Do You Take This Baby?

by Wendy Warren

  “I tried fifteen minutes ago. He didn’t want it.”

  “Okay.” Pointing to a cushion next to the receiving blanket, she suggested, “Why don’t you sit over there and watch.”

  “What am I watching?”

  “A lesson in swaddling 101.”

  “I don’t know what you just said.”

  She smiled. “That’s okay. It’ll be clear in a minute.” As Ethan settled on the cushion, she laid the crying baby with his head pointed to one corner of the blanket. Fortunately, he was too wiped out from lack of sleep to protest much physically. Then she took his arms, crossed them over his chest and followed up by wrapping one side of the blanket at a time very tightly over his body, mummy-style. The last corner was at his feet. Nimbly, she twisted it several times, tucking the end in at his neck, then pressed the bundled baby to her chest and held him close with both hands. The technique had worked brilliantly with her nieces and nephews, but Cody was a baby with a different set of issues altogether. His poor little body grew rigid when he cried, and as Gemma pressed him closer and made what she hoped were soothing shushing sounds in his tiny ear, she worried that she was out of her league here and had given an exhausted Ethan false hope.

  With deep inhalations and exhalations, she relaxed her own body, letting Cody feel her slow rhythmic breaths. Almost before she realized it, the cries turned to whimpers and then...

  Silence.

  Ethan half rose. “Is he still breathing?” Getting all the way to his feet, the big man peered down at his nephew. “Is he getting air? You’ve got him locked in there pretty tight.”

  Gemma rolled her eyes. “Shh. This is swaddling. Of course he’s getting air.” She kept her voice calm and even. “Aren’t you, big guy? You feel mighty fine.”

  Cody made little snuffling sounds as his lips worked, and his eyes slid to half-mast. Gemma had to restrain herself from punching the air in victory. Very gently, she rubbed slow circles between the baby’s shoulders. Lowering her voice to barely above a whisper, she explained, “The theory behind this wrapping style comes from the idea that before birth, babies are used to being held very tightly in the womb. When they’re born, some babies have a problem with sensory overload. Too much light, smell or sound, or even their arms and legs being free, makes them anxious. So you bundle them up like this, turn out the lights, then sit in a rocker, like your fancy recliner over there, and hold the baby close enough to hear your heartbeat. Like this.”

  Gingerly, she moved to a leather recliner large enough for two adults and lowered herself and Cody to its cushy depths, turning the baby to his side so that his ear lay over her heart. As she cupped his head in her hand and slowly rocked, she could feel the remaining tension leave his little body in several shuddering sighs.

  “It’s a miracle,” Ethan breathed, staring in disbelief.

  “Actually, it’s more biology than anything.” Though she believed that, she couldn’t help but revel in Ethan’s admiration.

  “Don’t move,” he said, wagging his head. “Ever again.”

  Gemma chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll be a pro at this in no time. Just remember to hold him tight and close to your body.” A thought occurred to her. “Like a football.”

  “Okay, I may be able to do that.”

  “Just don’t spike him,” she teased, gratified when Ethan cracked a smile that made him look more like himself. For the first time since she’d arrived, he seemed to be taking full breaths.

  Moving to the sofa, he sat and seemed to notice for the first time the cardboard container with coffees and the snacks she’d picked up at the bakery. “Where’d this come from?”

  “I brought it in with me.”

  “You did?” He ran a hand through his hair, and Gemma entertained herself by studying the way it curled over his ears. “I didn’t even see that. I’m losing it.”

  “You’re understandably distracted,” she comforted, rocking as Cody gave the occasional small, reflexive jerk on his way to sleep. “And probably as exhausted as Cody. I brought coffee and something for breakfast, but I’m guessing you could use a hot shower and sleep more than caffeine. Why don’t you get some rest? I’m free today. I can stay awhile.”

  Shock preceded gratitude, but he shook his head. “No, I couldn’t—”

  “I know, I know. You don’t want to inconvenience me, blah, blah, blah.” She smiled. “Listen, my day will consist either of sitting here in the Barbie Dreamhouse, rocking a baby and looking at Thunder Ridge—million-dollar view, by the way—or keeping track of how many place settings Elyse and Scott get as they open their gifts, and we eat leftover wedding cake. Guess which one I choose?”

  He wagged his head, a look of wonder on his still gorgeous but infinitely tired features. “Wow. You’re remarkable, you know that?”

  He was leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped loosely between his legs, his gaze intent and wondering. Gemma had a moment of dizzying déjà vu. As far back as high school, she’d pictured herself rocking a baby someday under the watchful eye of the man who loved them both. Now, moving slowly back and forth as Cody breathed against her, she felt for a second that all this was real. That it belonged to her.

  Danger! Danger! This is not your life. You need to get your own baby...home...man. Possibly, but not necessarily, in that order.

  “You should go,” she told Ethan, “while he’s sleeping.” And while I’m still sort of sane. “Get some rest. Cody and I are fine.”

  Ethan rubbed his forehead. “I feel guilty leaving you here.”

  Soooo cute.

  “No. Don’t feel guilty. You’ll be useless without rest.” Although I could think of some uses—

  Stop!

  He scooted to the edge of the table, still leaning forward, his squared shoulders appearing massive, his face a study in solemnity and beauty as his gaze held hers. “As long as I’ve known your family, you’ve been a giver. I don’t want to take advantage of that. But I sure can use your help right now.”

  She couldn’t. Even. Speak. A jerky nod was the best Gemma could do. Her eyes followed him as he rose.

  “I’ll take a quick nap. Then I’m going to think of a way to repay you.”

  “’Kay.”

  He took a last look at his now-peaceful nephew, shook his head in wonder, gave Gemma a grateful smile and left the room.

  With her hand cupped behind Cody’s downy head, Gemma closed her eyes and sank into the soft cushion of the recliner. She smelled baby and expensive leather. And Ethan.

  Repay me, she thought, somewhat bemused. How funny that he wanted to repay her for what was undoubtedly the most blissful moment she’d had in years.

  * * *

  Gemma was busy for the three hours that Ethan slept. By 11:00 a.m. she’d tidied the kitchen, changed and fed the Codester, prepared a killer three-decker turkey-avocado-and-cream-cheese sandwich, set a place at the ginormous breakfast bar and, most important, figured out how to turn a sheet into a baby wrap. Cody snoozed soundly against her while she went about her business. By the time Ethan arrived downstairs, looking semi-refreshed from his nap and newly showered (yummy soap scent + wet hair and bare feet = Oh, mama), she was feeling pretty much like a rock star at the whole domesticity thing.

  “Wow.”

  Ethan stood between the family room and kitchen and stared at all she’d done. That was the second “wow” she’d elicited from him this morning. Not bad.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. “I made lunch. Hope you don’t mind that I raided your fridge.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course I don’t mind. What is that?” He pointed not to the plastic-wrapped plate she withdrew from the refrigerator, but to the bundle wrapped securely around her body.

  “That,” she said, smiling, “is your nephew in a baby wrap I made from a sheet I swiped out of the
laundry room. It’s clean.”

  “He’s asleep in there?”

  “Yep. It’s called baby wearing. I had to Google how to improvise with a sheet, but I think it’s working just fine. When the twins were little, I’d wear one of them while their mother wore the other. We could get a ton of things accomplished, even give the girls a bottle, and still have happy kiddos. Being held securely against someone’s body is incredibly comforting.”

  A slow, sexy grin crawled across his gorgeous kisser. “I bet it is.”

  Heat filled her, but not because she was embarrassed. “I hope you like turkey with avocado,” she said to distract herself, placing his plate on the breakfast bar.

  “You did not have to do this.” He surveyed his lunch. “But I’m glad you did. I’m starved.”

  Setting a place for herself, too, she joined him. Ethan glanced at the top of his nephew’s head as it peeped out between her breasts, his body securely held by the way she’d tied the linen fabric.

  “Has he been sleeping since I left?”

  “He woke up briefly, but I was able to soothe him pretty quickly with a snack. He fell asleep again before the bottle was empty.”

  “I don’t believe it. She’s brilliant, isn’t she?” he asked the sleeping baby. Cody snuffled in his sleep. “He says, ‘yes, she’s wonderful,’” Ethan interpreted.

  Secretly delighted, Gemma glanced down. “That looks more like, ‘What-ev. ’Night, y’all.’”

  “Nah. He’s just super chill. He likes his pillow.”

  Her toes curled over the rung of the bar stool. “Any port in a storm.”

  “On the contrary.” He looked at her, his Pacific-blue eyes exultant with gratitude and admiration. “My nephew is very discerning. And he has excellent taste in pillows.”

  The kindling heat burst into a full-fledged fire, undoubtedly turning her cheeks bright red at this very moment. Reminding herself that she was nearly thirty-four, not nearly fourteen, Gemma offered a philosophical shrug.

  “When you grow to be a big boy, Cody,” she said to the top of the baby’s head, “remember that being a smooth-talking jock might be cool, but so is being a nerd.”

  “What?” He began to eat his sandwich. “What kind of lame advice is that?”

  “It’s not lame. Nerds are sexy.”

  “Ah.” He chewed and swallowed his first big bite. “You go for the boys with a lot of book learning, do you?”

  She thought about her ex-fiancé. William was a nerd—expert in his field, studious, a little awkward and quiet, with looks that had to grow on you over time. She’d felt safe with him because of that, but look at how it’d turned out. Christine Marie Allard had gone for nerds, too, and that had been that.

  Gemma looked down at the little face of the baby drooling on her bosom. She swirled a finger in his fine downy blond hair. “I’m revising my wish list where men are concerned,” she murmured.

  “Oh, yeah?” Ethan plucked a couple of the carrot chips she’d placed on the side of his plate. “What’s topping the list these days?”

  The answer came easily. “A family man.”

  Was she mistaken, or did he cringe a little?

  “Do you want children of your own?” she asked. When his gaze cut straight to his nephew, she put a hand on the baby’s back. “They don’t all cry as long and hard as this guy. And he’s been an angel since I put him in the wrap.”

  Rising, Ethan went to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda. “Want one?”

  Gemma shook her head. Talk about changing the subject. She looked at her sandwich, a much smaller version of his, but realized she wasn’t the least bit hungry—except for more information. “You said that Samantha is still addicted to drugs. Is she in a rehab facility?”

  Introducing the topic of his sister clearly threw him off guard. Popping the tab off his soda, he took several long gulps, watching her warily over the rim. Lowering the can, he wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand and said, “No.”

  That was it? Just “no”? Rarely one to pry, Gemma figured that in this case she’d earned probing a bit. “DHS contacted you, so I’m assuming Cody’s father isn’t available to parent?”

  Rather than returning to his lunch, Ethan leaned against the section of counter closest to the refrigerator. “We don’t know who the father is.”

  It was clear that he loathed the admission.

  Gemma felt a wave of empathy. “I’m not judging Samantha. I just wonder...if Cody’s biological father isn’t available, and if Samantha can’t parent, will you raise Cody?”

  Instantly, Ethan’s scowl deepened. “Samantha is going to raise Cody. It’s just the damn drugs—” He passed a hand over his face. “Look, we lost our mom to cancer when we were really young. And Mom was never the most...attentive parent to begin with. She had her own issues. After she died, Sam and I moved in with our uncle and aunt.” He shook his head. “Aunt Claire meant well. She was responsible and decent, but she wasn’t the warmest person, and Samantha had already started acting out while our mom was ill. Aunt Claire and Uncle Bob tried to help her by bringing the parental hammer down, but that pushed Sam further away. Then Bob passed away, which left Claire all alone to earn a living and take care of two kids who had plenty of baggage.”

  “I’m sorry. Sorry about your losing your mom. I never knew the details.”

  His eyes seemed bleak. “I’ve tried not to talk about it, because I don’t want negative attention on Sam. It’s easy to make a drug addict the fall guy for all the problems in a family.”

  “I won’t share anything you don’t want me to share. You’re not going to be able to keep the baby secret for long, though, not in Thunder Ridge.”

  “I know. I need a little more time, though, before the rest of the world gets wind of this. I’ve got to find Sam and get her back into rehab.”

  “Find her?” Gemma watched Ethan closely. Guilt etched lines onto his handsome face.

  “I don’t know where she is.” The response seemed to cause Ethan physical pain. “She left the hospital right after having Cody. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

  Gemma couldn’t imagine being that out of touch with one of her siblings, or having to worry about their safety with no information. “That sucks.”

  Ethan’s head rose, and he smiled. “Thanks. It does.” Pushing away from the counter, he came to stand opposite her at the breakfast bar. “Once I started making good money, I sent her to rehab. The best places I could find.” He shrugged powerlessly. “There were a lot of celebrities. Maybe too many distractions... I don’t know. I’m going to find someplace more basic this time.”

  She nodded. No one close to her had ever required rehab, but wasn’t it fairly common knowledge that the addict had to want recovery for herself in order for it to work?

  “Maybe Samantha wasn’t ready,” she suggested gently.

  “Maybe not then. She’s a mother now. I know she’d be ready if she had support, but she’s running scared.”

  Gemma felt the baby stir against her. “How did you get custody of Cody?”

  “I don’t have custody. Not exactly. DHS is Cody’s legal guardian. They consider me a ‘relative foster placement.’” Ethan turned his soda can in slow circles on the granite countertop. “Out of the blue, I get a phone call from DHS telling me Sam went AWOL from the maternity ward of a hospital in Miami after the baby tested positive for cocaine. DHS searched for over a month, and I was the only identifiable relative they could place Cody with.”

  He rubbed both hands over his temples, a gesture Gemma associated once again with guilt. “No one has heard from Sam in over two months, which is typical when she’s on a binge. She’s been known to disappear for over a year at a time. But now, with the baby, I’m positive she’s running scared and that if I found her, I could talk some sens
e into her, get her back into recovery. Some facilities let mothers bring their children.”

  Another tense silence echoed in the kitchen. Gemma thought about how this conversation had begun—with the question of whether he would take care of his nephew if his sister wasn’t capable of parenting. But he didn’t want to discuss that.

  A hot coil of fear threaded through the center of her chest. She placed both hands on Cody’s gently breathing body. “Well, I hope everything works out the way you want it to.”

  She didn’t feel good about Ethan’s plan, however. As the baby slept on, unware of his tenuous future, Gemma didn’t feel good about their situation at all.

  Chapter Six

  “Honey, you look terrible.” Holliday Bailey peered at Gemma through her front-porch screen door. “Come to the kitchen and pull up a bar stool,” she told her best friend. “I’m fixing us mimosas.”

  “Thanks.”

  High heels clicking, Holliday sashayed down the short hall in a leopard-print sweater set and shiny black leggings. Gemma glanced down at her own faded jeans and T-shirt and couldn’t help but feel a little underdressed.

  Standing in the kitchen, Gemma swallowed the nausea she’d been feeling all morning. She’d come to a decision—a definite, life-changing decision—today, but now she felt as if she were standing on the deck of a boat in the middle of a storm at sea. Trying to calm herself, she glanced around while Holliday rooted through her refrigerator.

  Holly lived in one of the newly built condos in Thunder Ridge’s growing southwest neighborhood. The decor in the unit was minimalist, cool, sparsely furnished. It perfectly suited Gemma’s acerbic, smart and sassy friend and her dedicated single life.

  “Your African violet is dying,” Gemma noted. She reached into a cupboard for a glass to water the poor, wilted plant. “What’s that?” she asked, raising her head to listen to a distinct cry.

  “The cat.”

  Gemma blinked at her friend in shock. “You have a cat?”