Leopold, Part Six: A Royal Heartbreakers Romance

by Renna Peak

  A Warning: This story contains spoilers for the entire Cunningham Family series. (If you haven’t read my Cunningham Family books yet but are interested in doing so, HIS WICKED GAMES, the first book in the series, is currently FREE everywhere!)

  NOAH’S FIRST CHRISTMAS

  A Cunningham Family Short Story

  “I don’t think he’s bundled up enough,” Calder says, looking down at Noah.

  For a moment, I think he’s joking. Our four-month-old son is wrapped up so completely that the only bits of him you can see are his chubby red cheeks and his dark eyes. I’ve spent the last half hour preparing him for his first foray out into the snow, clothing him in everything from fleece-lined booties to a tiny coat so puffy he’s basically doubled in size. He looks like an adorable little marshmallow, and his white wool hat—one of his aunt Louisa’s recent knitting projects—completes the picture.

  When I look over at Calder, though, I find him frowning.

  “He’ll be warm enough,” I assure him, tightening a mitten around Noah’s tiny little fist. “In fact, he’ll probably be sweating under all these clothes.”

  Calder glances out the window, the corners of his mouth tightening as he takes in the snow-kissed scene outside. It’s our first vacation since Noah was born, and I’m beginning to think Calder might be regretting our decision to rent a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains for our son’s first Christmas. Right now, he’s probably thinking we should have headed somewhere in the Caribbean—somewhere without a flake of snow in sight.

  “The poor little guy can hardly move,” I say, making sure Noah’s scarf is tucked snuggly around him. “But don’t worry—all of his little fingers and toes are safe.” I take Noah’s mittened hand and squeeze it. “Isn’t that right, Noah? You’re ready to see your first snow, aren’t you?”

  Noah giggles, the sound partially muffled by his scarf. His father, though, is still frowning.

  “It’s not his fingers and toes I’m worried about,” Calder says. “It’s the fact that the road back down the mountain is probably impassible.”

  I pick up Noah and come to stand beside Calder at the window. The day is clear—the sky as brilliant a blue as I’ve ever seen it, even in summer—and the seven inches of snow that have collected on the ground shine a brilliant white.

  “I’m sure we can get down if we’re desperate,” I say. “But chances are, we won’t need to. We have way more food than we could ever eat in the next week. And you would have noticed by now if you’d forgotten anything important.” I bounce Noah on my hip, trying to keep my tone upbeat for his sake. Calder’s been on edge since we arrived here two days ago, and even though I told myself it was just normal holiday nerves—which are inevitable, given how much family drama Calder and his sister have been through—I’m beginning to think it’s more than that.

  I almost ask him outright what’s going on, but I know my husband—he’ll tell me when he’s ready to tell me, and not a moment before.

  “Why don’t we go outside?” I say. “I want to get some pictures of this little marshmallow in the snow.”

  Calder’s lips purse slightly, but then he nods. “All right. I’ll grab the camera.”

  A few minutes later, we’re outside the cabin, and I crouch down close to the ground and scoop up a handful of fluffy white snow.

  “Look at this, Noah,” I say, offering it to him. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Noah has just gotten to the stage of his life when he’s starting to get truly curious about the world around him. His dark eyes lock onto the snow in my upturned palm, and one of his mittened hands reaches for it. He hasn’t quite mastered the art of gripping things yet—and I know the mittens don’t help—so his hand goes right through the pile of fluffy flakes. Still, he seems absolutely delighted by this new discovery. He makes a gurgling noise and shoves his mitten into the snow again.

  I grin at him then look up at Calder, who’s moved the camera aside for a moment to stare down at our son in pure wonder. The look I see in his eyes as he watches Noah sends a beautiful ache through me. I know raising a son with Calder would be amazing, but I still wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the emotions involved. I thought I loved Calder before, but those feelings seem to pale next to what I’ve experienced since we started a family together. I never knew this sort of joy existed.

  Every day I get to watch Noah get bigger and more curious. And every day he seems to look more and more like his father—from his dark eyes to his thick, nearly black hair. Calder tells me Noah looks like me, but I don’t see it. I suspect our son is going to be the spitting image of his father when he gets older.

  This is everything I ever could have wanted, I think. Well—almost everything. In a different time and place I would have wanted Noah to know his grandmother—my mother—but in spite of our efforts, Calder and I still haven’t been able to locate her yet.

  I glance back at Calder. Is it possible he’s heard something about her? That one of his investigators has finally stumbled upon a clue to her whereabouts? Could that be why he’s been acting so strangely? But no, that won’t be it—no matter what the news might be, Calder knows better than to keep anything about my mother from me, even for an hour. Much less two days.

  Calder crouches down beside me and rubs a hand against our son’s white puffy coat. Noah’s eyes flick over to his dad, and he gives another happy little gurgle.

  Calder’s smile broadens, and then he looks up at me. “Lily, I—”

  He’s cut off by a squeal of joy from behind us. I look over my shoulder to see Calder’s sister, her husband, and our niece coming out of the cabin. Little Ramona totters ahead of her parents, obviously excited for a morning of playing in the snow. Lou starts after her, but she’s stopped when Ward slips his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back toward him. He presses his lips to her cheek, and she laughs and twists in his arms, tilting her face up to his. She kisses him fully on the mouth while Ramona toddles forward and practically throws herself into the snow.

  “They should be watching her more closely,” Calder murmurs to me, and I can hear the concern in his voice.

  “She’s fine,” I say, watching as Ramona clumsily hauls herself back to her feet. I always thought Ramona was one of the most cheerful and resilient little babies I’d ever met—until Noah came into our lives. I think my son is going to his his cousin a run for her money in the “Happiest Baby” competition.

  Noah makes another grab for the snow, and I smile down at him. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I can tell that Calder is still watching his sister and her husband. A groove has formed on his brow, and that frown is on his lips again.

  “Here,” I say to him. “Why don’t you hold Noah for a little while?”

  I pass our son into Calder’s arms, and though he’s held Noah a thousand times before, I can tell that something is different right now. He holds him a little too snugly, a little too close to his chest—almost like he did just after Noah was born, when both of us were deathly afraid that we’d accidentally drop him or break him somehow.

  I stand and turn back to Lou and Ward. Ward has scooped up Ramona by the armpits and planted her on her feet again, and she squeals and laughs and tries to set off running again—or at least what passes for running at her age. This time she makes it about ten feet before she falls face-first into the snow again.

  Behind me, I hear Calder suck in his breath. I know that sound—he’s clear to me that he’s judging his sister and her husband for not keeping a closer rein on Ramona.

  I glance over my shoulder at him.

  “What is it?” I ask, and I can feel a twinge of annoyance forming in my chest even before he answers.

  “She’s not even wearing mittens,” he says.

  “Neither are you,” I point out. “It’s not that cold.” In this part of the country, the temperatures rarely drop below the teens, even when it snows. Today it’s hardly below freezing—in fact, in the sunnier areas around the cabin, the snow i
s already melting. It’s not like we’re in the Arctic or anything.

  “Why wouldn’t they at least dress her properly for this weather?” Calder says, the groove between her eyebrows getting even deeper. “And then to let her throw herself right into the icy snow—”

  “Lou and Ward are allowed to make their own decisions about their daughter,” I say, crossing my arms. “And for what it’s worth, I think the decisions they’re making are just fine. What’s gotten into you today?”

  Calder looks back at me, but his dark eyes are unreadable. “Nothing. I’m just concerned for my niece.”

  “I beg to differ. You’re acting really strange.” I take a step closer, dropping my voice so Lou and Ward won’t overhear us. “Is everything okay?”

  “Nothing is wrong,” he insists. He looks back down at Noah. “But I do think our son is getting too cold. Look at his nose—it’s bright red.”

  Noah’s nose is only a shade pinker than normal, but Calder doesn’t give me a chance to argue.

  “I’m taking him inside,” he says, striding past me without waiting for my response.

  I turn and stare after him, my mouth open. What the hell is going on?

  Lou and Ward both greet him enthusiastically, but his response is more of a grunt than a word. Both of them look at me.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Lou asks me.

  “No idea,” I say.

  No fucking clue.

  Unfortunately, Calder’s mood doesn’t improve as the day goes on. He spends most of the day watching the rest of us like we’re all doing something terribly wrong—whether we’re outside or inside—and he spends the rest of the time frowning and staring out the window.

  I do my best to ignore it. If Calder’s in one of his moods, then there’s not much I can do about it—unless I want to start a fight. And since it’s Christmas Eve, that’s the last thing I want. On another occasion I might have pulled him aside during one of Noah’s naps and tried a different sort of discussion—one that involved few words and even fewer clothes—but frankly, I’m not interested in giving him any favors when he is the one sulking for no reason.

  About mid-afternoon I take Noah back outside, this time without his father. Calder watches us from the window the entire time, and once I look up at him and offer a conciliatory smile—and a wave indicating he should join us—but he only gives a small shake of his head and turns away.

  What the hell is his problem?

  This is Noah’s first Christmas, and the last thing I want is for him to spend it with his father behaving like this. Maybe I should just bite the bullet and extend the olive branch again. Without my clothes, if necessary.

  Unfortunately, when I head back inside and put Noah down for his final nap of the day, I’m soon roped into helping Lou with the Christmas Eve dinner. She’s being even more ambitious with the holiday menu this year than she was last year, so I promised I’d pitch in where I could. At least this year I’m not pregnant, which means I’m much less likely to end up vomiting all over the carpet.

  Hopefully helping to prepare a holiday feast will get me back into the Christmas spirit. The kitchen in this cabin is teeny tiny—a far cry from the elaborate facilities we have back at the Cunningham Family estate—but I know Lou and I will make do. I find a Christmas CD on the shelf above the cabin’s ancient stereo, and soon my sister-in-law and I are dancing around to carols as we wait for the decades-old oven to heat up.

  “Want some hot cider?” Lou asks me. “Ward made it. It was his mom’s recipe.”

  “I’d love some.”

  She ladles some warm, amber liquid into a mug for me, and as she passes it over, she cocks her head. “Is Calder still being a dick?”

  Lou has always been very blunt, and I can’t help but smile at her directness as I take the mug.

  “Dick is a pretty strong word,” I say. “But no—I still don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s…not irritable, exactly. But definitely stewing about something. I just hope he snaps out of it before dinner.”

  Lou looks thoughtful. “You guys are both exhausted—and understandably so, with the new baby and all. Maybe it’s just that.”

  “Maybe,” I say, but I’m not so sure. Yeah, the first couple of months with Noah were rough—I swear, the kid never slept—but things have gotten a little easier recently. At least now he’ll sometimes sleep for seven hours at a stretch.

  “You think it’s something else?” Lou prods.

  “I have no idea what it is. You know how your brother gets.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She passes me a recipe for some rosemary dinner rolls. “Not to pry—and believe me, I don’t need any details—but when was the last time you guys…you know…?” She gives me a suggestive look.

  In spite of myself, I feel my cheeks go warm.

  “Recently enough,” I say, quickly raising my mug to hide my red face. It took me a little time after Noah’s birth to be ready for such things again, but Calder and I have never been able to keep our hands off of each other for long. Even though we’re both horribly sleep-deprived and Noah has been quite a handful, we’ve still found some chances to be intimate recently. “I don’t think that’s the issue.”

  Lou shrugs. “Then maybe it’s just one of his moods?” She starts pulling together the ingredients for the honey-and-bourbon bread pudding she’ll be making for desert. “It does seem weird, though.”

  It does. Since Noah was born, Calder has gone above and beyond as a husband and father. He’s sat beside me during late-night feedings. He’s taken it upon himself to complete chores and tasks around our home that I used to do—usually before I even have the chance to ask him. He’s brought me flowers and given me foot rubs—and made it clear through both words and deeds that he couldn’t be more grateful to me for bringing our son into the world. Sure, we’ve had some days where in our utter exhaustion we’ve been short with each other, but I can’t blame either of us for that. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for a better partner than Calder on this journey of becoming a parent. This is the first time in four months that I’ve felt this sort of space between us.

  Stop making such a big deal out of it, I tell myself. He’s just in a bad mood today. People have bad moods sometimes.

  Lou seems to read my thoughts, because she steps over and gives me a friendly nudge with her hip.

  “Cheer up,” she says, smiling. “This meal will definitely put a smile on his face. And if it doesn’t, then just wait until Ward and I treat you to our version of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’ We’ve been practicing a very special, very cheesy version of it for Ramona.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say, returning her grin.

  A couple of hours later, she and I are setting the table for dinner, and sure enough, Calder looks slightly more cheerful as he helps us carry the plates of food over from the kitchen counter.

  “It smells delicious,” he tells me.

  “Hopefully it tastes delicious, too.” I stop and stare up at him, trying to read his mood in his eyes.

  “I’m sure it will.” He bends down and gives me a soft kiss on the lips. “I’ve just checked on Noah. He’s still sleeping soundly.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the baby monitor. “I wish this had a camera, though.”

  Back at the estate, our baby-monitoring system is the latest and greatest technology has to offer—but unfortunately, that system is not particularly mobile. Which means we’re making do with a standard monitor for the weekend.

  “He’ll be fine,” I say, resting a hand gently on his arm. “As you said, he’s sleeping soundly. And this place is small enough that even if he wakes, I’m pretty sure we’d hear him without the monitor.” I have to admit, it’s been hard to break myself of the habit of checking on Noah every five minutes, but I’m getting better at it—mostly because I’m desperate for some grown-up time again. As a family, now that Noah is more or less on a regular nap schedule, we’ve gotten into the habit of having early dinners so that the four of
us adults can actually sit down together every night. Ramona usually joins us, too, and fortunately she’s a relatively unfussy eater.

  Ward fastens Ramona into her highchair as the rest of us finish bringing food to the table. Just as we’re all about to sit, a sound comes through the baby monitor. It just sounds like Noah is stirring in his sleep, but Calder is immediately on the alert.

  “I’ll go check on him,” he says.

  The rest of us settle down at the table, and a moment later, Calder returns.

  “He’s still sleeping,” he tells me. “But that room is incredibly drafty. I gave him another blanket.”

  The room is perfectly fine—but I don’t say anything. I just nod.

  “Can we dig in?” Ward asks with a big grin. “I’m starving and everything smells so delicious I’m not sure I can wait another minute.”

  “Go ahead,” Lou replies.

  She doesn’t have to tell us twice. We all eagerly attack the dishes of food in front of us—all of us except Calder, who’s pulled the baby monitor out of his pocket again.

  “Did you hear that?” he says to me.

  “No.” I reach over and place my hand on his. “Noah is fine. You just checked on him.” I have to admit that my motherly instincts have gone on alert at Calder’s paranoia, but the logical side of my brain continues to assure me that everything is fine. “Let’s eat. He’ll let us know when he wakes.”

  A moment later, though, Calder is rising from his seat again.

  “I heard a cough,” he tells me. “I’m going to make sure he’s all right.”

  I frown as he marches back over to the stairs, then look over at Lou and Ward. Ward looks confused by Calder’s behavior, but he glances between Lou and me and apparently decides to keep his thoughts to himself. Lou shrugs and gives me a sympathetic look.

  I stare down at my plate. This is Noah’s first major trip away from the Cunningham Estate. Maybe Calder’s just having a hard time dealing with the change in environment.

  Men, bah. And they accuse us of being the complicated ones.