Читать книгу The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby - Teresa Carpenter - Страница 11

“I’VE got you.” Nate caught a bundle of soft female curves in his arms. She smelled of something fruity, clean and tart … and good enough to eat.

Too bad she was prickly as a porcupine. Because it looked as if he was stuck with her for a couple of days.

“I’m fine.” She twisted against him, seeking release. “You’ve made your point. I’m not going outside.”

“Stay still.” He shifted his hold from her arms to her waist, practically spanning the narrow width with his hands. She was tinier than he’d thought. “You’re going to hurt yourself worse than you already have.”

“The baby is crying.”

“We’ll get to Jack in a minute.” For some reason Nate couldn’t let Michelle go. She’d untucked her shirt when she stuck the baby under the hem and the thumb of his right hand rested on the silky warmth of her skin. It wasn’t personal, he assured himself. It wasn’t Michelle he wanted.

It just felt so good to hold a woman in his arms.

But he had enough common sense to know the landlord who wanted to sell his house out from under him was not the place to kick-start his libido.

He had no choice but to let her stay for a couple of days, but after that she’d be gone. Either to a place in town or preferably back to the city to stay until his lease ended and she could return to do her thing without his bumping into her.

She stopped struggling, going totally still. The lights were out but the fire gave off enough light for him to realize the dark shook her.

He could handle a woman’s tears. When your mother cried at the drop of a hat, you learned to cope or became an emotional wreck yourself. Still the long day—days—and the baby must have him off his game, because he really didn’t want to see the tears sparkling in Michelle’s emerald-bright eyes fall. Already he knew enough about her to know she’d hate putting on a tearful display for him.

“What’s wrong, Michelle? Are you afraid of the dark?”

Anger instantly sparked, wiping the distress from her face, replacing it with haughty distain.

“Of course not.” Her chin lifted and instead of pulling away from him she stepped forward until her pink flannel shirt brushed against the khaki of his uniform. “I’m at my best in the dark.”

His body reacted with a rush. Holy sh—Moly.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Round one to Michelle.

A warrior knew the advantages of a timely retreat. He quickly released her and took two steps back, narrowly missing the coffee table and a fall of his own.

She flipped her hair and flashed him a glance of triumph as she moved to pick up the baby and coo at him. Not a tear in sight, and she seemed to have forgotten her missing suitcases.

Mission accomplished. So it hadn’t been a total defeat.

“Good. Then keep an eye on Jack. I’m going to go get some flashlights and candles. Plus I have to make some calls. I may be a few minutes.”

“Okay.” But she couldn’t prevent a flinch of uncertainty.

“Don’t let the fire go out.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can and we’ll get some light in here.”

“Thanks. I think the dark upsets Jack.”

Nate stared down at Jack held snuggly in her arms and an unexpected rush of emotion swelled up in him. The baby had Nate’s uncle’s eyes, the resemblance especially strong with Jack scowling like he was doing now.

How Nate had loved that old man.

Funny, he’d always thought of Uncle Stan as old, but hell, at forty-two his uncle had only been ten years older than Nate was now when he took in a wild fourteen-year-old.

He’d been in a bad place but Uncle Stan took no guff from him. There’d been no bluff in the man, but he’d cared. He’d been as free with his affections as he’d been with his disciplines. Nate had needed both.

He’d learned how a real man acted.

How proud Uncle Stan would be of baby Jack. Though it hurt Nate to admit it, he was glad his uncle hadn’t seen Jack Sr.’s spiral into drunken obscureness. He wouldn’t have blamed Nate—Stan believed a man was responsible for his own choices—but it would have killed him to see Jack’s pain, and the weakness that took him over.

The baby, the continuance of the Connor family, would have thrilled Uncle Stan. Michelle was surprised by Nate’s willingness to take the baby on, but Nate owed Uncle Stan and Jack too much, loved them too much, to shame them by turning away baby Jack.

Which meant for the time being he needed Michelle. At least for tonight; beyond that, he’d see.

“Right.” He mocked her claim that Jack was the one afraid of the dark.

She hit him with a scorching glare, but all she said, was “Food would be good, too.”

Her bravado and the underlying vulnerability got to him. He called himself a chump but once he’d gathered the flashlights, candles and a battery lantern he returned to the living room.

He lit candles and placed them on the mantel, handed her a flashlight and set the blazing lantern on the coffee table. But it was her smile that lit up the room.

“Double chump,” he muttered as he escaped to the kitchen. The phones were out, too, so he used his cell to call the county supervisor’s office to get the status of the utilities. He learned the storm had taken out several major hubs. And then the line went dead as his phone beeped and informed him he was out of service.

“Great.”

The need to fix the problems pressed at him, but there was literally nothing he could do except prepare for the cold night ahead. The loss of electricity meant they’d have no working heater.

He grabbed a box from the utility room and piled in his stash from the refrigerator and cupboard, tossed in utensils and topped it with plates, mugs, a pan and napkins. Next he used the flashlight he’d kept to find two sleeping bags in the attached garage.

Why he bothered to go to so much trouble for a woman so self-absorbed she rarely contacted the father who obviously adored her, Nate didn’t know. And sure she was watching the baby, but she hadn’t even offered to help. No doubt she expected to be waited on hand and foot. Well, that wouldn’t wash here. He expected people to pull their own weight and since her temporary stay was on his dime, she’d just have to meet his expectations.

He frowned, remembering what he’d overheard her telling Jack. That kids of sheriffs had to live with high expectations and little freedom. It made him recall the early days with his uncle Stan. That’s exactly how he’d felt. The restrictions had chafed badly, but it had also felt good to know someone cared about where he was and what he was doing. To have someone who checked up on him and made sure he had something to eat.

It took two trips to get everything to the living room and Michelle was sitting on the hearth pawing through the food box when he came back with the sleeping bags.

“Big boy, you are my hero.” The sultry look of anticipation on her face made him wish she were gazing at him instead of the stew she was transferring from plastic container to cast-iron pot. “I’m starved, and this smells really good.”

When she put her finger in her mouth to clean off a smudge of gravy, he had to disguise a groan with a cough.

That brought her attention up from the food.

“You’re not catching a cold, are you?”

Was that real concern in her voice?

“Because you’re a parent now, you have to take better care of yourself.”

Nate rolled his eyes. He should have known better.

“Thanks for your concern.” The sarcasm slid off his tongue before he could rein it in. Damn, now he’d have to put up with the sulks for an hour while she pouted around. He moderated his tone. “But I’m fine.”

Unoffended, she flashed him a dimpled grin. “I’m just saying. No more wandering around in the cold without a jacket.”

Surprised by her easy response, Nate felt some of the tension in his shoulders lessen. Maybe the woman had a few redeeming qualities.

“Yes, Mother.”

“Oh.” Her green eyes widened and then narrowed dangerously. “You didn’t go there.”

He had. And her huff made him add, “You want a cap and slippers to go with that advice?”

“You’re going to pay for that, buster.” She promised retribution. “Now you get to play chef.”

She pushed the heavy pot into the flames of the fire. And to punctuate her point she stood, dusted off her curvy butt and hobbled back to the couch, where she claimed her seat in the corner. Arms crossed over her chest plumped up her breasts, pushing pink lace and considerable cleavage into view.

“I like it steaming hot,” she said with a slow lick of her lips.

Oh, devious, devious woman. The wanton knew exactly how to make a man pay. And it had nothing to do with cooking supper.

Determined to keep his composure, he put his back to the tempting sight of the contrary female.

“You’re fickle, Ms. Ross. First I’m your hero, then I’m a sorry fellow tasked with heating your stew.”

He glanced over his shoulder, taking in the cozy scene backlit by the encompassing darkness. Baby sleeping, a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle; smug woman, pretty in pink flannel. As she caught his gaze, she flipped her hair in a gesture no doubt learned in the cradle. The long tresses looked like flowing gold in the firelight.

“Cooked steaming hot,” he emphasized.

She lifted a brow. “I wasn’t talking about the stew.”

Michelle bit back a laugh. She swore the man almost swallowed his tongue.

Served him right. Calling her mother. The nerve.

Stew was good, though. As if on cue, her stomach growled. Not loud enough to be heard, thank goodness, but a definite reminder it had been close to nine hours since she last ate.

“But it’ll do for now,” she purred, taking satisfaction in seeing his shoulders brace as if ready for a fight. Better prepare, big boy, she was here to fight for her inheritance, and she wouldn’t let a massive he-man stand in her way.

Flirting came as natural to her as breathing. And if a little harmless seduction threw him off his stride, good. It might get her what she wanted and no way would she fall for River Run’s newest lawman.

“You’ll mind your manners if you want a serving,” he calmly responded.

Ah. A challenge.

“You’d really deny an injured woman a simple meal?” she chastised in a wounded voice, soft and just a little accusatory.

He just shook his head without turning and dished up two bowls of the savory stew. Then he opened a foil-wrapped loaf of bread and cut two big slices, putting one in each of the bowls. Walking over, he handed one of the bowls to her.

“Thank you.” She reached eagerly for the meal, too hungry to pretend otherwise. The first bite tasted divine and she moaned in pleasure. “Excellent. Did you make this?”

“No,” he said from the brown corduroy recliner next to her. “A friend cooked it for me.” He eyed her over his steaming bowl. “You’re going to be trouble.”

It wasn’t a question, but she nodded. She didn’t usually reveal her weaknesses, especially to strong competitors, but weariness and desperation drove her to the point of honesty.

“I need to stay here,” she said bravely.

“And if I say no?”

She chewed carefully, the yummy stew suddenly sitting heavy in her stomach. “You can’t.”

“We both know I should.”

“I don’t know that,” she denied. “I think we can help each other out here.”

That stopped him midbite. He lifted one dark eyebrow. “How’s that?”

“I need a place to stay.” She choked out the words, then cleared her throat and put determination in the rest. “And you need help with little Jack.”

“Hmm. Seems I could hire someone who won’t cause trouble to do that.”

“But you don’t have to pay me.” Hmm. “Much.”

He laughed. A hearty, rusty-sounding bark that came from deep inside him and startled the baby awake.

Michelle immediately reached for the baby, her first instinct to soothe and settle him, and then her healthy sense of self-preservation kicked in. So instead she cooed to little Jack on her way to handing him to Nate.

Let him see what he’d be dealing with without inhouse assistance.

“Here you go.” She held the crying child out to Nate.

“Humph.” He set his bowl on the coffee table and took the squalling baby into his arms.

The trick worked because the baby continued to cry no matter what Nate did to soothe him. Then she felt bad because Jack refused to be mollified. Nate patted him, talked to him, put him over his shoulder and held him in his lap. Actually he was very good with the baby, holding him well and confidently.

But nothing made Jack happy.

Once she finished eating she set her dishes aside and took him so Nate could finish his meal.

She thought she’d be able calm the child, even hummed a little song for him, which seemed to be working and then it wasn’t. Instead he worked himself into a full screaming fit. So much for her plan. And her ego.

“I changed his diaper,” she said even as she checked him again to make sure he was still dry. “And he just had a bottle. I don’t know why he’s so upset.”

“Maybe he’s still hungry,” Nate offered. “Do you think he’d like some stew?”

“He’s too small to eat that. Or any solids. How old did you say he was?”

“Four months.”

Did that mean Jack could have food? She wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. I had a coworker with a new baby. I think she started feeding her little girl about this age. But if so, it was only soft cereal or pureed fruits and vegetables.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have any of that. I’m going to give him a little of the broth.”

Michelle hesitated, still unsure, but the frantic crying wore at her nerves. At this point she was willing to give it a try. She gratefully released the baby into Nate’s care.

“Be careful,” she urged him. “Make sure you don’t get any chunks of food. And don’t give him too much. It’s rich and his system won’t be used to it.”

“Let’s see if he even likes it.” Nate dipped the tip of his spoon in the thick broth and brought it to the shrieking baby’s mouth, touching the tiny tongue with a small taste. For a moment there was no change, but Nate tried it again. This time the crying stuttered as Jack worked his tongue against his lips, but his little body still shuddered with the force of his sobs.

“That’s promising.” Nate fed him another small sip.

“Not too fast,” she cautioned as blessed silence surrounded them.

“He likes it.”

“I’m sure he does. It’s got more flavor than anything else he’s ever eaten.”

“It shut him up.” Nate sent her a superior look as he continued to feed the baby. “You can’t argue with the results.”

“I can if he gets sick later,” she shot back. “I think that’s enough.”

“Okay. One more.” He talked to the baby, explained this was the last bite, but he could have another bottle later. And Nate continued to talk to Jack after he lifted him to his shoulder, telling him about the storm and how Jack had to do his part to help them all have a good night under the trying circumstances.

He talked until Jack fell asleep.

“Good job.” She applauded. “Hopefully he’s out for a while.”

“I guess it’s too much to hope he’s out for the night?”

“Afraid so. Speaking of which, who gets him for the night? Are you ready to agree to my terms?”

He sighed, the baby lifting and falling with the movement of his broad chest. “Trouble with a capital T.”

She grinned at the resignation in his voice. “Just saying. Life will be so much easier with me around.”

“Huk.”

What kind of noise was that?

“You okay?” She couldn’t tell if he was choking or trying not to laugh. Maybe a little of both?

He reprimanded her with the flash of diamond-sharp eyes as he fought to get himself under control.

“Witch. Lucky for me I don’t need to make a decision tonight.” He nodded at a couple of sleeping bags she hadn’t noticed before. “We’ll be sleeping together down here next to the fire.”