Ooh Baby, Baby

by Diana K. Whitney

  “It’s okay,” Travis said. “She’s a friend.”

  The animal’s wide yellow eyes regarded Peggy warily and gave Travis a trusting blink, then it returned to its dinner, pausing only to lap water out of a large bowl. A large, familiar bowl.

  “Is that…?” Peggy leaned forward, wiggling an accusing finger. “Ohmigosh, that’s my good serving bowl.”

  Travis licked his lips. “It’s been real hot outside.”

  “What has that got to do with the fact that a piece of my best china is studded with cat hair?”

  “Um, well, thing is, those plastic cereal things you use are so puny that he was drinking ’em dry in no time. Water stays cooler in a deep bowl, you know? Tastes better, too.”

  She shook her head, tried not to smile. “A softhearted cowboy. What am I going to do with you?” When he tucked his thumbs in his belt and hung his head, Peggy sighed. “Do you think water would taste as good to him out of a stainless-steel mixing bowl?”

  Travis brightened. “Yes’m, I reckon it would.”

  * * *

  “Powder.”

  Peggy, having just finished with the product in question, slipped a sideways glance at Travis, who was hunched over T.J.’s crib, then slapped the powder can into his outstretched palm. Turning back to her own diapering project, she fastened the tabs, guided her daughter’s kicking feet into the legs of a Sugar-n-Spice jumpsuit and hurriedly snapped the garment front.

  “I win,” she announced, scooping Ginny out of the crib.

  Travis tossed a harried look over his shoulder. “That’s not fair. Boy babies have, uh, complicated equipment that needs tending. Takes time.”

  “To powder a little spout?” Peggy chuckled, shaking her head. “Men are such braggarts, Ginny, always trying to convince us that wearing their sex on the outside is a good thing.”

  “It is a good thing,” Travis mumbled, completing his task. “Menfolk are rightly proud of their personal gear.”

  “I guess they must be, considering the way they protect the poor little thingy with jock straps and athletic cups for any activity more strenuous than flipping a television remote.”

  “Anything worth having is worth protecting.” Travis glanced over his shoulder and met Peggy’s gaze. His eyes were dark, penetrating, smoldering with intensity. “Texans take care of their own.”

  A warm tingle slid down her spine. Travis wasn’t talking about male anatomy, and they both knew it. He was talking about protecting family, people he cared about. He was talking about Peggy and the twins.

  To Peggy, who’d spent her entire life longing for love and the emotional nourishment of a supportive circle of kin, the realization Travis actually cared about them, considered them as his own, touched her to tears. “Yes,” she whispered. “Texans do.”

  They stood there for a long moment, eyes locked in mutual revelation, the air crackling with electric wonder. Feelings surged silently, sensations too powerful to articulate, too deep to ignore. Peggy was awed by the strength in Travis’s eyes, the energy of resolve and conviction. But she saw something else, too, something that softened the shield around her heart and raised a lump of compassion in her throat. She saw his vulnerability.

  She saw his secret fear.

  It was the caring that frightened him, Peggy realized, the tug of conflicting emotion at war in a heart scarred by rejection and loss. She wanted to soothe that heart, to heal it, to nurture his soul, refresh his spirit, to give him the love that had been so cruelly withheld.

  Because she did love him.

  The realization shocked her to the core. Apparently that shock was reflected on her face, because Travis became visibly agitated. He turned away and scooped T.J. out of the crib. “Hey there, partner,” he murmured, “ready for a wild ride to the playpen?”

  T.J. pursed his lips, blew a gurgling bubble.

  Travis smiled. “Okay, here we go. Today, we’re going to be an airplane.” With that, he cradled the baby tummy side down, growled low in his throat to emulate a revving jet engine and “flew” him all the way into the living room.

  Peggy, who was still stunned by the revelation of her deep feelings for Travis, stood as if rooted to the nursery floor. When Ginny’s little head bobbled at her shoulder, Peggy snapped from her trance, moistened her dry lips and carried her daughter into the hall.

  Travis met her there, his eyes creased with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, slipping Virginia out of her arms. “You look a mite peaked.”

  “I’m—” She coughed the squeak out of her voice to manage a thin smile. “Fine, thanks. Just fine.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. “You should have gone back to bed after lunch.”

  “I don’t want to go back to bed, Travis. There’s nothing wrong with me. In fact, I feel better than I have in weeks.”

  He stepped aside, politely waiting for Peggy to traverse the hallway ahead of him. “Dr. Jennings said you oughtn’t do too much too soon, else you might relapse or something.”

  “I’m not going to relapse,” she insisted. “Besides, the doctor said I shouldn’t do too much. She never said I shouldn’t do anything at all.”

  Peggy sat on the sofa beside the basket of laundry and wiggled a finger wave at T.J., who appeared to be watching from the net-sided playpen on the far side of the room. He responded by whacking himself in the face. Peggy flinched, but the baby didn’t appear particularly upset. In fact, his attention instantly shifted as Travis laid Ginny into the playpen. T.J. greeted his sister with an excited squeak, then focused on the musical toy Travis had wound up and placed between the twins.

  Travis bent over the playpen, shaking a rattle above Ginny’s curious little face, then he danced a stuffed toy through the air and was rewarded by drooling smiles and gurgles of pleasure.

  Peggy watched, fascinated by the softness in Travis’s eyes and the dimpled quirk of his smiling lips as he tickled the fat baby bellies. A liquid warmth spread through her veins, a paradoxical mingling of contentment and yearning that evoked an odd sense of, well, restless serenity. She was deeply happy, yet longed for something more…intimate.

  The thought made her blush, as a familiar ache spread through her loins. And her gaze was riveted on Travis’s tight, denim-clad rear.

  Peggy wondered why she hadn’t noticed how incredibly erotic Travis’s body was, with wide, muscled shoulders tapering into lean, masculine hips. Hips that look so good in jeans, it ought to be illegal. That’s what the female paramedic had said, and she’d been right. Travis Stockwell was downright gorgeous.

  The effect was so sudden, so breathtaking, that Peggy couldn’t tear her gaze away. Travis straightened, turned and was clearly startled to catch her staring at him with her mouth ajar and lust in her eyes.

  Horrified and embarrassed, she squirmed sideways, bumped into the basket and instantly launched into a clothes-folding frenzy. “You did a great job with the laundry,” she chirped like a hyperactive canary. “Everything is so fluffy and, ah, clean.”

  “Clean is good,” Travis murmured, eyeing her strangely. “The way I figure it, that’s kind of why folks do laundry in the first place.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” Issuing what could only be categorized as an utterly insane giggle, Peggy flipped a tiny T-shirt in half and flopped it on the coffee table. “Of course, if dirty clothes ever come into fashion, think how many quarters we could save? I mean, society would positively be drowning in quarters, don’t you think?” Peggy snatched up a towel, folded it sloppily and tossed it aside, wishing her tongue would fall out before she said anything else.

  The wish was futile. “Which is probably why laundromats were invented,” she babbled brightly. “To control the quarter population, and keep it from taking over the world. Can you imagine what life would be like if it weren’t for all those hungry laundry machines? Why, we wouldn’t be able to step outside our doors without being devoured by huge, man-eating mounds of voracious silver disks. What a horrible way to go.” She gave a short,
maniacal laugh and wiped her forehead. “Say, is it hot in here or what?”

  Travis cocked his head, looking like a man on the brink of panic. “I could open a window.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” Peggy licked her lips, clamped her tongue between her teeth and silently vowed not to say another word until her brain stopped foaming.

  Behind her, there was the rub of warped wood as Travis raised the window. A moment later, he joined Peggy on the sofa, slipped her a tentative look and retrieved a sock from the basket that was between them. “You want some juice or something? You seem kind of edgy.”

  Biting down on her tongue, Peggy smiled brightly, shook her head, snatched the sock out of Travis’s hand and absently dug through the basket for one that matched.

  There was no question about it, she decided. She had quite clearly lost her mind. Barely ten weeks after giving birth, she couldn’t get her mind off of the behavior that had put her in a motherly way in the first place.

  If only Travis wouldn’t sit so close, or wear that wonderful, spicy fragrance that made a woman’s head spin with unladylike thoughts.

  If only he wouldn’t look at her with that sexy gleam in eyes so dark a woman could get lost in them.

  If only his lips weren’t so invitingly masculine, so temptingly lush that it made a woman want to—“Mate?”

  “Exactly,” Peggy murmured, then blinked, staring stupidly at the white cotton tube dangling in front of her nose. “Huh?”

  Travis nodded at the sock clutched in her hand, the mate to the one he held out. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for?”

  “Ah, yes. Thank you.” Avoiding his curious gaze, she twisted the socks into a ball and tossed it on the table, where it rolled into the stack of mail Travis had brought in earlier. The sock ball jarred the telephone bill askew, revealing part of a handwritten envelope tucked further down the stack. Peggy yanked it out, staring at the familiar, sloppy scrawl.

  “Peggy?” Travis’s voice seemed a thousand miles away. “What is it, honey?”

  When she didn’t reply, he eased the envelope from her stiff fingers and saw there was no return address. A smoldering fury ignited in the pit of his stomach. “It’s from Clyde, isn’t it?”

  Her face was deathly pale. She nodded.

  The envelope made his fingers itch. Travis didn’t know what was inside, but his gut told him it wasn’t anything good. What if the spineless jerk had a change of heart and decided he wanted Peggy back? The thought made him ill.

  Travis knew he was being selfish. Peggy had never made any bones about the fact that she wanted her ex-husband to be part of her life. Hell, she’d spent the past two months writing him, sending photographs, calling and leaving desperate messages. She wanted her children to have a father. Travis couldn’t blame her for that.

  He was, however, a man divided against himself. Part of him wanted Peggy to be happy, no matter what form that happiness took. But deep down, in a hidden place where Travis feared to tarry, was a niggling sense that he wanted to be the one to make her happy.

  That wasn’t fair, of course. It probably wasn’t even possible. Nevertheless, Travis had never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted to rip that letter into shreds, fling the pieces outside and let the wind carry them to Kansas.

  Instead, he handed it back to Peggy, folded his arms and scowled.

  Her fingers trembled as she opened the envelope, then unfolded a single sheet of yellow lined paper. Almost instantly her eyes glazed and reddened. A sheen of tears beaded her lower lashes, stained her chalk white cheeks.

  Travis wanted to tell her that it didn’t matter what the damned letter said, that everything was going to be all right. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to gather her in his arms and caress away the pain and bring the spunky sparkle back to her dying eyes. Instead, he simply sat there like a charred lump in a cold campfire, saying nothing, doing nothing and hating himself for his cowardice.

  Peggy stared at the paper long enough to have read it six times, then lowered it to her lap, smoothing the folds with an odd reverence. She moistened her lips, took a shuddering breath and stood. The yellow sheet fluttered to the floor. “I’m feeling a little tired,” she murmured. “I think I’ll lie down for a while.”

  “Sure, honey, sure.” Travis rose and laid an awkward hand on her shoulder. “I, ah, I’ll wake you when supper’s done.”

  She stared into space. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “We’ll eat later, then, when you’re up to it.” His hand slipped from her shoulder as she stepped away from the sofa and disappeared into the hall. A moment later, her bedroom door clicked shut.

  Travis stood there, feeling helpless. Feeling useless.

  He swore, flopped back onto the sofa and hunched forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes fell on the yellow paper. He retrieved it, then read it with total disgust.

  Apparently old Clyde had been spooked by the hospital’s call, fearing he’d be legally forced to take financial responsibility for children that he’d never wanted and refused to acknowledge. The terse note indicated that Clyde was leaving his present location and would never contact Peggy again, then ended with a warning not to look for him, along with a veiled threat that she’d be sorry if she did.

  Travis wadded the paper and flung it across the room. Damn Clyde Saxon, he thought bitterly, damn him to the fires of hell. Deep down, Travis could understand why a man wouldn’t want to be tied down with children, especially since he’d felt the same way himself before T.J. and Ginny came into his life.

  But what Travis couldn’t understand, what he’d never, ever understand, was how any man could abandon his own family, once he did have one. Especially a family like Peggy and the twins. A wife like Peggy, who had so much love inside that she was fairly bursting with the need to give it.

  Only, Peggy was pining to give all that love to a man who didn’t appreciate her, a man who wasn’t worth a single speck of the dust that clung to her sweet little shoes. It would take a complete fool not to realize that Peggy was still in love with her husband.

  And that’s what broke Travis’s heart.

  * * *

  It was dark when Peggy heard the soft tap on her bedroom door. She sat silently on the bed, feeling strangely calm, almost detached. The past hour had been one of reflection and revelation. And of enlightenment.

  There was a quiet click, and a thread of light sprayed through the room. “Honey…are you awake?”

  At the sound of his voice, a gentle warmth flowed through her veins, awakening her spirit, soothing her troubled soul. “Yes, Travis, I’m awake.”

  The light spread wider as he stepped tentatively into the room. “I thought maybe I should put the chicken on.”

  She smiled at him, at the concern in his eyes, the sweetness of his expression. “You’ve worked hard enough today. I’ll cook the chicken.” She swung her legs over the bed and took a deep breath. “Just let me feed the twins first.”

  “They already had supper. I, ah, gave them a bottle and put them to bed.” Travis took another awkward step into the room and squeezed his hands together. “They’ll sleep through till morning. Well, almost morning.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Travis was so dear, so very precious. Peggy covered her mouth, stifling a grateful sob.

  Apparently Travis misunderstood, because he leapt forward to kneel beside the bed and grasp her hands. “Don’t cry, honey, please don’t cry. It’s going to be all right, I swear it is. I’ll track that lily-livered varmint down and drag him back by the scruff of his cowardly neck. He’ll do the right thing by you and those babies, I promise he will.”

  Stunned by his vehemence, Peggy could barely find her voice. “Are you talking about Clyde?”

  “I’ll get him back for you,” Travis insisted. “I swear to God, I will—”

  “I don’t want him back.”

  “Even if I have to kick his sorry butt halfway across— Huh?” Travis sat back on his heels. “But the
letter…you were all perturbed, and crying and such.”

  Peggy rubbed her eyes, shook her head. “Yes, I was hurt, but only because I’ve been so stubborn. Because I couldn’t accept the thought that my children would grow up unloved and abandoned by their father, I convinced myself that Clyde would eventually accept his parental responsibilities. The letter made it crystal clear that I’d been deluding myself. I can’t force Clyde to be a real father to our children.”

  Travis pursed his lips, balanced himself on one knee as he studied her wrist and gently stroked her delicate pulse with his thumb. “Yes, you can, Peggy. Or at least, the law can. It takes two people to bring children into the world, and both are responsible for them. A man can’t just tip his hat and mosey off because he’s not in the mood to be a daddy.”

  “In theory, that’s true. Reality isn’t as cut and dried. Oh, I could set legal bloodhounds on his trail, lay claim to his paychecks until he wises up and changes his name and social security number. But all I ever wanted was for him to love his children. No law can force him to do that.”

  “People change, honey. Once I bring him back, once he sees how much you love him, then maybe—”

  “Love him?” Peggy’s head snapped up. “How could I possibly love a man who wanted me to abort our children and walked out when I wouldn’t? Good Lord, Travis, I don’t love Clyde Saxon. I don’t even like him.”

  Clearly rattled, Travis stared up in bewilderment, licked his lips, puckered his brow. “Then, why on earth have you been so all-fired up to get him back?”

  “That’s a good question.” She sighed, wrapping her palms around one of his big, work-roughened hands. “I never actually wanted Clyde to be part of my life, but I’d hoped that he’d be a father to the kids. You know, birthday cards, Christmas presents, a weekend visit once in a while, just enough contact that my children didn’t grow up feeling abandoned like…like…”

  Travis finished the thought. “Like you did?” When she nodded, he continued to caress her wrist, each stroke of his callused thumb sending warm shivers up her arm. “Kids are pretty smart little critters, you know? They know when they’re loved, and they can spot a fake a mile away. Honesty hurts, but in the long run, kids usually accept the way things are better than most grown-ups can.”