Ooh Baby, Baby

“No, please don’t bother. I’ll be fine.” She gazed back out the window, fighting fingers of fear that she couldn’t quite identify and was powerless to control.

Clucking her tongue, the woman snagged Peggy’s arm, hustling her back to bed. “My dear, you really must get some rest. You’ve a big day on Monday. The blackout will soon be over, and you and your beautiful little ones will home, starting your new life together. Isn’t that wonderful?” Without waiting for an answer, the nurse tucked in the bedclothes, patted her patient’s stiff shoulder and left the room.

Peggy winced, swallowing a sudden surge of tears. She wasn’t really going home. Home was a cheery clapboard house a thousand miles away, a place where her beloved mother had once baked cookies, bandaged skinned knees and hugged away loneliness. There had been nothing on earth that Peggy’s mom couldn’t fix with a loving kiss, a soothing word. She’d raised her daughter alone, without the slightest hint of financial or emotional support from the husband who’d abandoned the family when Peggy was barely four. Her mother had worked, slaved, sacrificed everything for her child. When she’d died, Peggy’s entire world had collapsed.

So Peggy didn’t have a home anymore. All she had was temporary use of a dilapidated structure in a town of friendly strangers, a town in the throes of crisis. Like her mother, Peggy had been abandoned to raise her family alone. Unlike her mother, Peggy didn’t have the foggiest notion how that could be done.

Although Peggy had squirreled away as much money as possible during the past six months to get her through the upcoming maternity leave, but she’d still have to dip into her small savings for food, baby supplies and medical costs until she could return to work.

And then what? Even if she could afford the exorbitant price of good day care, how could she hand her precious children over to strangers?

How could she not? She had to work, had to support her babies.

“Oh, God, Mama,” she murmured into the darkness. “I wish you were here.”

Then she turned into her pillow and wept.

* * *

The moon was out. Travis thought that a good sign. No more rain, at least for a while. Grand Springs could dry out, clean up. Clear the roads.

The last item was the most important, at least to Travis’s mind. He gazed past Sue Anne’s frilly curtains to the sturdy pickup with the weatherproof Fiberglas shell that had served as his permanent home for more years than he cared to remember. It was a good truck, dependable as a well-broken roping horse. He and that old diesel had ridden a lot of miles together, seen a lot of fine country. Grand Springs was a nice-enough place, but it was small, kind of stifling for a career cowboy like Travis John Stockwell.

Travis John.

He smiled, turning away from the window, savoring the image of a screwed-up little face framed by wispy feathers of auburn hair. His namesake. Lordy, the thought sent a proud shiver down his spine. It was almost like being a daddy.

Or, at least, it was as close as Travis would ever get, since fatherhood had been crossed off his list a long, long time ago. Kids were too special, too vulnerable to be stuck with a broken-down rodeo bum—Peggy Saxon’s decisive voice boomed into his mind. I take umbrage at the term ‘bum.’ You’re a fine man, and I won’t allow you to make light of yourself.

Properly chastised—again—he felt himself flinch, then grin stupidly into the darkness. No one had ever scolded him for thinking too little of himself. Truth was, he kind of liked it, liked the spitfire spunk in Peggy Saxon’s eyes as she’d stood up to him without a second thought. Most women were kind of wishy-washy, always trying to please a man, butter him up with wiles and such. Not Peggy. She wasn’t afraid to stand up in a man’s face and tell him what was on her mind. Travis liked that.

And he liked her, too. Feisty women intrigued him. He admired their spunk and independence. Most of all, he liked that they didn’t need him.

Not that he minded helping folks out now and again, but he didn’t want to be needed, to be smothered by the clingy weakness of those who didn’t have enough gumption to face the world on their own.

Peggy Saxon wasn’t like that, he decided. She was a tough woman, and smart, too. He liked the way she spoke, using educated speech the way rich folks used money—by tossing it around without a worry in the world. He admired that, admired her. There was just one small problem. Travis couldn’t seem to get the gutsy little redhead out of his mind. For a man who’d already taken the road as his lady, that was bothersome. And it was scary.

Chapter Four

On Monday morning, Peggy had just finished stuffing a plethora of complimentary baby supplies into a brown paper tote when a soft knock caught her attention.

Travis Stockwell hovered in the open doorway with one hand behind his back and the other clutching a bouquet of flowers. He hesitated, entering only when invited by Peggy’s bright smile. “‘Morning, ma’am.” He shuffled his feet, glanced down at the colorful flowers as if seeing them for the first time, then extended them awkwardly. “I thought these might brighten your day some.”

She took them gently, reverently, taking time to inhale the sweet fragrance of budding yellow roses nested in a cloud of white baby’s breath. “They’re lovely,” she murmured, touched by the simple gesture and genuinely surprised because she hadn’t expected to see Travis Stockwell again, hadn’t seen him since Saturday evening. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged and flexed his free hand a moment before tucking his thumb in a belt loop beside a silver buckle embossed with the outline of a bucking horse. “All new mommies deserve flowers, you more than most.”

Cradling the cellophaned bouquet, Peggy regarded the lanky cowboy with gratitude. Thankfully, he was too much a gentlemen to point out the obvious fact that she had no one else to bring her flowers, or to offer congratulations on the birth of her babies. “I appreciate this more than you know, Travis. Thank you.”

His smile was quick, nervous, positively devastating—a flash of white teeth, a sexy sparkle that lit his dark eyes like amber flame. Peggy sucked in a breath, licked her lips, lowered her gaze and noticed a furry gray tube protruding from the crook of his arm. She blinked. “What in the world…?”

Travis followed her gaze. “Oh, almost forgot.” Grinning proudly, he held out two of the most adorable stuffed elephants she’d ever seen. One of the creatures wore a squishy blue velour cowboy hat. The other wore a pink one. “For the babies,” he explained when she simply stood there laughing. “Kids like stuffed animals.”

She covered her quivering mouth. “So I’ve heard.”

Frowning, he raised the blue-hatted elephant to stare into its beady black eyes. “Shucks, Homer, I think the lady’s making sport of you.”

Peggy could barely contain herself. “Homer?”

“Yes’m, and this here—” he held up the pink-hatted animal “—is Bertha. They’re twins, you see, so I thought it was, you know, appropriate.”

“Oh, yes, quite appropriate,” she murmured, wiping her eyes. “It’s just that I’ve never seen an elephant wearing a Stetson.”

He looked stung. “They’re Texas elephants, ma’am.”

“Ah, well, that explains it.”

“Yes’m.”

“Are you from Texas, Travis?”

“Born and raised,” he replied, setting the furry toys on the bed. “Been gone a long time, though.” Before Peggy could follow up with another question about her new friend’s past, he nodded at the open valise. “Looks like you’re all packed.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I just have to call a cab….” She angled him a look and found him grinning at her.

He clicked his boot heels together. “At your service, ma’am.”

She smiled and heaved a soft sigh. “Peggy, remember?”

“Yes’m, Peggy.”

“Hello-o-o!” A cheery nurse strode into the room with a wriggling bundle tucked in each crooked arm. “Are we all ready to go home?”

Peggy brightened, reaching out to take her blinking little daughter from the nurse. “Yes, all ready. Hello, sweetheart,” she cooed, tickling her daughter’s feather-soft cheek. “Mommy loves you.” Virginia peered up as if trying to focus. She yawned, which tickled Peggy immensely. “I think she knows me.”

“Of course she does, dear. You’re her mommy.” The nurse turned to Travis, eyed him quickly, then held out little Travis. “Here you go, Dad.”

Travis’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He took a quick step backward, locking his hands behind his back. “Uh, thank you, ma’am, but I, uh—” his frantic gaze scraped the room “—I might squash him or something.”

Peggy took pity on the poor fellow. “Mr. Stockwell is a friend,” she explained to the nurse, who promptly raised a brow. Peggy adjusted Ginny’s wrapping and reached out with her free arm. “I’ll take T.J.”

Travis lit up. “T.J.?”

“Umm.” Peggy cradled her sleepy son beside his bright-eyed sister. “Using initials as a nickname is quite the rage these days. I think it suits him, don’t you?”

“Sure does,” he agreed, eyeing the infant with an almost parental pride. “Sounds real manly.”

“Manly, hmm? Then, perhaps I should reconsider.”

The edge on her voice took them both by surprise, and she immediately softened the comment. “It just seems a bit premature to project my son into a state of divine machismo before he can even burp by himself.”

“Yes, ma’am—ah, Peggy. Kids need a chance to be kids, and that’s a fact.” He tipped his hat back, regarding her intently.

Peggy strongly suspected that he’d have said more about her apparent aversion to manliness had the maternity nurse not been flitting around the room, ears tweaked, eyes sparkling with interest.

When an awkward silence indicated that there would be no further discussion on the subject, the nurse sighed and rubbed her hands together. “All right, then. I presume the doctor has already discussed postpartum care and so forth. Do you have any other questions?”

Peggy felt the blood drain from her face. Questions? Dear God, she had a million of them, not the least of which was how she could possibly give both of her precious babies the nurturing care they deserved when she’d barely learned how to take care of herself. There was so much to think about. Breast-feeding, she’d discovered, wasn’t nearly as natural as the books had implied. She’d assumed that babies instinctively understood what to do. Well, they didn’t, and this morning’s feeding had been a frustrating ordeal for all of them.

The instructional nurse had soothed, encouraged and reassured her that a learning process was perfectly natural, and the babies would soon become quite proficient at filling their own little tummies. But what if they never learned how to suckle? And even if they did, Peggy was such a novice at motherhood, she feared doing something horribly wrong. What if she got confused as to which baby had been fed and which hadn’t? Worse, what if her body couldn’t produce enough breast milk to satisfy both infants?

And God forbid, what if they became ill? Would she know what to do? She’d read a million books on infant care over the past few months, but had little hands-on experience caring for babies. None with babies as tiny as her own. She shifted the tiny bundles in her arms, fighting a surge of panic.

“Mrs. Saxon?”

“Hmm? Oh, no questions, thank you.”

“Well, then.” The nurse glanced around, frowning. “Have you chosen to take advantage of our Mommy’s Helper program?”

The program in question cost more than a month’s rent and wasn’t covered by insurance. Peggy refused to look up. “It, ah, won’t be necessary.”

“So you’ve made other arrangements for in-home assistance?”

“Yes.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Travis’s eyebrow hike up and sent him a pleading glance. He frowned, but thankfully said nothing. The last thing Peggy’s pocketbook needed was enforcement of the hospital’s policy for postpartum patients without in-home assistance. She barely had enough to meet the insurance co-payment for two nights, let alone four.

So Peggy had lied. Again.

In the space of five short minutes, she’d lied about having questions, she’d lied about having help. Guilt pricked her, but only a little. There’d been a time in her life when she’d been naively truthful, gullibly sincere. Lies had wedged like chicken bones in her throat, choking her into silence. But that had been years ago. A lifetime ago. Before her illusions had been shattered.

Virtue, she’d discovered, was not a universal concept. Guile was the key to survival. And Peggy Saxon was a survivor. She had to be. Her babies were counting on her.

* * *

The drive home from the hospital was quiet, thoughtful. In the back seat, the twins were fastened in matching car seats that doubled as baby carriers, gifts from her coworkers. Peggy sat between them, a hand resting on each flannel-wrapped little tummy while she gazed out the window, lost in thought.

Power had been restored about six on Sunday morning. Traffic lights were on line and functioning. Gridlock had eased as mud-clogged roads were cleared and abandoned vehicles reclaimed. Grand Springs residents emerged to dig out and tally their losses. The blackout was over, but the effects lingered. The town itself would never be quite the same.

Peggy certainly wouldn’t. Her entire world had been transformed since Saturday. She was a mother now. A mother. The sacred word frightened her, but she cherished it all the same and prayed she’d be worthy. Her babies were so precious. They deserved every wonderful thing life had to offer, health and happiness and the joy of knowing they were loved.

And they were loved. Deeply. Desperately.

The cab slowed, swerved to the right. Peggy idly glanced out the window at a bustling group of chain-saw-wielding workers clearing storm debris. She paid them little mind. Every block swarmed with weary residents repairing shattered shingles, hauling broken tree limbs and dragging ruined carpeting to cluttered curbs. Neighbor worked with neighbor, a familial shouldering of shared crisis. Peggy admired that, envied it.

But she wasn’t really a part of it. Never had been. A community’s social fabric was knit too tightly to assimilate a person so flawed that she’d been abandoned by her own father. Or her own husband.

Or both.

“Ma’am?”

Peggy blinked up and saw Travis pivot away from the steering wheel to stare into the back seat.

“You feeling all right?”

A bit dazed, she realized that the cab was no longer vibrating, because the engine had been turned off. “Yes, I’m fine. Why have we stopped?”

“You’re home, ma’am.”

Frowning, she focused out the side window and saw several beefy workers marching toward the cab. “Home?” she murmured, eyeing the duplex, which was in the process of having its porch reframed by a construction crew. “Who are these people?”

“Just a few friends of mine.” Travis pushed open the driver’s door, flashing a grin over his shoulder. “Thought you might need a bit of help hoisting that big old tree off your porch.”

Tree. Of course, that’s what was different. Peggy scooted forward on the seat, peering over the headrest to stare out the front windshield. “Ohmigosh. It’s gone.”

Well, the fallen pine wasn’t exactly gone, but it had been sliced into manageable hunks and hauled into the yard, where it was apparently in the process of being chopped into firewood.

She gasped as the back door flew open, and cringed as a meaty, grinning face poked inside. “Whoo-ee! Look at those purty little babes. Ain’t they sweet.” A pair of china blue eyes crinkled at the corners, focusing on Peggy from beneath a hairy buzz of sandy-colored brows that matched the man’s military-style crew cut. “You must be the proud mama. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. I’m James T. Conway. My friends call me Jimmy.”

Before she could withdraw, the ruddy-faced fellow had clamped one of her limp hands between two of the biggest, beefiest palms she’d ever seen in her life. “I, ah—” Her gaze darted toward the front seat. It was empty. She was trapped. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Conway.”

“Jimmy,” he replied cheerfully. Releasing her, the brawny guy reached beneath Virginia’s carrier and unsnapped the seat belt. Before Peggy could protest, he’d expertly unlatched and raised the padded plastic carrier handle and hoisted the carrier, baby and all, out of the cab. “You’d be little Ginny,” he said, holding the carrier up so his huge red face was inches from her daughter’s tiny button nose. “Just look at them big ol’ eyes. You’re a beauty, you are. Your poor mama’s gonna have to whack them boys off with a shovel.”

Horrified to see her precious daughter in the oversize clutches of a complete stranger, Peggy struggled out of the cab. “Mr. Conway, please—” Someone took hold of her elbow.

It was Travis. “Watch your step, ma’am. Wouldn’t want you to slip and, ah, skin nothing.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing up at him. When she looked back toward Jimmy Conway, he’d been joined by a younger version of himself who was toting T.J.’s carrier. A stunned glance behind her confirmed that the back seat of the cab was now empty.

“That’s my nephew Ted,” Travis said genially. “You’ve already met his daddy.”

“They have my babies,” Peggy said foolishly.

Ted looked up, grinning just like his father. “They’re real pretty, ma’am. Real pretty.”

“Uh, thank—”

“That little Travis? Lemme see that boy.” Jimmy snagged T.J.’s carrier, which Ted relinquished without protest. “Well, danged if he don’t look like you, Travis.” Travis narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Peggy hurried forward, hands extended. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Conway. I’ll take them. Mr. Conway…?”

James T. Conway—Jimmy to his friends—had hoisted both carriers to eye level and was marching across the yard making peculiar kootchie-coo noises at the tiny occupants.

Horrified, Peggy turned to Travis for help and found him with his head in the trunk. “That man has my babies!” she blurted.

Travis straightened and passed the tapestry valise and a fat package of complimentary disposable diapers to Ted. “Jimmy likes kids.”

Reaching back into the trunk, Travis retrieved the two stuffed elephants. Ted took them, too, then nodded happily at Peggy and followed his burly father into the duplex while Travis snapped his fingers at a slender, dark-haired teenager just beyond the cab’s hood. “Danny, come take this bag, will you?”

“Sure, Uncle Travis.” The boy leapt forward, snatched the tote of complimentary baby supplies and gave Peggy a shy smile. “Congratulations, ma’am. You must be very proud.”

The handsome adolescent was a younger version of Travis, with dark, puppy-dog eyes and a smile like a Texas sunrise. Peggy couldn’t help but smile back. “Thank you, Danny. Yes, I’m very proud.” Noting a few wood chips nested in the young man’s ruffled hair, she nodded toward the partially cut stack of firewood. “Did you do that?”

“Some.” Danny actually blushed. “Dad and Ted did most of the work. They’re the muscles of the family.”

Travis slammed the trunk. “And Danny’s the brains.”

Flushing wildly now, the boy peeked from beneath a fringe of thick, dark eyelashes that Peggy would personally have killed for. “Don’t let Mom hear you say that. She always claims that if brains were gunpowder, men still couldn’t blow their own noses.”

“Your mama’s right,” Travis said, chuckling. “Women rule the world, and that’s a fact.” He took Peggy’s elbow, escorted her a few feet toward the house, then stopped abruptly. “Oops.” He loped back to the cab, reached in the open window and retrieved the yellow rose bouquet.

A moment later, Peggy stepped onto the freshly laid planks of her porch, clutching her lovely flowers. Still dazed, she hesitated and glanced toward two smiling construction workers who were shuffling nearby, brushing sawdust off their sleeves and looking exceptionally pleased with themselves. “This is—” words nearly failed her “—wonderful,” she finished, feeling emotion clog her throat. “I never expected this. I—I can’t believe how much trouble you’ve all gone to for me.”

Travis lightly nudged her with his elbow. “Aw, shucks, ma’am, it weren’t nothing.”

When she stared up at him, he winked, reminding her of how she’d used the same words to tease him at the hospital. “Touché, Mr. Stockwell.”

He shifted, used a fingertip to push back his hat and furrowed his brows into a frown that couldn’t conceal the amused sparkle in eyes that reminded her of sun-warmed cognac. “There you go, using them fancy foreign words on a poor old country boy.”

Danny edged by them, pausing at the threshold. “Don’t let him yank your chain,” he told Peggy. “Uncle Travis turned down a mathematics scholarship and speaks three languages.” The boy swiveled aside to let his uncle’s booted foot kick empty air.

“Smart aleck kid,” Travis mumbled, swatting his hat against his lean, denim-clad thighs. “Young’uns nowadays have no respect for their elders.”

“Why did you turn down a scholarship?”

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