“She woke early and has been fussy. Looks flushed.”
Violet placed her lips on Abigail’s forehead. “She feels a little warm to me. Did you take her temperature?”
He winced because he had hundreds of dollars of baby paraphernalia but not the equipment he needed. “I apparently missed buying a thermometer.”
“I have one. Be right back.” She handed over the infant and hurried out the door.
Worried about Abigail and not wanting to drag her to the work site again, he decided he would skip going as planned. There wasn’t a lot Jake needed to do that morning anyway, other than check on the cabinet installers and hurry up the interior painters. He texted Zeb. When Zeb didn’t reply, he called the man’s voice mail to check in and leave instructions.
Violet returned with a bag and pulled out a funny-looking gadget. “Here we go.”
“That doesn’t look like the thermometers I remember.”
She laughed as she gently placed it against Abigail’s temple. “You’ve got to admit this is much more pleasant than the alternative—which, by the way, is my preferred method to measure an accurate temp.”
The instrument beeped, and she showed him the result. One hundred degrees. Now what?
He glanced at the doctor, searching for signs of concern. “From what I read online this morning it isn’t considered a fever until a hundred point four.”
“That’s a good guideline, but we worry more about the young ones.” She brushed back the baby girl’s wispy black hair. Felt her neck.
She didn’t look too concerned, but his stomach churned anyway. He was not fit to parent a baby. He could set budgets, place orders, coordinate schedules, direct multiple crews of workers and make tough decisions all day long. But throw in a variable like four-tenths of a degree of body temperature and he turned into a bumbling idiot.
Abigail whimpered.
“Why don’t we take her temp again?” he said. “Just to make me feel better.”
“Sure. I’ll show you how.”
They went to the living room, and he laid Abigail on the couch. Violet gave him the thermometer and directed him on using it.
Ninety-nine point nine. “Should we be concerned?”
“I doubt it. But I brought my bag, so let me check her over.”
His phone vibrated. A new text message.
While she looked in Abigail’s ears, he checked the text from Zeb.
Owner said kitchen tile wasn’t right color. I checked the order. Is exactly what you told us.
Frustration cinched his gut. Changes cost money and time. I’ll look into it. Baby may be sick, he texted back.
“Ears are fine.” Violet warmed a stethoscope and listened to Abigail’s lungs. “Honestly, she seems fine. Did she cry again last night?”
“From about nine to midnight.”
“Looking more like we’re dealing with colic.”
His phone buzzed again. “Excuse me just a minute. I have a problem at work.”
“Go ahead. I’ll walk with her outside and see if I can calm her.” Violet swaddled the baby in a receiving blanket, then went through the kitchen and out the back door.
The text was from Zeb again. Mrs. E says she hopes you won’t let babysitting interfere with your job.
Mrs. Emerson was the owner of one of the homes they were building. She tended to walk around the work site in a business suit and three-inch high heels, breathing down everyone’s neck. But Jake wanted her to love her home.
He got Zeb on the phone. “Tell Mrs. Emerson not to worry. I want my customers happy.”
“Will do.” Zeb snickered. “Baby is fussy, huh? Sounds like you’re a regular Mr. Mom.”
Jake had seen the man with his grandkids. Zeb had a tough-as-nails exterior and a marshmallow-puff interior. “Yeah, you keep making fun. Next time I see you swinging beside one of your grandkids at the park, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Well, Mr. Mom has a backbone after all.”
Jake snorted a laugh. “The girl has been fussy. Temp is a little elevated.”
“When in doubt, go to the doctor. Another excuse to get cozy with the cute new pediatrician who about chewed your rear off Saturday.”
Wondering how many people had overheard that discussion made his face burn. “The doc is actually here checking her now. But I assure you, there’s no coziness where Violet Crenshaw is concerned.” A quick glance out the back door gave him a good excuse to avoid the topic. “In fact, I need to go check on them.”
“You do that, Jake.” Zeb was laughing as he disconnected.
* * *
Soft, jet-black hair that smelled like baby shampoo brushed against Violet’s cheek, melting her insides. Calm and relaxed, she was pleased her first appointment wasn’t until eight-thirty. She didn’t need to hurry home.
And Abigail seemed to be relaxing, too. Was getting sleepy.
Jake came out the back door. The sight of him in a T-shirt that molded to his work-toned muscles instantly shot her heart rate up, undoing any soothing from holding Abigail.
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
“Better.” She smiled at him, knowing he could use some encouragement.
He held up the thermometer he’d brought with him, then took another reading. “Ninety-eight point seven.” His shoulders dropped. “That’s good. I feel stupid for worrying.”
“Don’t apologize for erring on the side of caution. Little ones like this can get sick quickly.”
“I was afraid I’d done something wrong bathing her last night. Was afraid she’d gotten chilled. She wasn’t a happy camper through that nightmare.”
Violet bit back a smile. “Bathing will get easier.”
“I hope. I think I took too long. She was okay at first, but then the water got cool. She started squalling, all stiff and furious. I bundled her up afterward, making sure she warmed up.”
Violet’s chest squeezed. The image of this tall, brawny man doing something sweet like warming a chilled baby battered at her heart.
He held out his arms for Abigail.
Hating to give up the warm, sleeping bundle, she handed her over, willing a steel rod into her spine instead of the gelatin this man had put there. “You’re doing fine, Jake. Do you think the fussiness this morning seemed different from the crying she’s done at night?”
“Definitely. This morning’s fussiness hasn’t been as severe. At night, no matter what I do to comfort her, she continually shrieks—which, for the record, is horrendous.”
“I can imagine.”
“I walk the floor, rocking her, singing, cracking dumb jokes, doing everything but standing on my head. It’s as if I’m not even there.” He shrugged, his eyes troubled. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”
Warning, warning! No melting of heart allowed.
“Today, though, I could console her briefly. She didn’t all-out cry, just whimpered and whined.”
“Hmm. That does sound more like a baby feeling ill. There’s a chance she has a tummy ache or some gas. Are you remembering to burp her after her bottles?”
“Yes. But she has been drawing up her legs as if her stomach hurts. One of my subcontractors mentioned a change of formula curing his grandchild’s colic.”
Violet would make a note of the stomach pain in Abigail’s file. “Every now and then, I’ve found changing to lactose-free formula does help. How about I bring some samples to you at lunchtime?”
“It would be easier if I just dropped by to pick them up. Besides, I’d feel better if you weighed the little gal. To make sure she’s growing okay.”
His concern made her stomach swoop. “I’ll be happy to weigh her for you. Come by at noon.”
“Great, thanks.”
Jake carefully wrap
ped the blanket tighter around Abigail, every tuck of the fabric jarring loose more of the protective barrier from around Violet’s heart, releasing the longing she’d held at bay for so long.
Longing for a husband of her own and a baby to love.
She worked with babies every day. Why was Abigail different?
Could the difference be Jake? What was it about him that gave her crazy notions of love and family?
He rubbed his big, strong hand over Abigail’s tiny head. It hit her then why Jake affected her so. It was because he was a single guy suddenly stuck with a baby.
A guy who needed Violet’s help.
Cold rushed through her veins. She absolutely could not allow herself to fall into the being-needed trap. That’s how she’d gotten sucked into an inappropriately intense—and intimate—relationship with Hank in high school. And ended up pregnant.
She would never, ever again get sucked in by a needy man.
Jake’s not really needy, a little niggling voice said. He’s not manipulating you, demanding your total devotion. He’s just a strong man in a temporary, unfamiliar situation.
He kissed the baby’s forehead and then looked into Violet’s eyes. The moment went on longer than normal—too long—and suddenly something flared between them.
Violet could barely breathe. “We’re usually closed at lunch, so if no one is at the front desk, come on back to the first exam room.”
“Okay. We’ll see you at noon.” His grateful smile did crazy things to her insides.
“I, uh, need to get to the office.” She shot toward the row of hedges between their houses, escaping the handsome babysitter who made her want things she feared wanting.
* * *
A grinning puppy with human-like teeth mocked Jake.
The pup was pictured on a giant, kid-friendly poster hanging on the wall in the pediatric exam room. This whole scenario—him in the former office of the family who raised him, being questioned about a baby who shouldn’t be in his care by the woman who had “bought” the practice from them—was laughable. Sad, but laughable.
Violet, who’d been so helpful that morning, had turned back into serious doctor mode at the office. “Here are the samples.” She pointed to a bag. “Abigail’s weight is good. She’s gained a couple of ounces, which is right on target. Before we try changing her formula, I’d like to first consult with her mother or her regular pediatrician.”
“I have written permission from Remy to make decisions for Abigail.”
“Still, I’d like to find out what they’ve fed her in the past. Find out if she had any complications at birth.” She gave a tense smile and waited, refusing to retreat.
He felt as if the signed document was useless. The phone number Remy had listed on it was a dead end. Disconnected.
“I want to go ahead and try the samples,” he said.
“If you know the name of the regular pediatrician, I can give the office a quick call.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Can you call Remy to ask?” On the rolling stool that had once been his uncle’s perch, the doctor sat with a stethoscope around her neck, a pen in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face.
No wonder. None of the situation made a lick of sense if she didn’t know the whole story.
He couldn’t cover for Remy forever. But what if Violet chose to call in the authorities? Jake did not want Abigail put in the system. It had happened to him after his parents died, before his aunt and uncle agreed to take him.
Jake looked down at Abigail, who was once again nodding off, content for the moment. The quiet times, times when she looked so peaceful in his arms, settled inside him like a warm blanket.
Three nights with her, and already he was attached.
He looked up at Violet. “I haven’t been able to get hold of Remy.”
“What do you mean?”
The thought of Remy never showing up made his lungs squeeze. How would he manage?
“Jake? How long will your cousin be gone?”
“I don’t know when she’ll return. Maybe never.”
Violet sucked in a breath through her nose, but the expression on her face remained neutral. A real professional. “Is this a new development?”
He nailed her with his gaze, praying she’d understand. “I thought she would come back by now. I’m going to have to find her.”
“Remy gave you this medical consent,” she said, waving the file folder, “but then decided not to return?”
What if he never found her? What if he found her, but she refused to take Abigail back? His heart slammed against his chest as he debated telling Violet the last piece of the story.
The doctor sat waiting.
“When Remy dropped off the baby, she said she wants me to raise her daughter.” He pulled the handwritten and signed piece of lined notebook paper out of the diaper bag and handed it to her.
Violet’s professional aloofness cracked. Concern put a wrinkle in her forehead, which didn’t do a thing to boost his confidence. “That’s not official.”
“Maybe not. But it’s all I know at the moment.”
“Why would she want to give up her child?”
Abigail let out a little whimper and stiffened her legs. He rubbed her tummy.
“My cousin has had some drug problems in the past.” Problems he’d tried like crazy to fix but had never been able. “Though she said she’s been clean for over a year, I don’t know what kind of situation she’s in.”
“What about the father?”
“He died and has no family.”
Nodding, Violet rolled her stool closer and smoothed the baby’s hair, almost as if she needed to comfort her for having a disappearing mom. The doc could be a kind, compassionate woman—when she wanted to be.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “For Abigail, and for you, Edith and Paul.”
“Thanks.”
Her hazel eyes met his, and the warm, tender look he’d seen was gone. “But the authorities should be involved.”
His insides froze. “I’m not letting Abigail go into the foster care system, not when Remy wants her with me. I’ll find Remy and we’ll work it out.”
“Do you really believe she’s gotten clean?”
“She seemed different the other day. Almost as if she was truly sad to leave the baby but was doing what she thought best for her daughter.” Although she’d been hard as well, hard and still bitter toward him.
Violet chewed the inside of her lip as if unsure, as if weighing her options.
How would he possibly deal with handling a baby long-term? Pushing down the panic, he focused on keeping Abigail out of foster care. “My uncle is also trying to track Remy down. We need some time.”
Her gaze clashed with his. “I’m just thinking of the welfare of the child.”
“I can respect that. I promise you, if we don’t find Remy soon, I’ll contact a lawyer to figure out the next step.”
“What if you find her, and she’s back on drugs?”
Jake had no idea what he’d do. Had no idea what Edith and Paul would want to do.
But he couldn’t go there right now. “At this point, I have to assume the best outcome—that Remy is clean and will want to raise her child.”
Pain flashed in Violet’s eyes. “Sometimes circumstances make that impossible.”
“I guess we’ll find out. In the meantime, I’m going to make sure Abigail stays with family.” Jake slipped the girl back in her car seat and buckled the straps. Then he put the new formula in the diaper bag. “Thanks for the samples.”
Violet observed him through squinted eyes as if trying to see inside him, to test his character. “Call if she’s not better in a couple of days.”
“I will.” A tense breath ea
sed out of him. Would she let him deal with their family situation as he saw fit?
She drummed her fingers on the exam table, crinkling the paper covering, as she stared at the baby. “Abigail is well cared for, so I won’t make any calls right now. I’ll give you, Edith and Paul time. But I’ll be checking on her.”
Sawing his teeth back and forth, he bit back the retort that nearly flew out of his mouth. “I may not know a lot about infants, but Abigail is my flesh and blood. You can rest assured I’ll protect her.”
A knock sounded on the door, and the nurse, someone Jake didn’t know, stuck her head inside. “Dr. Crenshaw, we’re back from lunch, and your first patient is waiting for you.”
The young woman didn’t look pleased that the man and baby who’d barged in during lunch were still there.
“Remember,” Violet said to Jake. “Keep in touch.” She snapped the medical file closed and zipped out of the room.
Jake had to get out of there and find Remy. And he had to do it before Violet changed her mind about calling the authorities.
Chapter Four
Birds busily chirped and whistled as Violet finished her morning run. She bent over, resting her hands on her thighs and sucking in air, then forced herself up to walk two laps around the perimeter of the yard to cool down. When she reached the patio, she stretched her tired muscles. How many patients will I see today? She still needed to check the calendar and hoped this week would bring in more income than last week.
How much will the July electric bill be? It’s been so hot this summer.
The sunrise lightened the sky from gray to a pale blue as she pulled in a slow, deep breath, held it, then released it, expelling worries that tried to intrude. She refused to brood over how Jake’s grumbling around town had affected her ability to bring in patients.
Did Abigail have a good night?
No. Don’t go there. She needed to use the early-morning time wisely.
Violet never needed an alarm clock. Hadn’t since her teens. Something internal woke her every morning between four and five o’clock, and then her thoughts—of the past and of the present—kept her awake. In the beginning, the early rising frustrated her. But since moving into this house, she’d learned to battle the frustration by being productive. She’d usually run to burn off tension, then spend time outside preparing for the day by studying patient cases or reviewing her schedule.
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