Читать книгу A Baby For Christmas - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 12

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.

“And make a couple of extra cups this morning,” he requested.

Rita stopped and added water to the pot and measured out more coffee grounds to accommodate his request. “Mr. Cole coming early?”

“No, he’s coming the usual time,” Connor answered. Opening the refrigerator, he rummaged through the different shelves. He didn’t find what he was looking for. “Rita, do we have any more jam?”

“In the pantry.” The coffee maker began to go through its paces, making noises as it brewed. Rita turned to look at him. “Since when do you take jam?” she wanted to know. Before he could answer her, the distant sound of a baby crying had Rita looking alert. “Am I hearing a baby cry?”

“I don’t know,” he deadpanned. “Are you?”

She listened more closely. “That sounds too young to belong to Mr. Cole’s twins.”

“Good ear,” Connor complimented, deftly avoiding what he knew the woman was ultimately after. “Listen, why don’t I just pour the coffee and get the jam and you just—”

Rita placed herself in front of the rancher, a small, formidable human roadblock. Her dark eyes narrowed as they delved into him.

“Another one?” she cried.

“Another what?” Connor asked innocently, deciding to draw the conversation out just a little bit and tease the housekeeper.

“I leave here for five days and you found another baby?” she asked, astonished. “That makes—five,” she declared after doing a quick review in her head. “A total of five babies. It is like your whole family are baby magnets.”

“Technically,” Connor corrected, “the baby found me. Or actually the baby’s mother found me.”

No longer needing to behave like a human blockade, Rita turned on her heel and headed directly toward the sound of the crying baby.

“Rita, wait up,” Connor called after her. “I’ll make the introductions after I—”

Since she had come to work for the McCulloughs, Rita had very quickly become not just part of the family but had taken on the role of a surrogate mother. She had no interest in waiting for any introductions to be made. If there were introductions to be made, she would be the one to take care of that small detail.

She continued to head for the rear guest bedroom like a homing pigeon on a mission. Stopping at the door only long enough to deliver a short, quick knock, she barely heard a woman’s voice say “Come in” before she had her hand on the doorknob. The next moment, she’d opened the door and was walking in.

Amy looked up, startled. She’d expected to see Connor coming in. Instead, she found herself looking at a small, dark-haired matronly woman who looked as if she was accustomed to being in charge of anything and everything she came across.

Amy’s hand flew to her chest as if to steady her pounding heart.

“I’m sorry—who are you?” she asked the woman who made no secret of swiftly dissecting her with her dark eyes.

“I am Rita Navarro,” Rita informed her. “Who are you?”

Entering, Connor came between the two women, prepared to act as a human buffer. In his opinion, the housekeeper was a wonderful woman, but she had a tendency to come on too strong at times.

“Amy, this is my housekeeper, Rita. She tends to think she runs everything.”

Rita spared him a quick side glance. “That is because I do.” She pressed her thin lips together as she shook her head. “This will teach me to go away,” she murmured under her breath, scrutinizing the young woman sitting on the bed, holding the baby in her arms.

There was only one way for her to interpret the older woman’s comment. “Then I am intruding,” Amy said, rising to her feet. “I’ll go,” she told Connor.

“No, you’re not, and no, you won’t,” Connor replied firmly. He gave Rita a warning glance over his shoulder, silently telling the woman to weigh her words.

Rita tempered her tone as she asked Amy, “How old is your baby?”

“He’s six months old,” Amy answered. She still looked as if she was somewhat intimidated by the petite but bombastic housekeeper.

Rita nodded, as if the information jibed with something in her head.

“Bring him to the kitchen. When I finish preparing your breakfast, I will take care of him while you eat. Come,” she ordered the baby’s mother just before she left the room.

“And that,” Connor cavalierly said to Amy, “is my housekeeper. I should have warned you—she comes on a little strong.”

A small smile curved the corners of Amy’s mouth. “Strong. That would be the word for it, all right,” she agreed.

“Rita means well,” Connor assured her.

She could only hope that was true, Amy thought, but out loud she said, “I’m sure she does.”

“Are you coming?” Rita called out from the kitchen.

“I think we’ve just been given our marching orders,” Connor said, about to take Amy’s elbow to usher her and the baby into the kitchen. “For a small woman, her voice can really carry,” he observed with a laugh. And then, thinking that perhaps the housekeeper’s overbearing manner might be rather difficult for Amy to deal with, he said, “I can talk to Rita and ask her to back off.”

But Amy shook her head. She did not want to risk possibly getting on the woman’s bad side. “That’s okay. She’s just looking out for you.”

“Stay here a day and she’ll be looking out for you, as well,” Connor promised. “She might seem gruff, but she’s really good with kids.”

“Right now, I’ll settle for her just being good with coffee,” Amy said.

“You’re about to have your wish come true.” He could smell the coffee brewing even before he crossed the threshold to the kitchen.

“Ah, so you are finally here,” Rita declared. Her back was to them. It was as if she could sense their presence. “Good. The coffee is ready and so is your breakfast.” She nodded at the two place settings on the table, then turned around and crossed to Amy. “Here, give him to me.”

“That’s all right. I can hold him while I eat,” Amy said.

“But you can eat better if I hold him,” Rita informed her in a firm voice. Putting out her hands, she waited for the baby to be transferred to her. “Do not worry. I do not drop children.”

Feeling somewhat uneasy, Amy surrendered Jamie to the housekeeper. The moment that she did, she watched in fascination as a smile blossomed on the woman’s otherwise stern face, instantly transforming her.

Rita began cooing something to the baby in Spanish, and then she looked up, sparing Amy a glance. “Eat before it gets cold,” she ordered.

“You heard the lady.” Connor ushered Amy into a chair. “Breakfast is a lot better warm—and so is Rita,” he added with a whisper.

Amy suppressed a laugh as she sat down, feeling a little more at ease. Maybe, she thought, she’d been right to come here after all.