Baby In A Basket

by Helen R. Myers

  “Me, too. Gran’s the one who likes the action and shoot-’em-up films.”

  “I know. In cooler weather when she works with the windows open, she plays her TV so loud I could swear there’s a police raid going on at your place. She can make sleeping late on a Saturday or Sunday quite a challenge.”

  “That’s why I wear my earphones so much when I’m working,” Jenny replied with a sympathetic look over her shoulder. “But don’t worry, she’ll behave with the baby in the house.”

  After flipping through several more videos, she focused on the CDs—and made a surprised sound. “Who would have thought it?”

  Now what?

  “Soft rock...the classics...the Blues...and New Age!”

  Mitch didn’t have to guess what she was driving at. “New Age...what a term for art and philosophy that’s really centuries old.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “In any case, it’s soothing after a stressful day.”

  “True. I like to listen when I’m having a long, luxurious bubble bath.”

  Help. It was too easy to picture Jenny with her hair piled high, her luscious skin dewy.... Fortunately, a particularly loud crack of thunder sounded and Mitch’s attention was drawn to the baby, who’d started at the sharp sound.

  “Maybe we’d better finish the tour,” he told Jenny. “Before the electricity goes and we can’t see too well.”

  Like hers, his house had two floors, but with fewer nooks and crannies. He’d also turned the sun-drenched recreation room into his private gym.

  “So this is how you keep in shape,” Jenny said.

  “Well, flying’s not the most physical of occupations. If I didn’t do something, I’d be a wreck.”

  “You used to run. Why did you stop?”

  “Running and playing tennis proved tough on my knees. I decided I didn’t want to give up tennis, so I opted for weights and machines instead.”

  “Oh—and you have a green thumb!” Jenny cried, doing a full three-sixty to eye the lush plants lining the length of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Hardly. I asked around for something easy to grow, had a nursery write down simple directions, and basically ignored the plants otherwise.” Not wanting her to see how much her admiration meant to him, Mitch encouraged her to move on. “C’mon. You might as well see the rest of the place.”

  He gestured toward the stairs and let her go first so he could catch her if she stumbled. Following allowed him to watch her careful and protective treatment of the baby, the sway of her slim hips under the maroon-and-rose print of her jumper, and her slender ankles beneath her annoyingly long skirt. The sigh he indulged in at the top betrayed an inner conflict growing faster than he could have expected.

  His house was slightly larger than the Stevenses’ place and consisted of four upstairs bedrooms to their three. After one huge walk-in storage closet, they passed the room that had been his as a boy, then another, the main bathroom, and finally they came to the two bedrooms at the far end of the house.

  “The baby will probably do well here,” Jenny told him, indicating the room across from the master bedroom.

  Mitch frowned. “What’s wrong with my old one? Or the guest room?”

  “They’re too far away.”

  “A few yards isn’t that much.”

  “It makes all the difference. If you’re in a deep sleep, you’ll never hear her if she cries.”

  “But I use that room for an office,” he said, gesturing to the third bedroom.

  “So move the desk, file cabinets and whatnot down to the other room. How much trouble can that be for a strong man like you?”

  Flattery would get her nowhere. “You’re determined to make sure I never get a minute of sleep again, aren’t you?”

  “That’s not the issue. All right, how about setting her crib in your room for now?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “People do that all the time.”

  But did they sleep in the nude the way he did? Mitch knew he wasn’t about to ask her that. “I don’t think that’s a habit I want to start.”

  “Then I definitely suggest the room across from yours.”

  “I’ll think about it,” he said, hedging to buy time.

  Giving him a look that told him she neither understood nor approved of his stubbornness, she crossed into his room. It was what he’d been dreading most. At least he hadn’t overslept and had taken the time to make the bed.

  Like the other rooms, the walls were a textured white, the carpet a thick, champagne pile, and the furnishings designed in clean, sturdy lines to accommodate his size. Boring. But as Jenny stood in front of the king-size bed, her back to him, thoughts of design slipped from his mind, and all he could imagine was a scenario where he stretched her across the blue-and-green spread and lowered himself over her. She would look like a mermaid with her hair fanning across the deep-sea-colored covering.

  “It’s different than I expected.”

  His fantasy vanished like a popped soap bubble. “I told you that I lean toward the uncomplicated, easy-to-maintain look.”

  “I didn’t mean I don’t like it. It’s nice. Very clean. That’s important for the baby.”

  Mitch grimaced. Boy was she ever reaching for something pleasant to say. On the other hand, what had he expected? Sure, he’d lived here for the better part of his life, when he hadn’t been dragged over half of Europe by his mother and her latest spouse, but he’d collected no souvenirs of happy trips, no treasured gifts from a parent. Even his sports trophies from his school days were shoved back deep into bookcases where they could serve some purpose as bookends.

  The only adornments in the room were an onyx-and-brass alarm clock on the bed stand he had bought himself, along with the two brass-and-wood lamps with deep blue shades, and the leather case on the dresser, which held his watch, college ring, a few pairs of cuff links and some tie tacks. He received his pleasure from doing not collecting.

  “At least you don’t have to deal with the hot afternoon sun.”

  While he’d been brooding, Jenny had moved on to peer out one of the bedroom windows. He knew she was noting the position of his room to hers. They were directly across from each other, a point that sometimes tempted Mitch to move back into his old room, except that he liked the master bath that came with this one.

  He cleared his throat. “It would be cooler if you lowered your blinds.” Especially when she was sleeping.

  “I know, but I like watching the moon and stars before I fall asleep.”

  She liked driving him crazy with views of her prancing around in her lacy poet shirts and other equally feminine nighties before climbing into bed. Mitch rubbed the back of his neck. The rain started to beat a strong tattoo on the window. It was his favorite weather for curling up for a lazy afternoon.

  “I thought you were going to help me get the baby settled?” he asked, almost sounding desperate.

  “Sure, but you still haven’t decided in which room you’re going to let her stay. For the time being, though, this will do, won’t it, Mary?” she said, placing the baby in the middle of the bed.

  To Mitch’s dismay, she half sat, half lay down beside the child and began using the pillows to build a frame around the infant. What a picture...Jenny, looking like a flower, her cheeks no less pink than her T-shirt, her thick dark braid caressing her breast with every move. Small wonder his child was already gazing up at her with wonder. Before long she would have Mary not only doting but relying on her.

  If he wasn’t careful, he would end up needing Jenny too much himself. It was a terrifying thought, considering the track record he came from.

  “There.” Giving Mary a tender kiss on her forehead, Jenny rose from the bed and crossed to Mitch. “All right.”

  He lifted an eyebrow as she reached up, took the jacket and tie that he’d slung over his shoulder, and tossed them on the armchair behind him. “All right?” he asked.

  “Now she can sleep and we can get
to it.”

  Chapter Three

  Get to it...get to it...get to it.

  Jenny’s provocative statement haunted Mitch all night. He should have known it had been harmless on her part—merely her way to initiate going through the baby’s things and setting up a work space and routine for caring for Mary. But between what his imagination had concocted, and his later concern that the child was safe in her basket bed, well, he’d done well to get any sleep.

  By four o’clock the next morning, he gave up, and by five, Mitch had showered, dressed in his uniform, changed and fed the baby, and changed her again. Now he was peeking out between the slats of his bedroom blinds to make sure Jenny was awake.

  It was time to take Mary next door. If he didn’t leave by six, he could easily get tied up in traffic. Missing yet another flight just wasn’t going to happen. But going next door and facing Jenny again, after what he’d endured yesterday, was asking a great deal.

  “Come on, McCord. All you have to do is get in and get out.”

  That’s the way he should do it. No lingering, not too much small talk. He could manage. With any luck, she would be so eager to get her hands on the baby, she would hardly be aware that he’d escaped.

  The lights were bright in the kitchen and dinette windows, and he could see Jenny bustling around, preparing to get the bulk of her cooking and baking done before the heat of the day set in. She had managed to eke out a seemingly decent living for herself with her little specialty business, as had her grandmother by creating designer-quality knit apparel. That was virtually all Mitch knew about what they did, and all he wanted to know.

  He went to collect the baby. Mary had fallen asleep again and now barely stirred as he carried her downstairs, then from his house to the Stevenses’. Yesterday’s downpour had cleansed the air, allowing the heady fragrances from Jenny’s flower beds to flirt with his senses as Mitch climbed the stairs that led to her kitchen. Fully expecting to knock, Jenny surprised him by opening the door before he reached the landing.

  “Good morning! Come in, come in.”

  “She’s sleeping,” Mitch whispered back at her.

  Jenny nodded and held the door open for him. “How’d it go last night? You were on my mind.”

  No wonder he hadn’t gotten any sleep. With all the mental energy going on between their houses, it was a wonder they hadn’t set off every electrical appliance in the area. But Mitch hid his thoughts with a benign smile. “Fine.”

  “Really? Your eyes are bloodshot.”

  “They always are at this hour.”

  The white eyelet shirt and peasant skirt Jenny wore under an old-fashioned frilly apron gave her the kind of feminine, romantic appeal an Impressionist painter would find irresistible to recapture. Mitch all but scraped the back of his jacket against the opposite doorjamb to avoid physical contact with her, afraid of what the slightest touch might do to his resistance.

  “You should try cucumber slices...or better yet, cooled tea bags. With the excess moisture squeezed out, of course.”

  Because of his own cerebral gymnastics, she’d lost him. “Squeeze tea bags—for what?”

  “Relief. Your eyes. The tea leaves will reduce swelling, too.” Jenny tilted her head for a better view of the baby. “She’s precious. Did she keep you up all night?”

  “Not at all.” That was something he wanted to take up with Jenny. “She didn’t even rouse for her 2:00 a.m. feeding as you warned she would.”

  Jenny chuckled. “So why are you complaining? I said she might wake up. Maybe you’re lucky to have one of the perfect models.”

  But Mitch could tell she was surprised and ... a bit miffed that he’d lucked out in getting a kid that well behaved.

  “Where should I put her?” he asked. “She shouldn’t be exposed to too much noise.” He didn’t care if that made him sound like a know-it-all. But to his relief, Jenny took it—him—in stride.

  “The living room for now. Later after Gran gets up and turns on the TV, I’ll figure out someplace better. Here, let me have that tote first.”

  Once Faith Harper at the Baby Boutique heard Mitch was going to ask Jenny to baby-sit while he was gone, she had talked him into buying a quilted shoulder bag for the baby’s paraphernalia. On his way home yesterday he’d worried that Faith would phone Jen before he had a chance to present his case. No telling what he would be doing now if things hadn’t worked out.

  While Jenny set the bag on a kitchen chair, he put the baby on the couch in the living room, lingering to watch her. A strange contraction gripped his heart. A silly feeling, when he thought about it. They’d only been together a few hours, hardly long enough to feel any real attachment. But looking at her sweet, peaceful expression and noting how her little bow mouth puckered and worked, he knew that if there was any way around it, he would have happily phoned in and asked for someone to relieve him on today’s flight, as well.

  With a sigh he backed away and returned to the kitchen.

  “Time for a cup of coffee?” Jenny asked, her big brown eyes romance-novel limpid as she gazed up at him.

  “Better not. I need to try to make up some points from yesterday.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a note he’d written earlier. “Here’s a few phone numbers in case something—”

  “Everything will be fine, Mitch.”

  “Yeah, but you should be able to reach me no matter what. I’ll leave a message at the airport to let them know that if you call you should be put through right away.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly. “I do appreciate you making yourself so accessible.”

  Too accessible. Now there wouldn’t be a corner available for him to hide in where Jenny couldn’t find him if she chose to initiate a hunt. There would be no escape from her melodious voice, no avoiding thoughts of her, no forgetting that he would have to deal with her all over again when he got back.

  He gestured toward the tote. “Anyway, I put a little of everything I had in there. If it’s not enough...” He began to reach for his wallet.

  Jenny grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare start that. I know your IOU is as good as gold.”

  He meant to remove her hand, but somehow his hand had developed a mind of its own. Suddenly he found himself closing his fingers around hers. He looked down to see how much larger and tanned he was in comparison, and despite her hard work, how much softer her skin felt. It brought back a familiar curiosity and temptation that always taunted him when he found himself in her presence.

  Swallowing, he met her watchful gaze. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Jen.”

  “I know you do. It’s written all over your face.”

  What else did she see there? His troubled feelings and attraction for her? God help him, he hoped not. Jenny was a decent girl. Woman. She deserved better than an emotional coward like him.

  Something of his feelings must have telegraphed itself to her, because before he could back away, she reached up and kissed his cheek.

  “Don’t worry, McCord. Your little girl is in the best hands.” The next thing he knew, she was pushing him toward the door. “Now get out of here before you end up missing another flight and deprive me of getting to play with your daughter.”

  “I do still need to get my bag and lock up the house,” he said, mostly to regain his psychological footing.

  “If you want to call when you arrive at LAX, feel free.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll probably do that.”

  “Have a safe flight.”

  She seduced him with attentiveness: a sweep across his shoulder to brush away a piece of lint, a quick tug to bring him closer and adjust his collar, a tender rub of his back to bolster him emotionally. It was all Mitch could do not to peck her on the lips as he headed out the door. But he was no Ward Cleaver. If he got that close to Jenny Stevens’s delectable mouth, he would be darned if he would settle for some chaste insect bite of a kiss!

  “Yeah,” he murmured seconds after she shut the door behind him. H
e glanced over his shoulder to stare at the thick, weather-darkened screen and heavier wood barrier between them “’Bye.”

  Jenny pressed her ear to the door to listen to Mitch leave, a foolish grin curving her lips. Preoccupied, she almost missed the shuffling sound behind her.

  “And exactly what do you think you’re up to?”

  She should have known the Human Radar would show up. With an inner sigh, she faced her grandmother. “Morning! You’re up earlier than usual. I’ll get your coffee.”

  “Not so fast. I saw that little smile on your face and it’s not reassuring.”

  “Since when is it a crime to be pleasant and strive for a positive attitude? Aren’t you always muttering about how you hate your habit of scowling and how it puckers this and wrinkles that? Now I’m trying to avoid the same thing and you’re picking on me.”

  Not a muscle moved on her grandmother’s round, apple-cheeked face. “You have your grandfather’s quick mind and fast tongue.”

  “Not just his. I have some of your genes, too.” Unafraid of what her grandmother would throw at her, because as nagging as the woman could get, she was still a dear and had only Jen’s best interests in mind, Jenny headed for the coffee machine. “And what’s wrong with being pleased at how things are working out?”

  “You call this working out? Mr. Friendly Skies got himself into a mess and he turned to you because you’re convenient. But you, with that stardust in your eyes, you see nothing ahead of you but fair flying weather and a bridal bouquet.”

  “Don’t get overly dramatic.”

  Fiona uttered a soft snort as she accepted the mug of steaming coffee and added milk from the creamer Jenny had already set out. “I don’t know where I went wrong.”

  “That’s because you didn’t.”

  “I raised you as carefully as I could. Instilled in you a respect for people, a pride in food and home. Why, you’ve made a name for yourself as someone who cares about what you produce. You have the most charming, responsible bachelors in New Hope knocking at your door—”

  “A result of you hustling dates for me at church and the market.”