A Baby for Christmas

by Marie Ferrarella

  And then he stood in front of her, his eyes indicating her son.

  “May I?” he asked.

  Not waiting for an answer, he very gently took the whimpering baby from Amy’s arms. Rather than place him into the crib, Connor held the boy for a moment, gently rocking him and whispering something in the baby’s ear that Amy appeared not to make out even though she had moved to the edge of her seat.

  As if by magic, the baby stopped whimpering and fussing. The next second, he was cooing and making happy noises. The boy settled down as Connor placed him into the cradle.

  “It’s got runners,” he pointed out to Amy. “So you can rock your son while I get you some tea.”

  She did as he told her, all the while staring at the baby in the cradle. Much to her relief, he looked contented. She was amazed at how calm he had become.

  “What did you say to him?” she asked. “He hasn’t been this calm in weeks.”

  “I just seem to have a knack with babies,” Connor called out from the kitchen. Within a couple of minutes, he walked back in carrying a mug of tea for her. “I guess after all the babies that have been through here, it’s a talent I just developed.”

  “All the babies coming through here?” Amy repeated, clearly puzzled. She had no idea what he was talking about.

  He realized there was no way she could know what had been going on here recently.

  “Long story,” Connor told her, handing Amy the mug and sitting down beside her.

  “I like long stories,” Amy said, taking the mug with both hands. The warmth that seeped through as she held it felt oddly comforting.

  “And I’ll tell it to you,” the six-foot-tall rancher promised gamely. “Right after you tell me yours.”

  She took a long sip of the tea, letting the soothing, hot liquid fortify her. It never occurred to her to put him off. Connor had been her best friend once—and she really needed a friend now.

  “Oh, Connor, I don’t know where to start.”

  “The beginning is always the best place,” he said kindly. When she looked at him with those same terrified eyes he’d looked into when he’d opened his door to her, he knew she needed his help. And patience. “I’ll start you off,” he said. “What’s this little guy’s name?”

  At the reference to her son, Amy seemed to light up a little.

  Studying her, Connor could see a little of the old Amy struggling to surface.

  “Jamie,” she said, uttering the name almost reverently, as if the baby was the only thing still tethering her to life.

  “How old is Jamie?” Connor asked, looking down into the cradle. After returning with tea for Amy, he’d begun gently rocking the boy again. Jamie looked as if he was about to drift off to sleep.

  “He just turned six months,” Amy answered fondly.

  For the first time, Connor detected a note of pride in her voice. It was easy to see that whatever else was wrong in her life, the baby was clearly the center of her universe.

  “Is he Clay’s?” Connor asked.

  At the mention of the other man’s name, anger flashed across Amy’s face. “He’s mine,” she said fiercely.

  “And Clay’s?” Connor prodded, his question technically still unanswered.

  In the five years that Amy had been gone from Forever, the possibility that she had taken up with another man was definitely there. But he knew Amy, knew her like he knew his siblings and himself. Possibly even better. Amy wasn’t the type to go from one man to another. She’d left town with Clay and he was willing to bet that she had remained with Clay—until something had forced her to flee with her baby.

  “Yes,” Amy admitted with a great deal of reluctance. The next moment she looked up at Connor and cried, “Oh, Connor, I’ve been such an idiot.”

  “We’ve all been there,” he said, doing his best to get her to go easy on herself.

  But it was obvious that she wasn’t about to do that. “Not like me.”

  He’d never heard her sound so terribly sad before. “Why don’t we talk about that later?” Changing the subject, Connor asked, “When was the last time you ate?”

  Amy started to answer, then stopped. She thought for a moment and then, unable to remember, she shook her head, embarrassed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that ends now,” he informed her. Taking charge—he didn’t know how to do anything else—he rose to his feet. “You stay here and I’ll put something together for you to eat.”

  He was already beginning to leave the living room to make good on his promise.

  Amy looked at him in surprise. “You cook?”

  Connor grinned. “Yeah, but I reheat better.” And then he explained. “My housekeeper, Rita, went to visit her sister in Austin for a few days, but, bless her, she prepared a bunch of casseroles for me before she left. I think she was secretly afraid that I’d wind up subsisting on scrambled eggs three times a day until she got back.”

  This, too, was news to Amy. It made her realize even further that a great deal had happened since she had left Forever.

  “You have a housekeeper?” she asked in amazement.

  “That’s right. You’d left town before Rita came to work for us.”

  He watched as Amy flushed at the mention of her having left town. Connor silently upbraided himself for having so carelessly tossed the phrase around. He didn’t want to rub salt into her wounds, especially since he had no way of knowing what those wounds were or just how deep they actually went.

  Wanting to distract her, Connor said, “Tell you what. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me? That way you can talk while I warm up your meal.” He saw the reluctant expression on her face as Amy glanced toward the cradle. “Don’t worry. If Jamie starts to cry, we’ll hear him,” Connor assured her. “The kitchen’s only a few feet away.”

  It was all the persuasion she needed to sway her. Although still a little hesitant, Amy rose to her feet and followed Connor into the kitchen.

  “When you said your housekeeper came to work for you, you used the word us,” Amy began.

  Opening the refrigerator door, he rummaged around. There were still a number of casseroles to choose from, and Rita, bless her, had labeled everything.

  “Yeah, I did,” he answered absently.

  “By ‘us,’ did you mean your brothers and Cassidy?” Amy asked.

  “Yes,” he told her, making his selection. He seemed to recall that turkey was always her favorite. But wanting to be sure he wasn’t mistaken, he asked, “Turkey okay with you?”

  “Anything is fine,” she answered, although her smile told him that he had remembered correctly. He took the casserole out and shut the refrigerator again. “So where is everyone?” Amy wanted to know. Then, not wanting to seem as if she was digging into his personal life, she clarified by saying, “Cody, Cole and Cassidy. Are they out?”

  Connor laughed softly. “Oh, they’re out, all right. They’re all out on their own.” When he saw the slightly quizzical look on her face, he added, “As in married with kids.”

  “Really?” Although her own life had taken that course, somehow, she hadn’t thought of anyone she’d left behind doing that. To discover otherwise was extremely eye-opening.

  “Really. All three of them are married. They still live around here and Cole turns up like clockwork five mornings a week to help me with the work on the ranch,” he said. He placed the casserole in the microwave oven and set the timer. “And everyone turns up here on Sundays for dinner. They’d all love to see you.”

  Just then, the microwave dinged, signaling that the meal was warm enough, and he opened the door. Taking a towel, he carefully eased the hot dish out onto the counter.

  “I doubt that,” she murmured, almost more to herself than to him.

  He looked up at he
r sharply.

  “I don’t,” he countered. “And with Jamie by your side,” he went on as he set the individual casserole dish right in front of her on the kitchen table, “you’d fit right in here.”

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he saw they had generated tears in her eyes.

  “I really doubt that,” she repeated in an even quieter voice.

  Seeing her cry really got to him. He had always felt helpless in the presence of a woman’s tears. The two times he’d been around Cassidy when she’d cried, he’d felt utterly at a loss, and Cassidy had never been one of those gentle little flowers despite the fact she was small in comparison to the rest of them.

  But seeing Amy cry just ripped his insides to shreds—and even though he was by and large a nonviolent man at heart, it made Connor want to punch out whoever was the cause behind her tears.

  Most likely, his number one candidate was Clay Patton, Connor thought. There’d never been any love lost between them to begin with and even less now.

  Connor fisted his hands at his sides in mute frustration.

  Chapter Three

  Sitting down at the table opposite Amy, Connor said nothing for a moment, letting her eat in peace. But good intentions notwithstanding, Connor could only remain quiet for so long.

  Questions grew and burned on his tongue, seeking release. He contained them for as long as he could. While he respected Amy’s privacy, there was a very strong need to know.

  “Amy,” he began, finally deciding to broach the subject, “I know that it’s really none of my business, but what happened?”

  Amy took a deep breath as if centering herself. It was obvious that she was doing her best to keep any more tears at bay.

  “I guess I do owe you an explanation, turning up on your doorstep like this,” she said.

  “You don’t ‘owe’ me an explanation,” Connor told her gently. “You don’t owe me anything, Amy. But if there’s something that you want to talk about, something you need to get off your chest, then I’m here for you. To help, not to judge,” he added, sensing that Amy might be afraid he would wind up looking down at her.

  She didn’t need that right now. Who would? What she needed was to feel safe and to know that someone was on her side, no strings attached. Amy had the same look in her eyes that one of the stray horses he’d found last summer had. There was only one thing that could put that look there: mistreatment.

  But he wasn’t about to make any assumptions or jump to conclusions. Whatever the story was, he needed to hear it from Amy.

  As Connor paused, he saw Amy put her fork down even though she had barely touched her casserole.

  Looking from the casserole to her face, Connor told her, “I can get you something else if you didn’t find that to your liking.”

  “No, the casserole’s very good,” she quickly assured him, then said, “I just kind of lost my appetite.”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s my doing.”

  Connor felt bad. Instead of distracting her, he’d forced Amy to think about what had caused her to leave everything behind and come here.

  “No, it’s not,” Amy insisted. “You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” She paused, searching for words that seemed to be eluding her. And then she raised her eyes to his, fresh tears shimmering in hers. “He threw me out, Connor,” she whispered haltingly. “Clay threw me out. He said some hateful words, telling me that I ruined his life, that Jamie and I were just lead weight dragging him down and he wanted us gone.” She made a visible attempt to rally. “He was drunk at the time, but what he said still hurt.”

  Her voice was hollow as she continued. “When he passed out, I threw some things into a suitcase, took the baby and left.” Amy stopped for a moment because her voice was close to breaking. Regaining control, she told him, “I didn’t know where to go, so I just kept driving until I drove back down here.”

  He knew that her father had died eight years ago and her mother had remarried, eventually relocating out of state. An only child, Amy had no one to turn to.

  Even if she did, he would have still made the offer he was making now. “You can stay here for as long as you need to,” he told her with quiet sincerity. “For as long as you want.”

  But Amy shook her head. “I can’t put you out like that.”

  “Who said anything about putting me out?” he asked. “You’re not exactly twisting my arm here, Amy. Last I checked, I was able to make up my own mind and my mind’s made up. You’re staying here until you pull yourself together and figure out what it is that you want to do.”

  A wave of despair washed over her. It was hard not to drown in it. “What if I never figure out what I want to do?” she asked.

  That was just the fear talking, Connor thought. What Amy needed right now was some reassurance—and some time to build up her self-esteem.

  He smiled at her. “Then you and Jamie will just go on staying here. My dad built this house with his own hands and he made sure that there were plenty of bedrooms. He always said he might never have a lot of money, but he firmly believed it was having a family that made a man rich. Before Mom died, he really wanted to fill up all the rooms with kids.”

  Amy smiled. “I remember your dad. He was a really nice man.”

  “That he was,” Connor agreed with a touch of wistfulness. And then his tone changed. “And he would have been all over my case for not making you eat your supper.”

  She looked down at the casserole. She had to admit that it was good. It was just that her stomach was tied up in knots. “Maybe, in honor of your dad, I should try to eat a little more.”

  Connor readily concurred. “Maybe you should.”

  The wail of a waking baby broke into his words. Amy was instantly alert.

  “Jamie’s awake,” she said, pushing her chair back from the table.

  Connor put his hand over hers on the table, holding her in place.

  “You finish your supper. I’ll see to the baby.” He saw the uncertain expression on Amy’s face. “Don’t look so surprised. Thanks to Cody, Cole and Cassidy, I’ve really gotten to know my way around babies.” On his feet, he pointed at the casserole dish before her. “Eat,” he ordered as he turned on his heel and went to see why Jamie was crying.

  Amy debated getting up and hurrying after him. She knew he’d told her that he could handle it, but Jamie was her son and she felt guilty about not tending to him. For the last six months, ever since Jamie had been born, hers was the only touch the baby had known. Clay had had absolutely no interest in holding his son, much less in doing any of the things that were involved in caring for the baby.

  He’s your whelp. You take care of him, Clay had snapped at her on the day that she came home from the hospital with Jamie. He hadn’t even made the effort to bring her home. A neighbor had wound up being the one to do it.

  It was the same neighbor who had taken her to the hospital when she’d gone into labor. Clay had been out and unavailable when her water broke. Her calls to him had gone straight to voice mail. Since he had next to no interest in holding down a job and was perpetually “between positions,” as he liked to say, she could only guess that he was either out drinking with his friends, or out with one of the scores of women who were always pursuing him.

  In these last six months, Clay’s attitude toward Jamie never changed. It was indifference balanced out with anger. The anger especially flared up when Jamie’s cries would interfere with his sleep, or with whatever program he was watching on TV.

  Since Clay claimed not to be able to find any work he deemed suitable and she had been forced to leave her waitressing job when Jamie was born, all three of them were living off her savings and the money that her father had left her.

  But between the bills—and Clay’s gambling debts—that money was all bu
t gone.

  Worried sick and close to her wit’s end, when Clay threw her out, she didn’t bother to try to reconcile with him. Her gut told her it was time to leave. She realized there was always an outside chance that Clay would change his mind and tell her to stay. After all, she was his only source of income and he’d been pressuring her to go back to work. But after some soul-searching, she knew she couldn’t stay with Clay any longer.

  She didn’t just have herself to think of anymore and there was no doubt in her mind that Clay Patton was not a good role model for Jamie, even though he was the boy’s father. Moreover, she didn’t want Jamie to grow up thinking that drinking, gambling and cheating on the woman he was married to were what a real man did.

  But neither was running away, she told herself ruefully. That definitely wasn’t the right example to set for Jamie, either.

  Another tear slid down her cheek as she sat at the table, trying to sort things out.

  When had life gotten to be so complicated?

  As she wiped away the tear with the back of her hand, Amy realized the baby had stopped crying. The first thing that occurred to her was something was wrong. Jamie never stopped crying so quickly. Getting up, she hurried from the kitchen back to the living room.

  She found Connor sitting on the sofa, holding her son and gently rocking him in his arms.

  “Looks like your mom’s come to check up on us, Jamie,” he told the baby. “I don’t think she really trusts me with you yet.”

  Amy couldn’t get over how peaceful Jamie seemed.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Connor,” she began, not really knowing how to end her sentence without sounding as if she was a paranoid parent.

  Taking pity on her, Connor bailed her out. “You’re really not used to anyone taking care of Jamie but you, right?”

  “Right. Clay’s not good with babies—with Jamie,” she explained.

  Connor knew that he should just leave the comment alone. But the truth of it was, he had never liked Clay Patton, even back when they were all going to school together. The dislike had come very close to hatred when Clay had run off with Amy.