ONCE UPON A WEDDING

by Paula Detmer Riggs

"You are helping by giving Jess a place to bring Francey until he can make permanent arrangements."

  Hazel watched while the clerk rang up one purchase after another. These things were to be her present to Silvia's baby. In a way they would be her goodbye, as well. Jess just didn't know that yet.

  "When is your baby due?" the clerk asked as Hazel handed over her check.

  "Actually, she's two days old."

  The clerk's jaw dropped, and at the same time her gaze darted to Hazel's waist, where Cait's braided belt cinched the borrowed jeans.

  "Must have been an easy delivery," the woman said, trying an uneasy smile.

  While Cait tried to keep a straight face, Hazel took pity on the earnest young woman. "I'm buying these for a friend. He's adopting the cutest little girl in the world."

  "I'm sure she is." The clerk handed over two bulging shopping bags. "And please accept my best wishes – for your friend."

  "Thanks," Hazel said grimly. "I have a feeling he's going to need all the help he can get."

  The question was, would a man as proud as Jess allow himself to accept it?

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  Jess woke up in the McClanes' guest room feeling drugged. While Hazel and Cait were out shopping he'd fallen asleep and had no idea how long he'd been out.

  The house was quiet – no pack of little boys playing in the backyard, no music blaring from Kelsey's CD player.

  His right arm had fallen asleep again, just above the wrist. Instinct had him reaching to rub it with his left hand before his mind sharpened and he remembered. He had no wrist because he had no arm.

  Scowling against the pain that nothing but the caprice of phantom nerves could ease, he turned to his side and closed his eyes again. At that same moment he heard a sharp cry, followed by a crescendo of lusty, angry wails.

  Francisca was wide-awake and screaming.

  His mind went blank, and adrenaline drove his blood pressure sky-high, which didn't do much to control the panic.

  "Uh, don't cry, kid, okay?" he pleaded, getting himself off the bed fast and over to the crib. "Just give me a minute to figure out what I'm supposed to do first."

  Instead of lessening, the cries only increased, accompanied now by the jerky flailing of tiny arms and legs. Taking a deep breath and screwing up his courage, he tugged the blanket free. As he did, he was engulfed in a pungent odor that reminded him of the foaling barn at his brother's ranch.

  It took him just about his entire repertoire of youthful cuss words to extricate Francisca from the wet long johns covering her from neck to toe, and another burst of creative profanity picked up from various pit crews before he had her wiped clean and powdered and ready for the diaper.

  By this time the baby was alternating between frantic screaming and furious sucking on her fist. Jess was drenched in sweat and had all but gnawed one corner of his mouth raw.

  "Now, listen, kid … Francey," he said somewhat desperately, "this is my first time at this, so help me out, okay?"

  The diaper reminded him of a fat pressure bandage like the ones that had covered half his body for weeks, only this one was encased in plastic.

  He'd forgotten that the thing had tabs, and by the time he managed to free them from the plastic, he had already murdered Hazel three times in his mind for leaving him alone.

  "Okay now, don't kick, so I can slide this sucker under," he muttered. He leaned closer, only to catch a foot in the nose.

  "Hey, watch that, okay? It's already been broken three times."

  The baby stopped crying suddenly and stared up at him, her eyes big and round and deep, deep blue – like barn kittens right after their mother had cleaned them up.

  Francisca's were going to be dark, though, he decided. Like Silvia's. And like his.

  Hazel's eyes were light, somewhere between green and gold. It occurred to him that they might be called hazel and wondered if that was her given name, or a name she'd picked up as a kid. Not that it mattered much one way or another, he told himself as he gritted his teeth for another try at this diapering business.

  "It's not that I don't want to be your daddy, honey," he assured her gruffly, fumbling with the tab while trying to avoid another kick in the face. "But the people who watch out for kids like you might not let me, not without a whale of a fight and even then, the odds are outta sight against a beat-up guy like me."

  One tab was secured, so he turned his attention to the other. Francisca was no longer screaming bloody murder. Instead, her big solemn eyes were fastened on his face with the kind of rapt attention he worked hard to win from every juror he faced.

  Keeping the lower part of the diaper in place long enough to maneuver the top into the right position was taxing his patience and straining the tendons of his hand. Worse, the baby kept kicking, especially when his fingers brushed her tummy.

  "Ticklish? Yeah, me too, only don't tell anyone, okay?"

  When she puckered her mouth for another try at shattering the windows, Jess rushed into speech, figuring that the sound of his voice might make her feel more secure than silence.

  "Don't get me wrong, honey. I'm going to fight for you. But the thing is, I'm not all that sure I'm the best person to take care of you. So what happens to you and me if I do win, and then find out I can't manage?"

  He would have to give her up, that was what. Something that would be difficult to do even now – and damn near heartbreaking once he'd gotten to know her better.

  A guy with any self-protective instinct at all would know that and pull back now, while he still had some control over his feelings.

  And then what, Dante? Spend the rest of your life thinking about the trust in Silvia's eyes?

  One final awkward tug of his fingers and the tab was safely stuck to the plastic. Allowing himself a grin, he took a moment to savor his success.

  It wasn't the greatest job in the world, but hot damn, he'd done it! He hadn't felt so cocky since he'd learned to button his shirt one-handed.

  "Feels better, too, right, kid?" he said with a grin. The baby kicked and cooed, as sweet now as she smelled.

  "Okay, now what?"

  Jess eyed the sodden sleeper, decided that it wouldn't do and looked around for something to replace it.

  Hazel had left a few items of clothing on the bed, which he'd carefully moved to the dresser before he'd sacked out. With one eye on the baby, he quickly sorted through them. Everything was made in miniature, even the tiny undershirts, and the soft material snagged against his callused fingers.

  "How about this sack thing?" he asked, holding it up for the baby to see. Impatient now, Francey pulled her crescent eyebrows into a frown.

  "Don't much care for it, huh? Kinda plain for a stylish little lady like you, but it'll have to do for now."

  He had to take a minute to figure out whether the thing was supposed to snap in the front or the back, and then a few more minutes to work out the best way to handle both a wiggling, slippery baby and a nightie that wasn't much bigger than his hand.

  Five minutes later Francisca was wearing the soft little nightie and Jess was exhausted. He was also beginning to wonder where in the hell he was going to find the courage to give Francey up if the courts denied his petition.

  * * *

  Cait parked the car while Hazel hurried inside, shopping bags banging crazily against her legs. All the way home she'd been convinced that the baby was screaming her head off or working on a bad case of diaper rash, or both.

  Letting the screen door slam behind her, she bolted through the kitchen to the hall. She'd just started up the stairs when she heard a definite baby gurgle coming from the den.

  Heart in her throat, she changed direction and headed for the French doors at the far end of the foyer. As she neared, she heard the rumble of a deep male voice, followed by soft babbling.

  Francey was apparently wide-awake. Poor Jess, she thought with a sharp pang of guilt.

  "Poor Jess" was sitting on the
floor with his back against the sofa and his knees raised. The dress shirt and trousers he'd worn since yesterday had been replaced by a T-shirt she would have consigned to the rag bag long ago and jeans that looked uncomfortably snug.

  The baby, dressed in one of Jesse's much washed gowns and a sadly wrinkled, crooked diaper, was cradled on Jess's thighs, vigorously kicking him in the belly. One tiny hand was clasped around Jess's forefinger, which Francey was gumming with complete absorption.

  Jess looked up as she entered, greeting her with one of his rare grins. Someday she would have to stop fantasizing about the sexy man lurking behind that flashing white grin, she told herself.

  "Lose your watch, did you?" he asked in a desert-dry voice.

  Feeling guilty was one thing. Admitting it when you didn't have to was another. "You wouldn't believe the traffic," she said airily, dropping the bags by the door before crossing the room.

  Raising both eyebrows, he leaned forward until he was almost nose to nose with the baby – one nose very masculine and slightly hooked, the other cute as a bunny's. "Sounds like a pretty flimsy excuse to me, sugar babe. What do you think?"

  The baby's response couldn't really be called a smile, Hazel knew, because all the books said newborns couldn't smile. But it looked so much like a smile that it brought a lump to her throat.

  "Hi, punkin," she cooed as she plunked her bottom on the plump cushion and smiled down at the baby. "How's darling Francey?"

  "Darling Francey is fine and dandy," Jess said in a grumpy voice. "Darling Jess is damn near worn to a nub."

  In spite of the frown on his face, Hazel thought that he sounded smugly pleased with himself, and her heart gave a few unnecessary beats. He looked more rested, too, as though he'd just gotten up from a nap.

  She'd made a bad mistake last night, giving in to the impulse to comfort him with a kiss. Unfortunately, however, she'd done just that, and, like the genie in the bottle, all those feelings for Jess that she'd successfully avoided for so long refused every effort to stuff them back in. Her only option now was to ignore them.

  "So," she said, sitting up straighter, "did she have her bottle?"

  "About an hour ago, every drop of the stuff." His eyebrows drew together over an impressive Roman nose. "Her appetite's the biggest thing about her."

  Hazel returned her gaze to the baby propped so securely against his hard thighs, and she felt herself softening. "At the moment it looks like she's trying to make a meal out of your finger."

  "Yeah, well, I tried that rubber thing the nurse gave you, but she kept spitting it out." He shot a disgusted look at the pacifier on the coffee table. "Not that I blame her much," he added irritably. "Seems like a poor substitute for the real thing."

  He returned his gaze to hers and kept it there. Sensitivity to nuance was second nature to a psychotherapist, but Hazel detected nothing remotely suggestive about the look on his face.

  So why, she wondered, did she feel as though he'd just managed a very thorough, very erotic study of her breasts?

  "A lot of neonatal experts would certainly agree," she said evenly.

  "Would they?" There wasn't even a hint of a smile on his lips, and his eyes were completely innocent. Wickedly innocent.

  "Absolutely," she murmured.

  As though agreeing, the baby gave a sharp gurgle and at the same time waved one minuscule fist in the air.

  Hazel laughed softly as she reached over to smooth the mop of baby-fine hair. Letting her fingers linger for a moment, she felt an instant surge of tenderness welling inside her.

  How I wish you were mine, sweet Francey, she thought. Already I love you so much it hurts.

  "Looks like you didn't do too badly while I was gone, little miss," she murmured, her voice soft. "Even if Daddy did get your gown on backward."

  "The hell he did," Jess drawled in an equally low tone. "I was stuck in enough of these things in the hospital to know what goes where."

  Hazel pictured a gown designed for a man of ordinary size draped on Jess's extraordinary body and figured the hem would hit him just about mid thigh. As for the opening … Hazel found her pulse quickening and her skin heating.

  "This is a nightie, not a hospital gown," she said with a blandness that impressed the heck out of her, given the nature of her thoughts. "Which means the opening goes in the front, not the back."

  Jess glanced at the baby cooing away happily. "What do you think, sugar? Front or back?"

  Francey crinkled her face into a gigantic yawn, and Hazel burst out laughing. "Looks like she has other things on her mind."

  "Just like a woman. A guy thinks he's making headway and all of sudden, wham, the door slams in his face."

  He was kidding, and yet, Hazel realized, he wasn't. "Don't worry about it," she advised in a tone no heavier than she figured he could handle. "Bonding takes a while. The trick is to keep at it."

  "Bonding? Who, Francey and me?"

  Hazel couldn't decide if the idea pleased him or not. Jess was an expert at keeping his deepest feelings hidden.

  "Sure. If she were a baby duck, she'd have pretty much decided that you were the dominant drake, and that, therefore, she was a very lucky little duckling."

  Hazel wasn't sure how a man as big and virile as Jess could manage to look so boyishly pleased, but he did. His mouth was already relaxing into a smile when, suddenly, he stopped himself.

  "Yeah, well, she's not a duck, and I'm not a daddy yet. Sort of makes us even, doesn't it?"

  "It was an analogy."

  "I know what it was, O'Connor. Maybe I didn't get terrific grades in school, but I managed to snag a couple of degrees here and there."

  And passed the bar on the first try, she recalled, a feat that struck her as pretty terrific for a guy who'd relied on muscle and endurance and lightning reflexes instead of brain power for more than half his lifetime.

  "C'mon, Jess," she teased, "stop being so touchy and—"

  "I'm not touchy, and I don't need analysis from you or anyone else, okay?"

  Hazel heard the silky warning and promptly ignored it. "Is that why you're always getting your back up around me? Because you think I'm going to poke and prod and uncover all your deep, dark secrets?"

  "A guy like me doesn't have secrets!"

  The sudden force in Jess's retort startled the baby into a sudden yelp. Hazel leapt up as the baby's wispy eyebrows drew together and her face puckered.

  "Whoa there, I didn't mean to scare you," Jess said to her in a voice so gentle it made Hazel wish he would find a reason to use it with her.

  In response, Francey let go of his finger and began screaming with a force that turned her satin skin a blotchy red.

  "Now see what you've done!" Hazel exclaimed as she plucked the baby from his cradling thighs and tucked her against her shoulder. The baby smelled of talcum and milk, and seemed to weigh nothing in her arms.

  "Don't cry, precious," she crooned next to the baby's ear. "Daddy didn't mean to upset you."

  Jess pushed himself to his feet so quickly that Hazel found herself staring at a distinctly masculine throat above the ragged neckline of the faded blue shirt.

  Hastily, she fine tuned her sights and found him watching her, his eyes already smoked over with his customary wariness.

  "We need to talk."

  "We do?"

  "About putting her gown on backward, feeding her the right things, I'm going to need some help – until I can get things arranged."

  "You could hire a practical nurse."

  "And I'm trying to do just that, but there's this bonding thing. Wouldn't that just confuse her? Too many new people in her life all at once, I mean?"

  "It could, yes. But at this point there aren't that many options open."

  "You could move in with me."

  "What!"

  "Hi, guys," Cait said, sailing in tummy first with a cheery smile that suddenly faltered as she glanced from one to the other.

  "Oops, sorry. Is this a private conversation?"
<
br />   "No." Jess looked relieved.

  Hazel couldn't say a word.

  Cait looked from one to the other, her eyes bright with speculation. "Well, as I was, um, saying, I just came in to make sure you're both staying for dinner."

  "I shouldn't…" Hazel murmured, avoiding Jess's gaze.

  "Sure you should," Cait said with a wide grin. "You too, right, Jess? I'm making lasagna."

  Jess looked anything but thrilled, which made his words all the more surprising. "Yeah, sure. Only now that you two are back, I have to go downtown for a while."

  "No problem. We won't eat until seven anyway – unless Ty gets held up at the hospital. Then we play it by ear."

  "Anything you need while I'm downtown?"

  "Nope. Just your smiling presence, you handsome devil you."

  One side of his mouth slanted. "You got it, toots."

  Francey began to fret again, flailing her small fists like tiny warning flags. Very gently Jess caught one fist in his big hand and gave it a gentle shake.

  "Impatient little squirt, isn't she?" he said, his gaze meeting Hazel's.

  "Seems to be," she agreed.

  Jess held her gaze a beat longer, then leaned down to brush a kiss across the baby's head. "Be good while I'm gone, okay, kid?"

  The baby hiccuped, then snuggled her face into the warmth of Hazel's neck.

  As his eyes met hers again, Hazel felt a definite stirring. She wanted a kiss, too. But not the kind meant to soothe. As though reading her mind, his gaze dropped to her lips and his eyes darkened to charcoal, like smoke over flame.

  He aimed for her cheek as always, but ended up brushing her mouth with his, lingering ever so slightly before breaking the moist contact of hard lips on soft.

  "We'll continue this discussion later." The rasp in his voice could have been a threat or a promise. Perhaps both.

  "If that's what you want." Her voice was more than a whisper, but far less than a normal tone.

  "What I want and what's possible are usually two different things."

  Smoothing his tousled hair with his hand, he headed out. Seconds later the front door opened and then closed again. Hazel and Cait exchanged looks.