Prince Charming in Dress Blues

by Maureen Child

  For heaven’s sake. She’d just given birth a few hours ago.

  “But I ought to be thanking you, too,” he pointed out.

  She laughed shortly. “For what? Squeezing your hands hard enough to break bones?”

  He grinned, and Annie’s breath caught. She wondered if he was aware just how lethal a weapon that smile of his was.

  “Nope,” he said, “though you do have a hell of a grip. I meant for missing me when you threw that lamp.”

  Annie winced at the memory. “I’m sorry about that, but you did surprise me and—”

  “No problem,” he said, “I’m just glad you don’t have better aim.”

  “I have great aim,” she countered. “Labor pains distracted me.”

  “For which I’m grateful.”

  “As it turned out, so am I,” she admitted with a wry smile. After all, what would she have done if she’d knocked out her only help?

  The baby squirmed restlessly, and Annie stroked one fingertip along her cheek. Jordan turned her head into Mommy’s touch, opening and closing her mouth as she blindly searched for food. Annie smiled to herself. This she could do. Even without any of the baby supplies she had waiting at home. “She’s hungry,” she whispered.

  “Looks like,” John said, and eased back a little. Then shifting his gaze to hers, he said, “Why don’t you feed her, and I’ll go fix us something to eat. Give you two some privacy.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile. “It’s a little late to be worrying about my modesty, isn’t it?”

  He actually looked embarrassed as he stood up, shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and looked down at her. “That was different. That was an emergency situation. This is…”

  “Dinnertime?” Annie finished for him.

  “Exactly,” he said, nodding and turning for the kitchen.

  As she watched him retreat, Annie smiled to herself. An interesting man, she thought, as she unbuttoned her nightgown and bared her breast. He’d seen her through the most incredible, terrifying night of her life with a sense of calm that had eased her own fears. But he’d run from the sight of her nursing the baby he’d delivered.

  Then Jordan’s little mouth clamped around her nipple, and Annie’s mind emptied. Sensations crowded her, and she hugged every one of them to her: her child’s small warm body cuddled close; firelight dancing around the room; the wind driven snow pelting the windowpanes; and the comforting knowledge that John Paretti was in the next room.

  It wasn’t embarrassment that had chased him out of the room, John thought from the kitchen’s shadowy doorway. He’d seen women nurse babies before. Heck, there were enough Paretti cousins to populate a small country. He’d grown up surrounded by nursing women. This was something entirely different.

  Something he figured would be best left unidentified.

  But a tightening low inside him warned that ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. And not putting a name to it didn’t change a damn thing. Ridiculous, he argued silently with himself. All right, so she’s beautiful. And strong. And incredibly brave. She also just had a baby. John lifted one hand and scrubbed it hard across his face.

  Man, he was some kind of dog, he thought. He had to be. Otherwise, why would he find the sight of Annie breast-feeding her baby so damned erotic? Hell, he’d been alone too long. What he needed was to get back into the dating pool. Find himself a nice, warm body to cozy up to. Unfortunately, the only warm body he was interested in was out there in the main room. And she wouldn’t be cozying up to anybody for at least six weeks. Even then, he thought, she probably wouldn’t be interested in dating a man who’d already seen her at her most vulnerable.

  Probably for the best, he told himself, deliberately turning his back on the private moment Annie was sharing with her new daughter. He moved into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and stared blindly at the mountain of supplies Pete and Lisa kept on hand. Yeah, for the best. He wasn’t looking for anything permanent, and a woman who’d just had a child wouldn’t be looking for anything temporary.

  “Laughing at me is not productive.”

  “I’m not laughing at you,” John told her around a fresh burst of chuckles, “I’m laughing with you.”

  Sure. She believed that. “Do I look like I’m laughing to you?”

  He sobered instantly, then gave it up as his lips twitched again. “Guess not.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

  But he didn’t look the least bit apologetic. And if she wasn’t feeling so frustrated, she might not have blamed him for laughing. But as it was… Annie huffed out a breath of air, fluttering the bangs on her forehead. Staring down at her still-naked baby and the makeshift diaper she could not, for some reason, make fit, Annie wished futilely for one of those neat little disposable jobs.

  But the snow was still blowing outside, as it had been since the night before, so a trip to the local market was out of the question.

  “You’re getting better,” he said in a placating tone.

  “You’re not a very good liar,” she told him on a sigh. Ordinarily, not a bad trait in a man, she thought. However, right now she could have used a comforting little lie.

  “That one really wasn’t too bad,” John said, and she slid him a long, slow look out of narrowed eyes.

  “Gee, thanks.” Good-looking, charming and a master with a dishtowel diaper. Was there no end to the man’s talents?

  “You’ll get the hang of it,” John assured her, apparently unfazed by her glare. “Just remember that the object of the whole business is to actually cover the baby’s bottom.”

  “Very funny,” she muttered, and bent to fold the dish towel one more time. Jordan lay still on the bed, blinking her hazy blue eyes at the ceiling as if trying to figure out exactly where she was. Poor little thing. She had no idea that her mother was so helpless, that a Marine made a better mommy.

  But she’d improve. Looking down into her daughter’s tiny face, Annie promised her that she would learn everything and that she would be the best mom she could possibly be. Maybe Jordan wouldn’t have a father around like the other kids, but she would have a mother who would always be there for her.

  And with that thought firmly in mind, Annie swallowed her pride, looked up at John and said, “Show me again?”

  He smiled at her, and her heart did that strange little blip again. All right, last night she’d put her reaction to him down to the emotion of the moment, her daughter’s birth, the unusual closeness she’d experienced with this man. But now—she couldn’t afford to start having warm, fuzzy feelings for a man who would, no doubt, disappear from her life the minute the storm ended. So she’d better just concentrate on the task at hand and forget about that half dimple in his right cheek.

  “Sure,” he said, splintering her thoughts, for which she was more grateful than he would ever know. John took the halved dish towel, folded it and bent to lift Jordan’s legs. He slid the fabric under the baby’s fanny, then brought the rest of the material through her little legs and around her waist. “See, it’s all in the positioning. Get it square under her little butt, and then keep it taut around her belly when you pin the edges together.”

  “Pins,” Annie muttered, wondering if Lisa had some duct tape somewhere in this cabin. “What if I stick her?”

  He turned his head and looked at her. “You won’t. Just keep your fingers between the diaper and her skin. If you stick anybody, it’ll be yourself.”

  She nodded, watching his big hands move gently, deftly over the baby’s tiny body. When he was finished, he slid those wide palms beneath Jordan, lifted her off the bed and settled her into the crook of Annie’s arm.

  “There,” he said. “All dry. For now,” he added wryly.

  “She is going through a lot of Lisa’s towels,” Annie mused, looking from her daughter’s wide yawn up to John’s blue eyes.

  “At least we’ve got plenty,” he said with a quick glance at the window, where snow was piling up along the edge
of the sill. “Looks like we’re going to be here for a couple more days at least.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble?” Annie asked. “You said you’re a Marine. Don’t you have to report in or something?”

  “I’m on leave,” he said, turning back to look at her. “Two more weeks all to myself.”

  “You’re not getting much of a vacation,” Annie said and silently decided that his eyes weren’t ice blue at all, but the soft blue of a cloudless summer sky.

  “Depends on your point of view,” he said. “From where I’m sitting, it’s not so bad.”

  Yeah, well, from where she was standing, it looked pretty good, too.

  Too good.

  Five

  Three days later the storm had stopped and the sun was shining. John had managed to clear at least part of the driveway, giving him enough room to maneuver his four-wheel-drive monster of a car around from the side of the house. Then he’d headed into the tiny town of Big Bear, where he’d, thank heaven, Annie thought, purchased a supply of disposable diapers and a few other essentials.

  He’d also brought a doctor to examine her and the baby. Once they were both pronounced “fit as a fiddle,” John had taken the man home.

  Now, as she sat across the kitchen table from him, watching him give Jordan a bottle of water, she planted her elbows on the table, propped her chin in her hands and said, “I’ve got to ask.”

  One black eyebrow lifted and he glanced at her. “Ask what?”

  How did he do that, she wondered. How did he manage to look both sexy and tender at the same time? And when were those stray thoughts going to stop shooting across her mind?

  Swallowing hard, she focused on the conversation at hand and said, “How did you get to know so much about babies?”

  He continually amazed her. She’d been reading parenting books for eight months, and he just slid into baby mode as if he’d been born for it. Annie’d never really imagined a Marine—a professional soldier for pity’s sake—as being quite so…domestic.

  “Hey,” he said, as if it explained everything, “I’m Italian.”

  “So?” she countered. “I’m Scotch-Irish, and that information along with three bucks will get me a latte. It doesn’t qualify me as mother of the year.”

  His lips curved into that smile she’d come to know and look forward to. Her heart did a curious two step again as she took a moment to just enjoy the view. Honestly, that one dimple of his was just too much for any one female to have to deal with.

  “I come from a big family,” he said.

  “Three sons isn’t that big.”

  “Yeah, but I’m counting cousins, too.” He took the bottle from the baby’s mouth, and Jordan lay limply in his grasp, her tiny mouth still working furiously. Setting the bottle down, he lifted the baby to his shoulder and gently patted her back. “My dad has four brothers and a sister, and my mom’s from a family of seven kids.”

  Annie quickly did the math and felt her eyebrows arch high on her forehead. “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “tell me about it. You should have seen us all at Thanksgiving. And Christmas Eve.”

  “You all got together?” she said, trying to imagine the hubbub created by such a huge gathering of family members. But being the only child of older parents, she really had no basis for comparison. Her holidays were always quiet, dignified celebrations. She and her parents would exchange thoughtful, suitable gifts and then share a meal at whatever restaurant they’d chosen for that year’s festivities.

  Not that she was complaining, she thought, with more than a twinge of guilt. Her parents had done their best. It was simply that they hadn’t counted on being parents. Annie’s birth had come as a complete surprise to both of them, since they were at an age when the children of their friends were graduating from high school and entering college. Her parents had looked at the arrival of a baby as they would have a guest showing up three hours after the party ended. She was welcome, but they weren’t really sure what to do with her.

  So they’d gone on with their lives just as before, only dragging an infant along behind them. She’d grown up alone, really—aware even at a young age that her parents were more devoted to each other than they would ever be to her. The two of them were a world unto themselves, and she’d never been able to find a way into their inner circle—and once she was grown she’d stopped trying.

  Now there was an occasional postcard for her from wherever they happened to be and infrequent phone calls made more from a sense of duty than any real need to stay in touch.

  Annie hadn’t been raised with a sense of tradition, and maybe that was part of the reason she’d so longed for a family of her own. So she could build traditions. Make for her daughter the kind of childhood she herself had always wanted.

  So listening to John talk about his extended family was a little like trying to imagine life on Mars.

  “Oh, yeah,” he was saying, still patting Jordan’s narrow back gently, “there’s nothing the Parettis like more than a party. And the babies were passed around to whoever was handy. Including the kids.”

  “Really?” She had a mental image of a roomful of adults standing around chatting while rows of children played hot potato with babies.

  “Sure.” He grinned when Jordan burped for him, then lowered her to the crook of his arm again and once more offered her the bottle. “An Italian child doesn’t learn to walk until it’s two or three. Their feet never hit the floor long enough to get the hang of it.”

  Annie laughed, only half-sure he was kidding.

  “And what about that old phrase woman’s work?” she asked.

  “Never heard it,” he said on a laugh. “At least, not in my house. My mom was a firm believer in her sons knowing how to cook and clean. She always said she didn’t want our future wives coming to her with complaints.”

  Annie had the distinct impression she would really like John’s mom.

  “What about you?” he asked, his gaze settling on her. “What’s your family like?”

  “Small,” she said, and folded her arms on the tabletop. “I’m an only child.”

  “Oh, man,” he said wistfully, “how many times did I wish I could say that growing up?”

  “You don’t mean that,” she said. She’d heard too much love in his voice when he’d described his family to believe that.

  “Nah, I guess not. But at the time…” John smiled for a moment at the memory. “When you’re the youngest of three brothers, you end up being the punching bag—or the one who gets blamed for everything—or the one who gets left behind. But once we got older, it was kind of nice having them around.” The baby fell asleep in his arms, and John took the bottle out of her mouth again and set it on the table.

  He stared down at the tiny girl with an expression of such wonder that Annie’s heart tightened in response. Why hadn’t she found a man like him first? Why couldn’t Mike Sinclair have been even half the man John Paretti was? Why hadn’t she given her daughter a father worthy of her?

  “What about your folks?” he asked, snatching her out of her woolgathering and drawing her back to the present. “What do they do?”

  Safer ground, she told herself and gratefully snatched at the lifeline he’d inadvertently thrown her. “My father’s an archaeologist,” she said, “officially retired, but—you can take the archaeologist out of the dirt, but you can’t take the dirt out of the archaeologist.” She shrugged and smiled. “He’s always off exploring—looking for new digs or for a dig he thinks has been handled badly.”

  He nodded, but didn’t smile, almost as if he was hearing beyond her words to the sigh she hadn’t uttered. “And your mom?”

  “She’s his assistant. They’ve been all over the world together. My father’s even mentioned in a few college textbooks.”

  “And you went with them when you were a kid?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’d visited Egypt, Israel and Iraq before I was six years old. We’ve been all over Europe and the M
iddle East.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” he said quietly, thoughtfully. “We traveled a lot, too, what with my dad being in the Corps.”

  “Ah,” she said, lifting one hand, “but did you have nannies who couldn’t speak English?”

  “No,” he said softly, “I didn’t. It sounds lonely.”

  “It was,” she admitted, and realized that it was the first time she’d ever complained aloud about her unusual childhood. Sympathy and something else she didn’t want to identify shone in his eyes as he looked at her, and Annie suddenly wanted a change of subject. Desperately. “I would have given anything for some older brothers to torment me,” she said, a false note of humor coloring her voice.

  Thankfully, he went along with her.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” he told her, and gave her a smile that said he knew darn well what she was doing. “You weren’t the one tied to a clothesline pole for a game of cowboys and Indians.”

  “They didn’t,” she said.

  “Like hell they didn’t,” John said, laughing now. “And as soon as they had their ‘prisoner’ tied up, they took off to play somewhere else without me tagging along. It was an hour before Mom found me.”

  “What happened to them?”

  He grinned with obvious enjoyment. “Had their backsides smacked and sent to bed without dinner. I, on the other hand, had cake.”

  “Which you no doubt rubbed in their faces.”

  “Naturally.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to see how a little brother would be annoying.”

  He lifted one hand in mock exasperation and let it fall to the table. “No one understands me!” he proclaimed in a highly insulted tone.

  Annie laughed, and John was glad he’d been able to chase the shadows from her eyes. Annie Foster was getting to him in a way that no one else before her had. Listening to her talk about a childhood spent with parents who pretty much ignored her presence made him want to call his own mom just to say thanks.

  It also made him want to look out for Annie. To see that she never spent another lonely day.