A Family for Christmas

by Irene Brand

  Feeling Brock’s gaze on her again, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and used the burping technique the nurse had demonstrated for her. Unfortunately, none of her patting or rubbing on the child’s back did the trick.

  The floor creaked and the room shrank again as Brock stepped in front of her. “Here, let me try that.”

  “Have you ever burped a baby before?”

  “No, but that’s not stopping you.”

  He settled the cloth diaper across his shoulder and lifted Joy from her arms, settling her against his shoulder and patting the child’s back with his much larger hand.

  Allison chuckled, the tension of moments before dissipating. “Hey, I’ve done this lots of times. Well, most of them in the past day or so, but I’m still pretty experienced at burping infants.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  But Joy chose that moment to release a particularly loud gas bubble. Brock looked over the top of the baby’s head and smiled.

  She couldn’t help grinning back. “Two now.”

  As if he’d done it a million times, Brock deftly switched the baby back to a reclining position and held out a hand for Allison to pass him the bottle.

  “She’ll get less gas if you hold her head up higher.”

  Instead of questioning her limited child care expertise, he shifted Joy higher and popped the nipple between her lips. The baby happily accepted her dinner as Brock settled on the sofa to feed her.

  Allison couldn’t help watching him. A gentle giant, Brock seemed to envelop Joy in khaki as he held her with such care. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the baby or stop from running his fingers through her fuzzy hair. Did he have any idea what a contradiction he presented? Such a tender heart buried beneath that steel exterior. He would probably think of that as weakness when she only saw strength. His heart had survived much, and still, no matter what he wanted everyone to believe, dared to hope.

  Brock traced his fingertips along the baby’s jaw, and Joy turned her face toward the sensation. Allison could almost feel his touch on her own cheek. If only she too, could be the recipient of Brock’s tender ministrations.

  Now you’re jealous of a baby. That’s just pitiful. Maybe she’d bought into the local matchmakers’ schemes more than she’d realized. She’d even convinced herself that Brock had been watching her when it couldn’t have been more clear that his whole focus was on Joy…where it should have been. Where her own priority should have been if she’d had her head on straight today.

  “She doesn’t eat like a poor, mistreated foundling, does she?”

  “Is that what you were?”

  He looked away long enough that she guessed he wouldn’t answer, and then he did. “I guess I was, but my story isn’t as glamorous as Joy’s.”

  “Most of them aren’t.”

  “Let’s just say that, like Joy, I had a mother who couldn’t be bothered to raise me. But unlike her, I was older—five—when Madeline hit the road. I remember.”

  He stopped then and glanced at her sharply, as if he resented revealing so much about himself, when he hadn’t said enough as far as she was concerned. She suddenly needed to hear it all—about the injured little boy he’d once been, how he had overcome his pain, what led him to a career in law enforcement. Her heart ached over what little she knew and so much she didn’t know. From his expression, though, she guessed he wouldn’t be telling her any more about himself, at least not today.

  “I’m sorry, Brock.”

  He made a noncommittal sound in his throat and looked away. When he glanced back at her again, that stark expression had vanished from his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I really lucked out anyway, having Roy and Clara as my adoptive parents.” He paused for a few seconds and then changed the subject. “So what’s the next step for the Division of Family and Children?”

  Allison stiffened. Obviously, Brock was right. Their focus couldn’t be on him or anything else when Joy needed them so much. Time was running out for her to avoid becoming part of the system.

  “I’ve already completed the 310, and I’m working on the 311,” she said. “That’s the investigative report we use to substantiate or unsubstantiate abuse or neglect.”

  “That sounds a lot like an arrest report.”

  “It is, only the type of detention is different.”

  Allison responded to his surprised look by raising her shoulder and letting it drop.

  “I’ve waited as long as I can for the detention hearing, but it’s going to have to be tomorrow to make the forty-eight-hour deadline.”

  “Why did you wait?” But the sides of his mouth pulled up, and he didn’t wait for her answer. “You thought she’d come back, didn’t you?”

  “Hoped.” She waited for him to berate her for her belief in people who maybe were undeserving, but he didn’t. It was just as well because even she had to admit that her hope was running out.

  Instead, he stood, his sudden movement startling Joy enough that she released the nipple and whimpered.

  “This little girl needs us to do something besides sit around and hope.” His voice was strange, hard, as he handed the baby into Allison’s arms.

  As she slipped the bottle back in the baby’s mouth, she swayed in a rhythm that had soothed Joy several times before, but this time she wouldn’t accept the bottle and refused to be comforted. How could Allison expect to calm the infant when she was so rattled herself?

  Obviously, Brock was as frustrated as she was that they’d been unable to locate the baby’s mother, but that didn’t give him any right to take it out on her.

  “I’m not sitting. I’m doing everything I can right now.” But the way Joy continued to fuss made her wonder if it would ever be enough. This poor, sweet child deserved more than she could give. “And I’ll get her placed with one of our foster families just as soon as I can.”

  “You’re not the only one with a job to do.”

  His arms crossed over his chest, Brock glanced down at the coffee table where that index card and his only new clue lay looking so impersonal with its block letters.

  “Nothing’s ever going to be okay for her until her deserting mother is behind bars.” He whispered, but the vehemence behind the words made up for the volume.

  He didn’t even have to say he planned to be the one to lock that jail cell door. As if he could right the world’s wrongs—past and present—by wielding a set of handcuff keys. Who did he think he was, Dirty Harry? She was pretty sure that kind of vigilante justice wouldn’t go over well in Destiny, and he needed to know it, too.

  “How is locking up her mother going to make things right for Joy?” The minute she said it, she was sorry, but it was too late to take it back and to behave like the Christian woman she should have been. The woman she had so much difficulty being when the deputy was around.

  Brock’s posture tightened for a few seconds, and then he let his shoulders fall with defeat. “Maybe it won’t make things right. Maybe it’s too late and nothing can.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  Even as she asked it, she knew that he did. Again she wondered if he was talking about Joy or himself. “No matter how bad our troubles are, God can make it right. Or at least He’ll help us to bear the load.”

  Allison braced herself, expecting him to ridicule her again about her faith, but he only nodded as if he wanted to believe, too. For Joy’s sake, if nothing else.

  She understood the helplessness he must have felt when trying to do right by Joy. She’d experienced similar feelings so many times at work—when the courts still returned children to birthparents who’d worn out too many second chances, when a child fell through the cracks. Would Joy slip through, as well, leaving Allison, her hand reaching and clasping only the thin air of futility?

  Brock shrugged. “The only thing we can do is do our jobs. It’s been a long day—” He paused long enough to glance first at the baby, who was finally drifting off to sleep, and then at Allison’s face “—fo
r all of us.”

  “Tomorrow might be even longer.” She yawned, exhaustion descending on her. Her evening with night owl Joy would likely be a long one. “Well, Christmas is in a few hours, so Merry Christmas.”

  One side of his mouth pulled up in a sad half smile. “Happy holidays to you, too.”

  Allison smiled at the irony as Brock let himself out the front door. She carried Joy to the portable crib. There was nothing merry about this Christmas Eve, nothing happy about an infant who had to begin her life as someone’s castoff, or a man who still couldn’t get over having been deserted the same way.

  Yet, imperfect as it was, Allison could still recognize the gift in this last night before Christmas. The sleeping child in the crib made her believe in God’s promises. She had a child to cherish tonight, even if that joy was only temporary. But there was more to it, she decided, as she crossed back into the living room, suddenly so empty despite her mother’s furnishings.

  All throughout Destiny, families were probably together, enjoying each other’s company and loving or hating carefully chosen Christmas gifts. So why did she get the strange feeling that the best gift she could ever hope to receive had just walked out her door?

  Christmas Day dawned gray and frigid, the ground a dreary brown without the blanket of snow many of Destiny’s children had probably mentioned in their bedtime prayers. Brock didn’t even want to ask himself what he was doing back at Allison’s house that morning because he wasn’t in the mood for self-incrimination.

  Standing on her front steps, his hand poised to knock, he hesitated. The wrapped gifts in the shopping bag that dangled from his other arm suddenly seemed like bad ideas. Coming here again was the worst idea of all. Last night his excuse of checking on Baby Doe’s status was almost believable. Less than ten hours later, it didn’t have that same credible ring to it.

  Brock backed down a step and lowered his hand. It wasn’t like him to waffle after he’d made a decision, but this situation didn’t fall under the realm of “ordinary,” either. His best—and safest—choice would be to get back to the sheriff’s department and focus on the investigation the way he should have been. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. He’d done that one time with Robin, and look where that had gotten him.

  So why did he continue standing there like some sweaty-palmed teenager, certain he didn’t want to leave and yet unable to bring himself to knock? Sure, he wanted to see the baby again. That was part of why he was here—trying to make it up for some of what she’d lost.

  But he was only fooling himself if he didn’t admit that most of his attraction for the house with the gaudy furnishings had to do with the hazel-eyed blonde caring for that baby. As much as he hated to admit it, his heart had betrayed him as he watched her lovingly tend to that defenseless child, tempting him to wish. For what? Someone to care for him? He was a big boy; he couldn’t rely on anyone. Relying would mean trusting, and that was just impossible.

  Still, something about that woman drew him to her. She made him crazy and fascinated him at the same time. The world she envisioned was so different than the one he knew. She saw scalable mountains where he found brick walls. Her belief in humankind was so unshakable that she still believed Joy’s mother might return. While at first he’d ridiculed her Pollyanna attitude, he suddenly envied her optimism and was enchanted by the light that surrounded her.

  He glanced down once more at his bag of presents. This was Christmas. It wasn’t presumptuous to give gifts today. Merely polite. He might have had a lot of faults, but bad manners wasn’t one of them. Before he changed his mind again, he raised his hand and knocked.

  Chapter Five

  Allison stumbled to the door, clasping Joy in the same loving football hold she’d used several times during the night. So many times, that if the baby were truly a stitched leather ball, Allison figured she should have scored a few touchdowns by now. But even mind-numbing exhaustion wasn’t enough to stop her pulse from dancing when she saw Brock through the glass side panel in the door.

  She had to be reasonable. He was probably here because of some break in the case or even to take one more look at that diaper bag to see if it had produced another new clue since last night. She pulled open the door, managing to keep from patting down her morning hair. By now, Brock probably thought her regular look was either a biblical character’s robe, sloppy sweats or baggy jeans.

  “Merry Christmas, Allison.”

  He gave a smile that would have made a lesser woman swoon as his form filled the entry. Out of uniform, he looked fresh-shaven and handsome in a cream cable sweater and tan slacks. The skin on her neck felt warm, and it had nothing to do with the cheery fire from the gas log in the fireplace. She could barely take her eyes off Brock to study the bag of gifts at his feet.

  “Christmas? It’s morning already?” she said, stifling a yawn.

  “Joy kept you awake again?”

  Even her smile felt tired. “She was too excited to sleep, I guess. So she needed me to keep her company.”

  “Looks like she’s catching a few z’s now.” He slipped past her into the living room and stood next to the Christmas tree before turning back to her.

  Allison lowered her gaze to the sleeping baby for a few seconds before returning her attention to Brock and his bag of surprises.

  His gaze followed hers. “I didn’t see any presents here last night, so…” He let his words trail off, indicating with a tilt of his head the bag by his foot.

  “I’ve already mailed my sister, Heather, and her husband theirs. And I cheated and opened theirs to me when it came in the mail.”

  “I can see you as a gift snooper.” He grinned. “Sure glad I didn’t bring any over last night, or you might not have been able to resist the temptation.”

  She studied his face, trying to understand his meaning. All the gifts weren’t for the baby? She’d seen the way Brock had looked at Joy last night, so it didn’t surprise her that he wanted to indulge the sweet, helpless baby on Christmas. But she was taken aback that he had remembered her, as well.

  Holding up a finger for her to wait, he rustled through the bag and set several messily wrapped gifts under the tree. Then he produced a small wrapped gift the size of a thin book and made a big production of bowing over it and extending it to her. “For you.”

  “You didn’t have to.” On the other hand, she was tickled pink that he had, and she couldn’t help letting him know it with her grin.

  “It wouldn’t have been any fun if I’d had to.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything for you.” Anything you’d want, anyway.

  One side of his mouth pulled up in a silly half grin, but still he stepped closer. Her heart humiliated her by tripping again as if she expected him to give her a Christmas kiss to go along with the gift. She wasn’t convinced she could deny him if that were his intention. Brock only reached toward her arms, though, and lifted Joy.

  “Here, I’ll hold her while you open it.”

  Unlike her temptation the night before to cling to Joy, keeping her only to herself, today she welcomed the opportunity to share the child’s care with Brock. Relief filled her as she delivered Joy into his capable hands. She didn’t need the gifts he’d brought to convince her that the baby had captured his heart as effectively as she’d snatched Allison’s. But the fact that he’d taken the time to purchase and wrap last-minute gifts just so the foundling wouldn’t be forgotten on Christmas Day tunneled inside her heart.

  That he might have made the gesture to salve his own childhood wounds didn’t lessen its impact. Joy would never remember the rattles or teething toys inside those packages. She would forget her mother. Allison only wished Brock could have been as fortunate with his own.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “Oh…yeah.” Resisting the temptation to tear into the holly-design wrapping paper, she carefully slid her fingers along the seams. Gifts were rare treats for her these days since her mother was gone, so she pla
nned to enjoy this one.

  “You’re one of those, aren’t you?” he said, indicating her hands with a movement of his head. “Are you going to carefully fold under the tape so you can reuse the paper?”

  Allison paused before she’d uncovered her gift. “If I were more ecologically responsible, I’d try that, but it would mean having to find a place to store all that extra paper, and I hate clutter.”

  Brock peered from one side of the living room to the other, his gaze taking a leisurely journey over collections of pewter animals, ceramic teacups and silk flower arrangements. Too many of each.

  When he faced her again and grinned, Allison couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Remember, this stuff was my mom’s.”

  “None of it’s yours?”

  She shook her head, though technically all of Mary Hensley’s treasures now belonged to Allison and her older sister, Heather, who as yet hadn’t collected her share. “I’m in some of the pictures in the hall.” But even those weren’t really hers, just the collection of a doting mother.

  He crossed to the corner of the living room where Allison had placed the loaner car seat she’d used to bring Joy home from the hospital. Carefully, so as not to wake her, Brock settled the baby into the seat, taking the receiving blanket from the coffee table to tuck around her.

  Then he stepped back to Allison and pointed to the gift she still hadn’t unwrapped. “Now you’ll have something else that’s yours.”

  Allison released the last strip of tape to reveal a silver picture frame. “Oh, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

  She rolled the frame, an appropriate gift for an acquaintance, around in her fingers. The metal felt cool, smooth in some places and rough where a trail of flowers had been etched into its surface.

  “How did you manage to find something so beautiful on Christmas Eve?” Instantly, she was sorry she’d asked. It made no difference where he’d come up with the present on such short notice—even if he’d re-gifted it.