A Baby For Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

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       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.

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