by Mindy Neff
He guarded his heart so closely. Yet it was clear that he needed to open it.
And it was clear that she was exhausted and wouldn’t be any good to anyone if she didn’t get some rest. She felt bad for shirking her responsibilities— again—but was too grateful for the offer to toss it back.
“We’ll take care of her,” Brice said. “You go rest.”
“Okay. Just for a while.”
Brice wanted to pick her up and carry her to bed, to tuck her in and make sure she took care of herself properly. The woman had been through so many trials in the past couple of weeks, it was no wonder she was at the end of her rope.
But tucking her in wasn’t an option right now. Aside from the fact that it would test his tenuous control, he had the baby to look after.
And three crusty ranch hands hovering like concerned mother hens.
And the baby blanket was definitely wet.
“We can do this,” he said to his men once Madison had left. “We’ll need a diaper, clothes and a dry blanket.
The guys scrambled to round up the necessary items.
“I got the clothes,” Randy said proudly, holding up a pink undershirt he’d grabbed from a folded stack of laundry on top of the washing machine. He measured the outfit against the size of his hand. “Awful dang small if you ask me.”
Moe snatched the tiny cotton outfit out of his hands. “Nobody asked ya. Swear, Toval, you’re ’bout worthless as teats on a bull.”
“What’s wrong with that shirt?” Randy griped when Moe tossed it back and picked out a footed, one-piece sleeper.
“It’s the dead of winter. How’d you like to sleep in yur undershirt when there was perfectly good long johns sittin’ right under your nose?”
“I don’t sleep in long johns.”
“If you ladies are done arguing fashion advice, I could do with a little more speed,” Brice said, wondering which was the best way to go about changing the infant. She’d stopped crying now, probably out of sheer fear over what her bungling baby-sitters would do next.
Dan spread blankets on the kitchen table, and Brice carefully laid Abbe down in the center of them.
“Watch the neck!” Moe hollered.
“If you say that one more time, I’m going to get my gun.”
“Yer not exactly an expert, ya know.”
“And you are?” Now Brice was starting to sweat. The baby’s legs were like spindly twigs. Pulling them out of the pajamas scared him spitless.
“Least I got more years on you. Ought to qualify me for havin’ more knowledge.”
“Well, use your knowledge and hold the baby’s foot.”
It was an utter fiasco. Four grown men—experts at roping and herding wily animals—trying in vain to pin down one tiny baby long enough to accomplish a diaper change.
Brice’s hands alone were bigger than Abbe’s whole body. Add three more sets and it was causing more problems than help.
“I don’t think you’ve got that diaper folded right,” Randy volunteered.
“That’s the least of my worries,” Brice countered.
“My sister used disposable diapers,” Dan said. “Personally, it’d make me feel a lot better if we had something with tapes on it rather than using that safety pin.”
Sweat was running down Brice’s temples now. Abbe was scrunching up her face to voice her disapproval with their ineptness.
“Somebody open the window. Shuller, since you’re such a font of information, why don’t you put your fingers in here so I won’t stick her.”
“The window is open,” Moe answered for Dan. “And use your own finger and stop your bellyaching. We could’a roped and branded fifty calves in the time it’s takin’ you to truss up one little baby. Danged if you ain’t a sorry excuse for a new papa.”
The reminder that as of today this baby was a DeWitt did two things to Brice. It made his stomach flutter like a migration of spring butterflies—and it made him determined.
Where before he’d been bumbling around like a tip-toeing Brahma bull at a tea party, a certain masculine pride steadied his hands.
The diaper pin drew blood—his, thank God—but he got it secured, managed to snap on a pair of ruffled waterproof pants over it, then wrestled Abbe’s twig-like arms and legs into the pajamas.
Okay. Not his best work, but it would do. “Somebody grab a bottle.”
Randy opened the refrigerator. “Breast milk or formula.”
Moe scowled. “That’s a dang fool question to ask.”
“Isn’t either. There’s two here. And that’s how they’re labeled.”
“Formula,” Brice said before a dispute could form. Besides, this being his wedding night and all, he didn’t want any reminders about breasts, or women, or where babies get their milk. Never mind that it was just a note on a bottle.
The next fiasco was over whether or not to pour the milk in a pan or heat the bottle in water.
Brice left the men to duke it out. Other than a few snuffles now and again, Abbe’s eyes were closed, her little body relaxing like a tiny feather in his arms. He cradled her close, swaying slightly, feeling his heart swell and his throat ache.
Abigail DeWitt. She might not have come from his seed, but pride swelled to overflowing. He had an urge to take her outside, to show her the stock and the buildings and the land, to tell her all about what would one day be hers....
Her legacy as the only DeWitt to carry on his name when he was gone. He wondered if he could talk her into keeping his name when she one day married.
Okay, he was getting ahead of himself here.
How could a guy keep his emotional distance from something so perfect as this little infant? A baby who now bore his family’s name.
“Well, lookie there,” Moe whispered. “She done fell asleep.”
“Yeah,” Brice said, equally as quietly. “Thanks for the help, guys. I can take it from here.”
Moe herded the other men out the door and followed.
Brice shut off the light, leaving only the soft glow of the lamp over the stove. Carefully supporting the baby with one arm, he reached up and eased the window almost shut.
“I don’t imagine we could hire ourselves out as competent baby-sitters,” he said softly to the sleeping child, “but we muddled through. Let’s go check on your mama.”
The quiet in the house reminded him how tired he was.
He’d put in a full day’s work and gotten married to boot.
Not your everyday occurrence on the Flying D.
Madison was curled on her side, sleeping soundly. He stood there a moment, just looking at her. The lamp burned by the side of the bed, casting an amber glow over her blond hair.
What would it be like if these two ladies who’d literally dropped into his life were really his?
He shook his head. That kind of thinking could get him in trouble. And he wouldn’t be obsessing over such things if he weren’t so tired, he told himself.
Spying the dresser drawer he’d rigged as a bassinet he laid the sleeping baby down. Right now, the nursery seemed too far away. As tired as he was, and as heavily as Madison was sleeping, there was every possibility that neither one of them would wake if the baby cried.
Sitting carefully on the side of the bed so he wouldn’t disturb Madison, he watched the baby sleep, making sure she was actually going to stay that way for a while.
Man alive, how could something so small wear out a houseful of adults this way?
Madison shifted, and he whipped around. She was still asleep, had kicked the covers off. Her cotton gown had ridden up. Hand hovering in indecision, he finally pulled it down, then tucked the blankets back around her.
Softly, with the backs of his fingers, he tested the heat in her cheeks. Warm, but not hot. They probably wouldn’t need to call the doctor.
Shoulders aching, he tugged off his damp shirt and eased down beside her on the bed, telling himself he’d just lie here for a few minutes, just to make sure she or Abbe didn’t ne
ed him.
The sound of Abbe’s cries pierced Maddie’s subconscious. She felt warmth and had an urge to snuggle closer. Her foot connected with a hairy thigh.
Her eyes popped open the rest of the way. “Oh!”
“Mumph,” Brice muttered and threw an arm over his eyes. “S’okay. I’ll get her.” Half-asleep, he rolled over and nearly fell out of the bed.
Maddie made a grab for the sheet, then snatched her glasses off the nightstand. From the soft glow of the bedside lamp, she read the illuminated dial of the clock—5:00 a.m.
“What are you doing?”
He halted mid-stride, blinked his eyes like a barn owl in a stupor and stared at her as though he’d never seen her in his life.
She pulled the quilt higher. Ridiculous. He’d already seen more of her than any man had a right to, but still, she felt nervous.
The man was practically naked. Well, shirtless, anyway, and the sight of all that masculine chest had her entertaining all sorts of fantasies.
“I’m getting the baby.” Yawning, he raked his fingers through his hair.
“I meant, what were you doing in my bed?”
His brow rose. “Though I’m not worth a damn before my coffee, I think it’s called sleeping. And technically, it’s my bed.” He picked up the baby. “Well no wonder you’re raising the rooftop, Abbe. You’re soaked clear through. I could have sworn I corrected that last night.”
Despite the jolt and sleepy confusion of finding herself in bed with him, Maddie smiled, her heart melting at the sight of this rugged, virile man talking softly to her baby.
When he moved back to the side of the bed, she held out her arms and accepted the wiggling baby. Abbe stopped crying and opened round eyes, staring up at her mother.
“You decided yet if I should be shot at dawn?”
She glanced up at him and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Here you pull baby-sitting duty, and I end up acting ungrateful as all get-out. You caught me by surprise is all.”
He touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. “Looks like a decent night’s sleep did you good.”
“Mmm, and Abbe seems much more agreeable when I’m not climbing the walls.” She looked at him, a little sorry that he hadn’t taken off his jeans along with his shirt. After the initial shock of seeing him half undressed, she was hungry to see more. “Thank you for taking over last night.”
He shrugged and grabbed his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. His chest muscles flexed and rippled. Maddie sucked in a breath and nearly choked.
Pulling the body-hugging cotton over his washboard stomach, he tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. “You probably would have split a gut laughing at the sight we made. No telling if her diaper’s even still on.”
Oh, she loved the way his face softened into boyish charm when he smiled that way.
Her husband, she thought, feeling a giddy thrill shoot through her. Never mind that he only claimed that title on paper, she didn’t see the harm in giving the fantasy a little nudge. It was her secret.
“You obviously did something right. Did she sleep through the night, or was I just too tired to hear her?’’
“She fussed around two o’clock, but I put that sucky thing in her mouth, and she settled back down.”
“Thank goodness for the invention of pacifiers.” The diaper was around the baby’s knees. Maddie smiled, quickly stripped off the sodden sleeper and accepted the change of clothes Brice held out to her. She really was feeling better today.
Their fingers touched, and his thigh brushed her hip as he stood close, watching over her shoulder as she changed the baby.
She paused, looked at him, found him watching her instead of the task she was managing to accomplish with a great deal of efficiency. Oh, this felt right. Waking up together, sharing the responsibility of the baby.
It made it hard not to imagine that this was a real marriage. Abbe kicked her feet, reminding Maddie of her duties.
“Baby monitors,” Brice said suddenly.
“Excuse me?” She shoved her slipping glasses back in place, looked up at him.
“I saw them in the catalogue.”
Oh, Lord, the UPS man would be out again soon. “DeWitt, you are a maniac with mail-order and credit cards. You’ve got to stop buying stuff for us.”
“It’s for me.”
She frowned so she wouldn’t smile. The man was by far too sexy. And too generous. “How so?”
“So we can hear the baby when she cries from the nursery. It’ll save steps. That way we can tell if it’s just a fidgeting cry or one that means business.”
For several beats, her heart went absolutely still, then started up again with a pounding vengeance. He kept saying “we,” as though they were a real family. She told herself it was a figure of speech, a slip of the tongue. It didn’t mean anything, and she was being foolish, trying to assign a deeper motive.
“And you think you can tell the difference? So far, I’ve only been able to identify one kind of cry. The flat-out, no-holds-barred, I-haven’t-the-slightest-idea-what-it-means kind.”
“You’re operating under a handicap. As soon as you get stronger, you’ll gain those instincts.”
She was feeling stronger and stronger by the minute, if the butterflies in her stomach were any indication. As for instincts, a few were screaming loud and clear right now.
The instincts that told her controlling her growing desire for this wonderful, thoughtful cowboy were going to be nigh unto impossible.
“What the hell happened to my jeans?”
Brice’s roar nearly made Maddie jump out of her chair. Her head snapped up, her fingers poised over the keys of the computer.
“I did the laundry and hemmed them for you.” Considering the fact that she was no domestic goddess, she felt fairly proud of herself for that little chore. She glanced around the desk so she could get a good look at his feet, pleased with the length. Pretty darn good for just guessing, she thought smugly.
“Why would you do something like that?”
An all-too-familiar bad feeling edged in, fraying her nerves. Her smile dimmed.
“I thought I was doing you a favor. I mean, you being a bachelor and all...I figured there weren’t any tailors close by. Your pants were so long, they bunched on the tops of your boots.”
“They’re supposed to fit that way. Now I look like I’m expecting a flood or competing for sissy of the year award.”
She stared at him for a full ten seconds, all six foot five inches of virile, handsome-as-sin cowboy. He couldn’t look like a sissy if he tried.
Sidetracked, replaying the last few lines of their conversation in her mind, she realized he hadn’t contradicted her calling him a bachelor. An unexpected pang stung her insides, and she chided the foolishness. Their marriage was barely a week old. Of course he’d forget.
And she had to stop forgetting it wasn’t a real marriage. Only a kind act from a very special man.
A man who at the moment was looking really appalled and trying his best to pretend otherwise.
“You wear them that way on purpose? What? As a fashion statement?”
“It has nothing to do with fashion. I don’t care to have the hem of my pants riding clear up to my shins where snow or debris can slip down the boot tops. Besides, it looks dorky.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment turned her palms sweaty. She’d screwed up again. Her citified roots were showing. The only cowboys she’d been around were the urban type, who wore flashy colors and spit-shined boots.
And Brice’s working boots obviously hadn’t seen a polish cloth since they’d come off the factory assembly line.
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.” She’d had to cut the material, so there was no way she could offer to lengthen them a bit. Darn it, she’d thought she’d done something right at last—especially with the mess she was still making of the cooking.
So much for making it her job to take care of him. He’d be lucky to even survive her!
Brice sighed and ordered himself to calm down. Her soft blue eyes held hurt and embarrassment. And he’d put it there.
“They’re not that bad.” He pinched the material and gave it a tug. It didn’t help.
She perked up. “They’re not?”
He shook his head, unable to compound the lie. “Did you, uh, do any of the others?”
Her gaze lowered, and she suddenly became highly interested in the numbers on the ledger she’d been working on.
“Madison?”
“A couple.”
He could barely hear her. “A couple?”
“Three.” She pulled her lips between her teeth, hiding a smile, her fingers drumming on the desk. “Will the guys really call you a sissy?”
The little imp. Despite the fiasco with his jeans, she flat-out charmed him. In some areas she was so confident, and in others she didn’t seem to have the sense God gave a stray dogie. But her heart was in the right place. He vowed to quietly—and quickly—place a catalogue order for more jeans.
He cleared his throat, dragging his gaze away from the utter enticement of her full lips. “They wouldn’t dare.”
She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I swear I’ve never been so inept in my life. I’ve managed to live almost twenty-nine years without starving myself—never mind that my awful cooking should suggest otherwise.”
“It’s not that bad,” he felt compelled to say. Almost twenty-nine years. She had a birthday coming up really soon.
Her laughter trilled again. “It might not be, if I could remember to put baking powder instead of soda in the biscuits.”
“Easy mistake. They look pretty much the same.” Before he got himself in any deeper, he focused on the papers spread before her. “Making any headway with all that stuff?”
“Oh, absolutely. Here is where I excel, making sense out of invoices and receipts. A few keystrokes, and chaos becomes order. Of course, you might not agree since you view computers as monsters.”
“I never said they were monsters. Just that I didn’t know how to use them for keeping my bookkeeping straight.” She’d been true to her word and kept everything separate, so when he came into his office late at night to catch up on paperwork, he’d been able to find exactly what he needed. Much to his surprise, though, she’d dealt with quite a few of his things in his “to do” pile.
