Her Best Christmas Ever
Judy Duarte
Her Best Christmas Ever
Judy Duarte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#uf4a1836a-508f-56d9-9f00-7d78530e5a31)
Title Page (#uce08de08-dfb4-52b4-ac63-fd0f5549b2d2)
About the Author (#ub28f9bdc-6c86-5e74-8ab1-67490410c080)
Dedication (#u0f961647-b562-5d72-bb38-d8f64edba6f9)
Chapter One (#u1951f4b8-b663-56b7-a3aa-cef53f922c10)
Chapter Two (#u75f162ef-7192-5d35-bd8d-27b425148869)
Chapter Three (#u50039a27-19bf-50be-9467-ed9ae6375bdf)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Judy Duarte always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favourite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.
Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when Special Edition released her first book. Since then, she has sold twenty-one more novels.
Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. In July of 2005, Judy won the prestigious Readers’ Choice Award.
Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous but delightfully close family.
You can contact her at JudyDuarte@sbcglobal.net (mailto:JudyDuarte@sbcglobal.net) or through her website, www.judyduarte.com (http://www.judyduarte.com).
To Crystal Green and Sheri WhiteFeather,
the best critique partners in the world.
I have no idea where I’d be
or what I’d do without you two in my corner.
Chapter One
Hoping to beat the storm that darkened the vast Texas sky, Greg Clayton stepped harder on the gas pedal, accelerating the rental SUV.
He’d just wrapped up another grueling tour, and the members of his country-western band had scattered, each one going his or her own way for the upcoming holiday season. Greg had boarded a flight, too, and was now heading for the only place he’d ever really called home—the Rocking C.
Fourteen years ago, Granny Clayton had found him hiding in her barn, alone and afraid. Within a month, she’d started adoption proceedings to make him a part of her family.
And now, at twenty-seven, he’d been a Clayton half his life—the best half by far.
A jagged streak of lightning ripped through the clouds, which were growing more ominous by the minute, and it didn’t take long for a groan and rumble of thunder to follow.
Greg swore under his breath. This storm—the first of two, if the weatherman had called it right—was going to be a real gully-washer.
Fortunately, he wasn’t far from the ranch. But there was one particular dip in the county road that was prone to flooding with any significant precipitation, so he needed to get past that low spot before the rain began to fall. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to get through at all.
When his cell phone rang, he grabbed it off the clip on his belt and answered.
“Greg?” his elderly mother asked over the crackling line. “Is that you?”
“Yes. Is everything okay, Granny?”
“Well, yes and no. I’m doing fine, but I’m afraid Lester had a stroke. He was visiting his sister in Houston when it happened.”
“That’s too bad.” Lester was Granny’s foreman, a position he’d stepped in to fill after Clem Bixby died. As far as the ranch went, Lester did a great job. But no one would ever replace Clem when it came to having a positive, paternal influence on three adolescent boys.
“Where are you?” Greg asked, scanning the ominous, charcoal-gray horizon and hoping she was close to her destination. He didn’t like the idea of her being out on the road, especially at her age.
“I’m with Hilda,” she said. “So you don’t need to worry about me.”
Greg rolled his eyes in a silent scoff. That was supposed to make him feel better? While Hilda was only a couple of years younger than Granny, she seemed to be the designated driver these days. And more often than not, the two tended to get into trouble when they were together.
Not that the women drank; they were both churchgoing teetotalers. But together they seemed to get involved in one adventure after another, which gave Greg and his brothers more cause for worry than peace of mind.
“But where are you?” he asked.
“Somewhere within Houston city limits,” his mother said. “I’m not exactly sure, but we’ll be staying in a hotel tonight. It’s starting to sprinkle now, so we don’t want to be on the streets any more than we have to.”
That was a relief.
“How far are you from the ranch?” she asked.
Another flash of lightning struck, followed by a thunderous boom and a celestial shudder. “I’m almost to the county road now, so I’m only a couple of miles from the house.”
“Good. The only one left on the ranch is Connie, my cook. Do you remember meeting her?”
Greg had met Connie briefly at Granny’s eightieth birthday party in June. The attractive young woman had short brown hair with blond highlights. And she’d baked one heck of a chocolate cake.
If he was lucky, he’d arrive home and find a pot of something tasty simmering on the stove. He hadn’t eaten a bite since he’d boarded the plane in Las Vegas. Not that they hadn’t served him anything in first class. But he’d been exhausted after the last performance and had slept all the way to Houston’s Hobby Airport.
He wouldn’t complain, though. He loved being onstage. But sometimes he needed to replenish his creative well, and the best place to do that was at the Rocking C.
So hewas looking forward to some downtime and to spending the holidays with the Clayton clan, which was growing. His older brother, Jared, had married Sabrina in a quiet little ceremony a couple of months ago. And Matt was now engaged to Tori.
Yep. Greg would enjoy catching up with his brothers and the new ladies in their lives.
Of course, by the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, he’d be ready to meet up with the band and begin the winter tour.
“I gave all of the ranch employees time off for Thanksgiving,” Granny said, drawing Greg back to the conversation they’d been having. “But Connie didn’t want to travel. So when I got the call about Lester’s stroke, I had to leave her all by herself, which I really didn’t want to do. So I’m sure glad to know you’ll be with her, especially since there’s a storm brewing.”
“No problem. I’ll keep her company.” Greg found himself smiling. To be honest, he was looking forward to seeing Connie again. She’d been pretty quiet when they’d been introduced five months ago, and her shyness or disinterest or whatever it had been had intrigued him.
Most women, whether they were young or old, single or attached, seemed to fawn over Greg, so he was looking forward to doing some of the chasing for a change.
After disconnecting the line, he continued to the ranch, arriving about five minutes after the first sprinkle of rain hit his windshield. He parked close to the house and entered through the back door, where he removed his hat and boots and left them in the mudroom.
Just inside the kitchen, he caught the aroma of warm cinnamon and spice, and his stomach growled in response.
Since he figured his mother had told Connie he was coming, he didn’t announce his arrival. Instead, he walked into the living room, where he found her snoozing on the sofa. In her arms, she cuddled a pillow. She’d draped an autumn-colored afghan over her and had it pulled up to her chin.
Her hair was longer now; the blond highlights were gone. He couldn’t decide whether he liked it that way or not. Still, she was just as pretty as he remembered. Her face, with its light olivecolored complexion, practically glowed.
If his memory hadn’t failed him, her eyes were a greenish shade of hazel. Of course, he’d have to wait until they opened to know for sure.
A grin stretched across his face. Something told him he was going to really enjoy this particular visit home. And he almost looked forward to a fire in the hearth and the sound of rain on the roof.
Realizing he couldn’t continue to stand there and stare at her, he decided to let her sleep and to carry his luggage into his room. But as he took a step, one of the slats of hardwood flooring squeaked in protest.
Connie gasped and shot up on the sofa, her eyes—yep, definitely green—growing wide.
“Oops,” Greg said, placing his bag on the floor. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her mouth opened, yet she didn’t attempt to speak, so he added, “I’m Greg. Granny’s son. We met at her birthday party a few months back.”
“I know who you are,” she said, running her hand through her brown locks of hair. She didn’t seem to be impressed.
“I thought I’d put my bags away,” Greg said, “then fix myself something to eat.”
“I can do it.” She threw off the pillow, as well as the afghan, revealing a belly the size of a basketball. No, make that a beach ball.
Damn. She was pregnant.
The absolute shock must have shown on his face, because she rubbed her distended womb, furrowed her brow, and asked, “What’s the matter?”
“You…” He shrugged. “You’re going to have a baby.”
“Didn’t you know?”
“Nope.” And no one had told him. Not his mother, his brothers…How could they neglect to mention something like that? He didn’t think that he’d kept his attraction to her a secret.
Lightning cracked across the sky, briefly illuminating the room.
No wonder Granny had worried about leaving Connie home alone. She looked ready to…pop.
“When are you due?” he asked, hoping it was a month or two from now. Hell, even next week would give him some peace of mind.
“On Friday,” she said.
And this was Tuesday. He hoped that the kid would stay on schedule.
Connie rubbed the small of her back and grimaced.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She arched, all the while continuing her massage. “I’ve had a backache all afternoon.”
He glanced at the antique clock on the mantel. Five-fifteen.
For a man who’d been looking forward to having some time alone with a woman and turning on the charm, he’d sure changed his tune. Now all he could think about was making it through the night and hoping Granny wouldn’t decide to spend any extra time in Houston.
“I’ll get you something to eat while you put away your things,” she said.
“No, I can’t let you do that, especially since you’re hurting. Go ahead and lie down again. I’ll just make a sandwich. In fact, I’ll make two—one for each of us.”
“Well,” she said, “as long as it’s no trouble…”
“It’s not.” And that was the absolute truth. Hell, he needed to keep his hands busy and his thoughts on something else.
Otherwise, he was going to spend the next umpteen hours stressed out of his ever-lovin’ mind.
Connie’s back had been aching like crazy, but it had seemed to ease some over the last hour. Her heart was still skipping and jumping all over the place, though.
She’d been sound asleep when Greg had entered the house. And while she’d known he was coming, she hadn’t been expecting him until later this evening.
I’m Greg, he’d said. Granny’s son. We met at her birthday party a few months back.
Connie hadn’t needed the introduction. She’d known exactly who the tall, dark-haired man was. His handsome face had adorned the covers of several of her favorite CDs, and his voice had been a regular on KCOW, the radio station she’d always listened to when she’d lived near Galveston.
In fact, Greg might never understand why, but when she realized that her employer’s son was the Greg Clayton whose hits were tearing up the charts, Connie had nearly given two weeks notice and begun looking for a new job.
Not that Greg would have any idea who she was. Her singing career, as short-lived as it was, had been limited to gigs at seedy, two-bit bars. It had also been a surreal time in her life she wanted to forget.
After Ross’s last drunken rage, Connie had made up her mind that she wouldn’t ever let him hit her again. That she was going to make some changes in her life. Some big ones.
“Do you want to press charges?” the first officer on the scene that night had asked, as his partner called for an ambulance.
She’d nodded. “Yes, I do.”
The violence had started as a push here and a shove there. Over time, it had escalated to a twist of her arm, which had been so hard that she’d thought he might have broken something. At that point, she’d told herself she wouldn’t tolerate any more rough stuff.
The first time he actually struck her and split open her lip, he’d cried like a baby and been so remorseful that she’d softened and gone against her best judgement.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he’d said. “I just love you so much.” Then he’d apologized and promised it would never happen again.
It was a promise he hadn’t been able to keep.
Connie hadn’t grown up in a violent home, so the next time he’d blown up had been the last. She’d refused to live with a bully any longer.
As the officer read him his rights, Ross had grown even angrier. While being helped into the back of the patrol car, he’d yelled to Connie, “You’re going to be sorry for this.”
She’d been sorry already. Sorry for getting involved with him in the first place, sorry she hadn’t left him the very first time he’d raised his voice and had given her a shove.
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, drawing her from the dark memories, and she padded to the window to peer out into the rain.
Her mother always said that this kind of day called for a pot of soup and homemade bread.
Connie agreed, even if she wasn’t all that good at whipping anything up in the kitchen that wasn’t a dessert. She was getting better at fixing meals, though, thanks to Granny’s insistence that she do the bulk of the cooking in spite of her limited experience.
“You’ve got to learn sometime,” the older woman had said, “especially since you’re going to be a mother in a few short months.”
Connie blew out a sigh and rubbed the small of her back, which had begun to ache all over again.
Had she done too much or pulled something? Or was this just one of the many discomforts associated with the last weeks of pregnancy?
For a moment, she wondered if she might be going into labor. After all, the books she’d read mentioned something about a backache. But it seemed as though she’d been plagued with a similar pain off and on for the past few days or so.
She had a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so she’d have to ask about it. Especially since it seemed to be hurting worse today than before.
Maybe sleeping on the soft sofa hadn’t been good for her.
Thinking that it might be better if she moved around a bit, she headed to the kitchen where Gregwas fixing sandwiches for them.
Earlier, she’d baked a cake, but she’d put off preparing anything else to eat until after she’d taken a nap, which made her feel somewhat remiss now. She’d been hired to cook the meals, so she didn’t want anyone to think she was slacking off. Neither did she want anyone to think that her pregnancy—or the baby—would hamper her ability to work and pull her own weight. She needed this job and a safe, out-of-the-way place to live.
As she stepped into the doorway, she found Greg standing at the counter, his long, dark hair pulled back with a strip of leather and hanging past his broad shoulders.
He was loading up slices of bread in Dagwood style, with ham, turkey, cheese, sliced tomatoes and whatever else he’d been able to find by rummaging in the fridge.
It was strange to see someone of his caliber standing so close, to see a talented, sexy man engaged in a run-of-the-mill task. He appeared to be one part cowboy, one part warrior, and she found herself in awe.
But she was determined not to fawn over him like a starstruck groupie.
“How about a piece of apple-spice cake?” she asked, shrugging off any misplaced attraction as she entered the kitchen.
“Sure, I’ve got a real sweet tooth, so that sounds great.” He glanced over his shoulder and tossed her his trademark smile, which did a real number on her hormones. And not the maternal kind.
Weird, she thought. Even nine months pregnant, with her thoughts and her body focused on a new baby and upcoming childbirth, she was still flattered by his attention in a male/female sort of way. But she did her best to ignore it and went to work.
After cutting two pieces of cake—one large and one small—she placed them on dessert plates.
“Let’s eat in the living room,” Greg said. “It’s getting chilly, and I want to start a fire. Besides, you’ll probably be more comfortable in there.”
He was right about that.
Ten minutes later, as several flames licked the logs Greg had stacked in the hearth, Connie reached for the afghan, wrapping it around her and the baby that slept in her womb. She’d decided to call her daughter Amanda, after a friend she’d once had, a neighbor girl who’d moved away the same summer Connie’s daddy had died.
It had been a cruel blow, a double whammy for a ten-year-old. And, for a while, she’d wondered if she could handle the heartbreak, the loneliness.
Eventually, the incredible sadness became bearable, but the loneliness never went away.
Outside the wind howled, and the rain came down in a steady sheet. Connie never had liked the wind. Not since watching The Wizard of Oz and hearing about Texas twisters that had wreaked havoc on entire cities.
“Do you have family?” Greg asked.
She turned her head, saw him watching her from across the sofa. “Yes. A mom and a sister.”
“Do they live around here?”
“Not too far.” She didn’t particularly want to talk about them. She’d never been a good liar, and since the truth hurt, she preferred to change the subject whenever possible.
“Granny said you didn’t want to take time off for the holiday.”
“I thought it might be best to stick close to my doctor in Brighton Valley.”
“You mean Doc Graham?” Greg asked. “He’s the only one in town, as far as I know.”
“Actually, Doc retired a couple of months back, and Dr. Bramblett took over his practice.”
“Are you okay with that?” Greg asked. “I know Doc is getting on in years. And most doctors his age would have retired a decade or more ago. But he’s got a solid reputation for having a good bedside manner and being a top-notch diagnostician, at least as far as small-town physicians go.”
“I know what you mean. And, yes, I was a little disappointed when he introduced me to Dr. Bramblett. But I really like her, too. It’ll be okay.”
Both doctors had assured her that she was healthy and that they had no reason to believe she’d have any problems. In fact, during her last exam, Dr. Bramblett had said that the baby was in perfect position—head down and dropped low in the pelvis.
Still, Connie had to admit she was a little nervous and scared about actually having the baby, even if she’d read everything she could get her hands on lately.
“Is your mother going to be with you for the birth?” Greg asked.
“No, I don’t think so.” In truth, Connie hadn’t told her mom or her sister that she was expecting. Neither of them had approved of Ross, even though they hadn’t known he had a drinking problem and was abusive.
Her mother had been relieved to know that he and Connie had broken up for good, but she wouldn’t be the least bit happy to learn her youngest daughter was going to be an unwed mother.
A small part of Connie was tempted to tuck her tail between her legs and run home to Mama anyway, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. Her mother—Dinah Rawlings of daytime television fame—had a conservative audience and wouldn’t appreciate the bad publicity right now, even if Connie’s days of rebellion were over.
Besides, ever since her father’s death, it seemed that their mother/daughter relationship had been steadily deteriorating. Now it was more of a facade than anything.
In part, Connie blamed her mother’s obsession with work and those stupid television ratings for the rift. But she knew it went much deeper than that. She’d never been able to compete with her older sister.
Yet even if she and her mom got along great, she was afraid Ross might be able to find her through her mother. And Connie couldn’t let him do that.
Nor could she risk letting him learn they’d conceived a baby during their tumultuous time together. Ross had lost his temper more than once, making Connie the victim of domestic violence.
What might he do to a child?
The evening, as awkward as it promised to be, stretched before them like a bungee cord pulled to its limit, ready to bounce or snap at any moment. So Greg turned on the television, which seemed to help. At least, the men’s action flick he’d settled on had made the time pass. If Connie didn’t like the movie he’d chosen, she didn’t mention it.
But just before eight, when the villain was about to get his comeuppance, the power went out, causing the television to shut down with a whoosh and the house to go dark.
The only light came from the fireplace, which was still going strong.
“Uh-oh.” Connie’s voice bore the hint of a tremble.
“Don’t worry.” Greg pushed himself out of the leather recliner on which he’d been sitting and stood. Then he made his way to the hearth, where he took the candles from a grouping on the mantel and stooped to hold the wicks—one at a time—near the flame until they lit. When he was finished, he placed the candles throughout the room.
He wondered if Granny still kept the flashlights in the mudroom. Probably. He would just have to carry a candle with him when he went to look.
After he’d finished creating a bit more illumination in the room, he turned to find that Connie had pulled the afghan closer, nearly to her chin, as though hiding behind it.
“There isn’t anything to be afraid of,” he said.
“I never have liked to be alone in a storm.”
“Hey.” He chuckled, trying to make light of it. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me.”
For the first time this evening, she smiled. The warmth in her eyes made her appear even prettier than before.
When he’d first been introduced to her, he’d been told her last name was Montoya. He’d assumed she’d had Latino blood, like him. Yet she was fairer than he was.
“You ought to smile more often,” he said. But he didn’t see any reason to tell her why.
“There hasn’t been much to be happy about in the past year or so.”
He waited for her to explain, but she didn’t, and he was torn between letting the subject die and trying to revive it. But without the television or radio to distract him, all he could think about was the pregnant woman sitting next to him.
“Are you unhappy about having a baby?” he finally asked.
She caressed the basketball-size mound of her belly. “The timing certainly could have been better. But it’s not her fault.”
“Her?”
“I’m having a little girl.” Connie smiled again, which gave him a sense of relief. “At least, that’s what Dr. Bramblett said during my ultrasound.”
Gregwasn’t often reminded of thewoman who’d given birth to him. She’d died the day hewas born, and he’d never had the chance to meet her. But his tia, his aunt, had told him howhis mother used to sing to him while he was inside her womb. How determined she’d been to provide him with a happy home and a future.
Eventually, he’d been blessed with the things his mother had wanted for him, but she’d never lived to see it or to be a part of it. And that made him sad—sad for her because she would never know how hard he’d tried to make her proud.
Did Connie think about her baby like that? Did she have hopes and plans for her child’s future? Had the baby become real to her?
Somehow, the answer seemed to matter more than it should.
“What are you going to name your daughter?” he asked.
“I’m leaning toward Amanda. But I suppose I’ll have to see what she looks like. Something else, like Megan or Tricia, might be more fitting.”
That made sense, he supposed.
He had no idea what his mother would have named him, had she lived. His aunt had been the one to choose Gregorio, after the priest who’d delivered him.
Greg and Connie each fell into silence. Lost in their own thoughts, he supposed.
The candles cast a soft glow in the room, and the flames caressed the logs in the hearth. The crackling embers struck up an interesting harmony with the rain pounding on the window panes, creating an aura that would have been romantic if Connie hadn’t been expecting a baby.
“Will you be staying on at the ranch after she’s born?” he asked.
“I plan to. Brighton Valley seems like a good place to raise a family.”
“Maybe,” Greg said. “But I’d get cabin fever if I were stuck in a place like this for very long.”
“With your career, I guess it’s a good thing you like traveling.”
“Yes, I do. I suspect you’re a real homebody, though.”
“More so now than ever.” She tossed him another smile, and it touched a chord deep in his heart. “After the mess I got myself into, I’m looking forward to a quiet, peaceful life.”
“What mess was that?” Greg didn’t usually quiz people, so his knee-jerk curiosity surprised him. But he couldn’t helpwondering about Connie’s past, about what had brought her to the Rocking C.
She stroked her belly. “Let’s just say I didn’t plan on getting pregnant.”
“I take it that you and the father aren’t together anymore.” Greg watched her expression, trying to read into each twitch of the eye, each faint movement of her lips.
“Getting involved with that man was the biggest mistake I ever made,” she admitted.
“Does he know about the baby?”
“No. And he won’t ever know about her if I can help it.”
There was only one conclusion for him to make. “The guy must have been a real jerk.”
She fingered the crocheted edge of the afghan, then looked up at him. “He was mean and jealous whenever he drank. And toward the end, that seemed to be all he ever did.”
Greg had known his share of men like that. And while he thought about quizzing her further, he figured some memories were best left alone.
They made small talk for a while, nothing personal. And as the antique clock on the mantel gonged for the ninth time, Connie yawned.
“You know,” she said, struggling to balance the bulk of her girth as she got to her feet, “I’m winding down faster than that clock. I think I’d better go to bed.”
“All right. Sleep tight.” He watched her go, thinking that she didn’t look the least bit pregnant from behind.
But Connie didn’t get five steps away when she froze in her steps and looked down at the floor, where a puddle of water pooled at her feet.
As her gaze met Greg’s, she seemed to silently ask, “What should I do?”
And he’d be damned if he knew.
Chapter Two
Connie stared down at the floor, as though she could blink her eyes and find that she’d only imagined that her water had broken.
But it had; her legs and slacks were wet with the warm fluid.
Of all days and nights for this to happen. She slid a glance at Greg, saw the shock plastered on his face, matching her own.
Fear gripped her throat. This couldn’t be happening. The backache that had been plaguing her all afternoon sharpened to the point of taking her breath way. Then it spread around her waist, slicing deep into her womb.
Greg was at her side in an instant, his arm slipping around her. “Are you okay?”
“I…I don’t know.” She leaned into him, needing his support until the pain subsided.
Was she experiencing her first contraction?
She must be.
Focus, she told herself, as she quickly tried to sort through the instructions her doctor had given her, as well as the information she’d gleaned from the book she’d read on what to expect during pregnancy and childbirth.
Finally, the pain eased completely, and she slowly straightened. “I’ve got to call Dr. Bramblett. She’ll know what to do.”
“Good idea.” Greg handed her his cell phone.
“And I guess I’d better clean up this mess,” she said.
“I’ll take care of that. You just call the doctor and sit down. If that happens again, you might collapse and hurt something.”
“I…” She nodded at the amniotic fluid on the floor. “Maybe you’d better get me something to sit on. I don’t want to ruin any of your mother’s chairs.”
She could have sworn she heard him swear under his breath as he dashed off to get what she’d requested.
When he left the room, she dialed the doctor’s number from memory. But instead of one of the familiar, friendly voices she expected to hear, a woman who worked for the answering service took the call.
“Dr. Bramblett is out of town,” the woman reported. “But Doc Graham is covering for her.”
That meant the older man would deliver her baby, and in a sense she was almost relieved. Doc Graham might be past retirement age, but he’d gained a tremendous amount of experience during his fifty-year practice.
When Doc’s voice finally sounded over the line, she said, “This is Connie Montoya, and my water just broke.”
“Where are you?” he asked. “Are you at the Rocking C?”
“Yes, I am.” Doc was in Brighton Valley, which was about ten minutes away. And the hospital in Wexler was about thirty miles beyond that. He’d probably tell her to grab her bag and come right away.
Instead, he said, “I’m afraid there’s no way you or anyone else can get in or out of there right now because of the flooding.”
Had she imagined a raw edge to his grandfatherly voice? A tinge of fear?
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, and her voice took on high-pitched tone. “What am I going to do?”
“Don’t worry. Usually, once the rain stops for a while, the county road opens up again.”
She wanted to believe him, but it was a real struggle. She placed a hand on her womb as though she could convince the baby to stay inside and wait for a more convenient time to arrive.
“The weather report says that the rains are supposed to start easing by midnight,” Doc added, “and it won’t take long for the road to open up after that. So you should be okay until then.”
Should be? But what if she wasn’t? What if the baby needed medical intervention? Or what if she did?
“Can an ambulance get through?” Connie asked. “Or maybe you can send a helicopter.” Somehow, she had to get to a hospital.
“I’m afraid not. The ambulance can’t make it any sooner than I can. And the chopper can’t take off right now. But in a couple of hours…”
“Hours?” Connie asked.
“Edna’s an old hand at this,” Doc said. “She’s helped me deliver a few babies over the years. So if worse comes to worst, you’ll be in good hands.”
“But Granny isn’t here.” Connie’s voice had risen a couple of decibels and was bordering on sheer panic.
“Who’s with you?” Doc asked. “You’re not alone, are you?”
Connie slid a glance at Greg, watching as he came into the family room and dropped a towel onto the floor to dry up the fluid.
“No,” she told the doctor. “I’m not alone. Greg’s with me.”
“Good. He’s been raised around cattle and horses. He’ll know what to do if it comes to that.”
What did he mean by “if it comes to that”?
Was he suggesting that a country singer be her midwife? And not just any singer, but the one and only Greg Clayton?
She blew out a sigh. Greg had been raised around cattle and horses, Doc had said. Was that supposed to make Connie feel better?
She didn’t care if the guy had a degree in veterinary medicine. She wanted a doctor—her doctor. And she wanted to have her baby in a hospital.
After giving her a few do’s and don’ts, Doc added, “As soon as the rainfall stops and the water recedes, I’ll drive out to the ranch. If the weatherman was right and this storm strikes hard and quick, I should be able to get through that road before dawn.”
Connie glanced out the window, where the rain continued to pound as though it would never end.
“For what it’s worth,” Doc added, “first babies usually take their time being born. You have hours to go. In fact, you probably won’t even deliver until tomorrow night.”
She hoped he was right. If anyone had a handle on this sort of thing it was Doc.
But that didn’t make Connie feel any better about being stuck out on the ranch without a physician—or even a veterinarian.
What was Greg going to do—sing the baby a lullaby?
Greg had never been so scared in his entire life. And that was saying a lot.
Before he’d moved in with Granny, he’d had plenty of reasons to be afraid. Like being left at a Mexican orphanage when he was six years old. And going mano a mano with a furious, unbalanced, thirty-something migrant worker when Greg had been only thirteen.
Now, as he sat in Connie’s bedroom with every candle and flashlight he could find glowing, it seemed as though he was even more out of his element than he’d ever been before.
It was just after midnight, and he’d been planted in a chair beside her bed for three hours, afraid to leave her alone—even to take a bathroom break.
Her pain had grown progressively worse. But at least she hadn’t cried out, which would have really wrung the ice-cold sweat out of him.
After another brutal contraction eased, she seemed to regroup. So he took the wet cloth he’d been using to wipe her brow, dipped it into a bowl of cool water, then dabbed it across her forehead.
He didn’t knowif thatwas helping or not, but he’d seen someone do that in a movie once. And he wanted to do something, even if he felt about as useful as a sow bug on the underside of a rock.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Not bad when I’m between contractions,” she said, obviously attempting to make light of all of this.
His best guess was that her pains were lasting nearly two minutes, and her reprieve wasn’t even that long. But he had to give her credit for not screaming. He’d really be in a fix then. His nerves, which he’d once thought were like cords of steel, reminded him of cooked spaghetti noodles now.
“According to Doc Graham,” she said, “first babies take hours to be born. And he should be here by the time we need him.”
“That’s good to know.” Greg wondered who she was trying to make feel better—him or her. It didn’t matter, he supposed. Either way, they were in this mess together.
And what a mess it was. Talk about being at a loss and completely out of his comfort zone.
Greg had watched his share of births on the ranch, but they’d all been animals. He glanced down at Connie, at the grimace on her face, and his fear deepened.
What if something went wrong? What if he didn’t know what to do or how to help her?
He did his best to tamp down the concern and worry, as they continued to ride out the storm—the one raging outside, as well as the one going on in her body.
Finally, just after one o’clock, she turned her head toward him. Pain clouded her eyes.
As she wrapped her gaze around his, threatening to pull him under as he dog-paddled around in a sea of his own anxiety, she reached for him and locked her fingers around his forearm. “Will the road be closed much longer?”
“The rain has really let up, so the water should start receding as soon as the downpour stops completely.”
“This is getting to be unbearable,” she said. “So I hope you’re right.”
Greg hoped so, too.
What if something went wrong—like it had the night he was born?
His biological mother, Maria Vasquez, had been nearly nine months pregnant and living inMexico when she’d decided to return to the United States to have her baby. She’d been born in Houston, but after the death of her parents, she’d moved back to Mexico to live with an older sister.And since Greg’s father had been a drifter who hadn’t been willing to marry her or accept responsibility for the child he’d helped create, she knew she was on her own.
Maria had been a dreamer, while her sister Guadalupe had never been one to take risks. But Maria knew having U.S. citizenship, like she had,would provide her child advantages hewouldn’t have in Mexico. So she managed to finally talk Guadalupe into leaving the small village where they lived and going to Texas with her.
Unfortunately, they’d no more than crossed the border when Maria’s water broke, and she went into labor.
They’d tried to reach Houston, but her labor progressed too quickly. So they’d decided to stop at the very next town they came to. But by that time, it was late at night, and there was nothing open—no gas station, no motel, no diner…
When they spotted a small church, Guadalupe stopped the car and banged on the door until a priest answered. He’d called an ambulance and done his best to make Maria comfortable, but medical help didn’t arrive in time. Maria died from complications of childbirth and was later buried in the church cemetery.
The thought of history repeating itself scared the crap out of Greg. Focusing on the past, on the stories that Tia Guadalupe had told him, only served to increase his anxiety now.
He’d never considered himself a religious person, even if he’d been named Gregorio, after the kindly priest. But he prayed anyway, asking that the rain would let up soon and that the doctor would be able to get to the Rocking C in time.
Doc might have said that first babies took hours to be born, but Greg feared that Connie’s baby might not be aware of that rule.
“Oh, my God.” As the overwhelming urge to push overtook her, Connie looked at Greg, the only person in the world who could help her now.
But as their eyes met, she couldn’t utter another word, couldn’t tell him what was going on. All she could do was instinctively tighten her stomach and curl up, as a half groan/half growl erupted from her lips.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, no longer even trying to mask the concern in his voice.
Poor Greg. He was as frightened as Connie was—maybe more so.
And she was scared to death.
But there wasn’t anything she could do right now, other than obey the primal urging of her body to push the baby out into the world.
Finally, between grunts and groans and other horrid noises that would have been mortifying if she’d made them at any other time, Connie managed to squeak out, “The…baby’s…coming.”
“No!” Greg leaned forward, his eyes growing wide enough to allow the panic inside of him to peer out. “Don’t push yet, Connie. Can’t you try to wait just a little—”
“Are you crazy?” she shrieked. “Get out of here and leave me alone!”
When he stood, she yelled, “Please don’t go!”
“God, Connie, I won’t. I just thought I should boil water or something. Or at least wash my hands.” Greg raked his fingers through his hair as though forgetting that the strands were being held taut by a leather queue.
The poor guy. She almost felt sorry for him, for the distress her labor was putting him through. But only almost. He was all she had right now, and she needed him to step up to the plate.
Of course, this was all her fault. She should have gone home while she’d had the chance. She should have crawled on her hands and knees and begged her mother to forgive her.
But it was too late now.
“Ready or not,” she said, “I’m having this baby. And I’m having it now.”
“Oh, damn,” he uttered.
Thank goodness he made no effort to leave, even though she could see the anxiety brewing in his eyes.
They were stuck—just the three of them, one man, one woman and one baby. Strangers thrown together by Fate on a lonely, stormy night.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Don’t let my baby die.”
Greg paled at her words, and his eyes watered. Then he blinked several times and seemed to rally. “Ah, Connie. Don’t worry. I can do this. Hell, so can you. Women have been having babies since the dawn of time. This is no big deal. We’ll handle it together. And we’ll probably laugh about it later.”
No way would she find anything funny about this later. But she appreciated his attempts to calm her, to provide some peace of mind in order to face the challenge ahead. But before she could thank him, her body again took charge, and she heeded another order to push—harder still.
After the urge finally passed, Greg removed the sheet that was covering her legs.
“Take off your panties,” Greg said.
“What?” Her expression, she suspected, had morphed into something sort of stupefied. But his comment had struck her as…odd. Under the circumstances, it just…sounded funny, that’s all.
“I can’t very well deliver the baby if you keep them on,” he said patiently.
As Connie worked to remove her underwear—as luck would have it, an extra-large matronly styled pair that Granny had purchased for her—she began to smile. Then a chuckle erupted. One of those nervous, stress-relieving giggles Connie sometimes made at the most unsuitable times and in the most inappropriate places.
“Lucky me,” she said. “I wonder how many women can say that Greg Clayton asked her to remove her panties.”
“Very funny.”
She suspected there had been quite a few—a legion of them, no doubt. She knew how many groupies had flocked around Ross and the other guys who played in the South Forty Band, and they weren’t anywhere near as handsome and popular as Greg was.
“Of course,” she added, “I suppose this particular experience is unique to the two of us.”
“You’ve got that right.” Greg chuffed.
“For what it’s worth, after what I’ve gone through tonight, I can assure you that I won’t ever agree to take off my panties for another man again. And if one even suggests it, I’ll crack him over the head with the first heavy object I can find.”
Greg tossed her a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then he took a deep breath and reached for the cell phone on his belt clip and dialed the number Doc had given him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling the urge to push again.
“Doc is going to have to coach me through this. Like you said, the baby’s coming whether we want her to or not.”
As Connie pushed until she was blue in the face, she had to agree. Apparently, she was one of those rare women destined for a speedy delivery. And the only one available to help her bring her child into the world was Greg.
She hoped the handsome singer was up for the task.
As Greg prepared to deliver Connie’s baby, his movements grew stiff and awkward. The sweat beaded upon his brow, and he used his arm to wipe it away.
Damn. The guys in the band were never going to believe this. Hell, he didn’t believe it. If his hands weren’t busy, he’d pinch himself.
His cell phone was lying beside him, set on speaker, as Doc Graham talked him through the scariest, most nerve-racking night of his life.
He glanced at Connie, her expression set in a grimace, her face red as she did her best to push her baby into the world.
Was this how Father Gregorio felt when Greg’s mother had been giving birth? Scared spitless? Completely out of his league?
The fact that his mom had died in childbirth was enough to spike his spinal fluid with ice water, but he shook off the nervous fear and focused on the task at hand. He had to help Connie have her baby whether he wanted to or not.
“The head is out,” Greg told both Doc and Connie, as he followed the directions of the experienced country doctor.
Moments later, the baby slid into his hands. His own breath held as he waited for it to cry, to breathe. As the tiny little girl let out a wail that pierced the silence and announced her arrival, he blew out a huge sigh of relief.
His movements were almost robotic, but he did everything Doc told him to do, step by scary step. And as the minutes ticked away, as everything proceeded the way Doc said that it would, wonder overcame the fear that had been dogging him since Connie’s labor had started and the birth became imminent.
After he cleaned up the screaming, flailing baby girl, he bundled her in flannel like a little burrito and handed her to her mother.
Connie, with tears streaming down her face, took the baby from him and cooed at her. “Hello, sweetheart.Welcome to the world.”
Asense of awewashed over Greg, and he found himself experiencing an unprecedented high, a mind-boggling sense of wonder.
“Oh, my God.” Connie looked up from the newborn long enough to latch onto Greg’s gaze. “Look at her.”
He had been looking. And while the tiny little newborn was scrawny and wrinkly and gooey and had an uncanny resemblance to E.T., the extra-terrestrial, he couldn’t help thinking she was the cutest little alien he’d ever seen.
“She’s beautiful,” he told Connie. “Are you still going to call her Amanda?”
“I don’t know. Does she look like an Isabella to you?”
She was asking him for an opinion? “It sounds like an awfully big name for a little baby, but I guess she’ll grow into it.”
“I could nickname her Bella. Or Izzy.”
Greg looked at the little flannel-wrapped cherub, at the rosebud mouth, the wispy dark hair.
“Not Izzy,” he said, thinking of a ton of rhyming words that kids might use to tease her, Dizzy or Frizzy or Lizzy Lizard. Kids could be thoughtless, he’d learned. And cruel. “But Belle or Bella suits her. Either one would make a good name for a little princess.”
Then he tore his gaze away from the mother and child, doing whatever he could to make Connie more comfortable.
Yet even when his job appeared to be nearly over, when he finally had an excuse to close the door and leave them to rest, he hadn’t been able to do so. Instead, he kept looking for reasons to stick around.
Had he really been the first human to touch that baby girl? The one to cut and tie the cord?
He sat in silence for the longest time, basking in a slew of emotions he couldn’t quite peg. Feelings he’d never experienced, never expected to.
As he got to his feet, he continued to watch them like some kind of voyeur. Or maybe he’d taken on a protector role. Either way, he couldn’t help feeling a bit envious.
Not that he expected to bond with the new little family of two; he’d done his part and could now go on his way. But as Connie whispered loving words to her new daughter, he found her voice soft and mesmerizing, the sight warm and touching.
When the baby looked at her with eyes that crossed, Greg damn near choked up. Again, he wondered if he really ought to be privy to this special moment, yet he was unable to move.
Awed by what he’d just seen, he was also caught up in admiration for thewoman who’d bravely fought pain and fear to bring her newborn daughter into the world, a woman who now bore a maternal glow and a mesmerizing beauty he couldn’t explain.
Connie, who cuddled her infant daughter in her arms, looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you, Greg. I don’t know what I would have done without you here.”
“It was no big deal,” he said.
But it had been bigger than big. It had been huge.
He didn’t think he’d ever forget this moment. He’d witnessed a miracle, and what had once seemed like the worst night of his life had somehow become one of the best.
The kind of night that made a musician want to grab his guitar and sit up until dawn, trying to re-create a memory in song.
Chapter Three
The telephone rang shortly before daybreak, and Greg snatched it from its cradle so the noise wouldn’t wake Connie or the baby.
They were both resting now, and he wanted to keep it that way. Connie had been through hell the past couple of hours and a peaceful rest had been well earned.
“Hello?” he whispered into the receiver.
The age-worn voice boomed over the line. “It’s Doc Graham. How’s our patient doing?”
“Okay. She and the baby are both asleep.”
Of course, that in itself didn’t mean that everything was fine, which was why Greg kept checking in on them every few minutes. He wanted to make sure they were still breathing and that their coloring was good.
“But I’ll sure feel better when you get here,” he told the doctor. “Then you can validate my diagnosis.”
“Itwon’t be long,” Doc said. “I’ve just driven past that lowspot in the road and should be at the ranch in about five or ten minutes.”
“Good.” Knowing Doc the way he did, Greg figured he’d been parked near the flooded area and had driven through the moment he believed it was safe.
“By the way,” Doc added, “you did a great job.”
Greg didn’t know about that. Connie and the baby had done all the work, so he didn’t feel right taking credit for the minor role he played. “I didn’t do all that much. I’m just thankful there weren’t any complications.”
“Me, too. How are you holding up, son?”
“All right.” Especially now that it was all over.
“I’m sure it’s been a long night, so you’ve got to be tired. As soon as I get there, you can go to bed.”
Actually, Greg didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. Ever since the baby’s birth, he’d had a head-in-the-clouds buzz, one that didn’t appear to be fading in the least.
“Well,” Doc said over the slightly static telephone line, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“All right.” Greg hung up, but his hand remained on the receiver. For the first time since Connie’s water had broken, he finally felt a sense of relief, and it dogged him into the kitchen, where he put on a pot of coffee.
Yet instead of taking a seat or watching out the window for Doc to arrive, he returned to Connie’s bedroom and took another peek at her and the baby—just to make sure they were still breathing, that they were resting easy.
And they were.
Connie, her expression softened by something soft and maternal, continued to doze, her head on a fluffy pillow, her brown curls splayed on the white cotton case. She wore no makeup, no sexy clothing, yet Greg was still struck by her beauty.
He’d found her attractive the first day he’d met her, yet there was something even more appealing now.
Maybe it was the strength and bravery she’d shown during the terrible pain she’d endured last night. Or maybe it was something altogether different.
All he knew was that he was inexplicably drawn to her.
She still held the baby next to her, under her arm and close to her heart. They’d called the child Isabella for a while, but for some reason the name didn’t seem to fit, and Connie had decided to stick with Amanda, which seemed perfect now.
With tufts of downy black hair, Amanda was a precious little thing. Her head was a bit pointed and misshapen, though.
Greg had asked Doc about it—privately, of course. And he’d been told that it was normal, that it would even out in a few days. He sure hoped so. If it did, he suspected Amanda was going to be the prettiest little girl this side of cherubville.
He leaned against the doorjamb, watching them longer than was necessary. Finally, convinced that an unexpected complication hadn’t arisen, he headed to the living room to unlock the door for Doc Graham and to wait on the front porch for his arrival.
Moments later, as he leaned against the wooden railing, watching the pink and orange fingers of dawn stretch across the horizon, he relished the sights and smells of the raindrenched ranch. At times he missed this place, missed the people who’d become important to him. Yet whenever he came home, he missed the guys in his band, too. The rush of standing onstage. The thrill when he announced a new song he’d written, a song that was met with a roar of approval from the fans.
As Doc Graham’s pickup, a red Chevy S-10, pulled into the yard, the front tire struck one of the many puddles that speckled the yard and sent a splatter of dirty water flying.
Greg watched as the old man shut off the ignition, slid out of the driver’s seat then reached back for his medical bag.
“Good morning,” Greg said.
“It certainly is.”
As Greg opened the screen door, Doc wiped his feet on the welcome mat. Once inside the warmth of the house, he shucked off his damp raincoat and left it on the hat tree in the entry.
“So, tell me something,” Doc said. “Are you going to turn in your guitar for a stethoscope?”
“No way. But delivering a baby was definitely an experience I won’t ever forget.” Greg wasn’t sure if Doc would understand what he was feeling. After all, in the last half century, Dr. Graham had undoubtedly delivered thousands of babies. So the whole birthing miracle had probably become routine to him.
As Greg led Doc down the hall, he walked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Connie or the newborn.
“Well, look who couldn’t wait to have her first turkey dinner,” Doc said from the doorway of Connie’s room.
The new mother’s eyes fluttered open, and she blessed the doctor with a pretty smile. Then she gazed at the baby sleeping in the crook of her arm.
“You know,” Doc said, easing closer, “I do believe that’s just about the most beautiful newborn I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Greg watched from the doorway as the doctor examined Connie first. For a moment, Greg wondered whether he should slip out into the living room to allow them some privacy, but he just couldn’t seem to turn and walk away.
What if he’d messed up or had forgotten to do something he’d been told to do?
And even if he’d done as good of a job as Doc had told him, he still couldn’t help believing that he had some kind of vested interest in both mother and child, although he couldn’t quite figure out why.
He hadn’t asked for any of this—the storm, the birth—but he’d definitely been sucked in and made an integral, albeit temporary, part of it all. And he wasn’t sure when that role would end completely. But until it did, he couldn’t bring himself to leave their side for very long.
Nor could he shake the incredible sense of amazement he felt each time he looked at that tiny baby. He’d been part of a miracle tonight, and something told him that his life would never be the same again.
After an initial exam, Doc declared both mother and daughter healthy. “Years ago, I would have just sat down and had a cup of coffee, then promised to come back and check in on you later. But it never hurts to have a second opinion. So, as a precaution, I’m going to send you to the hospital in Wexler and have you both checked out.”
That was fine with Greg. He’d be glad for even further validation that everything was okay.
“Are you taking them?” he asked the doctor. “Or should I drive them in myself?”
“Nah,” Doc said. “I’ve lined up an ambulance service to do that. They’ll be here in a few minutes. But in the meantime, I could sure use that cup of coffee I was talking about.”
“No problem.” Greg nodded toward the kitchen. “I just put on a fresh pot.”
Moments later, the two men sat at the table with steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. There, Doc answered the questions Greg had about how to care for Connie and the baby once she was discharged from the hospital. He figured Granny would know just what to do, but it was hard to say when she’d get back.
Apparently, now that the hard part was over, there wasn’t much more for Greg to do, other than enjoy his coffee and another large serving of the apple-spice cake Connie had made. After cutting two pieces and grabbing a couple of forks, they each dug in.
Dang, that woman could cook.
It was enough to make a man look forward to Thanksgiving dinner—if Connie was the one who was cooking it. But maybe Greg ought to think about calling Caroline down at the diner and asking if he could purchase a take-out turkey dinner.
“Have you been following the news?” Doc asked, as he lifted his fork.
“No. I’m afraid I’ve been pretty busy the past few hours.” Greg took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the rich morning brew. “What’s going on?”
“There’s another storm coming on the heels of this last one. When it hits, you two might be stranded out here for a while.”
As long as Connie and the baby were all right, that didn’t bother Greg too much.
“So,” Doc added, “if you’ve got any supplies to stock up on, you’d better do it today. Now that the ground is saturated, the water that fills the low spot in the road won’t be as quick to recede.”
“I think we’re set,” Greg said. “Granny’s always had a full pantry. But I’ll take a look and make sure. When is the next rain supposed to hit?”
“Early tomorrow morning. So it ought to really play havoc with everyone’s Thanksgiving plans.”
“I wonder if the flights will be delayed,” Greg said. “Matt and Tori are supposed to arrive tomorrow from Wyoming. They’re on a horse-buying trip.”
“That’s hard to say.” Doc dug into his cake, then closed his eyes as though savoring each chew. “Mmm. This is delicious.”
“Connie’s a good cook, but since she’ll be taking it easy for a while, she’s going to be stuck eating whatever I can come up with for meals.” Greg chuckled. “I hope she likes canned soup and sandwiches.”
They ate in silence, and when they finished, Doc scooted the chair away from the table and got to his feet. “I have to stop by the Tidball place and check on Elmer’s big toe. According to Grace, it’s been hurting him something fierce.”
“What’d he do to it?” Greg asked.
“Elmer swears he didn’t do anything. So, if that’s the case, it might be gout. From what he said, it sure sounds like it.” Doc slid the chair back in place, then ambled across the kitchen and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’d better take off.”
“Before the ambulance gets here?” Greg asked.
“Yeah. It’ll be here any minute, I suspect. And for what it’s worth, it’s merely a formality. I doubt the hospital will keep Connie or the baby more than a few hours. They’re both doing very well.”
Greg hoped so.
He escorted Doc to the door, thanked him, then stood on the porch and watched the white-haired doctor climb into his pickup. When he drove off, Greg returned to Connie’s bedroom, where he found her propped up on an elbow and studying Amanda’s tiny fingers and toes. She looked up at him, her face glowing almost Madonna-like, and tossed him a smile that darn near squeezed the heart right out of him. “She’s absolutely perfect.”
Greg grinned. “Yeah. I think so, too.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, watching Connie and the baby intently. He’d never known his own mother, but his aunt had told him how much she’d looked forward to his birth and how she’d dreamed that he would make something of his life someday.
Would his mother have held him like Connie was holding Amanda? Would she have marveled at the sight of him, too?
Yeah. She would have.
He couldn’t help wishing that she would have lived to see him grow up. To know that he’d become someone people looked up to.
Not that Tia Guadalupe hadn’t been a good substitute. But she’d died when he was only six, a loss that had struck him hard and cruel. And with no other family to take him in, he’d been sent to live at the orphanage.
Greg shook off the images and thanked his lucky stars that he’d crossed paths with Granny eventually, that she’d adopted him and made him a part of the ever-growing Clayton family.
Still, while the Rocking C had been the only home he’d known in nearly twenty years, he would never want to live and work here. Not that he minded doing chores and helping out while he was visiting. But he loved the bright lights of the stage and thrived on the fame and the glamour. Whenever he strode out to face the cheering crowds, he knew that he’d finally made it. That he’d finally become the success that his Mama Maria had wanted him to be, that he was living the dream she’d had for him.
“I’d planned to make pies this morning,” Connie said, drawing him from his musing. “But that’ll have to wait. I might feel more up to baking in the afternoon.”
“There’s no way you’ll be doing anything in the kitchen for a while,” he said.
“But Thanksgiving is tomorrow.” Connie rose up on the bed. “And everyone is coming here to eat. So I planned—”
“Those plans were changed last night. So don’t give Thanksgiving another thought.”
“But it’s my job—”
“Not today. And not tomorrow, either.”
She opened her mouth as if to object one more time, and Greg pushed off from the wall, standing straight, his arms still crossed. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, ma’am.”
“All right.” Connie sank back on the bed. “But you might call Sabrina and ask her to help.”
“I’m not going to worry about that now.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, it’s supposed to rain again, which means Jared and Sabrina might not be able to get through and we might have to postpone the holiday for a day or two. But either way, I can handle it.” Of course, only as a last resort. He’d never been too handy in a kitchen. But when he’d been digging through the pantry, he found a bunch of stuff that was pretty easy to make, even for a novice like him.
Connie, who was undoubtedly a great cook, probably wouldn’t approve of the simple fare he’d be fixing. He figured that pulling off a major holiday meal probably meant a lot to her.
About the time he was resigning himself to a simple meal, he realized he’d better call the diner in Brighton Valley as soon as it opened and make Caroline, the proprietor, an offer she wouldn’t refuse. He’d pay her triple the cost to cook a take-out feast for the Claytons’Thanksgiving, even if he wasn’t sure how many of them would show up.
By hook or by crook, they’d have their holiday dinner.
If there was one thing he’d learned since running away from the orphanage and hitching a ride back to Texas when he was thirteen years old, it was that money could buy anything.
Doc had been right. The specialists at the hospital in Wexler had determined that both Connie and the baby were doing great. The resident obstetrician had said they could stay overnight, if she wanted to. But Connie had been eager to get home. With a new storm headed their way, they could get stranded in town, and she wanted to spend Thanksgiving at the ranch.
Greg had seemed a little uneasy about her checking out, but the doctor had assured him that an overnight stay was merely an option. So Greg had relented and brought them both home, using the car seat Connie had been storing in her closet, along with the other new baby things she’d purchased earlier.
Now, as she stood at the bedroom window on Thursday morning and surveyed the clearing skies, she realized that Doc and the weatherman had been wrong. The rain that followed the first storm hadn’t struck nearly as hard as predicted. At least, not in Brighton Valley.
Houston, on the other hand, had taken the brunt of the storm. According to Greg, who’d been watching the news as well as the Weather Channel, there were flight delays and travel warnings, so it seemed even more likely that the Clayton family Thanksgiving would be held on Friday or Saturday instead of today.
Connie had planned to go all out with the decorations this year, especially with the candles and the centerpiece, since it would have been her very first attempt to fuss over a holiday the way her mother always did.
But with Amanda’s birth and Greg’s insistence that she take it easy, she decided to go light this year and do things up big next time around. That is, if she was still living on the Rocking C.
And, of course, there was always Christmas.
Her mother made an even bigger production out of that particular holiday, even though she’d spent more time on the set of In the Kitchen with Dinah than she had at home. A habit that Connie had grown to resent.
To be honest, it was nice to use the baby as an excuse not to go home this year. Connie had grown tired of painting on a happy face and pretending that there was nothing she liked better than being in front of a camera for the holidays and pretending to be a member of one of the happiest families in America.
Once upon a time, before Connie’s father had died, she had been. Back then, her mother had baked a ton of cookies and goodies, trimmed the hearth and decorated the tree. Even on a shoestring, she’d been able to make their small, two-bedroom house in Houston the best place in the world to be.
But once her mother had taken that job at the television station, everything had changed.
Connie reminded herself that she had a daughter of her own now, a child for whom Connie would create their own family traditions. And if Amanda ever brought home little handmade ornaments and wall hangings and trimmings made out red-andgreen construction paper, they would be valued and given their rightful place of honor throughout the house—not set aside for the more lavish, store-bought trinkets.
Family ought to come first.
And now that Amanda was here, Connie vowed to make that a hard-and-fast rule.
When the baby made a gruntlike noise, Connie turned from her vantage point by the window and strode toward the small bassinette. Amanda had begun to squirm and root, a sign that undoubtedly meant she was hungry.
“Hey there, sweet baby.” Connie carefully picked up the newborn and placed a kiss upon her cheek. Then she carried her to the rocker, where she took a seat and unbuttoned her nightgown to offer her breast.
As Amanda began to nurse, Connie thought about all that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
What would she have done the night before last if Greg hadn’t been here?
He’d been wonderful, both during the birth and afterward. In fact, he was always popping in to check on her and the baby.
“Hey.” His voice sounded from the doorway again. “Oops. Sorry.”
She glanced up, realizing he’d spotted her nursing. A flush on his cheeks let her know that he was either uneasy or embarrassed.
“It’s all right.” She offered him a smile. “After what we’ve been through together, I don’t think either of us should feel uncomfortable.”
“I guess you’re right.” His eyes zoomed in on Amanda.
Or was he noting the fullness of Connie’s breast?
Oh, for heaven’s sake. There wasn’t anything sexual about nursing a baby. And the fact that Connie had even let her thoughts stray in that direction was crazy.
“Look at her chow down,” Greg said.
Connie gazed at her daughter, saw her tiny jaws working to draw the colostrum into her mouth.
Greg was right. Amanda had certainly gotten the hang of nursing.
“By the way,” he said. “I’ve got Thanksgiving dinner all figured out.”
“How did you do that? Did you ask Sabrina or Tori for help?” She figured he might have when he called to tell them about the baby.
“I’m sure they would have. But the roads are a mess in certain areas, so Jared and Sabrina are playing it by ear. And I just talked to Matt an hour ago. He and Tori are at the airport, but their flight has been delayed due to weather.”
“What about Granny?”Connie asked. “Is she coming home?”
“No, she and Hilda are going to have dinner at the hotel this evening. But I hope they’ll all be able to make it home tomorrow. And when they do, I’ll have turkey and all the fixings in the oven.”
“You know how to bake a turkey?” she asked, suddenly feeling even more incompetent than she had while watching her mother buzz around the set of a mock kitchen, her makeup cover-model perfect and every hair in place.
“No, I have a better idea than that. Caroline, down at the diner, is going to whip up a feast for us whenever we need it.”
Connie smiled. At least he had the meal covered. And if truth be told, Caroline was going to do a much better job of it than Connie ever could have. After all, it was obvious that she hadn’t been blessed with the Martha Stewart/Julia Child genes.
Or rather, the Dinah Rawlings genes.
“So,” Greg said, “we’ll just have our own private Thanksgiving dinner tonight.”
“That sounds good. What’s on the menu?”
“Mac and cheese.” He grinned. “I found a box in the pantry. I hope you’re okay with that.”
When Joey, Sabrina’s young nephew, was living here, Granny had gone out and purchased a bunch of stuff that a kid would like. There was peanut butter and jelly, too.
If truth be told, Connie wasn’t a fan of processed foods, but she wouldn’t admit it. The fact that Greg was trying so hard to take care of her took precedence over a dish she’d never really liked.
“I’m not big on vegetables,” Greg said. “Would canned green beans be okay to go with that?”
“Sure.”
She expected him to turn and walk away, yet instead he continued to lean against the doorjamb, to watch her nurse the baby.
For some reason, it seemed as though he’d earned the right, so she didn’t let it bother her.
“You know,” Connie said, her heart going soft and warm, “you’ve really gone above and beyond the call of duty for a guy who came home for a much-needed vacation.”
He shrugged. “This hasn’t been the start of the holiday I’d been expecting, but I’m glad I was here two nights ago. It wouldn’t have been good for you to go through that alone.”
He was right about that. She didn’t even want to think about how much more scared she would have been.
“It’s amazing,” Greg said, his eyes still on the baby. “I can’t believe she was inside of you two days ago. Now look at her.”
Connie studied her daughter, still unable to believe she was now a mother.
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