Maternal Harbor Read online

  The trawler glided into the slip, and Mac cut the engine. A yellow rain slicker, hooded and tent-like, covered his grizzly frame. What could be seen of his face appeared etched with weariness. Her childhood protector was aging and she wondered how to deal with his stubborn denial of the fact.

  “I see you finally christened her,” she called. “But why the name Albina?”

  Mac tossed a mooring line. “Cause the damn white belly of this tub scares the red out of every salmon in these waters. Fish figure we’re the Great White.”

  Of course, his explanation sounded perfectly reasonable, same as they always did ever since he found her roaming the wharfs. She had been a gangly girl of four when he tucked her under his fin and taught her to stay out of the way of the fishermen while they worked; and he allowed her to feel part of them. She remembered their first meeting as though it were yesterday. She had been sitting on the edge of the pier, dangling her feet over the edge, just staring at the water or the sky, not seeing anything in particular, simply absorbing the new and usual sights and smells.

  Mac had dropped down beside her and gazed out over the water. “Right pretty, ain’t it?”

  “I promised Lolita not to talk to anyone.”

  “She is right. But if you are going to hang around the pier, you need someone to keep an eye on you. Take me to meet this Lolita.”

  Teagan had ginned at him. “She won’t like it.”

  “So be it.”

  He had taken her side before she even knew she had a side and he became a surrogate grandfather. To hide the sudden emotion, Teagan quickly tied the line to an iron cleat cemented in the pier. Composed, she set her hands on her hips, tossed her hair and challenged, “If the salmon are afraid, what will my customers eat?”

  “Cod, tuna, and some sea bass. They ain’t scared of nothing.”

  Breath rasping, Mac lugged ice-filled crates onto the dock and set them down near her feet, seeking her approval.

  She brushed away the top layer of ice.

  “Don’t matter how picky you are, those fish won’t turn handsome until they’re cooked with dry wine.” His words held a tremor leftover from his breathing harder than she remembered.

  Teagan covered a sudden, overwhelming concern by hefting a huge cod by the gills. Its slippery skin gleamed gray and white. “Bet this one charmed the ladies.” She batted her eyes at the weather-beaten fisherman, who preferred beefsteak and ale. His droopy jowls and red-veined nose said so. “You shoulda been eating your fish the last fifty years.”

  “Catching and eating are two separate things.”

  Teagan bent to lift a crate.

  “Put that down! No lady in your shape lifts anything heavy when I’m around.”

  “Nothing wrong with my shape, Mac. It’s just a baby tucked inside.” He struggled with her unmarried state. So did Teagan’s mother. Occasionally, so did Teagan. Single parenthood was never part of her plan.

  “Why don’t you marry me? Then you could legally smack me around about what I eat.” His sky blue eyes lit with merriment. “Aha, shocked you, huh? Better yet, let me adopt you.”

  “Mac, Mac. What am I to do with you? I need fish for the shop, not your name. My boy will be an O’Riley, same as I am.”

  Mac lifted one crate on top of the other, hefted them up and trudged toward her pickup; his rubber boots whopped against the cement pier, and his wet slicker squeaked. Each day he seemed older, more bent against the weight of the crates.

  Teagan dreaded the day he grew too old to fish. He’d be lost. Without him, she’d be lost. “You should think about hiring a helper.”

  “Long as I can carry these crates, I work alone. And you know dang well I bought a smaller boat so I didn’t have to listen to some lazy kid bitching about hard work.”

  She felt weak compared to his ageless determination. Was she strong enough to do what faced her? The never-ending problems at the shop required toughness, but raising a son alone would take more. The anticipated responsibility lay heavy. What kept her aged partner going? Teagan possessed plenty of the same kind of stubborn grit, worked hard and didn’t cry too much over unfairness; but she would also need a soft maternal side. Both tenancies fought each other. Somehow, she’d learn to join the two and not cover up with crustiness as hard as barnacles on a hull; her breast had to soften.

  After Mac loaded the crates into the long bed of her four-door pickup and covered them with a tarp, he leaned against the tailgate. “Next time, send that ornery landlubber that works for you. He can haul these crates. Put some muscle back in his skinny hide.”

  “Did I just hear you admit to needing help?”

  “No. You do.” He shoved away from the pickup and lumbered back toward his trawler, with shoulders squared and head held at a cocky slant, arms swinging, daring anyone to question his ability.

  Teagan sighed. “Pete says you’re one mean old salt, and he isn’t coming near except when I’m in the hospital.”

  “Suits me.” His words carried over his shoulder.

  Mac was stubborn.

  Teagan worked the pickup around several stacks of unloaded containers. Ahead, a black Blazer pulled from behind a warehouse on the right. “Sheesh,” she muttered. “There’s another one.” It reminded her of the one at the clinic. Fresh off the lot and not yet licensed.

  “Flip, Teagan. You’re becoming as paranoid as Pai.”

  But her senses were heightened and she tracked the Blazer until it pulled right onto Emerson and disappeared into traffic.

  Chapter 3

  “Why did I do that?” Erica couldn’t believe how brainless it was to stay on the pier so long. Spying on them had to stop. “Crap, you’re not on surveillance.” She thumped the side of her head. Doretta, Pai, and Teagan were good people. Nothing had popped when she ran their names through the computer. That should be good enough. Derek needed competition and to provide that, she needed to be outgoing, not suspicious and sneaky. To simply stop and chat with Teagan made more sense. Instead she ran, afraid of recognition through the Blazer’s tinted windows.

  It was their fault. They excluded her sometimes. Might not be on purpose, but they did.

  “Stop it.” Erica caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry so much.” But the anxiety didn’t let go. Doretta or Pai were easy to get along with. Their kids would be the same. Good strong boys for Derek’s playmates. The best. They had to be the best. Everything had to be first rate. Nursery schools and daycare centers were already checked out; the ones with the most up-to-date programs selected. She even checked with guys at the station about kindergartens and pee wee baseball. Derek would play only for a team with a winning record. Failure and second best must be avoided.

  And Teagan would not spoil the plans for Derek. Why couldn’t she just be easy like the others?

  Erica checked her watch, after two already. She should grab a bite, but didn’t feel hungry enough to make the effort. Her loss of appetite was directly linked to the captain catching her at the station, again, after she’d signed out on maternity leave.

  “Don’t come back until after that baby is born,” He growled.

  Staying away hurt. His detested order caused a deep sense of loss. She accepted it only because this was the time for passing her passion to an heir – training him to be a superb police officer. But the uniform still in her locker really needed to be cleaned and ready too.

  The sweaty locker room appeared deserted. Glad for it, Erica crossed the tiled floor to a bank of metal lockers. Hers was in the fourth row, down near the wall. She paused before opening it and rested her forehead against the cool surface. A light tremor fluttered below her right rib. She listened to make sure no one could overhear, and then whispered, “Are you awake? Soon we’ll meet your perfect playmates. I’ve planned so carefully.” Derek didn’t answer by thumping an arm or leg like he did sometimes.

  She withdrew a Seattle Police Department uniform from the locker and held it near her swollen figure. It’ll never fit. Non
e of them will. She cursed for caring.

  The main door opened and several police officers entered, guffawing at some nasty joke. They halted in mid-laughter when she walked from between the bank of lockers.

  “Sarge, family leave means you stay away until you’re a proud mother,” said an officer, one who was always too nosy about any woman on duty.

  Erica stiffened. “I needed something.” She hated her instant explanation.

  “Admit it. You miss us.”

  “What I miss isn’t on your need-to-know list.” She tried to keep her tone light, but the self-satisfied look on the male face made her voice brittle. “In fact, I’m sick of you guys worrying about my condition every time I turn around. Women have babies.”

  She sucked in her tummy as far as possible and crossed the room. Right before pushing through the door, she winked at them and added, “The Brass is planning crowd control this afternoon for some VIPs from China. That’s your assignment guys.” Satisfied, she stepped out and let the door swing shut on their groans.

  The drizzle had turned into a steady rain. She hurried to the Blazer, hopped inside and brushed the raindrops from her uniform. After carefully folding the shirt so the collar remained in perfect shape, she placed it on top of the others and laid her face against the fabric. It smelled of locker room and moisture.

  “Please let me put them on before too long.” Erica said this to no one in particular. Her words were heard though. She was sure of it.

  With the windshield wipers thumping, she merged into light traffic. The way her mind kept drifting, she almost missed the parking spot Mrs. Steinberg reserved for her customers.

  Inside the old brick building, the over-whelming smell of dry-cleaning solvent polluted the tiny foyer. Erica wrinkled her nose, stepped to the counter and tapped the bell. The hum of washing machines, mixed with voices, carried from the back. She tapped the bell harder and glanced behind the counter at a Rockwell calendar hanging on the wall. It still showed August instead of September.

  “I’m coming,” Mrs. Steinberg yelled from somewhere behind the doorway. “I got me a mess back here.”

  Finally, Mrs. Steinberg shuffled into the foyer. “Officer Thorburn, you shouldn’t be carrying such a heavy load. One of the boys could’ve brought them in.”

  Taken aback by the thought of someone caring whether she strained herself, Erica said nothing, just lifted her uniforms onto the counter. “It smells awfully strong.”

  “Busted a gallon of cleaner.” Mrs. Steinberg adjusted her glasses and peered at Erica’s belly. “Your baby due in a couple of months?”

  Erica saw the friendliness in the failing eyes and for once didn’t mind an invasive question. “It’s any day now.”

  “You must be carrying high. Of course, you’re tall. Stretches things out. I have to say, I like your new hairdo, but it’s really short for someone so Nordic. You’ll sunburn your ears.”

  “It’s called a buzz cut.” Erica brushed her hand across the blonde spiky bristles and a few captured raindrops sprayed forth.

  Mrs. Steinberg ducked, laughing. “Bevakasha! I don’t need more speckles on my lenses.” She tagged the uniforms. “Next week soon enough?”

  “Or the next.”

  “You take plenty of time with that new baby. The city can get along without you for a while.”

  Erica’s skin tightened and she lifted her head higher.

  Mrs. Steinberg broke eye contact. “Well, almost,” she mumbled.

  Behind Erica, the door opened. Instinctively, her hand sought the flap of her purse as she assessed this newcomer: male, early twenties, dirty baggy jeans, Mariner’s windbreaker and ragged sneakers. Dumping him in a tank of cleaning solvent wouldn’t be a bad idea. He carried no clothes; that and his rancid odor confirmed he had no business in a laundry.

  Adrenaline pumping, Erica eased around him to the door and stepped outside.

  He looked through the plate glass.

  She moved from view to wait, knowing what was going down−a hopped-up crack head desperate for money and the cleaners looked like an easy target. She rubbed both hands across her protruding abdomen. Was there a risk of injury? Derek might as well get started cleaning up the world.

  Erica counted to ten and peeked in the window. Sure enough, the scumbag pointed a weapon at Mrs. Steinberg. Erica slipped her Glock from her purse and stepped back inside. “Police officer! Put it down! Down!” She aimed dead center between his eyes and deepened her tone. “One blink and you’re dead.”

  His gray skin turned chalky, and he slowly lowered a zip gun away from Mrs. Steinberg, who appeared shaken, but unhurt.

  “Place your weapon on the floor.” Erica’s voice grated authority.

  The gun clattered on the red tile.

  Quickly, Erica kicked it out of reach. “Face on the floor. Do it! Do it!”

  “You got no right!”

  Erica took up the slack on the trigger.

  He sprawled.

  She jabbed her foot against the back of his neck and sank the heel of her loafer into his flesh, deep, but not enough to snap his spine. Left-handed, she snaked handcuffs from her purse, grabbed one of his hands, and snapped the bracelet tight. She yanked his arm behind his back and twisted it high, then higher.

  His shoulder socket bulged outward. He screamed.

  “Bring your other hand back or I’ll break it.”

  He did and she secured him. “Don’t move.” Holding his cuffed fists, she patted his right pocket, then the left. “What’s in here?”

  “My lighter.”

  Erica pulled out a crack pipe. “Odd looking lighter.”

  “Ain’t mine. I’m keeping it for some guy.”

  “That’s original. Why were you pointing a weapon at Mrs. Steinberg?”

  He sucked in snot. “I never touched her money.”

  “But you were going to.” Erica glanced up at Mrs. Steinberg. “Call 911. An officer will take care of this gross piece of crap.”

  Mrs. Steinberg shoved her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, grabbed the phone, and jabbed 911. “There’s a robber handcuffed on the floor of my shop!” she yelled into the receiver like everyone in the world knew her shop.

  “Tell them it’s under control,” Erica ordered softly.

  Mrs. Steinberg licked her bottom lip, explained that Erica was a cop, confirmed her address, and hung up. She hurried around the counter and laid her hand on Erica’s shoulder. “Is the baby okay?” she asked as if that was the only thing that mattered.

  Erica liked the tenderness of Mrs. Steinberg’s pudgy, caring hand, firm enough to know it was there, not grasping like Grandma’s. Erica shuddered from the snapshot in her mind and blinked it away. She smiled at Mrs. Steinberg. “We’re quite all right.” And it was true. Derek handled the risk just fine. “In fact, keeping you safe made us both happy.”

  “You shouldn’t be doing such a thing in your condition.”

  Oh yes, I should, Erica thought and relaxed against the counter, looking down at the drug-addicted dirt bag huddled on the floor. God, she was tired of seeing idiot people do bad things to good people. Never would her son be like that. Triumphal laughter welled in her soul, but she contained it inside.

  Mrs. Steinberg muttered, “This is just too much excitement for my bladder.” She quickly shuffled to the doorway leading into the heart of the dry cleaners.

  Hardly aware of Mrs. Steinberg’s hasty disappearance, Erica savored the surge of power exerted over a perpetrator. Her son would know this same adrenaline rush, one that pumped through your very essence. His testosterone would naturally provide a strong, athletic body to handle it. Molding his mind into perfection was a challenge she yearned for. Helping a man live up to his potential and guiding one into adulthood would be quite a reward.

  Mrs. Steinberg stepped back into the customer area. “Well, I feel better. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  It took a moment for Erica to register where she was and what was said.

>   Mrs. Steinberg stood before her, wide-eyed and wondering.

  “You need to turn your calendar,” Erica said.

  Screaming sirens ended with a screech of tires. The laundry door burst opened and several officers charged inside. Erica endured the motions necessary to relinquish her prisoner, and finally slid into her Blazer. Still hyped, she rested for a moment to be calm now for Derek’s sake. Even though he was a strong baby with exceptional genes, he’d been through enough for one day.

  Erica recalled the hours spent in front of the computer selecting the perfect donor from the web pages of different sperm banks. She’d finally opted to use a man listed as six-feet four-inches, blonde and blue-eyed, a retired Navy Seal, and now politically active. The info page didn’t list the state of residence or name, but Erica sensed he was a stoic north easterner.

  Even Dr. Klassen thought so at her first visit to the pregnancy clinic nine months ago. He performed the preliminary examination and returned to the small medical room for a talk.

  “Everything looks normal and you should have no problems carrying a child. Are you sure you want to? It’ll change your life completely.”

  “It’s the one thing I regret about dedicating my life to the police department. I want to fulfill that need before I get too old.” Until that moment, Erica never realized how much she really wanted a child. “I will be a good mother.”

  “Have you chosen the donor?”

  She handed him the printout.

  Dr. Klassen scanned the paper. The lines around his brown eyes crinkled and he smiled. “Good choice. His strong genes should blend well with yours. I’ll order the sperm from the bank, but first you must take medications that will force your ovaries to produce multiple eggs. We need lots of embryos to make sure.”

  Steel determination helped Erica endure the close monitoring of her eggs until they reached perfection just before ovulation. Then she had lain vulnerable with instruments coldly inside her, feeling the needle aspirate her eggs, harvesting her hopes for a son.