Baby Under the Mistletoe (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 5

He got out of the SUV and strode up the sidewalk, his dread growing with each step. As he reached the door, he could hear his father yelling inside. General Morgan—or the General, as he was usually referred to—was prone to yelling, but the bellowing he was engaged in now had a different timber, almost manical quality, that West had only started to recognize last summer during his most recent visit home.

  West had never imagined his own father succumbing to any weakness, let alone weakness of the mind. The tone of his father’s voice sounded crazy. No, that wasn’t the right word. Senile was better. The most accurate description, according to the doctors, was Alzheimer’s disease.

  And it wasn’t early onset, either. No, the General was advanced into the dementia that was making him more and more incompetent, less and less able to function as a normal person.

  “I said I don’t own a goddamn cat!” he bellowed again. “Get that animal out of my house!”

  This urged West to take a step forward, until he was knocking hard on the front door.

  A moment later, an exasperated-looking woman in a white outfit opened it.

  “Hi,” West said. “You must be Margie from the temp service?”

  “I am,” she said. “And if you’ll excuse me—”

  She was cut off by the sound of a yowl, then the cat scrambling through the front door and flying across the porch in a blur.

  “Mr. Morgan, I won’t have you abusing that animal!” she said as she disappeared into the house.

  West stepped inside. To the left, he could see the double doors of the study were open, and his father was standing there, brandishing a cane.

  “Never have liked cats,” he muttered, ignoring Margie.

  His gaze landed on West. “Who’s that? West?” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

  Relief flooded West. At least his father recognized him still, if not the cat.

  “Hey, Dad. Remember I said I’d be arriving here today?”

  “Oh, sure.” But he didn’t look as though he remembered.

  “I’ll be going now, if that’s okay with you, sir,” Margie announced. “Mr. Morgan has been making it clear all morning that he doesn’t want me in the house.”

  West followed her into the kitchen, where she retrieved a coat hanging on the back of a chair.

  “Thank you so much for sticking around until I could get here,” he said, pulling out his wallet to give her a tip.

  “Heaven knows I understand how dementia patients are—I’ve been working with them for twenty years. I simply don’t tolerate any outright abuse of the animals in the house. Me, I’m trained to defend myself, but that poor cat doesn’t understand what’s going on.”

  “I hope he hasn’t been too hard on you.”

  Her lips went thin. “Have you been around an Alzheimer’s patient before?”

  “I visited here last summer, but he was only forgetful then.”

  “Sometimes they go downhill fast, and it’s a real shame to see. You’d best be prepared for him being a lot more than forgetful.”

  Margie had only been with his dad for a few days. The General had been so alternately belligerent and obscene with every caregiver that none would stick around for longer than a few weeks.

  “What kind of trouble have you had with him?”

  “You just witnessed the incident with that poor cat. He’s been insisting all day that the animal doesn’t live here.”

  “So that’s how he is all the time?”

  “Not all the time. The thing with Alzheimer’s is, it comes in waves. For a while he’ll be living in the past, convinced it’s 1963 or he’s in the middle of the war or his wife’s been gone to the grocery store too long. Then he’ll take a nap and wake up normal.”

  “What should I do when he’s confused and agitated?”

  “Sometimes it’s best to play along and save yourself the battle. Other times, like if he might do something to hurt himself or someone else, you’re going to have to let him know he’s confused, and that’s where the battle begins.”

  “Is there any chance I can convince you to stick around at least for another week or so? It’ll be an easier job when I’m around to act as a buffer.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ll make sure there’s a nice holiday bonus for you.”

  Anything to keep him from having to be here alone all the time with his dad. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage as it was.

  Margie sighed. “I’ve got to go to a dental appointment this afternoon, but I suppose I can stick around here for another week or two if Mr. Morgan behaves himself.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Whew. That bought him some time, at least.

  She picked up her purse from the table, accepted the tip from West and headed for the door.

  She paused in the door of the study. “Goodbye, Mr. Morgan. I’ll be going now that your son is here to look out for you this afternoon.”

  “I already told you to go. Now get out of—”

  “Dad!”

  Margie gave West a significant look, then walked out the front door, the determined set of her shoulders speaking volumes as she let the screen door slam behind her.

  West turned to his dad. “You can’t chase away every caregiver I hire, Dad.”

  “I don’t need any caregiver. I’m a grown man, not a drooling baby in diapers.” He banged his cane on the floor to emphasize the point, then walked over to his desk chair and took a seat.

  “Did you hit your cat with the cane?”

  “That cat? I’ve never seen it before, and it sure as hell doesn’t belong in this house. Your mother’s allergic, you know.”

  “But—” West was about to say that his mother didn’t live here anymore, except he wasn’t sure it would do any good to point it out right now.

  Hadn’t Margie said he should choose his battles? So long as the cat was outside, they had time to see if his father would return to the present day and remember that his beloved pet for the past decade actually did belong there.

  His father turned on the radio next to his desk and adjusted the volume on a talk show, then settled back in his chair to listen.

  Some welcome home.

  “Hey, Dad, I’m going to make a few phone calls, then maybe we can have a cup of coffee and catch up.”

  “Eh? Can you be quiet? I’m listening to my show right now.”

  Right.

  West closed the front door and locked it, then went into the kitchen again. He put a pot of coffee on, noticing at every turn signs of decay. The house was no longer the pristine home his mother once kept, but that was nothing new.

  The divorce long past, his father, in spite of his talk of high standards, had been letting things slide in his bachelor years. Two more wives had come and gone, each less patient and less forgiving than Julia Morgan had been, and with the crumbling of each marriage, the General had seemed a little less like his former stickler self.

  It was as if he didn’t have the energy to be the man in command of every detail anymore, as evidenced by cobwebs in the corners and a thin coating of grime on the stove top.

  “Women’s work,” his father had always said of housekeeping—far out of his element in a postfeminist world.

  West, on the other hand, considered keeping a home in good order a fact of life. It was simply part of being an adult. So he grabbed the duster from the cleaning caddy that had always been stored under the sink and got rid of the cobwebs, then gave the stove top a good scrubbing. Once he’d completed those tasks, he felt a little more at ease in the room and sat at the table to call his mother.

  He wanted to hear a normal voice right now, one that didn’t have any bad news to bear. Because as soon as he stopped thinking about his father, thoughts of Soleil being pregnant took over.

  He was going to be a father, for better or worse. He was going to be responsible for a child in less than four months. And here was his own father, turning into a two-hundred-pound belligerent child.

 
; Would West be able to cope? Would he be a better father than his own dad had been?

  Somehow, he would have to be.

  JULIA DIDN’T LIKE the look on her middle son’s face. Something was definitely wrong, to have him looking so troubled and showing up at such an odd time of year, too. Normally West arrived in town like clockwork for the holidays, the weekend before Christmas—not weeks ahead of time.

  “Can I get you a glass of cabernet?” she asked as he sat at the breakfast bar across from her.

  She had her hands immersed in a tossed salad, trying to coax the grape tomatoes back to the top of the pile of vegetables.

  “Why don’t I get it? You’ll have one, too?” he said, standing and heading for the wine rack before she could stop him.

  “Sure. There’s already a bottle breathing over by the fridge.”

  Having one of her children here in her post-divorce condo always felt a little odd to her, even after all these years. Some silly part of her thought they were only supposed to be together as a family at the house she and John had bought after he’d retired from the military. They’d lived in the house as a family for maybe the last five or six years of the marriage, but in her head, she’d imagined all their family get-togethers from then on out happening at that grand old Craftsman. That was before she’d accepted that the marriage was over and somehow she couldn’t shake the image.

  Here in her little condo, which had become her refuge from the ugliness of her marriage, her children felt like reminders of the ways in which she’d failed. And that was a notion she’d never, ever speak out loud.

  “So what’s new with you?” he asked as he prepared the drinks.

  Oh, the usual. Online dating, meeting up with strange men, et cetera.

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Sometimes she could hardly believe her own nerve. Would she dare tell West what she’d done?

  Not right now.

  “I’ve been volunteering for the literacy program at the library, doing some knitting, yoga, hiking…Oh, and I’ll have to introduce you to the new rabbits I’m fostering. They’re confined to the garage until they learn better potty manners.”

  West set her glass of wine beside her, and she realized she was rambling. Possibly sounding guilty.

  “Keeping busy as always,” he said, lifting his glass.

  She took hers and toasted. “To surprise visits from my children.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t give you more notice. This was kind of a last-minute thing.”

  His tense expression returned as he paused and took a drink.

  “What’s going on, West?”

  “It’s Dad,” he said. “He’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.”

  The news struck Julia dumb for a moment. She swallowed her wine and struggled to wrap her mind around the idea. Her ex-husband, the father of her children, the invincible General she’d both loved and hated for more years than she could count, never got sick.

  He was too ornery to get sick.

  But it was as she’d feared when she’d heard West’s voice earlier over the phone.

  “Oh…” She set down her glass, put her hand over her mouth.

  “It’s progressed faster than I thought it would. In a matter of months he’s gone from being forgetful to downright belligerent and disoriented.”

  “Oh…”

  Now she was repeating herself like an idiot. She needed to come up with something helpful to say, but she was shocked senseless.

  “Mom, sit down.” West took her by the elbow, guiding her out of the kitchen and into the family room.

  She lowered herself onto the couch, and he sat next to her.

  “Do you need some water?”

  “Alzheimer’s disease,” she murmured, the diagnosis sounding completely absurd to her ears still.

  West went to the kitchen, filled a glass with tap water and brought it to her. She took a halfhearted sip and set the glass aside.

  “I know it’s a shock. It’s taken me a while to accept it myself. And I really thought we’d have more time before he’d get so…bad.”

  “Who’s caring for him?” Julia finally found the sense to ask.

  “We’ve had home-health nurses coming in for the past few months, but he keeps chasing them off. That’s why I moved up my vacation time—so I could come here and try to get him some reliable care.”

  “You’ve known about this since the summer and haven’t told me? Your brothers have known? No one’s said a word.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to talk about it, and we all thought we had more time.”

  “Oh, dear Lord, West. I’m so sorry, too. I never thought I’d live to see the day your father couldn’t take care of himself.”

  There. She’d said something appropriate, something sympathetic, but it didn’t begin to reveal the torrent of feelings threatening to choke her right now.

  From the kitchen a buzzer sounded, reminding her that the tri-tip roast was done. “Let me get that before it burns,” she said as she stood and headed for the other room.

  “Need some help?”

  “Sure, I think we could use the distraction. Can you chop some mushrooms?”

  West rummaged in the fridge while she took the roast out of the oven, grateful for a chance to process the news about her ex-husband for a moment in private.

  John.

  Not her ex-husband. His name was John, and it was high time she let go of the past, wasn’t it?

  She hadn’t ever been one to dwell there, but now she saw that John as he was at the time they divorced had become frozen in her mind. To her, he was still the same arrogant, forceful, infuriating man, the same age—ten years her senior—same appearance…

  They didn’t see each other often. Promise, with a population over seven thousand, was just big enough to keep an ex-husband from underfoot. She might see him in passing once or twice a year, and the last time had been nearly a year ago at her oldest son’s house, when John had been arriving as she was leaving. He’d seemed normal then, strong and unyielding as ever.

  Alzheimer’s disease…

  The feelings finally caught in her throat, and she dropped the pot holder next to the roasting pan on the stove and excused herself to the bathroom.

  Once inside the guest bath, she burst into silent, heaving tears.

  This made no sense. She didn’t love John anymore, did she? She didn’t miss him—never had in all the years they’d been apart.

  But she had, once upon a time, loved him enough to think they’d spend their whole lives together, right up until the end. She’d once believed their marriage vows with all her heart, and when she’d imagined their future, she had often pictured them growing old together, keeping each other company in their final years. She’d believed they would take care of each other in their old age.

  Wasn’t that one of the reasons for marrying? Wasn’t it a benefit of all the trouble, heartache and compromise?

  And here they were, in their so-called golden years, alone. Not taking care of each other at all, but instead, virtual strangers trying not to peer in the windows of each other’s lives.

  This, unexpectedly, hurt like hell.

  She had to pull herself together before West started wondering what was wrong. She dabbed her wet eyes with toilet paper, blew her nose, then looked in the mirror to see how wrecked she was. Blotchy skin, red nose, glassy eyes.

  Good thing she kept a spare bag of makeup in here. She touched herself up then headed back to the kitchen to face her son.

  She was being terribly selfish, worrying so much about her own feelings when her sons were the ones who would suffer the most. They were losing their father right before their eyes. West, the most sensitive of all the boys—though he’d die to have it pointed out—would be hit hardest of all. Had been hit hardest, whether he realized it yet or not.

  She needed to be strong for him.

  In the kitchen, he was standing in front of the stove, his head bent as he peered into
a skillet. His profile had looked the same his entire life. Even when he’d first come out of her womb, she had a frozen image of his newborn baby head in profile, same as it was today. Strong brow and nose, wide, observant eyes staring out at the world….

  “Hey, I hope you wanted these mushrooms sautéed,” West said when he looked over at her. “They’re almost done.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She turned her attention to the salad.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “The stuff about Dad, it’s not the only big news I have.”

  Julia’s stomach knotted. This was West, the one who tried so hard to please her and his father. It wasn’t like him to bring bad news.

  “What is it?”

  His expression wavered somewhere between grim and hopeful.

  Oh, dear.

  “Do you remember Soleil Freeman? The woman I was seeing in the summer?”

  “Of course I know Soleil—she’s in my book group. She’s lovely.”

  “She is, yeah. I’m glad you like her because she’s going to be a bigger part of our lives in the future.”

  Oh?

  “Well, that’s a good thing, I hope?”

  West still looked grim. “I’m not sure if you know she’s pregnant.”

  “She is?”

  “Yes, five and a half months along.”

  “I hadn’t heard. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t been to the book group lately.”

  “Mom…” His face paled. “I’m the father of the baby.”

  Julia almost didn’t comprehend what he was saying. She took the news as if he was telling her he was the prime minister of Neptune.

  “But…how…”

  No, that was ridiculous to say. Of course she knew how. She just didn’t know how her eminently responsible son could be saying these words to her now.

  Then it struck her. This was life. Bad things happened to good people, and good things happened to good people, and this…This news—Soleil and West having a baby together—regardless of the how or why of it, was one of the good things.

  Julia smiled, closed the distance between herself and her son and embraced him.

  “Congratulations, West. I’m very happy for you—for all of us.”

  West hugged her back stiffly, then pulled away to look into her eyes. “Really?”