Babies By The Busload. Raye Morgan

of light banter, she politely declined his invitation to dinner and rang off.

      Going back to her open door, she looked out at the steps for Annie, but the girl was gone. Sighing, she closed the door and went back to the kitchen, methodically putting away the rest of the groceries. The situation with Jack and his daughter had disturbed her. She had no similar idea what the death of a wife and mother actually did to a family. She’d had no experience. But she knew it had to be horrific, and she winced, pushing away the emotions such a tragedy inspired.

      It was easier to think about Jack as a playboy with all these Bambis and Marguerites and who-knows-who-elses in his life when he had these little kids to care for, and get outraged about that. But even that exasperation was fading in her. After all, what could she do about the girl? It was re ally none of her business if Jack wanted to run around like a teenager with brand-new hormones. Maybe that happened to widowers. Maybe they needed it.

      Still, there had been such a haunted look in Annie’s eyes.

      Jack Remington. It was such a stroke of very bad luck to have ended up next door to the man who single-handedly had almost ruined her career before it had even begun. As she prepared a pot of lemon tea, she let her thoughts drift back to that summer ten years ago in Sacramento when she’d landed an intern job at a local television station. She’d been thrilled, even though the job had meant being handed every grubby little chore the others didn’t want to be bothered with. That was the way it was when you were low man on the totem pole, and she had been glad to put up with it for the experience and the pleasure of being in the business she adored.

      She’d spent the summer taking in every bit of knowledge she could glean. She’d watched Jack from afar. He’d been the star anchor at the station at the time, and everyone had treated him like a king. She’d been ecstatic when he smiled at her, but he’d only spoken to her once.

      It was late in the summer and she’d finally had a chance to go on camera with a newsbreak at the hour. She’d given it everything she had and most people had been generous with their praise. And then Jack had come sauntering along and looked her up and down, and she’d held her breath, waiting to hear what he had to say.

      “You’re a very pretty girl,” he said at last. “I’ll bet you were a cheerleader in high school, weren’t you?”

      Thinking he meant it as a compliment, she’d colored and smiled at him. “Why, yes, I was.”

      His mouth had twitched at the corners. “That’s what I thought,” he said, the scorn plain in his tone. “Well, let me give you a little bit of advice, Miss Jenkins. Pay a little more attention to the program your newsbreak is interrupting. In the movie playing tonight, a child has just been told he might never walk again. The viewers are crying their eyes out. And then you come on, grinning like a loon and shouting out the news item as though it were the main cheer at a pep rally.” He shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Miss Jenkins, if you think you’re going to get anywhere in this business.”

      He’d walked away, leaving her behind in a humiliated heap. Not only had he hated her style, he hadn’t remembered her name right. No one met her eyes for the rest of the day, and the next morning she was told her services were no longer needed at the station.

      The shock of finding herself sidelined so quickly still stung. Okay, so he had been right, she’d been so anxious about her spot she hadn’t thought to put it into context. She’d learned a lot from what he’d told her, she had to admit that. But still—he didn’t need to lecture her so harshly in front of the entire staff, and most of all, he shouldn’t have had her fired. It just wasn’t right and she resented it to this day.

      The night before, after their meeting around her hot tub, she’d scanned the local listing, looking to see what station he was working for these days, but she hadn’t been able to find any mention of his name, and that had surprised her.

      This morning at work, she’d brought him up to Martin, the sportscaster.

      “I didn’t know Jack Remington was working here in St. Johns,” she’d said, making her voice as casual as she could.

      “Jack Remington?” Martin’s handsome brow had furled. “Who’s Jack Remington?”

      But another employee standing nearby had heard of him. “Jack Remington? You’re kidding. Where did you see him?”

      She hesitated, and something about his interest made her wary. “Uh, I thought I saw him near the condo complex where I’m staying. Maybe I was wrong.”

      “Jack Remington,” the man had mused, thinking back. “He used to be the best, you know. He was slated for major network success when he dropped out of sight. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

      “Yes,” J.J. had murmured, moving away. “I wonder.”

      So it seemed he had forsaken his old career. Strange. Still, she would rather not ever find out why than to have to deal with him again. And since she was only slated for the area for a few weeks, she doubted that would be a problem.

      She picked up the invitation to her friend’s baby shower and smiled at the silly duckling with a bow, but her smile faded as she read the date again. It was only weeks away. She didn’t think she was going to be able to make it. After all these years, it would be wonderful to see the old gang again. Pinning the invitation to the kitchen bulletin board, she resolved to see if she could find a way to go.

      

      She went back to the station at three, and it was evening before she returned home again, a sack from the local fried chicken outlet under her arm. As she came up the walk, she thought she heard animals in the trees, but when she cocked her head and listened, she realized it was babies crying. A lot of babies crying.

      She frowned. She had only one thin wall between her condo and Jack’s. Letting herself into her place, she found her unease had been warranted. The crying sounded even louder in her living room than it had outside.

      “What on earth is going on in there?” she muttered irritably. “It sounds like a baby convention.”

      A soft knocking on her door got her attention and she opened it to find Annie standing there, her lower lip quivering and moisture welling in her eyes.

      “Annie!” she cried, pulling the child into her entryway. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

      The little girl burst into tears, but she tried to force back the flow, wincing away when J.J. tried to comfort her with a hug. J.J. drew back, uncertain of how to deal with this. She wasn’t used to children, hadn’t been around them since she’d been a child herself. Annie looked so sad, so pathetic, she wanted badly to do something for her. But what?

      Her first instinct was that something terrible had happened, but that thought was beginning to recede, despite the child’s inability to get her story out. Inexperienced as she was with children, she had a feeling no one was lying bleeding somewhere. This had all the earmarks of a problem dealing with the emotions, not with physical danger. Some of her adrenaline slowed a bit, and she risked touching the little girl’s hair.

      “Just take it easy,” she murmured, frowning at her worriedly.

      Meanwhile, the tears Annie was trying to hold back kept squeezing out. “I…I…” Her face crumpled and she couldn’t get the words out.

      J.J. turned and grabbed a tissue from a box on the counter and handed it to her, bending close, aching to help but not knowing how.

      “Just take a deep breath and tell me slowly,” she encouraged her.

      Annie tried, but the sobs were shaking her and it took a few minutes before she could speak.

      “It’s all my fault,” she wailed, hiccuping.

      “What’s your fault, Annie?” J.J. coaxed, stroking her hair and not receiving a rebuff.

      “M-M-Marguerite,” Annie forced out. “She’s gone.”

      “Gone?”