Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy (37 page)

I strolled through Grant Park, following my five-year-old children on their bikes. They raced toward a bench. Seated there were two beautiful women. My babies dropped their bikes and ran to them with arms opened wide. I tried to keep up, but never got close. Out of breath, I stopped. They were on their way back to me. I sat on the path and waited. My sweet baby girl arrived first.

"Mommy, what's my name?"

I didn't know. We talked about the multiple Benjamin thing, but lady names got lost.

My darling baby boy circled around me.

"Do you know my name?" he asked.

No.

"It's all right. We asked our Grandmas," my daughter said.

Mom. Helen. I leapt to my feet and searched for the bench. They were gone. My smiling children waited for me.

"Are your names a secret? Do I have to guess?" I asked trying to hide my tears.

"No, we'll tell you," my son said. "Mine is—"

"Alexia, did you say something?" Ben asked.

I opened my eyes to see him leaning over me. We were in a regular hospital room. The end of my bed was covered with papers and fast food wrappers.

"Having children means filling out forms. Did we pick names?" he asked.

"Where are the babies?"

"In the nursery. Miss Cobb is a blue-eyed blonde, three pounds, thirteen ounces, fourteen inches. Master Cobb is black-eyed, bald, four pounds, five ounces, fifteen inches. Next to her, he's a bruiser and needs a leather vest. They're in the neo-natal unit for observation overnight."

"I want to see them," I said as I kicked off the blankets and tried to stand.

"No walking, wheelchair only. You come with a set of instructions," he said as he held up a folder with "Alexia Hale" printed on it.

He'd scribbled "Cobb" under it.

I pushed the button for the nurse. She entered the room and helped me clean up. Childbirth was a messy business. It took both of them to get me in the chair. Ben pushed me down the hall and stopped at the desk. Our hospital bracelets were scanned, and we were allowed entry.

Familiar voices greeted me.

"I allowed them to have visitors while you rested," Ben said.

"He's a heartbreaker. Those pouty lips and a two-day beard, women will swoon. Mark my words, he'll leave the nursery with a few phone numbers," Irene said.

"If this was a bar, he would be punching all the guys hitting on his sister. She's stunning. Money can't buy this shade of blonde," Eleanor said.

"So you approve?" I asked.

My sisters sat in rocking chairs holding my children. They both got up and laid a sleeping baby in each arm and kissed me. I held them close, feeling their hearts beat.

"What are their names?" Irene asked.

"They didn't tell you?" I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Three months later, the museum entered its final stages. The letter rooms were decorated. The exhibits had been crated and shipped. The curator and staff had been busy working on the grand opening.

We did the final walk-through of the house and signed the papers. Ben hadn't lived in a suburb in twenty years.

"The quiet is deafening," he said.

The sticking point for us was a nanny.

Ben said yes. I said no.

"I want to care for my own children," I said.

"Of course, but with two, you will need some help. She will not replace you by any means. Just supplement your efforts. One day you might like to go out alone. She would be the permanent baby-sitter."

"Please let me try on my own. I'll do a good job, I promise."

"You'll be the best parent ever. A nanny will allow you to come up for air once in a while."

"All of the duties of the household have been assigned. I'll save us money, and I won't have some cute girl sniffing around you."

"What?"

"Read the tabloids. All the celebrity guys divorce their wives and marry the nannies."

"I plan to chase you for decades to come."

"Maybe you should, help me drop these last twenty pounds," I said.

*   *   *

The Helen Nance Cobb Children's Museum opened to much fanfare. Donors and their families were invited to have a private tour. The press reported live from the turquoise carpet: Helen's favorite color. Local dignitaries, politicians, and the general powers that be from the city and state were all in attendance.

Ben needed to make a speech to thank everyone for all their efforts and hard work. Benjamin Emanuel Cobb held his grandson, Paul Benjamin Hale-Cobb. I stood holding our daughter, Margaret Helen Hale-Cobb. After his remarks, our family of five posed for the photographers. Everyone cooed over the babies. They were angelic. Paul was the image of Ben: dark gray eyes, black hair, chiseled chin and nose. Just like my dream. Margaret was me: small frame, fair skin, a cap of blonde hair.

Paul was older and Margaret's protector. He reached for her, especially when she fussed.

After an hour, the children were getting cranky. They were packed and put in their car seats. Ben carried Paul, Mr. Cobb carried Margaret, and I carried the bags.

The driver waited in the car. I sat between the babies in the back seat of the town car. Both Cobb men leaned in to kiss the three of us goodbye.

We drove away, but only went a short distance and pulled into an alley. Something was wrong.

I sat forward and was greeted by a grinning Richard Grant.

"You're supposed to be in jail," I said stunned to see him.

"Bailed out. Now keep your mouth shut," he said in a hoarse voice.

He waved a billy club toward us, nicking Paul's car seat.

"The world would be better off with less Cobbs," he said menacingly.

Threaten me, I was scared. Threaten my children, he was dead.

I grabbed his arm, sunk my teeth into his wrist, and he dropped the club on the passenger seat. Both babies wailed, and there was a scream from the street. He yanked me up by my hair with his other hand. The upper part of my body wedged in between the seats.

He punched me in the back of the head and the side. I saw stars but didn't let go of his arm. He clutched his hand around my throat and squeezed. My bite faltered and everything dimmed. I used the last of my strength to push his little finger backward. The click of the bone breaking made him scream and release me. I grabbed the club and swung at his head, clipping his ear. Another pass smashed his nose. I lost my grip and dropped the club. We both dove for it. His fingers almost touched it. I needed another weapon. I reached back in the diaper bag and grabbed my portable breast pump. I clocked him in the side of the head with it. He turned as I switched it on. I aimed for his mouth and the suction drew in his bottom lip. He pulled at it, then seemed to seize up, clutched his chest, and passed out.

I popped the lock, swung the passenger side door open, and started to scream for help. Two guys rushed to the car, and a woman was on her cell phone, presumably to call nine-one-one.

I fell into the backseat, unbuckled my children, and held them as I listened to the screaming sirens.

After the paramedics checked the three of us out, the police transferred us into the back seat of a squad car. I rocked my babies and said nothing. Lights flashed around us, and I watched Grant being loaded into an ambulance. A car screeched to a halt and both Cobb men jumped out. My father-in-law tried to drag Grant off of the gurney. Three paramedics were on his back, but he still punched Grant in the face.

Ben saw me in the car and opened the door. He slid in next to me and took Margaret from me. I began to cry and hiccupped my way through our ordeal.

"Grant hit Mark from behind, tied him up, and stole the car keys," Ben told me. "When the car pulled away, it dawned on me I didn't see him. One of the guards found Mark and called me. Luckily, there is a GPS in each of my cars. I grabbed Irene's car and raced here. When I saw the police had cordoned off the street, my heart stopped. I should have known you would handle it." He kissed my cheek.

"Is Grant dead?" I asked.

"Probably not, but between you and my dad, I'd say you both tried your damnedest."

"Grant had pure hatred in his eyes. I was terrified, but as soon as he moved toward the babies, I wanted to kill him. Twice."

Ben put his arm around me and kissed me again.

"Protector and defender, you've got this mom thing down."

He was right. I'd found my calling. The hours and pay sucked, but oh the benefits.

Weeks after the press and attention subsided, the four of us went back to the museum for an uneventful visit.

During the night, I heard my babies stirring. Feeding time.

I wandered over to the nursery, pushed open the door, strolled over to the cribs, and changed both diapers. I sat down and had both babies tucked under my arms. Both contently nursed, as I hummed softly. My singing voice would give them nightmares.

"There's a song about brass and me buying a mirror, but I don't remember all the words, and I no longer sing in private," I said to my hungry children. "Your mean old aunts recorded me once while I sang in the shower. I sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard. Never try to hit a high note underwater."

The door opened wider, and Ben stepped in, yawning.

"Am I supposed to buy a mockingbird or a goat?" Ben asked as he trudged closer to us.

I checked the double platinum bands and the four-carat, square-cut diamond ring on my finger. My emerald, the babies' birthstone, ring, necklace, and earrings were in my jewelry box.

"Your shopping list includes diapers, clothes, shoes, braces, cars."

"I better keep my day job," he said, leaning over and kissing the tops of my breasts. "Hey, you two, leave some for me."

"Right now, they get dibs," I said, giving him a light head butt.

"You are with the three people in the world who enjoy daily access to your nude body. We need a color-coded calendar to make sure of equal time."

He sat on the floor at my feet and began to massage them. I sighed and put my head back. He yawned after fifteen minutes. His eyelids battled to stay open.

"You need your sleep. I won't be much longer."

"You're right," he said, but instead of leaving me for the warmth of our bed, he curled up on the floor and closed his eyes. I heard his soft snoring in seconds.

Surrounded in love and contentment, I knew my life would only get better. Ben had been attentive and devoted to the babies. We never hired a nanny. Ben could barely be parted from them. I was his designated helper.

When they were done eating, I held the babies and rocked for a bit.

"Wasn't it fun to spend the day with Daddy? We were at Grandma's museum today. We'll go there a lot when you get bigger. She taught Daddy how to draw. She wrote stories too. My favorite one is
Benjamin's Bike
. It's about Daddy when he was little."

Once upon a time Benjamin wanted a new bike.

* * * * *

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* * * * *

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Long before DVDs, Mary Jo saw
Gone with the Wind
in the theater. She was ten. The story never left her. She read the book three times. She saw the movie every time it was re-released.
GWTW
will be seventy-five years old this year and is her favorite movie. She would only make a minor change: Leave Ashley to Melanie and hold on tight to Rhett. Her writing sprung from reading, watching, and always wanting to edit.
Mary Jo was born in Chicago and has never strayed far from home. She majored in Accounting and received her MBA in Finance. She worked in the investment and banking businesses.
Mary Jo is a member of the Romance Writers of America, Chicago North RWA, and Windy City RWA.

To learn more about Mary Jo Burke, visit her online at:
http://www.maryjoburke.com/

* * * * *

BOOKS BY MARY JO BURKE

Spicing Up Trouble

Cupid's Busted Arrow

Mother Nature's Man

All Hours Trading

* * * * *

SNEAK PEEK

If you enjoyed
Spicing Up Trouble
, check out this sneak peek of another romantic read from
Gemma Halliday Publishing
:

FALSE START

by

BARBARA VALENTIN

PROLOGUE

"My weaknesses have always been food and men—in that order."

– Dolly Parton

Of all the things to say to a bride-to-be on her wedding day, "You have no business wearing that skinny minidress with your full figure, and in a church!" isn't one of them.

But Mattie had other things to worry about besides her Aunt Viv's chiding. The ceremony was scheduled to start in two minutes, and the church, overflowing with three shades of fragrant peonies and more than a hundred well-adorned guests, was missing just one thing. The groom.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute," Claudia, the matron of honor, promised with all of the sincerity of a used-car salesman.

Claudia never did like Eddie. When she learned the object of her baby sister's lifelong, one-sided crush had finally balled up and proposed, she made every attempt to hide her disdain. Almost.

"All people can be divided into two groups, Mattie—givers and takers. You are a giver. Eddie is a taker." Claudia said this so frequently, Mattie expected to see it cross-stitched on a pillow as a wedding gift.