Maybe, Baby

Maggie handed the baby to Jenna.

“He called me,” Jody told Burke. “He wanted to know if you’d gotten here yet.”

“Checking up on me, was he?”

“Uh, that’s right.” Jody gave him a look that reminded him he was a conspirator in the smuggling operation. “I told him you got here safe and sound.”

The talk around the table turned to the day’s local news. A fender bender on the town’s main street, an injured basketball star denting the high-school team’s chance at a division championship. A herd of elk damaging a fence line between Granite Ridge and the Hammonds’ ranch.

The baby got passed to Jody, who stood and paced one slow, bobbing circuit around the table before returning to Burke’s side.

“It’s your turn,” she said.

“My turn for what?”

“Diaper derby. Whoever’s holding her when she poops has to change her diaper. Here.”

“But I don’t think—that is, I’ve never—”

I’ve never held a baby.

“Jody,” said Jenna, “He doesn’t—”

“Let him have a turn,” said Nora. “He hasn’t had a chance to hold her since he arrived. Have you, Burke?”

Her stare was a toxic mixture of guilt-inducing pleading and cool challenge. No hope of wiggling out of the situation. He shoved his chair back and prepared to deal with the inevitable.

“Put one hand here,” said Jody, grabbing one of his hands and sliding it under the baby’s head. “You don’t want to let her head drop.”

He was afraid to ask why.

“And here,” she continued, guiding his other hand toward the baby’s hips as she shifted the wiggling parcel into his arms, “support her back, like this.”

His every instinct screamed at him to hand it back, now, before he suffered a massive stroke and dropped it or experienced a freak muscle spasm that caused him to pitch it across the room, but if he moved too quickly its head would hit the floor, or its spine might snap in two, and Nora would be destroyed by grief, and he’d never forgive himself. So he did the next-best thing and pulled it close to his body, the way he’d seen the others hold it.

A tiny foot pummeled his stomach, and tiny fingers stretched and closed around invisible items. And then its face puckered in a ghastly grimace, and it flushed a rapid, unnerving shade of purply red.

“Uh-oh,” said Jody.

“What?” Burke was afraid to move, afraid to take his next breath. “What is it?”

“She’s winding up for a big one.”

“A big what?”

He glanced around the table, but no one else seemed to care what was happening. Apparently infant apoplexy was a common occurrence.

“You’ll find out,” said Jody, and she took her seat and resumed her meal.

The baby scrunched its features in an expression that would have put a facial contortionist to shame and flexed its back a bit. And then a most disturbing sound, a gelatinous, oozing kind of putt-putt emanated from the general area of the baby’s bottom as something unpleasantly hot seemed to gush into his hand, though it was separated from the infant’s skin by layers of nappy and clothing.

Burke had difficulty swallowing. “I think I just lost.”

“Don’t worry.” Nora dabbed at her mouth and rose from her seat. “We wouldn’t inflict a diaper change on a guest his first night here.”

“My first night?” Burke regretted the weak and pleading tone of his voice, but the memory of what had just slid into a space a fraction of an inch from his palm was still fresh.

Literally.

“I don’t suppose guest status could be extended indefinitely?” he asked.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Jenna leveled a warning look at the others around the table. “You’re not exactly family, although I certainly hope you’ll come to feel as comfortable with us all as if you were.”

He looked down at what he was holding and prayed that would never happen.

“Come here, sweetie.” Nora scooped up the baby and settled it against her. “Mama will take care of you.”

Its little face peeked over Nora’s shoulder, taunting him.

Burke picked up his fork and regarded it with a frown. He seemed to have lost his appetite.

Bloody hell.

AFTER DINNER Nora had faced a quiet consultation with Will, who was worried about the worsening driving conditions, followed by a brief argument with Jenna, who didn’t approve of the sleeping arrangements. Now she stood shivering in the amber band of light streaming from the back porch, having second thoughts about her stubborn defense of her impromptu invitation.

Ashley howled in protest as Burke lifted her carrier into the tight rear cab area of Nora’s pickup truck and wedged it into the car seat base. He cracked the back of his head on the low door frame as he backed out.

“Ouch,” she said.

“That’s my line, isn’t it?” He rubbed his head, frowning at the truck as Ashley continued to fuss. “Where did you get this?”

“I bought it from a cowpoke in Dillon who’d had a run of bad luck in a poker game.”

Burke lowered his hand and stared at her.

“Okay,” she said with a grin. “I made up the part about the poker.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He hunched his shoulders against a gust of snow-flecked wind. “It was the only part of the story that made any sense.”

“It’s a good little truck. Not much to look at, but dependable.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he muttered as he crunched across the snow toward his SUV.

Ashley’s cries grew in volume during the winding drive along the narrow ranch road and the creek bridge, and by the time the cabin’s lights winked into view through a stand of naked aspens, she’d worked herself into a tearful temper.

Burke pulled into a space beside the truck and waited while Nora unstrapped the carrier from the cab.

“Is she always like this?” Burke’s expression was set in a stoic cast as he pulled a suitcase and garment bag from the back of his car.

“She’s hungry.”

“She just ate.”

“Babies need to eat every few hours. Round the clock.”

With Ashley complaining loudly, Nora gave Burke a quick tour of the compact cabin and handed him linens to make up a bed in one of the available rooms. She rearranged the clutter in the bathroom they’d share, clearing a spot for his things, and then she excused herself to see to the baby’s needs.

She settled with a sigh into the big rocker she’d dragged into the cabin’s largest bedroom and tried to lose herself in the peace of the moment, to be thankful for her daughter and to appreciate her good fortune as she always did during their quiet times together. But tonight her thoughts returned to the men in orbit around her, each exerting a gravitational force of his own. Ken, the ex-husband who’d been so entranced by his celebrity fiancée but disappointed with his working-actress wife. Fitz, the superstar friend with the supersized heart who’d offered her shelter.

And Burke, the tall, dark and brooding man unpacking his bags in the small room next door.

The long evening had exhausted Ashley, and she drifted to sleep as she nursed. Nora gently lowered her into the crib and bent to kiss her good-night. Then she slipped out of her clothes and pulled on a practical flannel gown and a splashy silk robe, bracing herself to deal with whatever Burke might decide to discuss this evening.

She found him standing in the middle of the open front room, staring at the laptop in his hands with a frown.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Do you have a printer?”

“A printer?”

“For your computer.”

“I don’t have a computer.”

“And I suppose that means you don’t know whether or not you have an Internet connection.”

“No,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

He closed his eyes and squeezed at the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses askew. “I can probably rig something up with my cell phone.”

“I don’t think that’ll work here.”

“Why not?”

“My cell works fine at the main ranch house. But this cabin seems to be tucked into some little pocket that doesn’t get any reception. Don’t worry, I have a regular phone,” she added quickly.

“But no cell reception.”

“That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No. No problem,” he said, although the way his jaw clenched around the words told her he was lying through his gritted teeth.

“All settled in, then?” She opened the woodstove and lit the kindling. “Do you have everything else you need?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him to say more—perhaps to thank her for a fourth time—but he stood very still, staring at the fire.

She pulled a log from the crate beside the stove and shoved it on top of the blazing kindling. “This will help keep the place warm tonight.”

“Isn’t there a furnace?”

“Yes. But this is nicer, don’t you think?”

His silence told her precisely what he thought.

She turned to face him, twisting the ring on her right hand and willing herself not to scream away her tension. “Burke.”

“Yes?”

“Are you waiting until tomorrow to start in on me?”

He shifted his impassive stare in her direction. “I’m not planning to start in on you.”

“Oh, I see.” She paced to the kitchen area and back. “You just decided on a whim to come out to Granite Ridge to work for a while. A change of scene, a different Internet connection. Is that right?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the evening chatting. As we used to.” He set his computer on the small dining table tucked beneath a wide window and rested his hand on the dull metallic surface. “I’ve missed you.”

She paused, studying him, waiting to see if his serious words and somber mood were some kind of clever trap. And in the next instant, she felt ashamed for looking for an ulterior motive. They were friends, after all. And she’d missed him, too.

“Tell me about Fitz.” She folded her legs beneath her as she settled on one end of the sofa. “Has he been staying out of trouble?”

Burke lowered himself to the cushion beside her and leaned back with a sigh. “Fitz is playing the role of devoted husband and expectant father with such enthusiasm that it’s beginning to grate on my nerves. I wish he’d try a more subtle approach to this rash of exemplary behavior.”

She smiled and scooped her hair back. “Like you?”

Burke raised one eyebrow in his supercilious look. “I wasn’t aware that my exemplary behavior was either overstated or abnormal.”

“No.” Good old Burke, he could always make her laugh. She ran her hand down his arm in a teasing stroke. “I meant subtle. Like you.”

Burke frowned. “Subtle is a difficult role for any actor.”

She leaned toward him. “Even for me?”

“Especially for you.”

“Are you saying I couldn’t play it?”

“Only if it were a role.” His face softened with a weary smile. “And then you’d be brilliant at it, as you always are.”

She closed the small gap between them and smacked a loud kiss on the tip of his nose. “I love it when you lay it on thick.”

“I’m only telling it like it is.”

She laughed at the sound of that phrase uttered in his thickest, upper-crustiest accent. “And how’s Greenberg?”

“Greenberg is his unsubtle and unexemplary self.” Burke shook his head with a sigh. “His latest lover moved on to a soap actor, which hasn’t improved his mood of late.”

Nora tensed. She’d hoped the conversation wouldn’t shift so soon to Hollywood business. But it was difficult for the two of them to avoid the topic for long.

“The preproduction budget for The Virginian is coming along as well as can be expected,” he said, “considering all the difficulties inherent in a project of this scope.” He frowned and shifted forward, his long fingers dangling between his knees. “Which means it’s been a struggle getting Fitz to focus and getting Greenberg to relax.”

“It’s rough being caught in the middle.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s it.”

The fire behind the stove grate snapped and roared. Burke twisted his fingers together and stared at the floor.

“Your daughter is very pretty,” he said after a while.

“Thank you.” Nora sighed and leaned her shoulder against the sofa back. She’d been waiting for him to mention her beautiful, precious daughter, waiting for him to lavish the praise she deserved. To lay it on thick.

But he hadn’t even called her by her name yet. “Her name is Ashley.”

“Yes. Ashley.”

Nora smiled. Her name sounded heavenly when he spoke it in those plummy tones. “She’ll be four months old in a couple of weeks.”

“So soon.”

“Yes, so soon. She’s growing so fast, changing every day. Time seems to pass more quickly now.”

“Yes, it does,” he said. “Everything changes and moves on quickly, whether we want it to or not.”

She tensed and twined her fingers through the sash of her robe, waiting for the first skirmish in the coming battle.

“Have you considered where you’re going to go after you leave here?” he asked.

“I’m not leaving for a while yet.”

“But you must have some idea.”

“Of course I have ideas. Lots of them.” She untangled her fingers and smoothed the ends of the sash across her lap. “Just nothing definite. Not yet, anyway.”

He glanced at her with a frown. “Fitz told me you’re thinking of putting your house up for sale.”

“That’s one of those ideas.”

“But you love that house.”

“Ken loved it, too.”

“Ah.” Burke took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for the unhappy memories.”

“You don’t have to be, since the ones you added were some of the best.” She pulled her hand from his and gave it a friendly pat. “I had some good times there. And, yes, I loved it. I loved living there and trying my best to make it a home, because it was the first place I could call my own. But there’ll be other places, and it’s a great time to cash in on the investment. I could use the money from the sale.”

“There are other ways to raise funds. Ways that would let you keep your house.”

“Why are you so concerned about my house?”

“Because you were, at one time.” He shifted on the sofa to face her. “Because I think you still are.”

She stood and moved across the room to shove another piece of wood into the stove. He was right, of course. But while she’d won the house in the divorce settlement, Ken had walked away with most of the cash needed for its upkeep. The thought of losing that house—the wisteria-covered porches, the sloping tiled roof, the tall windows and curved stairway, the dramatic sweeps and the intimate niches—twisted her heart like a rag and squeezed it dry.

Mentioning Ken like that, using the pain of her divorce like a shield had been a convenient way to deflect the issue and obscure the truth. It was easier to stay here, in Montana, than to deal with the fallout of her failed marriage in Hollywood. It was more tempting to consider moving on than to face going back. “Like I said, there are plenty of other houses out there. I don’t mind looking. It’s fun to wander through a place and try it on for size, to see if it fits. To imagine the possibilities.”

“Where are you going to look next?”

“Why do you want to know?” She turned to face him. “Why do you have to know, tonight?”

His steady, searching stare sent a shiver up her spine, and she wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Sorry, Burke. I know I’m grouchy. I get tired easily these days. Caring for Ashley takes a lot out of me. Literally,” she added with a smile.

At her mention of her daughter, something awkward flickered across his features. He stood and brushed his hands over his slacks. “And I’ve kept you up too late. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You don’t have to keep thanking me, and you don’t have to be so damn—”

Her voice rose on a hot spike of temper, but she didn’t care. Yes, she was tired, but mostly she was hurt, wounded by his reaction to Ashley; his lack of reaction, to be precise. Angry that he’d used her own house as the first salvo against her, and that he’d hit one of her most sensitive spots dead center with that first strike.

And worried that she didn’t have an answer to his question about where she intended to live. How shortsighted and irresponsible she must seem. How pitiful.

“You don’t have to watch your every step around me,” she said at last.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t aware of it.”

“And you’re so completely aware of everything, aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Including unsubtle behavior.”

“I already told you—I’m tired and grouchy.” She stormed into the kitchen area, her robe billowing about her legs, and snatched up the teakettle. She slapped at the faucet and ran water into the spout. “If you don’t like my unsubtle behavior, you’re welcome to stay elsewhere.”

“Are you rescinding your invitation?”

“Don’t worry.” She slammed the kettle on a burner grate and whirled to face him. “I won’t toss you out in the cold tonight.”

“Neither of us has to worry, then. I’m sure that with a little practice, I can be as unthoughtful and ungrateful as you require.”

He reached up and readjusted his glasses in one of those cool and controlled moves of his that normally made her itch to poke at his composure and tease him senseless. Tonight his attitude set her teeth on edge.

“However,” he added, “if you change your mind, it appears it will still be quite cold enough for tossing me out tomorrow.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WILL WINTERHAWK stretched with a sigh along one side of the four-poster bed in the room he shared with Jenna. He’d always looked forward to this time of day, when he could let his body and mind unwind, when he could switch off his focus on the ranch work and set his imagination loose to ease him into sleep and pleasant dreams.

For twenty years he’d passed most of his evenings with his nose buried in one of the books he treasured, keeping company with interesting characters and picking up some new ways of thinking about things. Now he spent his evenings with his wife, the woman he’d loved in secret through all those years.

He didn’t miss the books so much, though he still managed to read more than most men he knew. Jenna was turning out to be one of the most interesting characters he’d ever known, and trying to figure out her ways of thinking about things was going to keep him occupied for longer than he could imagine.

And he deeply treasured the way they could ease each other into sleep and pleasant dreams.

But tonight Jenna’s brisk motions as she scrubbed and creamed her way through her bedtime routine told him she needed a bit more time to unwind.

“I s’pose,” he said, “I should drive over to the guest cabin in the morning and check up on those two. Make sure they’ve got enough wood for the stove and plenty of propane in the tank.”

“He doesn’t need to stay there after tonight.”

She took a seat at the heirloom vanity and picked up her silver-handled brush. One thin strap of her silky blue gown slipped like a tease over her shoulder and made his mouth water.

“You’ll have the water heater replaced by tomorrow afternoon,” she said, shooting him a stern glance from the mirror.

“Maybe Burke will decide to stay right where he is.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You made that plenty clear earlier this evening.” Watching the way that brush was getting tugged through her pretty gold-and-silver hair, Will figured she was still upset that her wishes in the matter had been dismissed. Jenna may have spent a lifetime cultivating a pleasant and easygoing facade, but underneath her soft, Southern debutante manner was a stubborn streak with a steel spine to support it.

And a big and generous heart, a heart that gathered folks deep inside and loved them hard and long, a heart that was prone to splinter a mite too easily when those she’d grown fond of drifted beyond her reach. To Jenna, home and family tended to blur together until they were one and the same, and she expended a great deal of energy to keep the whole of it corralled within the same geographical boundaries.

She’d made a habit of taking in strays, and she was well on the way to embracing Nora in much the same way she’d adopted Ellie when she was a girl—a casual acceptance, a growing bond, a maternal commitment. And now the comfort of that close relationship was threatened by a man from the outside who just might remove Nora from Jenna’s tight family circle.

“I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Jenna frowned at her reflection. “I just don’t…well, you know what I think.”

“Yes, I do.” He traced the edge of an appliquéd leaf on the old quilt and waited for her to get around to confessing to the reasons behind her resentment of Burke’s decision to bunk with Nora.

“You don’t like the fact that he’s staying with her, either.” She shot him a dark look in the mirror. “And now you’re going to lie awake half the night, worrying about the weather and whether he’ll drive off the edge of the creek bridge tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, darlin’, for being so solicitous about my worries.” He smiled at both their reflections, noting again the vivid contrast his dark skin and black hair made against her fair features. “But I suspect you’ve got some of your own worries about the matter, too.”

“His coming here is upsetting Nora.”

“She didn’t appear all that upset with the situation at dinner tonight.”

“She was being polite. Making the best of the situation. She is an actress, you know.”

“And a damn good one, from what I’ve seen.” He smoothed a wide, tanned hand over the pastel spread. “She really got into the role, what with inviting him to stay at her place and all.”

“Humph.” Jenna dismissed that topic and warmed up another one. “And did you notice what was going on across the table tonight?”

He met her gaze. “I’m not sure you and I noticed the same things.”

“Flirting.” Her lips pressed together in a thin line of disapproval. “The two of them.”

“Maybe I noticed some of that on Nora’s part. Truth is, I don’t pay it much mind anymore, seeing as how she simpers and flutters now and again just to keep her feminine wiles from going rusty.” He frowned. “I can’t say I know Burke well enough to judge his reactions. But I’d be hard-pressed to apply that label to any of his behavior tonight.”

Jenna punished her hair with another series of short-tempered strokes. “I don’t like the way he looks at her.”

Will met her gaze in the mirror. “How does he look at her?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I think I do.” He sat up and shifted to the edge of the mattress. Last summer, before Jenna had agreed to marry him, they’d had a talk about the kinds of looks men and women gave each other. And then he’d kissed her and asked her to take a good, long look at him.

“All I saw tonight,” he said, “was two old friends getting together for the first time in several months.”

Jenna tapped the brush against her hand. “That wasn’t a completely friendly look I saw him giving her.”

Will shrugged. “Maybe he’s not feeling all that friendly about getting sent clear out here to fetch her back.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jenna set the brush down and turned to face him. “And she’s not going back.”

“Seems to me that’s up to her to decide.”

“If it’s up to her to decide, then he wasted his time coming out here.”

Will stared at his wife’s mulish expression and hoped he wouldn’t end up adding another trouble to his list of things to worry over tonight. “She’ll have to leave eventually, you know.”

“She doesn’t want to.”

“Has she discussed that with you?”