Which was undoubtedly why he heard himself saying, “Clay’s not good with a lot of things,” even though he knew he should just let the whole thing pass without making any sort of further comment.
“For the record,” Connor went on, his voice softening, “I changed Jamie and I think that he might be getting hungry. He’s trying to eat his fist. I’ve got some extra baby bottles, but I’m afraid there’s no formula in the house. If you tell me what kind he needs, I’ll go into town and get some for you.”
“I’ve got formula,” she said. It was one of the few things she’d made sure to pack, along with Jamie’s things. Her son’s needs came first, even when her brain had been in a state of turmoil.
She looked at Connor, some of his words replaying themselves in her head. He’d changed Jamie, but she knew she hadn’t given him any diapers. Those were still in her bag. Curiosity got the better of her.
“How did you get so—prepared?” she asked him.
“I can’t take the credit for that. Cole’s twins are less than a year old, so there are a few things that are still left over from when he first brought them to the house.” He decided to give her a more concise picture of the way things had gone here in the last eighteen months. “When Cody first brought Devon and her baby to stay here, Miss Joan threw them a baby shower. Most of the things we still have here are from that shower, although some of them were acquired for Cassidy’s castaway,” he added.
“Her castaway,” Amy repeated.
“The baby she rescued from the river,” Connor elaborated.
Amy held up her hand. “Wait. My head’s starting to hurt.” She looked at him, clearly confused. She hadn’t really been listening to Connor earlier when he’d given her a quick summary on his siblings. Her mind had been preoccupied with what she’d done and needed to do.
Listening to him now, it sounded to her as if each of his siblings had not just gotten married in a short amount of time, but had acquired babies, as well. It didn’t seem probable.
“Are you pulling my leg?” she asked him.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
Amy shrugged, at a loss as to how to explain her bewilderment. “I don’t know. I guess because this all sounds a little fantastic.”
Connor grinned at her, then glanced down at the baby in his arms—now sound asleep.
“You have a point,” he agreed, then added, “But it’s the truth. Since you’re going to be staying here awhile, you’ll get to see this for yourself. All of them will be here for Sunday dinner.”
He had his family coming together on Sundays, she thought. She’d only be in the way. “I’ll be imposing,” she protested.
“No,” he told her firmly, “you’ll be here.” There was no room for argument in his voice. “Now stop trying to argue with me or you’ll wind up waking up your son and I just got him to sleep.”
Amy shook her head, her eyes misting again. “I don’t deserve you, Connor.” She lightly brushed her lips against his cheek.
“What you don’t deserve,” he told her, doing his best not to react to the fleeting kiss and the warm glow it created within him, “is what happened to you before. But that’s all in the past now.” He spoke softly so as not to wake Jamie. “Like my dad used to like to say, today is the first day of the rest of your life. Doesn’t matter what happened before. What matters is what you do with now—and what you do with tomorrow.”
“You really mean it?” she asked, as if Connor’s words were suddenly beginning to sink in. “I can stay here for now?”
He noticed that some of her color was finally beginning to come back to her cheeks. She didn’t seem quite as stricken as she had when she’d first walked in.
“For now. And for much longer than that,” he answered. “I can do it with hand puppets if you’d like, if it gets the message across to you any better.”
Connor with hand puppets. She laughed at the image that created in her head. “No, that’s not necessary. Message received, thank you.”
“No,” Connor contradicted, “thank you. The house was getting quieter than a tomb just before you got here. Disturbingly quiet,” he emphasized. “Even when Rita’s here, it’s still eerily quiet. Rita’s not exactly given to chattering endlessly.
“After growing up in a house full of siblings, usually with them arguing over something, all this peace and quiet is really getting on my nerves. I was thinking about getting a dog just before you got here. A yappy dog.”
Amy visibly brightened at the idea of a four-legged pet running around. “I always wanted a dog,” she confessed. “But my parents always said they were too much trouble. And I won’t tell you what Clay had to say about getting a dog.”
Connor frowned at the mention of Amy’s estranged husband. “I’m guessing probably the same thing he had to say about having a baby.”
She looked surprised that he had hit the nail right on the head the way he had.
“Yes,” she admitted ruefully. “He did.” She looked down at her sleeping son. “If it had been up to Clay, Jamie wouldn’t be here—and there would have been this huge, awful gaping hole in my heart.”
“Well, good thing for your heart he’s here,” Connor said in a cheerful voice, deliberately steering her away from the somber subject to something lighter. “Now why don’t you go back to your supper and finish eating it while I take care of Jamie? You need to build up your strength.”
“How did you know I didn’t finish eating?” she asked in surprise.
“Because I’m the oldest in my family and I know everything,” he said simply. “Now go and finish your supper—or there’ll be no dessert.”
He was rewarded with a soft laugh as Amy turned away to go back to the kitchen and her supper.
“Don’t worry, Jamie,” he whispered to the sleeping baby in his arms. “Your mom’s going to be all right. We’re going to take care of her, you and I.”
Jamie made a little noise, as if in response, but went on sleeping.
Chapter Four
This was more like it, Connor thought later that evening, after he’d cleared away the dishes and then come back into the living room to keep Amy and her son company. Although there certainly wasn’t much of a commotion, he found the little sounds of ongoing life extremely comforting.
He swiftly began to realize that he wasn’t meant for the solitary life. Amy and her son had appeared just in time. She might think that he was rendering her a service, taking her in this way, but the way he saw it, she was actually saving him. Saving him from a life of soul-draining desolation.
“Why don’t you and Jamie spend the night in the guest bedroom down here for tonight?” Connor suggested when it came time to call it an evening. “I’ll move the cradle in next to the bed, and then tomorrow I can get the crib out of the attic and set it up next to the guest bedroom upstairs.” He smiled as he remembered each of the babies taking their turn sleeping in that room. “It seems to be the go-to bedroom for all our infant guests. And if we leave the cradle down here, you can keep Jamie close by during the daytime.”
The man had obviously thought of everything, Amy realized. She was more than a little gratified as she walked into the guest room. He was right behind her, bringing in the cradle.
She had no idea how to begin to thank him.
“You really are a very good man, Connor,” she told him.
Connor saw no reason to take undue credit. The way he saw it, he hadn’t done anything that was out of the ordinary. “It’s family, Amy. You do what you have to do for family.”
“But I’m not your family,” she pointed out.
Connor shrugged. “A technicality.”
Amy’s smile turned sad around the edges as she said, “Not everyone feels that way.”
He could tell she was thinking about Clay, and although
he wanted to tell her the man wasn’t worth a single one of her tears or even a moment’s worth of regret, Connor knew it wasn’t his place to say that to her. For all he knew, she still loved Clay and she was still married to the man.
With that in mind, he tried to be supportive. “He might still come looking for you, you know.”
Oh Lord, with all her heart, she hoped not.
“If he does, it’s not because he loves me. That ship sailed a long time ago. If he does come looking for me, it’s only because he thinks of me as his property and his ego can’t abide the thought that I’d actually leave him.”
“But he threw you out,” he reminded Amy.
She shook her head, overruling his point. “That doesn’t matter. He threw me out, but I think that in Clay’s mind I should be begging him to take me back.”
And that brought them to the major question that had been nagging at him since she’d walked in. “And do you want him to?”
Amy’s answer was quick and emphatic. “No! I’ve done my penance,” she told Connor with feeling. “And I’ve finally come to my senses.”
The smile that curved his mouth was a reflection of the warmth he was feeling inside. “Glad to hear that,” he said with enthusiasm. Then, not to appear as if he was dwelling on what she’d just said, he turned to a more practical subject. “I brought you new linens and some fresh towels.” He pointed to both piles he’d placed on the bureau earlier. “If there’s anything else you can think of that you might need, all you have to do is ask. I can bed down here on the couch,” he offered, “so I can be close by if you decide that you do need something.”
But she wasn’t about to hear of him having to spend the night on the sofa because of her. “I’ve already put you out enough as it is and I’ve got everything I need right here.”
He didn’t want her to feel as if he was putting any undue pressure on her and he would be the first to acknowledge how important it was to retain a sense of independence.
“All right,” he said as he headed toward the door, “then I guess I’ll say good-night and turn in.”
Connor was almost at the threshold when he heard her call after him.
“Connor?”
He turned around quickly, thinking that she had remembered something she needed. “Yes?”
Gratitude was shining in her eyes as she said, “Thank you.”
The two words caused sunshine to filter all through him. He hadn’t felt like that since they were kids in high school.
“My pleasure,” he told her.
The next moment he pulled the door closed behind him and then he was gone.
Amy stood in the small, homey guest room for a long time, just looking at the closed door. A peaceful feeling sank in by small increments. She was safe. For the first time in a very long time, she was safe.
“Well, we did it, Jamie,” she whispered softly to the child, who was asleep in the nearby cradle. “We escaped. Now all we have to do is figure out what to do with the rest of our lives.”
She sighed as she sank down on the double bed. “Tomorrow,” she said, her voice still a soft whisper. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Amy was convinced she wouldn’t get much sleep, given the amount of extra tension she’d experienced by finally getting up the nerve to pick up and leave. But it was exactly that tension—and the accumulated tension from the last five years—that had her so exhausted. She was asleep before her head even hit the oversize pillow Connor had placed on her bed.
* * *
CONNOR FELT LIKE hell when he came downstairs the next morning. If he’d gotten an hour’s worth of sleep, spread out across the last six, he had done well.
For the most part, he’d lain awake, listening for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Mainly, he had been listening for Amy calling him in the middle of the night. Twice he’d gotten up and stood on the landing of the stairs, straining his ears and listening in case he’d somehow missed hearing her.
But other than the sound of a coyote howling in the distance, there was nothing to break up the silence.
Even Amy’s baby was silent, which, compared to the other four infants who had spent time at the ranch, was highly unusual.
But Connor went on listening just in case, which explained why he felt as if he’d been run over by a stampeding herd of mustangs when he came down the following morning.
Struggling to focus his eyes, he stumbled into the kitchen, intent on making himself a strong cup of coffee and hopefully jump-starting his system.
It was his heart that underwent the jump start when he almost walked right into all five-foot-one of the moving dynamo who was his housekeeper.
“Rita,” he exclaimed, startled. “You’re back.” Still feeling out of focus, he struggled to clear his head. “Weren’t you supposed to get back next Monday?” he asked the woman.
“Yes,” Rita answered, clearing off the counter as she prepared to make breakfast, “but I decided to come back early and I see that I was right to cut my visit to my sister short.” Rita had never been one to mince words. “You look like hell, Mr. Connor.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You have not been eating your own cooking, have you? I know that I prepared enough meals for you to last until I returned.”
“My cooking’s not that bad,” Connor protested.
Rita took his protest to mean that the rancher had been cooking. She frowned. “Then you have been eating your own meals.”
“No, Rita,” Connor responded dutifully, “I’ve been eating your casseroles, just like you told me.”
Still eyeing him suspiciously, Rita fisted her hands on her waist. Something was definitely off. “Then why do you look like that?”
Connor went with a simple answer first, hoping it would be enough to satisfy the woman. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
Concern instantly washed over the older woman’s face. “Is there something wrong? Did someone in the family get sick?” she asked. “Who is it? I will go right over there—”
“Calm down, Rita. Nobody’s sick.” He caught the woman by her sturdy shoulders, holding her in place, although it wasn’t all that easy.
Her attention circled back to him and she gave him a dubious look. “Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror this morning?”
“I appreciate your concern, Rita. I do,” he said patiently. “But I’d appreciate a cup of coffee even more.”
Rita sighed. She was accustomed to the rancher’s slow, stubborn behavior. He was not one to volunteer information quickly.
“Very well, Mr. Connor. I will make you your coffee,” Rita said. Taking the coffeepot, she measured out three cups of water and then placed the required amount of coffee grounds into the coffee machine.
“And make a couple of extra cups this morning,” he requested.
Rita stopped and added water to the pot and measured out more coffee grounds to accommodate his request. “Mr. Cole coming early?”
“No, he’s coming the usual time,” Connor answered. Opening the refrigerator, he rummaged through the different shelves. He didn’t find what he was looking for. “Rita, do we have any more jam?”
“In the pantry.” The coffee maker began to go through its paces, making noises as it brewed. Rita turned to look at him. “Since when do you take jam?” she wanted to know. Before he could answer her, the distant sound of a baby crying had Rita looking alert. “Am I hearing a baby cry?”
“I don’t know,” he deadpanned. “Are you?”
She listened more closely. “That sounds too young to belong to Mr. Cole’s twins.”
“Good ear,” Connor complimented, deftly avoiding what he knew the woman was ultimately after. “Listen, why don’t I just pour the coffee and get the jam and you just—”
Rita placed herself in front of the ranch
er, a small, formidable human roadblock. Her dark eyes narrowed as they delved into him.
“Another one?” she cried.
“Another what?” Connor asked innocently, deciding to draw the conversation out just a little bit and tease the housekeeper.
“I leave here for five days and you found another baby?” she asked, astonished. “That makes—five,” she declared after doing a quick review in her head. “A total of five babies. It is like your whole family are baby magnets.”
“Technically,” Connor corrected, “the baby found me. Or actually the baby’s mother found me.”
No longer needing to behave like a human blockade, Rita turned on her heel and headed directly toward the sound of the crying baby.
“Rita, wait up,” Connor called after her. “I’ll make the introductions after I—”
Since she had come to work for the McCulloughs, Rita had very quickly become not just part of the family but had taken on the role of a surrogate mother. She had no interest in waiting for any introductions to be made. If there were introductions to be made, she would be the one to take care of that small detail.
She continued to head for the rear guest bedroom like a homing pigeon on a mission. Stopping at the door only long enough to deliver a short, quick knock, she barely heard a woman’s voice say “Come in” before she had her hand on the doorknob. The next moment, she’d opened the door and was walking in.
Amy looked up, startled. She’d expected to see Connor coming in. Instead, she found herself looking at a small, dark-haired matronly woman who looked as if she was accustomed to being in charge of anything and everything she came across.
Amy’s hand flew to her chest as if to steady her pounding heart.
“I’m sorry—who are you?” she asked the woman who made no secret of swiftly dissecting her with her dark eyes.
“I am Rita Navarro,” Rita informed her. “Who are you?”
Entering, Connor came between the two women, prepared to act as a human buffer. In his opinion, the housekeeper was a wonderful woman, but she had a tendency to come on too strong at times.
A Baby for Christmas Page 3