The Christmas Baby Bonus

by Yvonne Lindsay

  So where on earth had he come from?

  Remembering the note Faye had left with him, Piers walked to the entrance of the house and shifted the blanket until he found the crumpled piece of paper. Carefully balancing the baby and bottle with one hand, he went to sit in the main room and read the note.

  Dear Mr. Luckman,

  It’s time you took responsibility for your actions. You’ve ignored all my attempts to contact you so far. Maybe this will make you sit up and take notice. His name is Casey, he was born on September 10 and he’s your son. I relinquish all rights to him. I never wanted him in the first place, but he deserves to know his father. Do not try to find me.

  There was an indecipherable signature scrawled along the bottom. Piers read the note again and flipped the single sheet over to see if the author had left a name on the other side. There was nothing.

  His son? Impossible. Well, perhaps not completely impossible, but about as highly unlikely as growing a market garden on the moon. He was meticulous about protection in all his relationships. Accidents like this did not happen to him. Or at least they hadn’t, until now.

  Piers did the mental math and figured, if he was the child’s father, he had to have met the baby’s mother around the New Year. He was always in Jackson Hole from before Christmas until early January and hosted his usual festivities around the twenty-fourth and on the thirty-first. But he’d been between girlfriends at the time and he certainly didn’t remember sleeping with anyone.

  The baby had slowed down on the bottle and he stared up at Piers with very solemn brown eyes. Eyes that were very much like Piers’s own. His son? Could it somehow be true? Even as he mentally rejected the idea, he began to feel a connection to the infant in his arms. A connection that was surely as unfeasible as the idea that he was responsible for this tiny life.

  The bottle was empty and Piers removed it from the baby’s mouth. So now what?

  Casey looked blissed out on the formula, the expression on his face making Piers smile as the baby blew a milky bubble. In seconds the infant was asleep. Piers laid the kid down on the couch and packed some pillows around him like a soft fortress. Then he got to his feet and reached for his phone. Someone in town had to know where the baby belonged. Because as cute as Casey was, he surely didn’t belong to him.

  He dialed the number for one of the café and bar joints in town, a place where the locals gathered to gossip by day and party and occasionally fight by night. If anyone knew anything about a new baby in town, it would be these guys. Except the call didn’t go through. He checked the screen—no reception. He reached for the landline only to discover it was out of action, too.

  “Damn,” Piers cursed on a heavy sigh.

  The storm had clearly grown a lot worse while he was occupied with his unexpected guest. Maybe he should go and check on the backup generator. He was just about to do so when he heard a knocking at the front door. Puzzled, as he wasn’t expecting any of his guests for a few more days yet, he went across to open it.

  “Faye? What happened to you?”

  His eyes roamed her face as he took her arm and led her inside toward the warmth of the fireplace. She was pale and she had a large red mark on her face, like a mild gravel rash or something, and she shivered uncontrollably. Her jacket, which was fine for show but obviously useless in actual snowy conditions, was sodden, as were the jeans she wore, and her sneakers made a squelching sound on the floor tiles.

  “A t-t-tree came d-d-down on the driveway,” she managed through chattering teeth.

  “You’re going to have to get out of these wet clothes before you get hypothermic,” he said.

  “T-too late,” she said with a wry grin. “I think I’m already th-there.”

  “Come on,” he said leading the way to a downstairs bathroom. “Get in a hot shower and I’ll get you something dry to put on. Where’s your suitcase?”

  “St-still in the b-b-back of the SUV,” she said through lips tinged with blue.

  “And the SUV?”

  “It’s stuck against the tree that came down across the drive about halfway down.”

  “Are you hurt anywhere other than your face?”

  “A f-few bruises, maybe, b-but mostly just c-cold.”

  No wonder she looked so shocky. A crash and then walking back up the drive in this weather? It was a miracle she’d made it.

  “Let’s get you out of these wet things.”

  He reached for her jacket and tugged the zipper down. Chilled fingers closed around his hands.

  “I-I can m-manage,” she said weakly.

  “You can barely speak,” he answered firmly, brushing her hands away and tugging the jacket off her. “I’ll help you get out of your clothes, that’s all. Okay?”

  Faye nodded, her hair dripping. Beneath her jacket, Faye’s fine wool sweater was also soaked through and her nipples peaked against the fabric through her bra. He bent to undo the laces on her sneakers and yanked them off, then peeled away her wet socks. She had pretty feet, even though they were currently blue with cold and, to his surprise, she had tiny daisies painted on each of her big toes. Cute and whimsical, he thought, and nothing like the automaton he was used to in the office. Near her ankle he caught sight of some scar tissue that appeared to be snaking out from beneath her sodden jeans.

  “We’ve got two options,” Piers said as he reached for the button fly of her jeans. “The best way to warm you up is skin-to-skin contact, or a nice hot shower.”

  “S-shower,” Faye said emphatically.

  Piers smiled a little. So, she wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t make a decision. For that he could be thankful, even if the prospect of skin-to-skin contact with her held greater appeal than it ought to. At least the under-floor heating would help to restore some warmth to her frigid feet. He peeled the wet denim down her legs. He always knew she was slightly built but there was lean muscle there, too. As if she did distance running or something like that.

  He’d always been a leg man and a twitch in his groin inconveniently reminded him of that fact. Now wasn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts, he reminded himself firmly. But then he noticed her lower legs and the ropey scar tissue. Faye’s hands had been on his shoulder, to help her keep her balance as he removed her jeans. Her fingers tightened against his muscles when he exposed her damaged skin.

  “I can take it from h-here,” she said, her voice still shaking with the effect of the cold.

  “No, don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he insisted and finished pulling her jeans off for her.

  No wonder she always wore trousers in the office. Those were some serious scars and she was obviously self-conscious about them. Still, they were the least of their worries right now. First priority was getting her warm again.

  “Okay.” He stepped away. “Can you manage the sweater and your underwear on your own? I’ll get the shower running.”

  Faye nodded and began to pull her sweater up and over her head. For all that she lived in Los Angeles, she had the fairest skin of anyone he’d ever seen. And were those freckles scattering down her chest and over the swell of her perfect breasts? Suddenly disgusted with himself for sneaking a peek, Piers snapped his attention back to his task before she caught him staring, but he knew he’d never be able to see her in her usual buttoned-up office wear without seeing those freckles in the back of his mind.

  The bathroom soon began to fill with steam and he turned to see Faye had wrapped a towel around herself, protecting her modesty. Even so, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the vision of her as she’d pulled her sweater off. Of the slenderness of her hips and thighs and how very tiny her waist was. Of the scar across her abdomen that had told of a major surgery at some time. Of that intriguing dusting of freckles that invited closer exploration—

  No, stop it! he castigated himself. She’s your PA, not your pl
aything.

  “Shower’s all ready. Stay in there as long as you need. I’ll be back with some clothes, then I’ll warm up something to eat.”

  For a second he considered trekking down the drive to retrieve her suitcase, but that wasn’t a practical consideration with both her and the baby needing his supervision. Which left him with the task of finding her something out of his wardrobe. An imp of mischief tugged his lips into a grin. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what he’d get her.

  * * *

  “You can’t be serious!” Faye exclaimed as she came through the bathroom door. “Surely you could have found me something better than this to wear!”

  Now that she was warm again she was well and truly back to her usual self.

  Piers fought the urge to laugh out loud. She was swamped in the Christmas sweater he’d chosen for her out of his collection and the track pants ballooned around her slender legs. At least the knitted socks he favored while he stayed here didn’t look too ridiculous, even if the heel part was probably up around her ankles. It was a relief to see her with some natural color back in her cheeks, though.

  “You needed something warm.” He shrugged. “I didn’t have time to be picky. Besides, you look adorable.”

  Faye snorted. “I don’t do adorable.”

  “Not normally, no,” he agreed amicably. “But you have to admit you’re warmer in those clothes than you would be in your own.”

  “Speaking of my own... Where are they?”

  “In the dryer—except for your coat, which is hanging up in the mudroom.”

  Faye nodded in approval and looked around. “What have you done with the baby?”

  As if on cue, a squawk arose from the sofa. A squawk that soon rose to a high-pitched scream that was enough to raise the hairs on the back of Piers’s neck. He groaned inwardly. One problem solved and another just popped right back up. It was like playing Whac-A-Mole except a whole lot less satisfying.

  “Well, aren’t you going to do something?” Faye asked with a pained expression on her face.

  “I was going to get you something to eat. Perhaps you could see to Casey.”

  “That’s his name?”

  Piers winced as the baby screamed again and he rushed over to the sofa to pick him up. The little tyke’s knees were pulled up against his chest and his fists flailed angrily in the air. For a wee thing, he sure had bushels full of temper.

  “According to the note, yes.” He held the baby up against him, but Casey wouldn’t be consoled. “What do I do now?”

  “Why would you expect me to know?” his currently very unhelpful PA responded.

  “Because...” His voice trailed off. He’d been about to say “because you’re a woman,” but saved himself in time. It was an unfair assumption to make. “Because you seem to know everything else,” he hastily blurted.

  “You deal with him. I’ll go find us something to eat.”

  “Faye, please. What should I do?” he implored, jiggling Casey up and down and swaying on the spot. All things he’d seen other people do with babies with far greater success than he was currently experiencing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the child was in pain, but how could that be so?

  Faye gestured to the empty bottle he’d left on the coffee table. “Did you burp him after you fed him?”

  “Burp him?”

  “You know, keep him upright, rub his back, encourage him to burp.”

  “No.”

  “Then he’s probably just got gas in his stomach. Put a cloth or a towel on your shoulder and rub his back firmly. He’ll come around.”

  “Like this?” Piers said, rubbing the baby’s tiny little back for all he was worth.

  “Yes, but you’ll need a towel—”

  Casey let out an almighty belch and Piers felt something warm and wet congeal on his shoulder and against the side of his neck. He fought a shudder, almost too afraid to look.

  “—in case he spits up on you,” Faye finished with a smug expression on her face.

  If he didn’t know better he’d have accused her of enjoying his discomfort, but, never one to let the little things get him down, Piers merely went through to the kitchen and grabbed a handful of paper towels to wipe off his neck and shoulder. His nostrils flared at the scent of slightly soured milk.

  “Try not to let it get on his clothes if you can help it. Unless you want to bathe and change him, that is.”

  Yes, there was no mistaking the humor in her tone. Piers turned on her, the now silent baby cradled in one arm as he continued to dab at the moisture on his shoulder.

  “You do know about babies,” he accused her.

  She shrugged in much the same way he had when she’d protested the clothing he’d given her. “Maybe I just know everything, like you said.”

  “Can you hold him for me while I go and change?”

  “You could just get me something decent to wear and I can give you this abominable snowman back,” she answered, tugging at the front of the sweater he’d given her. “Seriously, do you have an entire collection of these things?”

  “Actually, I do. So, back to my question, can you hold him for me?”

  “No.”

  She turned and walked away.

  “Then what am I supposed to do with him?”

  “Put him on a blanket on the floor or lay him on your bed while you get changed. Although, if you’ve fed him you might want to check his diaper before you put him on the bed. You wouldn’t want anything to leak out on that silk comforter of yours.”

  Piers shuddered in horror. “Check his diaper? How does one do that?”

  Faye sighed heavily and turned to face him. “You really don’t know?”

  “It doesn’t fall under the category of running a Fortune 500 company and keeping thousands of staff in employment. Nor does it come under the banner of relaxing and enjoying the spoils of my labors,” he answered tightly. “Seriously, Faye. I need your help.”

  A look of reluctant resignation crossed her dainty features. “Fine,” she said with all the enthusiasm of a pirate about to walk the plank into shark-infested waters. “Give him to me, go get changed and come straight back. I’ll give you a lesson when you’re ready.”

  * * *

  Faye reluctantly accepted the infant as Piers handed him over and was instantly forced to quell the instinctive urge to hold him close and to nuzzle the fuzz on the top of his head. Instead she walked swiftly over to the Christmas tree, where there were more than enough ornaments and sparkling lights to hold his attention until Piers returned.

  She could do this, she told herself firmly. It was just a baby. And she was just a woman, whose every instinct compelled her to nurture, to protect, to care. Okay, so that might have been the old Faye, she admitted. But the reinvented Faye was self-sufficient and completely independent. She did not need other people to find her joy in life, and she was happier with everyone at a firm distance. She did what she could on a day-to-day basis to ensure Piers’s life ran smoothly, both in business and personally, and that was where her human interactions began and ended. She did not need people. Period. Especially little people, who in return needed you so much more.

  “You look comfortable with him. Has he been okay?”

  Faye hoped Piers hadn’t seen her flinch at the unexpected sound of his voice. Give the man an inch and he took a mile. No wonder it had become her personal mission to stay on top of their professional relationship every single day.

  “What? Did you expect me to have carved him up and cooked him for dinner?”

  Piers cocked his head and looked at her. “Maybe. You don’t seem too thrilled to be around him.”

  Faye pushed the child back into his arms. “I’m not a baby person.”

  “And yet you seemed to know what was wrong with him
before.”

  Faye ignored his comment.

  Of course she knew what was likely wrong with little Casey. Hadn’t she helped her mom from the day she’d brought little Henry home from the hospital? Then, after the accident, hadn’t she spent three years in foster care, assisting her foster mom as often as humanly possible with the little ones as some way to assuage the guilt she felt over the deaths of her baby brother, her mom and her stepdad? Deaths she’d been responsible for. Hadn’t her heart been riven in two as every baby and toddler had been adopted or returned to their families, taking a piece of her with them every time? And still the guilt remained.

  “Knowing what to do and actually wanting to do it are two completely different things,” she said brusquely. “Now, you need to learn to change his diaper. By the way, did that note explain who he belongs to?” She switched subjects rather than risk revealing a glimmer of her feelings.

  “Me, apparently. Although I have my doubts. Quin was here at the time he was likely conceived. Casey could just as easily be his.”

  More likely be his, Faye thought privately. While Piers was a wealthy man who enjoyed a playboy lifestyle when he wasn’t working his butt off, his identical twin brother had made a habit of taking his privileged lifestyle to even greater heights—and greater irresponsibility—always leaving a scattering of broken hearts wherever he went. Faye could easily imagine that he might have been casual enough to have left a piece of himself here and moved on to his next conquest with not even a thought to the chaos he may have left behind. Still, it didn’t do to think ill of the dead. She knew Piers missed his brother. With Quin’s death, it had been as though he’d lost a piece of himself.

  “What do you plan to do?” she asked.

  “Keep him if he is my son or Quin’s.”

  “What if he’s not?”

  “Why would his mother have any reason to bring him here if he wasn’t?”

  She had to admit he had a good point, but she noticed he’d dodged her question quite neatly. Almost as neatly as she might have done in similar circumstances.