A Baby For Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

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      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, СКАЧАТЬ