A Baby For Christmas

“I really doubt that,” she repeated in an even quieter voice.

Seeing her cry really got to him. He had always felt helpless in the presence of a woman’s tears. The two times he’d been around Cassidy when she’d cried, he’d felt utterly at a loss, and Cassidy had never been one of those gentle little flowers despite the fact she was small in comparison to the rest of them.

But seeing Amy cry just ripped his insides to shreds—and even though he was by and large a nonviolent man at heart, it made Connor want to punch out whoever was the cause behind her tears.

Most likely, his number one candidate was Clay Patton, Connor thought. There’d never been any love lost between them to begin with and even less now.

Connor fisted his hands at his sides in mute frustration.

Chapter Three

Sitting down at the table opposite Amy, Connor said nothing for a moment, letting her eat in peace. But good intentions notwithstanding, Connor could only remain quiet for so long.

Questions grew and burned on his tongue, seeking release. He contained them for as long as he could. While he respected Amy’s privacy, there was a very strong need to know.

“Amy,” he began, finally deciding to broach the subject, “I know that it’s really none of my business, but what happened?”

Amy took a deep breath as if centering herself. It was obvious that she was doing her best to keep any more tears at bay.

“I guess I do owe you an explanation, turning up on your doorstep like this,” she said.

“You don’t ‘owe’ me an explanation,” Connor told her gently. “You don’t owe me anything, Amy. But if there’s something that you want to talk about, something you need to get off your chest, then I’m here for you. To help, not to judge,” he added, sensing that Amy might be afraid he would wind up looking down at her.

She didn’t need that right now. Who would? What she needed was to feel safe and to know that someone was on her side, no strings attached. Amy had the same look in her eyes that one of the stray horses he’d found last summer had. There was only one thing that could put that look there: mistreatment.

But he wasn’t about to make any assumptions or jump to conclusions. Whatever the story was, he needed to hear it from Amy.

As Connor paused, he saw Amy put her fork down even though she had barely touched her casserole.

Looking from the casserole to her face, Connor told her, “I can get you something else if you didn’t find that to your liking.”

“No, the casserole’s very good,” she quickly assured him, then said, “I just kind of lost my appetite.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s my doing.”

Connor felt bad. Instead of distracting her, he’d forced Amy to think about what had caused her to leave everything behind and come here.

“No, it’s not,” Amy insisted. “You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” She paused, searching for words that seemed to be eluding her. And then she raised her eyes to his, fresh tears shimmering in hers. “He threw me out, Connor,” she whispered haltingly. “Clay threw me out. He said some hateful words, telling me that I ruined his life, that Jamie and I were just lead weight dragging him down and he wanted us gone.” She made a visible attempt to rally. “He was drunk at the time, but what he said still hurt.”

Her voice was hollow as she continued. “When he passed out, I threw some things into a suitcase, took the baby and left.” Amy stopped for a moment because her voice was close to breaking. Regaining control, she told him, “I didn’t know where to go, so I just kept driving until I drove back down here.”

He knew that her father had died eight years ago and her mother had remarried, eventually relocating out of state. An only child, Amy had no one to turn to.

Even if she did, he would have still made the offer he was making now. “You can stay here for as long as you need to,” he told her with quiet sincerity. “For as long as you want.”

But Amy shook her head. “I can’t put you out like that.”

“Who said anything about putting me out?” he asked. “You’re not exactly twisting my arm here, Amy. Last I checked, I was able to make up my own mind and my mind’s made up. You’re staying here until you pull yourself together and figure out what it is that you want to do.”

A wave of despair washed over her. It was hard not to drown in it. “What if I never figure out what I want to do?” she asked.

That was just the fear talking, Connor thought. What Amy needed right now was some reassurance—and some time to build up her self-esteem.

He smiled at her. “Then you and Jamie will just go on staying here. My dad built this house with his own hands and he made sure that there were plenty of bedrooms. He always said he might never have a lot of money, but he firmly believed it was having a family that made a man rich. Before Mom died, he really wanted to fill up all the rooms with kids.”

Amy smiled. “I remember your dad. He was a really nice man.”

“That he was,” Connor agreed with a touch of wistfulness. And then his tone changed. “And he would have been all over my case for not making you eat your supper.”

She looked down at the casserole. She had to admit that it was good. It was just that her stomach was tied up in knots. “Maybe, in honor of your dad, I should try to eat a little more.”

Connor readily concurred. “Maybe you should.”

The wail of a waking baby broke into his words. Amy was instantly alert.

“Jamie’s awake,” she said, pushing her chair back from the table.

Connor put his hand over hers on the table, holding her in place.

“You finish your supper. I’ll see to the baby.” He saw the uncertain expression on Amy’s face. “Don’t look so surprised. Thanks to Cody, Cole and Cassidy, I’ve really gotten to know my way around babies.” On his feet, he pointed at the casserole dish before her. “Eat,” he ordered as he turned on his heel and went to see why Jamie was crying.

Amy debated getting up and hurrying after him. She knew he’d told her that he could handle it, but Jamie was her son and she felt guilty about not tending to him. For the last six months, ever since Jamie had been born, hers was the only touch the baby had known. Clay had had absolutely no interest in holding his son, much less in doing any of the things that were involved in caring for the baby.

He’s your whelp. You take care of him, Clay had snapped at her on the day that she came home from the hospital with Jamie. He hadn’t even made the effort to bring her home. A neighbor had wound up being the one to do it.

It was the same neighbor who had taken her to the hospital when she’d gone into labor. Clay had been out and unavailable when her water broke. Her calls to him had gone straight to voice mail. Since he had next to no interest in holding down a job and was perpetually “between positions,” as he liked to say, she could only guess that he was either out drinking with his friends, or out with one of the scores of women who were always pursuing him.

In these last six months, Clay’s attitude toward Jamie never changed. It was indifference balanced out with anger. The anger especially flared up when Jamie’s cries would interfere with his sleep, or with whatever program he was watching on TV.

Since Clay claimed not to be able to find any work he deemed suitable and she had been forced to leave her waitressing job when Jamie was born, all three of them were living off her savings and the money that her father had left her.

But between the bills—and Clay’s gambling debts—that money was all but gone.

Worried sick and close to her wit’s end, when Clay threw her out, she didn’t bother to try to reconcile with him. Her gut told her it was time to leave. She realized there was always an outside chance that Clay would change his mind and tell her to stay. After all, she was his only source of income and he’d been pressuring her to go back to work. But after some soul-searching, she knew she couldn’t stay with Clay any longer.

She didn’t just have herself to think of anymore and there was no doubt in her mind that Clay Patton was not a good role model for Jamie, even though he was the boy’s father. Moreover, she didn’t want Jamie to grow up thinking that drinking, gambling and cheating on the woman he was married to were what a real man did.

But neither was running away, she told herself ruefully. That definitely wasn’t the right example to set for Jamie, either.

Another tear slid down her cheek as she sat at the table, trying to sort things out.

When had life gotten to be so complicated?

As she wiped away the tear with the back of her hand, Amy realized the baby had stopped crying. The first thing that occurred to her was something was wrong. Jamie never stopped crying so quickly. Getting up, she hurried from the kitchen back to the living room.

She found Connor sitting on the sofa, holding her son and gently rocking him in his arms.

“Looks like your mom’s come to check up on us, Jamie,” he told the baby. “I don’t think she really trusts me with you yet.”

Amy couldn’t get over how peaceful Jamie seemed.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Connor,” she began, not really knowing how to end her sentence without sounding as if she was a paranoid parent.

Taking pity on her, Connor bailed her out. “You’re really not used to anyone taking care of Jamie but you, right?”

“Right. Clay’s not good with babies—with Jamie,” she explained.

Connor knew that he should just leave the comment alone. But the truth of it was, he had never liked Clay Patton, even back when they were all going to school together. The dislike had come very close to hatred when Clay had run off with Amy.

Which was undoubtedly why he heard himself saying, “Clay’s not good with a lot of things,” even though he knew he should just let the whole thing pass without making any sort of further comment.

“For the record,” Connor went on, his voice softening, “I changed Jamie and I think that he might be getting hungry. He’s trying to eat his fist. I’ve got some extra baby bottles, but I’m afraid there’s no formula in the house. If you tell me what kind he needs, I’ll go into town and get some for you.”

“I’ve got formula,” she said. It was one of the few things she’d made sure to pack, along with Jamie’s things. Her son’s needs came first, even when her brain had been in a state of turmoil.

She looked at Connor, some of his words replaying themselves in her head. He’d changed Jamie, but she knew she hadn’t given him any diapers. Those were still in her bag. Curiosity got the better of her.

“How did you get so—prepared?” she asked him.

“I can’t take the credit for that. Cole’s twins are less than a year old, so there are a few things that are still left over from when he first brought them to the house.” He decided to give her a more concise picture of the way things had gone here in the last eighteen months. “When Cody first brought Devon and her baby to stay here, Miss Joan threw them a baby shower. Most of the things we still have here are from that shower, although some of them were acquired for Cassidy’s castaway,” he added.

“Her castaway,” Amy repeated.

“The baby she rescued from the river,” Connor elaborated.

Amy held up her hand. “Wait. My head’s starting to hurt.” She looked at him, clearly confused. She hadn’t really been listening to Connor earlier when he’d given her a quick summary on his siblings. Her mind had been preoccupied with what she’d done and needed to do.

Listening to him now, it sounded to her as if each of his siblings had not just gotten married in a short amount of time, but had acquired babies, as well. It didn’t seem probable.

“Are you pulling my leg?” she asked him.

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

Amy shrugged, at a loss as to how to explain her bewilderment. “I don’t know. I guess because this all sounds a little fantastic.”

Connor grinned at her, then glanced down at the baby in his arms—now sound asleep.

“You have a point,” he agreed, then added, “But it’s the truth. Since you’re going to be staying here awhile, you’ll get to see this for yourself. All of them will be here for Sunday dinner.”

He had his family coming together on Sundays, she thought. She’d only be in the way. “I’ll be imposing,” she protested.

“No,” he told her firmly, “you’ll be here.” There was no room for argument in his voice. “Now stop trying to argue with me or you’ll wind up waking up your son and I just got him to sleep.”

Amy shook her head, her eyes misting again. “I don’t deserve you, Connor.” She lightly brushed her lips against his cheek.

“What you don’t deserve,” he told her, doing his best not to react to the fleeting kiss and the warm glow it created within him, “is what happened to you before. But that’s all in the past now.” He spoke softly so as not to wake Jamie. “Like my dad used to like to say, today is the first day of the rest of your life. Doesn’t matter what happened before. What matters is what you do with now—and what you do with tomorrow.”

“You really mean it?” she asked, as if Connor’s words were suddenly beginning to sink in. “I can stay here for now?”

He noticed that some of her color was finally beginning to come back to her cheeks. She didn’t seem quite as stricken as she had when she’d first walked in.

“For now. And for much longer than that,” he answered. “I can do it with hand puppets if you’d like, if it gets the message across to you any better.”

Connor with hand puppets. She laughed at the image that created in her head. “No, that’s not necessary. Message received, thank you.”

“No,” Connor contradicted, “thank you. The house was getting quieter than a tomb just before you got here. Disturbingly quiet,” he emphasized. “Even when Rita’s here, it’s still eerily quiet. Rita’s not exactly given to chattering endlessly.

“After growing up in a house full of siblings, usually with them arguing over something, all this peace and quiet is really getting on my nerves. I was thinking about getting a dog just before you got here. A yappy dog.”

Amy visibly brightened at the idea of a four-legged pet running around. “I always wanted a dog,” she confessed. “But my parents always said they were too much trouble. And I won’t tell you what Clay had to say about getting a dog.”

Connor frowned at the mention of Amy’s estranged husband. “I’m guessing probably the same thing he had to say about having a baby.”

She looked surprised that he had hit the nail right on the head the way he had.

“Yes,” she admitted ruefully. “He did.” She looked down at her sleeping son. “If it had been up to Clay, Jamie wouldn’t be here—and there would have been this huge, awful gaping hole in my heart.”

“Well, good thing for your heart he’s here,” Connor said in a cheerful voice, deliberately steering her away from the somber subject to something lighter. “Now why don’t you go back to your supper and finish eating it while I take care of Jamie? You need to build up your strength.”

“How did you know I didn’t finish eating?” she asked in surprise.

“Because I’m the oldest in my family and I know everything,” he said simply. “Now go and finish your supper—or there’ll be no dessert.”

He was rewarded with a soft laugh as Amy turned away to go back to the kitchen and her supper.

“Don’t worry, Jamie,” he whispered to the sleeping baby in his arms. “Your mom’s going to be all right. We’re going to take care of her, you and I.”

Jamie made a little noise, as if in response, but went on sleeping.

Chapter Four

This was more like it, Connor thought later that evening, after he’d cleared away the dishes and then come back into the living room to keep Amy and her son company. Although there certainly wasn’t much of a commotion, he found the little sounds of ongoing life extremely comforting.

He swiftly began to realize that he wasn’t meant for the solitary life. Amy and her son had appeared just in time. She might think that he was rendering her a service, taking her in this way, but the way he saw it, she was actually saving him. Saving him from a life of soul-draining desolation.

“Why don’t you and Jamie spend the night in the guest bedroom down here for tonight?” Connor suggested when it came time to call it an evening. “I’ll move the cradle in next to the bed, and then tomorrow I can get the crib out of the attic and set it up next to the guest bedroom upstairs.” He smiled as he remembered each of the babies taking their turn sleeping in that room. “It seems to be the go-to bedroom for all our infant guests. And if we leave the cradle down here, you can keep Jamie close by during the daytime.”

The man had obviously thought of everything, Amy realized. She was more than a little gratified as she walked into the guest room. He was right behind her, bringing in the cradle.

She had no idea how to begin to thank him.

“You really are a very good man, Connor,” she told him.

Connor saw no reason to take undue credit. The way he saw it, he hadn’t done anything that was out of the ordinary. “It’s family, Amy. You do what you have to do for family.”

“But I’m not your family,” she pointed out.

Connor shrugged. “A technicality.”

Amy’s smile turned sad around the edges as she said, “Not everyone feels that way.”

He could tell she was thinking about Clay, and although he wanted to tell her the man wasn’t worth a single one of her tears or even a moment’s worth of regret, Connor knew it wasn’t his place to say that to her. For all he knew, she still loved Clay and she was still married to the man.

With that in mind, he tried to be supportive. “He might still come looking for you, you know.”

Oh Lord, with all her heart, she hoped not.

“If he does, it’s not because he loves me. That ship sailed a long time ago. If he does come looking for me, it’s only because he thinks of me as his property and his ego can’t abide the thought that I’d actually leave him.”

“But he threw you out,” he reminded Amy.

She shook her head, overruling his point. “That doesn’t matter. He threw me out, but I think that in Clay’s mind I should be begging him to take me back.”

And that brought them to the major question that had been nagging at him since she’d walked in. “And do you want him to?”

Amy’s answer was quick and emphatic. “No! I’ve done my penance,” she told Connor with feeling. “And I’ve finally come to my senses.”

The smile that curved his mouth was a reflection of the warmth he was feeling inside. “Glad to hear that,” he said with enthusiasm. Then, not to appear as if he was dwelling on what she’d just said, he turned to a more practical subject. “I brought you new linens and some fresh towels.” He pointed to both piles he’d placed on the bureau earlier. “If there’s anything else you can think of that you might need, all you have to do is ask. I can bed down here on the couch,” he offered, “so I can be close by if you decide that you do need something.”

But she wasn’t about to hear of him having to spend the night on the sofa because of her. “I’ve already put you out enough as it is and I’ve got everything I need right here.”

He didn’t want her to feel as if he was putting any undue pressure on her and he would be the first to acknowledge how important it was to retain a sense of independence.

“All right,” he said as he headed toward the door, “then I guess I’ll say good-night and turn in.”

Connor was almost at the threshold when he heard her call after him.

“Connor?”

He turned around quickly, thinking that she had remembered something she needed. “Yes?”

Gratitude was shining in her eyes as she said, “Thank you.”

The two words caused sunshine to filter all through him. He hadn’t felt like that since they were kids in high school.

“My pleasure,” he told her.

The next moment he pulled the door closed behind him and then he was gone.

Amy stood in the small, homey guest room for a long time, just looking at the closed door. A peaceful feeling sank in by small increments. She was safe. For the first time in a very long time, she was safe.

“Well, we did it, Jamie,” she whispered softly to the child, who was asleep in the nearby cradle. “We escaped. Now all we have to do is figure out what to do with the rest of our lives.”

She sighed as she sank down on the double bed. “Tomorrow,” she said, her voice still a soft whisper. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Amy was convinced she wouldn’t get much sleep, given the amount of extra tension she’d experienced by finally getting up the nerve to pick up and leave. But it was exactly that tension—and the accumulated tension from the last five years—that had her so exhausted. She was asleep before her head even hit the oversize pillow Connor had placed on her bed.

* * *

CONNOR FELT LIKE hell when he came downstairs the next morning. If he’d gotten an hour’s worth of sleep, spread out across the last six, he had done well.

For the most part, he’d lain awake, listening for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Mainly, he had been listening for Amy calling him in the middle of the night. Twice he’d gotten up and stood on the landing of the stairs, straining his ears and listening in case he’d somehow missed hearing her.

But other than the sound of a coyote howling in the distance, there was nothing to break up the silence.

Even Amy’s baby was silent, which, compared to the other four infants who had spent time at the ranch, was highly unusual.

But Connor went on listening just in case, which explained why he felt as if he’d been run over by a stampeding herd of mustangs when he came down the following morning.

Struggling to focus his eyes, he stumbled into the kitchen, intent on making himself a strong cup of coffee and hopefully jump-starting his system.

It was his heart that underwent the jump start when he almost walked right into all five-foot-one of the moving dynamo who was his housekeeper.

“Rita,” he exclaimed, startled. “You’re back.” Still feeling out of focus, he struggled to clear his head. “Weren’t you supposed to get back next Monday?” he asked the woman.

“Yes,” Rita answered, clearing off the counter as she prepared to make breakfast, “but I decided to come back early and I see that I was right to cut my visit to my sister short.” Rita had never been one to mince words. “You look like hell, Mr. Connor.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You have not been eating your own cooking, have you? I know that I prepared enough meals for you to last until I returned.”

“My cooking’s not that bad,” Connor protested.

Rita took his protest to mean that the rancher had been cooking. She frowned. “Then you have been eating your own meals.”

“No, Rita,” Connor responded dutifully, “I’ve been eating your casseroles, just like you told me.”

Still eyeing him suspiciously, Rita fisted her hands on her waist. Something was definitely off. “Then why do you look like that?”

Connor went with a simple answer first, hoping it would be enough to satisfy the woman. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

Concern instantly washed over the older woman’s face. “Is there something wrong? Did someone in the family get sick?” she asked. “Who is it? I will go right over there—”

“Calm down, Rita. Nobody’s sick.” He caught the woman by her sturdy shoulders, holding her in place, although it wasn’t all that easy.

Her attention circled back to him and she gave him a dubious look. “Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror this morning?”

“I appreciate your concern, Rita. I do,” he said patiently. “But I’d appreciate a cup of coffee even more.”

Rita sighed. She was accustomed to the rancher’s slow, stubborn behavior. He was not one to volunteer information quickly.

“Very well, Mr. Connor. I will make you your coffee,” Rita said. Taking the coffeepot, she measured out three cups of water and then placed the required amount of coffee grounds into the coffee machine.