A Christmas Blessing. Sherryl Woods

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       Chapter Three

      Jessie felt as if she’d run a couple of marathons back-to-back, but not even that bone-weary exhaustion could take away the incredible sense of joy that spread through her at the sight of her daughter sleeping so peacefully in her arms. Her seemingly healthy baby girl. Her little angel with the lousy sense of timing.

      For perhaps the dozenth time since dawn had stolen into the room, bathing it in a soft light, she examined fingers and toes with a sense of amazement that anyone so small could be so perfect. Her gaze honed in on that tiny bow of a mouth, already forming the instinctive, faint smacking sounds of hunger even as she slept. Any minute now she would wake up and demand to be fed.

      “Luke, she’s hungry,” Jessie announced with a mixture of awe and pride that quickly turned to worry. Not once during all the hours of labor or since had she given a single thought to what happened next. “What’ll we do?”

      Given their past history, it was amazing how quickly she’d come to rely on Luke, how easily she’d pushed aside all of her anger and grief just to make it through this crisis. And, despite his less than alert state on her arrival, despite all the reasons he had for never wanting to see her again, he hadn’t let her down yet.

      Of course, judging from the way he was sprawled in the easy chair in a corner of the bedroom with his eyes closed, the last bit of adrenaline that had gotten him through the delivery had finally worn off.

      Faint, gray light filtered through the frosted window and cast him in shadows. She studied him surreptitiously and saw the toll the past months—or some mighty hard drinking—had taken on him.

      The lines that time and weather had carved in his tanned, rugged face seemed deeper than ever. His jaw was shadowed by a day or more’s growth of beard. His dark brown hair, which he’d always worn defiantly long, swept the edge of his collar. He looked far more like a dangerous rebel than the successful Texas rancher he was.

      If he looked physically unkempt, his clothes were worse. His plaid flannel shirt was clean but rumpled, as if he’d grabbed it from a basket on his way to the door. It was unevenly buttoned and untucked, leaving a mat of dark chest hair intriguingly visible. The jeans he’d hauled on were dusty and snug and unbuttoned at the waist.

      Jessie grinned as her gaze dropped to his feet. He had on one blue sock. The other foot was bare. She found the sight oddly touching. Clearly he’d never given a thought to himself all during the night. He’d concentrated on her and seeing to it that Angela made it safely into the world. She would never forget what he’d done for her.

      “Luke?” she repeated softly.

      The whisper accomplished what her intense scrutiny had not. His dark brown eyes snapped open. “Hmm?” He blinked. “Everything okay?”

      “The baby’s hungry. What’ll we do?”

      “Feed her?” he suggested with a spark of amusement.

      “Thanks so much.” She couldn’t keep the faint sarcasm from her voice, but she smiled as she realized how often during the night she’d caught a rare teasing note in Luke’s manner. In all the time she’d lived with Erik she’d never seen that side of Luke. He’d been brusque more often than not, curt to the point of rudeness. His attitude might have intimidated her, if she hadn’t seen the occasional flashes of something lost and lonely in his eyes. In the past few hours, she’d seen another side of him altogether—strong, protective, unflappable. The perfect person to have around in a crisis. The kind of man on whom a woman could rely.

      “Anytime,” he teased despite her nasty tone.

      Once again he’d surprised her, causing her to wonder if the quiet humor had always been there, if it had simply been overshadowed by his brothers’ high spirits.

      Still, Jessie was in no mood for levity, as welcome a change as it was. “Luke, I’m serious. She’s going to start howling any second now. I can tell. And this diaper you cut from one of your old flannel shirts is sopping. We can’t keep cutting up your clothes every time she’s wet.”

      “I have shirts I haven’t even taken out of their boxes yet,” he said, making light of her concern for his wardrobe. “If I lose a few, it’s for a good cause. Besides, I think she looks festive in red plaid.”

      As he spoke, he approached the bed warily, as if suddenly uncertain if he had a right to draw so close. He touched the baby’s head with his fingertips in a caress so gentle that Jessie’s breath snagged in her throat.

      “As for her being hungry, last I heard, there was nothing better than a mama’s own milk for a little one,” he said, his gaze fixed on the baby.

      “I wasn’t planning on nursing her,” Jessie protested. “It won’t work with the job I have. She’ll have to be with a sitter all day. I need bottles, formula.” She moaned. There were rare times—and this was one of them—when she wondered how she would cope. She’d counted on Erik to be there for her and the baby. Now every decision, every bit of the responsibility, was on her shoulders.

      “Well, given that she decided not to wait for you to get to a hospital or to arrange for a fancy set of bottles,” Luke said, still sounding infinitely patient with her, “I’d say Angela is just going to have to settle for what’s on hand for the time being. Don’t you suppose you can switch her to a bottle easily enough?”

      “How should I know?” she snapped unreasonably.