Grandbaby?

Was she Phoebe’s mother?

“I’m sorry. I can’t—”

“Open the door!” a man shouted, and she screamed, jumping backward, nearly stumbling in her haste to get away.

“I said open it!” he yelled again, pounding on the door with so much force she thought it might break.

The phone dropped from her hand and she wrapped both arms around the carrier and the baby, running into her room, slamming the door, the nightmare that had been chasing her for years finally catching up to her.

* * *

Jax sped into Chocolate Haven’s parking lot, squealing to a stop a few inches from an old VW van. He could still hear the echo of Willow’s scream. It pounded through his skull, zipped through his blood, filled him with adrenaline.

He’d heard screams like that before.

He’d heard the silence, too. The one that came after the scream. The one that, all those years ago, had signaled the end of everything Jax had loved.

He gritted his teeth, jumping from the truck and racing into the alley. He could hear sirens, and he knew Kane and Susan were on the way. He’d called for backup while he was sprinting to the truck, because Willow’s scream hadn’t been one of surprise. It had been filled with stark terror.

If he was too late, if she died because he hadn’t gotten there in time, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror every day and face the man he saw there. He wouldn’t be able to forget that he’d denied them everything they could have been together and that it still hadn’t been enough to save her.

He was halfway up the staircase when he noticed them.

Two black shadows beside the Dumpster, still as stone and completely out of place. At first, he thought they were trash bags, leaning against the metal container.

He almost ignored them, almost continued up the stairs and to the apartment, but something stopped him. Maybe one of the shadows shifted. Maybe he saw a glimmer of pale skin.

Whatever the case, his hair stood on end, and he froze, watching, waiting.

The night had gone still, the sirens background noise to the silence that filled the alley. Nothing moved. Not a breath of wind or the scurry of an animal. No papers fluttering in the breeze. Just Jax standing there, looking at two shadows that shouldn’t have been there.

“Come on out of there,” he said, and one of the shadows jerked, then went still again.

“You heard me,” he said. “Come out, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Still nothing.

“You’ve already got one night of jail to look forward to. Keep making my job harder, and it may end up being more. You want resisting arrest added to trespassing?”

“Josiah,” a woman whispered. “We can’t go to jail. What about the girls?”

“Hush, woman,” a man barked.

Too late. Jax already knew what he was dealing with. Not a murderer bent on destruction. Grandparents who wanted . . .

What?

To see their granddaughter?

To take her?

The second seemed more likely than the first. Why else would they have arrived at this time of the morning?

He walked back down the stairs, waited at the bottom, figuring it was just a matter of time until one or the other of them made a break for it.

Lights flashed at the end of the alley, illuminating the brick building, the green Dumpster, the man and woman who were crouching there.

“Josiah. Mary. You need to come on over here and explain yourselves,” he said, but what he really wanted to do was run up to the apartment, knock on the door, and make sure Willow was okay.

Mary moved first, straightening to her full height and looking straight at him. “We didn’t mean any harm. We just wanted to see the baby.”

“How did you hear about her?” Not from any televised news report. That was for sure.

“Josiah was in town getting supplies—”

“Hush,” Josiah said again, finally getting to his feet. “He doesn’t need to know our business.”

“I do if you’re going to keep from going to jail tonight,” Jax responded.

“Everything okay in here?” Kane called, walking into the alley, Susan beside him. They were both in uniform, both with their hands on their guns. Prepared but relaxed. That was the impression Jax got. It was the impression he always got from them. They were as good at their jobs as any other cops he’d worked with, and he’d worked with plenty of them.

“I think so,” Jax responded, glancing at the apartment door. It was intact and closed. No way had Willow opened it. There hadn’t been enough time between the scream and his arrival for Josiah and his wife to break into the apartment and get out of it again. “From the look of things, they didn’t make it into the apartment.”

Josiah frowned, stepping between his wife and Jax. “Now, you hold on a minute,” he said, raising his hand as if he could stop any of them from approaching with the sheer power of his will. “We weren’t trying to get in the apartment. Not without permission. We knocked on the door, and we were waiting for someone to answer. I don’t know why you were called out here, but we’ve done nothing wrong, and you can go on back to wherever you came from.”

“Sorry. We got a call about trouble, sir, and we can’t leave until we check things out,” Susan responded. “Since it looks like you two are part of whatever happened here, we’re going to have to have a discussion.”

“All we wanted to do was see the baby,” Mary said, peering out from behind her husband. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, her skin unlined, her shoulders straight.

She must have been a baby when she’d had Phoebe. That shouldn’t have made Jax feel sorry for her, but it did.

“I understand how you feel, but you have to petition the court for permission to see her,” he said, and Josiah frowned.

“Now, why would we have to do that? She’s kin.” Josiah straightened to his full height and puffed out his chest like an overconfident rooster. Maybe that worked with his family, but it didn’t work with Jax. It didn’t work with anyone from the Benevolence Sheriff’s Department.

“She’s a ward of the state. The court decides who gets to see her and who doesn’t.” Kane had moved closer and was standing just a few feet away from the couple. “I take it you’re her grandparents?”

“That’s right.” Mary smoothed a hand down her long skirt, brushed dirt off her long-sleeved shirt. “We thought that maybe . . .”

“What?” Jax asked, his gaze on the apartment and the door that was still closed.

Willow had to have heard the sirens.

Was she terrified?

Frozen in place?

Caught in her nightmares and her memories?

“Well, Josiah and I, we thought that maybe we could raise the baby. She’s our blood, after all, and that seems like it should count for something.”

“Blood counts for squat, ma’am, when it comes to these kinds of things,” Susan said bluntly. “You want to adopt the baby, you’re going to have to fill out the paperwork and wait in line with every other Tom, Dick, and Harry who wants her.”

“But she’s ours,” Josiah said. “It’s as simple as that.”

“It’s not simple at all,” Kane corrected. “Especially now that you’ve come for an unapproved visit at three in the morning. That’s not what most people do, Mr. . . . ?”

“Sanders. Josiah. This is my wife, Mary. Phoebe is our daughter. She’s always been rebellious, always skirted the rules.” He shook his head, ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I tried to keep them away from worldly things. I tried to give them a good life free of the kinds of temptations that could get a person in trouble. She had her own mind, though, and she did what she wanted.”

“We all have to make our own choices, Josiah,” Kane said. “How about we go to my office and talk things out? I can put you in touch with a lawyer who can help you learn about custody laws.”

“You’re arresting us?” Mary said. “We have daughters, and they’re expecting us home by dawn. They’ll be worried sick, if we don’t return.”

“You’re not being arrested. Yet,” Susan said. “We just want to ask a few questions. If it takes too long, and you think you’re going to be late getting back, you can call them and let them know what’s going on.” She took Mary’s arm and started leading her to the patrol car.

“We don’t have a phone!” Mary said. “And our youngest is only twelve. She gets scared. She’s going to—”

“Calm down, ma’am,” Susan said. “I’m a mother too, and I know how it feels to not be able to get in touch with your kids. I’m off-duty in an hour. If you’re not done by then, I’ll go over to your place and let the kids know what’s going on.”

“We don’t need strangers on our property,” Josiah growled.

“If you tell her not to go out there,” Mary said quietly, “it’s over. I mean that, Josiah. I’ve given up everything so you could have the kind of life you wanted, but I’m not going to scare my girls for the sake of your paranoia.”

“I’m not paranoid,” Josiah said. “I’m realistic. The world is filled with evil. It’s—”

“How about we work it out at the station?” Kane opened the back door of the cruiser, and the couple climbed in. Not another protest out of either of them.

“That was easy,” Susan said, taking off her uniform hat and smoothing her hair. “Reminded me of dealing with my kids. Lots of loud noise but not a whole lot of backbone. Have you checked on Willow and the baby yet?”

“I’m going up there now.”

“You want us to stick around?” Kane asked, glancing up at the apartment door. “I doubt we’re going to need to take her statement. This looks pretty cut-and-dried, and unless Willow wants to press charges, I don’t see any reason to make an arrest.”

“You’re bringing them down to the station,” Jax pointed out.

“Just instilling a little fear of the law in them. No one gets to come into our town and bother our people. That’s just the way it is. I’ll bring them back for the van later. As long as they agree to leave without getting anywhere near Willow or the baby, they should be home before dawn.”

“I’ll let Willow know.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Graveyard again,” Kane reminded him, and climbed into the cruiser.

Seconds later, he was pulling out of the parking lot, lights flashing, sirens off. He’d do the right thing by the Sanderses. He’d ask his question and let them tell their story, and then he’d probably buy them coffee and send them home.

Jax had no worries that the couple would return and bother Willow again. They’d both seemed pretty innocuous. Like Susan had said. Lots of noise. Not a whole lot of action.

He jogged up the apartment stairs, the metal clanging against brick as he moved. When he reached the door, he knocked. Waited a heartbeat and knocked again.

“Willow?!” he called. “It’s Jax. You two okay in there?”

She didn’t answer, and for a moment, memories flooded his head and he was swallowed up by them. He imagined she was lying on the other side of the door, bleeding. Imagined Miracle in her crib, blood pouring from her head and chest, her mouth open as she gasped for air. Imagined he could smell death and dying and fear.

He knocked a third time, reaching for his cell phone, ready to call and try to get Willow to the door that way.

The door flew open, and she was there. Pale. Shaking. Alive. Miracle was cocooned in a bright-colored carrier, nothing but the top of her head visible. No blood. No gasping breaths. No smell of anything but chocolate and cherries and baby powder.

“Thank God,” he said, pulling Willow into his arms. Gently, because the baby was between them. “I was scared out of my mind.”

“So was I,” she murmured, her voice filled with relief mixed with the remnant of her fear. “There was a man out there, Jax. Banging on the door, and I kept thinking that it was Eric. That somehow he wasn’t really dead, and that he’d found me again.”

She shuddered, and he tilted her chin, forced her to look into his eyes. She was pale, her freckles dark, her eyes that sweet spring blue that he loved so much.

“He is dead,” he said. “You don’t ever have to worry about him finding you. If he weren’t, I’d kill him, and you still wouldn’t have to worry.”

“You’re too good of a guy to kill someone out of revenge.”

“I’m not that good.” But she was right. He hadn’t shot the man who’d put the hit on his family. He’d had the opportunity. He’d had the guy in his sights. He may have even been able to convince a jury that it was an act of self-defense. The problem was, he’d have known the truth, and he was the one who’d have to look at himself in the mirror every day.

“Liar,” she murmured. “We both know that you really are that good.”

“What gave it away?”

“Everything you’ve ever done for me. Thank you, Jax.” She levered up on her toes, kissed his lips, and if the baby hadn’t been between them, he would have pulled her in for more. He would have deepened the kiss. He would have let himself forget all the rules he’d made for himself, all the limits he’d set to keep from having to lose someone again.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“For being a good friend. One who comes at three in the morning to rescue me.”

“You didn’t need rescuing. The guy on your stoop was Phoebe’s father. His wife was with him. They just wanted to see Miracle.”

“You still rescued me, because I had no idea I wasn’t in danger. Neither did you when you came running to help.”

“Don’t make me your hero, Willow.”

“Because you don’t want to be one?” She stepped back, brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I understand.”

“No. You don’t.” He touched her cheek, let his palm rest against her cool, silky skin.

God! She was beautiful!

Everything about her. Not just her hair, her skin, her eyes.

Her smile.

Her laughter.

The way she looked when she was singing Miracle a lullaby.

The way she’d felt in his arms when they’d danced in the moonlight.

He’d spent six days keeping his distance, playing the friendship game, because he’d wanted to keep her safe.

And then he’d heard her scream, and he’d known the truth. Life was what it was. All the twists and turns, heartbreaks and sorrows, they happened no matter how much a person tried to stop them.

So maybe the point wasn’t to avoid the hurt. Maybe the point was to grab as much joy as possible, to love as deeply as possible, to be as much as possible to the one person who wanted to be as much as possible to him.

“If you don’t think I understand, Jax,” Willow said quietly, “maybe you should explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to be your hero, Willow, because heroes? They’re there for the big things. They come running when dragons need to be slain and monsters need to be killed. They’re there for the glory and the fame and the worship. Me? I just want to be there for you.”

She blinked, opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“Unless,” he said gently, kissing her the way she’d kissed him—lightly and sweetly. No expectations. No demands. “You don’t want me to be.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I want more,” she responded, her hands sliding into his hair, her eyes staring straight into his. “Unless, of course, it’s you helping me make fifty pounds of fudge.”

He laughed, because she meant him to, and because she was laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement, her cheeks pink with it.

The baby whimpered, and Willow looked down at her, a smile still hovering on her lips. “Much as I’m enjoying this enlightening conversation, Miracle is going to want to be fed in a couple of hours, and I have to study the fudge recipe while she’s sleeping. Otherwise, I’m never going to figure out where I’m going wrong and fix it before Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“A wedding shower. We’ve got an order for—”

“Fifty pounds of fudge?” he said, and she met his eyes, her face still soft with amusement.

“Right. Only, one of the Lamonts can’t make fudge, and she’s the only one available this weekend.”

“I take it that Lamont is you?”

“You’re batting a thousand, Jax.” She patted his cheek, and he caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm.

She froze, all the amusement disappearing from her face.

“I hope you meant it.”

“What?”

“What you said about not being my hero, because I guess I don’t need a hero, Jax. I guess I just need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he said, and then he took her hand and walked her out into the still-dark morning.