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A Baby For Christmas
Marie Ferrarella
He’s fighting for themWhen Amy Donovan married the town playboy and left Texas, Cole McCullough wished her well – no matter how much it hurt. He got past it – but never really over it. Now the one that got away is back and needs his help… in more ways than one!Recently divorced and fleeing her abusive ex-husband, Amy needs a safe place to hide and someone she can trust. And she’s not alone. Her fussy, six-month-old son needs sanctuary, too… and Cole is determined to protect them both. It’s not his family, but it’s the family – and the woman – he’s always wanted. So when Amy’s jealous ex tracks her down, hell-bent on reclaiming his ‘property,’ Cole’s ready to fight this time….


He’s fighting for them
When Amy Donavan married the town playboy and left Forever, Texas, Connor McCullough wished her well—no matter how much it hurt. He got past it, but never really over it. Now the one that got away is back and needs his help...in more ways than one!
Recently divorced and fleeing her abusive ex-husband, Amy needs a safe place to hide and someone she can trust. And she’s not alone. Her fussy six-month-old son needs sanctuary, too...and Connor is determined to protect them both. It’s not his family, but it’s the family—and the woman—he’s always wanted. So when Amy’s jealous ex tracks her down, hell-bent on reclaiming his “property,” Connor’s ready to fight this time...
“All right,” he said to Amy as he headed toward the door, “then I guess I’ll say good-night and turn in.”
Connor was almost at the threshold when he heard her call after him.
“Connor?“
He turned around quickly, thinking that she had remembered something she needed. “Yes?”
Gratitude was shining in her eyes as she said, “Thank you.”
The two words caused sunshine to filter all through him. He hadn’t felt like that since they were kids in high school.
“My pleasure,” he told her.
The next moment he pulled the door closed behind him and then he was gone.
“Well, we did it, Jamie,” she whispered softly to the child, who was asleep in the nearby cradle. “We escaped. Now all we have to do is figure out what to do with the rest of our lives.”
A Baby for Christmas
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award—winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred and seventy-five books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com (http://www.marieferrarella.com).
To Audrey,
The Best Pet
In The Whole World.
Ten Years Wasn’t Nearly Long Enough.
We All Miss You
More Than Words Can Say.
Contents
Cover (#uc790186f-695f-57df-8bae-a1904b96b8c1)
Back Cover Text (#u1528013e-7a73-54b8-be87-1c94d5ab1c04)
Introduction (#u09099631-b7a9-54b4-9729-56af4294f058)
Title Page (#u2c54b983-f2c7-5e81-8f8e-a024f570a1fe)
About the Author (#u27045a89-cb2b-52ff-a4a6-abb7d0b6891f)
Dedication (#u5d3032a0-f365-56d7-b815-72ade2d0b812)
Chapter One (#u060147be-445f-5e78-bbf7-fedad25caf0e)
Chapter Two (#u5aa5f9c9-974d-5269-9432-1274bb4a3e78)
Chapter Three (#uc7c2e39a-10fb-50aa-b4c6-318e960e1b7a)
Chapter Four (#u55e30354-4b3d-5f58-a1b0-73a1fe1e85ac)
Chapter Five (#u035748f3-f38e-5bce-a883-52c32a83e017)
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)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ua7ce0300-91d2-56e4-a5ed-2f770547b7f3)
It was so quiet, he could literally hear himself breathe.
Maybe he needed to get a dog.
Connor McCullough frowned and shook his head.
That was the thinking of a desperate man, the twenty-eight-year-old rancher told himself. He shouldn’t be desperate. After all, he had earned all this peace and quiet. Lord knew he’d worked hard enough for it over the years.
The only trouble with peace and quiet was that it was, well, too quiet. And peaceful could also be another word for boring.
For the last twenty-eight years, the ranch house he was sitting in had seen more than its share of bustling activity—as well as its share of sorrow. His mother had died here giving birth to Cassidy twenty-three years ago and this was where his father had passed away, as well. The latter had happened a week before he was about to go off to college. The first one in his family to actually go to college.
That dream wound up being temporarily shelved, or so he told himself, because if he had gone off to college, Cody, Cole and Cassidy would have been farmed out to foster homes, most likely separate ones.
So he’d stayed on and the four of them had worked as hard as they could to eke out a living and keep the ranch, his father’s legacy, going.
It definitely hadn’t been easy.
At times it was damn near impossible, but somehow, they’d always wound up managing, thanks to hard work and the kindness of their fellow neighbors in Forever—especially Miss Joan, the redheaded, wisecracking, dour-faced guardian angel who ran the diner that had been, and still was, the small town’s only restaurant.
Looking back, he kind of missed those years. Missed working so hard that he fell into bed, bone tired and asleep before his head had a chance to hit his pillow.
Missed hearing his siblings arguing about whose turn it was to do what chore.
At times, he recalled, it had gotten so noisy, he couldn’t hear himself think.
Well, he certainly could hear himself think now. But all he could really think of was that he missed the arguing. Missed all the sounds of a family living together.
One by one, Cody, then Cassidy and finally Cole had found the one they were supposed to be with and they had all gotten married in what seemed to him to be, now that he looked back, an amazingly short amount of time. All three were now married with kids. And, of course, they were all here every Sunday. Sunday dinners were pure bedlam and he loved it. But in contrast it made the rest of the week feel almost as quiet as a tomb.
At least, that was the way the evenings felt.
Most of the time Rita, his housekeeper, was around. The woman wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, but she did talk on occasion and the sound of her voice took away the oppressive feeling of loneliness.
But Rita had gone to visit her sister in Austin for a few days. He didn’t miss her cooking—although the woman did have a spectacular knack for making everything she put her hand to taste good. What he missed, now that the others were gone, was her company.
Granted that Cole was here during the week, helping him around the ranch, but when six o’clock came, Cole was gone.
Which was as it should be. He wanted his siblings to have families of their own. Wanted them to be happy.
For the last few days, with Rita gone, if he wanted company when the sun went down, he turned on the television set. But somehow, that felt way too artificial to him.
He needed to communicate with something living and breathing. Which was why he’d started entertaining the idea of getting a dog.
Finishing up dinner—Rita had prepared several casseroles for him before she’d left—he began forming a plan. He’d go into town tomorrow and get a cup of coffee—maybe even lunch—at Miss Joan’s and ask her if anyone’s dog had had pups recently. If anyone would know, it would be Miss Joan. The woman was the unofficial source of information for the whole town. He could swear that she had a way of knowing about things before they even happened.
He liked that idea, Connor thought as he took his lone plate from the kitchen table to the sink.
Turning on the hot water and dabbing some liquid hand soap onto the dish, he smiled to himself.
A dog.
Okay, so most of the time he had more than enough to do around the ranch, even with Cole’s added help. But once the sun went down, he could stand to have a pair of soulful brown eyes looking up at him for—
Connor turned off the running water and listened, his dirty-blond hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back.
Was that knocking he heard?
He gave it to the count of five.
Nothing.
Shrugging, he went back to rinsing off the solitary dish, as well as the knife and fork he’d used. It was the middle of the week, no reason to believe that—
He stopped and turned off the water again, cocking his head toward the front door, the direction of what he perceived was the source of the sound.
This time, rather than just standing and listening to see if he could hear it again, he wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and went to the living room.
No point in wondering whether or not there was anyone knocking on his door when he could just as easily open it and check if there was anyone there.
“You’re a little more than one year away from turning thirty. That’s too young to be hearing things and imagining people on your doorstep,” Connor upbraided himself.
He was definitely going to talk to Miss Joan about getting a dog.
Although he didn’t hear any further knocking, Connor still twisted the doorknob and pulled open the door just to make sure there was no one there so he could put his mind at rest.
He wound up doing the exact opposite.
Chapter Two (#ua7ce0300-91d2-56e4-a5ed-2f770547b7f3)
There weren’t very many things that could catch Connor McCullough off his guard these days. One of the reasons for that was a great deal had happened in the last year and a half.
Cody had shown up with a newborn whom he’d helped a stranded mother-to-be give birth to in her dilapidated, stalled secondhand car. Not all that long after that, Cassidy had turned up, dripping wet and clutching a baby she’d helped rescue from the river during an unexpected flash flood.
And then Cole had topped both of them when he’d brought home twins who had been left in a basket on the doorstep. He had almost tripped over them when he’d walked out of the bunkhouse one morning.
All in all, Connor would have been the first to say that he didn’t think there was anything that would surprise him anymore.
With that in his mind, he was in no way prepared for what he saw when he swung open his front door to look outside.
A wan, breathless Amy Donavan was standing on his doorstep, holding what looked to be a six-month-old baby in her arms.
For a moment, he thought that he’d somehow managed to fall asleep in the kitchen and was dreaming this, or hallucinating it, or whatever it was called when a man’s mind conjured up an image of the only woman he had ever loved standing on his doorstep, looking utterly helpless and needy.
“Amy?” he asked uncertainly, half expecting the sound of his own voice to wake him up.
Except that it didn’t.
And then his hallucination spoke.
“I’m sorry, Connor. I just didn’t know where else to turn.” Her eyes, those beautiful, mesmerizing blue orbs that he always used to get lost in, were now the eyes of a woman who looked as if she was on a first-name basis with fear. “I’d understand if you don’t want to let me in,” the petite strawberry blonde added hesitantly, already taking a step back from the doorway.
“Maybe you might, but I wouldn’t.” Connor took hold of her elbow and drew her into his house.
Once she was in, Connor closed the door behind her and then did something that he normally didn’t do because he lived in Forever, where everyone trusted everyone else. He locked his front door.
Connor turned to look at the young woman, still stunned that she was actually here.
It had been a little over five years since he had seen her. A little over five years since Amy had left town. At the time, she’d been swept right off her feet and hopelessly in love with Clay Patton. Handsome to a fault, self-assured to the point, many felt, of being cocky, Clay was the town’s “bad boy.” He had a tongue that was dipped in honey and could sweet-talk the feathers off a pair of lovebirds.
When it became clear that Amy was falling for Clay, Connor began to worry about her. Worry about her getting hurt. But Amy seemed to be so genuinely in love and so determined to make things work between Clay and herself, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to stand in her way.
So he didn’t.
He also didn’t tell her how he felt about her.
Instead, he played his part as a steadfast friend, wished her well and told her that if she ever needed him, for any reason at all, all she had to do was pick up a phone and call him. No matter where he was, he’d find her and be there for her.
All this time and she hadn’t called. Instead, she’d come in person.
The Amy Donavan who had left town floating on a cloud and full of dreams was a far cry from the wan, frightened-looking young woman he saw standing in his living room tonight.
Ushering her and her baby over to the sofa, Connor coaxed, “Why don’t you sit down, Amy?”
Very gently, he had her take a seat on the sofa. It was almost like handling someone who was sleepwalking. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Some tea? Something to eat? Maybe some milk for the baby?”
The word baby seemed to snap her out of the temporary daze that had slipped over her the moment she sat down on the sofa.
“My baby,” she said as if she suddenly realized that she was holding the child in her arms. She pressed the tiny bundle to her chest.
Lord, but Amy appeared incredibly weary, he thought. He was afraid that any moment, Amy’s arms might give way and she’d wind up dropping the baby. “If you’d like to put her—”
“Him,” Amy was quick to correct. “My baby’s a ‘him.’”
“Him,” Connor amended without missing a beat. “If you’d like to put him down, I’ve got a cradle in the back bedroom down here. You could put the baby in there and give your arms a rest,” he told her tactfully.
Connor’s eyes washed over her. In his estimation, Amy seemed beyond exhausted. Not only that, but she looked like she’d lost at least ten, maybe even fifteen, pounds since he’d last seen her. Life with Clay Patton had not been good to her.
She gazed up at him, instantly alert because of the suggestion he’d just made.
“A cradle,” she repeated, coming to the only conclusion she could. “You have a baby.”
Why else would anyone have a cradle? She was stupid to have thought that life had been put on hold for everyone else after she’d left Forever, she admonished herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” Amy apologized. Holding the baby against her, she was already struggling to her feet. “I just—”
The baby began to whimper.
“No, I don’t have a baby,” Connor assured her as he lightly took hold of her arm and then gently urged her to sit back down on the sofa.
All the fight had been taken out of her long before she’d walked into Connor’s living room. Consequently, when Connor tugged on her arm, she practically collapsed onto the sofa. But she continued tightly holding on to her child.
“I have a cradle,” Connor told her again, then set her mind at ease. “But I don’t have a baby.”
The reason for the cradle was a story for another time. Right now, the immediate problem was getting Amy to tell him what she was doing here after such a long absence. And why she looked so beaten down and frightened.
“I’ll bring the cradle out,” he offered. “You can set the baby down in it and have that cup of tea I promised you. It’ll do you good. And once you’ve finished your tea, you can tell me what this is all about.”
“Connor, you don’t have to...” Amy began, not wanting to make him feel obligated to go out of his way for her.
Rather than stay and argue with her, Connor disappeared into the side bedroom and fetched the cradle he’d mentioned to her. Carrying it out, he placed it on the floor right next to where Amy was sitting.
And then he stood in front of her, his eyes indicating her son.
“May I?” he asked.
Not waiting for an answer, he very gently took the whimpering baby from Amy’s arms. Rather than place him into the crib, Connor held the boy for a moment, gently rocking him and whispering something in the baby’s ear that Amy appeared not to make out even though she had moved to the edge of her seat.
As if by magic, the baby stopped whimpering and fussing. The next second, he was cooing and making happy noises. The boy settled down as Connor placed him into the cradle.
“It’s got runners,” he pointed out to Amy. “So you can rock your son while I get you some tea.”
She did as he told her, all the while staring at the baby in the cradle. Much to her relief, he looked contented. She was amazed at how calm he had become.
“What did you say to him?” she asked. “He hasn’t been this calm in weeks.”
“I just seem to have a knack with babies,” Connor called out from the kitchen. Within a couple of minutes, he walked back in carrying a mug of tea for her. “I guess after all the babies that have been through here, it’s a talent I just developed.”
“All the babies coming through here?” Amy repeated, clearly puzzled. She had no idea what he was talking about.
He realized there was no way she could know what had been going on here recently.
“Long story,” Connor told her, handing Amy the mug and sitting down beside her.
“I like long stories,” Amy said, taking the mug with both hands. The warmth that seeped through as she held it felt oddly comforting.
“And I’ll tell it to you,” the six-foot-tall rancher promised gamely. “Right after you tell me yours.”
She took a long sip of the tea, letting the soothing, hot liquid fortify her. It never occurred to her to put him off. Connor had been her best friend once—and she really needed a friend now.
“Oh, Connor, I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning is always the best place,” he said kindly. When she looked at him with those same terrified eyes he’d looked into when he’d opened his door to her, he knew she needed his help. And patience. “I’ll start you off,” he said. “What’s this little guy’s name?”
At the reference to her son, Amy seemed to light up a little.
Studying her, Connor could see a little of the old Amy struggling to surface.
“Jamie,” she said, uttering the name almost reverently, as if the baby was the only thing still tethering her to life.
“How old is Jamie?” Connor asked, looking down into the cradle. After returning with tea for Amy, he’d begun gently rocking the boy again. Jamie looked as if he was about to drift off to sleep.
“He just turned six months,” Amy answered fondly.
For the first time, Connor detected a note of pride in her voice. It was easy to see that whatever else was wrong in her life, the baby was clearly the center of her universe.
“Is he Clay’s?” Connor asked.
At the mention of the other man’s name, anger flashed across Amy’s face. “He’s mine,” she said fiercely.
“And Clay’s?” Connor prodded, his question technically still unanswered.
In the five years that Amy had been gone from Forever, the possibility that she had taken up with another man was definitely there. But he knew Amy, knew her like he knew his siblings and himself. Possibly even better. Amy wasn’t the type to go from one man to another. She’d left town with Clay and he was willing to bet that she had remained with Clay—until something had forced her to flee with her baby.
“Yes,” Amy admitted with a great deal of reluctance. The next moment she looked up at Connor and cried, “Oh, Connor, I’ve been such an idiot.”
“We’ve all been there,” he said, doing his best to get her to go easy on herself.
But it was obvious that she wasn’t about to do that. “Not like me.”
He’d never heard her sound so terribly sad before. “Why don’t we talk about that later?” Changing the subject, Connor asked, “When was the last time you ate?”
Amy started to answer, then stopped. She thought for a moment and then, unable to remember, she shook her head, embarrassed.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that ends now,” he informed her. Taking charge—he didn’t know how to do anything else—he rose to his feet. “You stay here and I’ll put something together for you to eat.”
He was already beginning to leave the living room to make good on his promise.
Amy looked at him in surprise. “You cook?”
Connor grinned. “Yeah, but I reheat better.” And then he explained. “My housekeeper, Rita, went to visit her sister in Austin for a few days, but, bless her, she prepared a bunch of casseroles for me before she left. I think she was secretly afraid that I’d wind up subsisting on scrambled eggs three times a day until she got back.”
This, too, was news to Amy. It made her realize even further that a great deal had happened since she had left Forever.
“You have a housekeeper?” she asked in amazement.
“That’s right. You’d left town before Rita came to work for us.”
He watched as Amy flushed at the mention of her having left town. Connor silently upbraided himself for having so carelessly tossed the phrase around. He didn’t want to rub salt into her wounds, especially since he had no way of knowing what those wounds were or just how deep they actually went.
Wanting to distract her, Connor said, “Tell you what. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me? That way you can talk while I warm up your meal.” He saw the reluctant expression on her face as Amy glanced toward the cradle. “Don’t worry. If Jamie starts to cry, we’ll hear him,” Connor assured her. “The kitchen’s only a few feet away.”
It was all the persuasion she needed to sway her. Although still a little hesitant, Amy rose to her feet and followed Connor into the kitchen.
“When you said your housekeeper came to work for you, you used the word us,” Amy began.
Opening the refrigerator door, he rummaged around. There were still a number of casseroles to choose from, and Rita, bless her, had labeled everything.
“Yeah, I did,” he answered absently.
“By ‘us,’ did you mean your brothers and Cassidy?” Amy asked.
“Yes,” he told her, making his selection. He seemed to recall that turkey was always her favorite. But wanting to be sure he wasn’t mistaken, he asked, “Turkey okay with you?”
“Anything is fine,” she answered, although her smile told him that he had remembered correctly. He took the casserole out and shut the refrigerator again. “So where is everyone?” Amy wanted to know. Then, not wanting to seem as if she was digging into his personal life, she clarified by saying, “Cody, Cole and Cassidy. Are they out?”
Connor laughed softly. “Oh, they’re out, all right. They’re all out on their own.” When he saw the slightly quizzical look on her face, he added, “As in married with kids.”
“Really?” Although her own life had taken that course, somehow, she hadn’t thought of anyone she’d left behind doing that. To discover otherwise was extremely eye-opening.
“Really. All three of them are married. They still live around here and Cole turns up like clockwork five mornings a week to help me with the work on the ranch,” he said. He placed the casserole in the microwave oven and set the timer. “And everyone turns up here on Sundays for dinner. They’d all love to see you.”
Just then, the microwave dinged, signaling that the meal was warm enough, and he opened the door. Taking a towel, he carefully eased the hot dish out onto the counter.
“I doubt that,” she murmured, almost more to herself than to him.
He looked up at her sharply.
“I don’t,” he countered. “And with Jamie by your side,” he went on as he set the individual casserole dish right in front of her on the kitchen table, “you’d fit right in here.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he saw they had generated tears in her eyes.
“I really doubt that,” she repeated in an even quieter voice.
Seeing her cry really got to him. He had always felt helpless in the presence of a woman’s tears. The two times he’d been around Cassidy when she’d cried, he’d felt utterly at a loss, and Cassidy had never been one of those gentle little flowers despite the fact she was small in comparison to the rest of them.
But seeing Amy cry just ripped his insides to shreds—and even though he was by and large a nonviolent man at heart, it made Connor want to punch out whoever was the cause behind her tears.
Most likely, his number one candidate was Clay Patton, Connor thought. There’d never been any love lost between them to begin with and even less now.
Connor fisted his hands at his sides in mute frustration.
Chapter Three (#ua7ce0300-91d2-56e4-a5ed-2f770547b7f3)
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.
In these last six months, Clay’s attitude toward Jamie never changed. It was indifference balanced out with anger. The anger especially flared up when Jamie’s cries would interfere with his sleep, or with whatever program he was watching on TV.
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, all this peace and quiet is really getting on my nerves. I was thinking about getting a dog just before you got here. A yappy dog.”
Amy visibly brightened at the idea of a four-legged pet running around. “I always wanted a dog,” she confessed. “But my parents always said they were too much trouble. And I won’t tell you what Clay had to say about getting a dog.”
Connor frowned at the mention of Amy’s estranged husband. “I’m guessing probably the same thing he had to say about having a baby.”
She looked surprised that he had hit the nail right on the head the way he had.
“Yes,” she admitted ruefully. “He did.” She looked down at her sleeping son. “If it had been up to Clay, Jamie wouldn’t be here—and there would have been this huge, awful gaping hole in my heart.”
“Well, good thing for your heart he’s here,” Connor said in a cheerful voice, deliberately steering her away from the somber subject to something lighter. “Now why don’t you go back to your supper and finish eating it while I take care of Jamie? You need to build up your strength.”
“How did you know I didn’t finish eating?” she asked in surprise.
“Because I’m the oldest in my family and I know everything,” he said simply. “Now go and finish your supper—or there’ll be no dessert.”
He was rewarded with a soft laugh as Amy turned away to go back to the kitchen and her supper.
“Don’t worry, Jamie,” he whispered to the sleeping baby in his arms. “Your mom’s going to be all right. We’re going to take care of her, you and I.”
Jamie made a little noise, as if in response, but went on sleeping.
Chapter Four (#ua7ce0300-91d2-56e4-a5ed-2f770547b7f3)
This was more like it, Connor thought later that evening, after he’d cleared away the dishes and then come back into the living room to keep Amy and her son company. Although there certainly wasn’t much of a commotion, he found the little sounds of ongoing life extremely comforting.
He swiftly began to realize that he wasn’t meant for the solitary life. Amy and her son had appeared just in time. She might think that he was rendering her a service, taking her in this way, but the way he saw it, she was actually saving him. Saving him from a life of soul-draining desolation.
“Why don’t you and Jamie spend the night in the guest bedroom down here for tonight?” Connor suggested when it came time to call it an evening. “I’ll move the cradle in next to the bed, and then tomorrow I can get the crib out of the attic and set it up next to the guest bedroom upstairs.” He smiled as he remembered each of the babies taking their turn sleeping in that room. “It seems to be the go-to bedroom for all our infant guests. And if we leave the cradle down here, you can keep Jamie close by during the daytime.”
The man had obviously thought of everything, Amy realized. She was more than a little gratified as she walked into the guest room. He was right behind her, bringing in the cradle.
She had no idea how to begin to thank him.
“You really are a very good man, Connor,” she told him.
Connor saw no reason to take undue credit. The way he saw it, he hadn’t done anything that was out of the ordinary. “It’s family, Amy. You do what you have to do for family.”
“But I’m not your family,” she pointed out.
Connor shrugged. “A technicality.”
Amy’s smile turned sad around the edges as she said, “Not everyone feels that way.”
He could tell she was thinking about Clay, and although he wanted to tell her the man wasn’t worth a single one of her tears or even a moment’s worth of regret, Connor knew it wasn’t his place to say that to her. For all he knew, she still loved Clay and she was still married to the man.
With that in mind, he tried to be supportive. “He might still come looking for you, you know.”
Oh Lord, with all her heart, she hoped not.
“If he does, it’s not because he loves me. That ship sailed a long time ago. If he does come looking for me, it’s only because he thinks of me as his property and his ego can’t abide the thought that I’d actually leave him.”
“But he threw you out,” he reminded Amy.
She shook her head, overruling his point. “That doesn’t matter. He threw me out, but I think that in Clay’s mind I should be begging him to take me back.”
And that brought them to the major question that had been nagging at him since she’d walked in. “And do you want him to?”
Amy’s answer was quick and emphatic. “No! I’ve done my penance,” she told Connor with feeling. “And I’ve finally come to my senses.”
The smile that curved his mouth was a reflection of the warmth he was feeling inside. “Glad to hear that,” he said with enthusiasm. Then, not to appear as if he was dwelling on what she’d just said, he turned to a more practical subject. “I brought you new linens and some fresh towels.” He pointed to both piles he’d placed on the bureau earlier. “If there’s anything else you can think of that you might need, all you have to do is ask. I can bed down here on the couch,” he offered, “so I can be close by if you decide that you do need something.”
But she wasn’t about to hear of him having to spend the night on the sofa because of her. “I’ve already put you out enough as it is and I’ve got everything I need right here.”
He didn’t want her to feel as if he was putting any undue pressure on her and he would be the first to acknowledge how important it was to retain a sense of independence.
“All right,” he said as he headed toward the door, “then I guess I’ll say good-night and turn in.”
Connor was almost at the threshold when he heard her call after him.
“Connor?”
He turned around quickly, thinking that she had remembered something she needed. “Yes?”
Gratitude was shining in her eyes as she said, “Thank you.”
The two words caused sunshine to filter all through him. He hadn’t felt like that since they were kids in high school.
“My pleasure,” he told her.
The next moment he pulled the door closed behind him and then he was gone.
Amy stood in the small, homey guest room for a long time, just looking at the closed door. A peaceful feeling sank in by small increments. She was safe. For the first time in a very long time, she was safe.
“Well, we did it, Jamie,” she whispered softly to the child, who was asleep in the nearby cradle. “We escaped. Now all we have to do is figure out what to do with the rest of our lives.”
She sighed as she sank down on the double bed. “Tomorrow,” she said, her voice still a soft whisper. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Amy was convinced she wouldn’t get much sleep, given the amount of extra tension she’d experienced by finally getting up the nerve to pick up and leave. But it was exactly that tension—and the accumulated tension from the last five years—that had her so exhausted. She was asleep before her head even hit the oversize pillow Connor had placed on her bed.
* * *
CONNOR FELT LIKE hell when he came downstairs the next morning. If he’d gotten an hour’s worth of sleep, spread out across the last six, he had done well.
For the most part, he’d lain awake, listening for any sounds that were out of the ordinary. Mainly, he had been listening for Amy calling him in the middle of the night. Twice he’d gotten up and stood on the landing of the stairs, straining his ears and listening in case he’d somehow missed hearing her.
But other than the sound of a coyote howling in the distance, there was nothing to break up the silence.
Even Amy’s baby was silent, which, compared to the other four infants who had spent time at the ranch, was highly unusual.
But Connor went on listening just in case, which explained why he felt as if he’d been run over by a stampeding herd of mustangs when he came down the following morning.
Struggling to focus his eyes, he stumbled into the kitchen, intent on making himself a strong cup of coffee and hopefully jump-starting his system.
It was his heart that underwent the jump start when he almost walked right into all five-foot-one of the moving dynamo who was his housekeeper.
“Rita,” he exclaimed, startled. “You’re back.” Still feeling out of focus, he struggled to clear his head. “Weren’t you supposed to get back next Monday?” he asked the woman.
“Yes,” Rita answered, clearing off the counter as she prepared to make breakfast, “but I decided to come back early and I see that I was right to cut my visit to my sister short.” Rita had never been one to mince words. “You look like hell, Mr. Connor.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You have not been eating your own cooking, have you? I know that I prepared enough meals for you to last until I returned.”
“My cooking’s not that bad,” Connor protested.
Rita took his protest to mean that the rancher had been cooking. She frowned. “Then you have been eating your own meals.”
“No, Rita,” Connor responded dutifully, “I’ve been eating your casseroles, just like you told me.”
Still eyeing him suspiciously, Rita fisted her hands on her waist. Something was definitely off. “Then why do you look like that?”
Connor went with a simple answer first, hoping it would be enough to satisfy the woman. “I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
Concern instantly washed over the older woman’s face. “Is there something wrong? Did someone in the family get sick?” she asked. “Who is it? I will go right over there—”
“Calm down, Rita. Nobody’s sick.” He caught the woman by her sturdy shoulders, holding her in place, although it wasn’t all that easy.
Her attention circled back to him and she gave him a dubious look. “Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror this morning?”
“I appreciate your concern, Rita. I do,” he said patiently. “But I’d appreciate a cup of coffee even more.”
Rita sighed. She was accustomed to the rancher’s slow, stubborn behavior. He was not one to volunteer information quickly.
“Very well, Mr. Connor. I will make you your coffee,” Rita said. Taking the coffeepot, she measured out three cups of water and then placed the required amount of coffee grounds into the coffee machine.
“And make a couple of extra cups this morning,” he requested.
Rita stopped and added water to the pot and measured out more coffee grounds to accommodate his request. “Mr. Cole coming early?”
“No, he’s coming the usual time,” Connor answered. Opening the refrigerator, he rummaged through the different shelves. He didn’t find what he was looking for. “Rita, do we have any more jam?”
“In the pantry.” The coffee maker began to go through its paces, making noises as it brewed. Rita turned to look at him. “Since when do you take jam?” she wanted to know. Before he could answer her, the distant sound of a baby crying had Rita looking alert. “Am I hearing a baby cry?”
“I don’t know,” he deadpanned. “Are you?”
She listened more closely. “That sounds too young to belong to Mr. Cole’s twins.”
“Good ear,” Connor complimented, deftly avoiding what he knew the woman was ultimately after. “Listen, why don’t I just pour the coffee and get the jam and you just—”
Rita placed herself in front of the rancher, a small, formidable human roadblock. Her dark eyes narrowed as they delved into him.
“Another one?” she cried.
“Another what?” Connor asked innocently, deciding to draw the conversation out just a little bit and tease the housekeeper.
“I leave here for five days and you found another baby?” she asked, astonished. “That makes—five,” she declared after doing a quick review in her head. “A total of five babies. It is like your whole family are baby magnets.”
“Technically,” Connor corrected, “the baby found me. Or actually the baby’s mother found me.”
No longer needing to behave like a human blockade, Rita turned on her heel and headed directly toward the sound of the crying baby.
“Rita, wait up,” Connor called after her. “I’ll make the introductions after I—”
Since she had come to work for the McCulloughs, Rita had very quickly become not just part of the family but had taken on the role of a surrogate mother. She had no interest in waiting for any introductions to be made. If there were introductions to be made, she would be the one to take care of that small detail.
She continued to head for the rear guest bedroom like a homing pigeon on a mission. Stopping at the door only long enough to deliver a short, quick knock, she barely heard a woman’s voice say “Come in” before she had her hand on the doorknob. The next moment, she’d opened the door and was walking in.
Amy looked up, startled. She’d expected to see Connor coming in. Instead, she found herself looking at a small, dark-haired matronly woman who looked as if she was accustomed to being in charge of anything and everything she came across.
Amy’s hand flew to her chest as if to steady her pounding heart.
“I’m sorry—who are you?” she asked the woman who made no secret of swiftly dissecting her with her dark eyes.
“I am Rita Navarro,” Rita informed her. “Who are you?”
Entering, Connor came between the two women, prepared to act as a human buffer. In his opinion, the housekeeper was a wonderful woman, but she had a tendency to come on too strong at times.
“Amy, this is my housekeeper, Rita. She tends to think she runs everything.”
Rita spared him a quick side glance. “That is because I do.” She pressed her thin lips together as she shook her head. “This will teach me to go away,” she murmured under her breath, scrutinizing the young woman sitting on the bed, holding the baby in her arms.
There was only one way for her to interpret the older woman’s comment. “Then I am intruding,” Amy said, rising to her feet. “I’ll go,” she told Connor.
“No, you’re not, and no, you won’t,” Connor replied firmly. He gave Rita a warning glance over his shoulder, silently telling the woman to weigh her words.
Rita tempered her tone as she asked Amy, “How old is your baby?”
“He’s six months old,” Amy answered. She still looked as if she was somewhat intimidated by the petite but bombastic housekeeper.
Rita nodded, as if the information jibed with something in her head.
“Bring him to the kitchen. When I finish preparing your breakfast, I will take care of him while you eat. Come,” she ordered the baby’s mother just before she left the room.
“And that,” Connor cavalierly said to Amy, “is my housekeeper. I should have warned you—she comes on a little strong.”
A small smile curved the corners of Amy’s mouth. “Strong. That would be the word for it, all right,” she agreed.
“Rita means well,” Connor assured her.
She could only hope that was true, Amy thought, but out loud she said, “I’m sure she does.”
“Are you coming?” Rita called out from the kitchen.
“I think we’ve just been given our marching orders,” Connor said, about to take Amy’s elbow to usher her and the baby into the kitchen. “For a small woman, her voice can really carry,” he observed with a laugh. And then, thinking that perhaps the housekeeper’s overbearing manner might be rather difficult for Amy to deal with, he said, “I can talk to Rita and ask her to back off.”
But Amy shook her head. She did not want to risk possibly getting on the woman’s bad side. “That’s okay. She’s just looking out for you.”
“Stay here a day and she’ll be looking out for you, as well,” Connor promised. “She might seem gruff, but she’s really good with kids.”
“Right now, I’ll settle for her just being good with coffee,” Amy said.
“You’re about to have your wish come true.” He could smell the coffee brewing even before he crossed the threshold to the kitchen.
“Ah, so you are finally here,” Rita declared. Her back was to them. It was as if she could sense their presence. “Good. The coffee is ready and so is your breakfast.” She nodded at the two place settings on the table, then turned around and crossed to Amy. “Here, give him to me.”
“That’s all right. I can hold him while I eat,” Amy said.
“But you can eat better if I hold him,” Rita informed her in a firm voice. Putting out her hands, she waited for the baby to be transferred to her. “Do not worry. I do not drop children.”
Feeling somewhat uneasy, Amy surrendered Jamie to the housekeeper. The moment that she did, she watched in fascination as a smile blossomed on the woman’s otherwise stern face, instantly transforming her.
Rita began cooing something to the baby in Spanish, and then she looked up, sparing Amy a glance. “Eat before it gets cold,” she ordered.
“You heard the lady.” Connor ushered Amy into a chair. “Breakfast is a lot better warm—and so is Rita,” he added with a whisper.
Amy suppressed a laugh as she sat down, feeling a little more at ease. Maybe, she thought, she’d been right to come here after all.
Chapter Five (#ua7ce0300-91d2-56e4-a5ed-2f770547b7f3)
“Hey, Connor, whose car is that parked out in front of the house?” Cole McCullough asked as he made his way through the living room into the kitchen.
The second-oldest McCullough brother stopped dead when he saw the answer to his question sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast across from his brother.
“Amy?” Cole said uncertainly.
Not quite sure how he would react to seeing her there with Connor, Amy forced a smile to her lips as she greeted Connor’s brother.
“Hello, Cole. How are you?” she asked politely.
Stunned, Cole blinked. Connor didn’t usually have company. Certainly not at this hour in the morning and certainly not someone who had eloped five years ago. He half expected her to disappear.
But she didn’t.
“I’m great,” he told her, then repeated, “Just great.”
Cole had no idea what to say to the woman he knew had left town with Connor’s heart unwittingly packed away in her suitcase. Connor never talked about it, but he didn’t have to. He, Cody and Cassidy all knew how Connor felt about Amy. How he’d felt about her ever since they were kids. Although he had devoted himself to raising them and keeping the ranch going, they all knew that Connor was in love with Amy.
But because of them and all his obligations, Connor never had a chance to act on it. And then Clay Patton had set his sights on her, scooped her up and left town. Cole, like the rest of his family, just assumed that the story had ended there.
Apparently not, he thought, looking at Amy.
Cole finally got back the use of his tongue. “Are you here for a visit?” he asked her. He glanced at Connor for help. He needed to be bailed out before he wound up unintentionally putting his foot in his mouth.
“Amy’s considering moving back to Forever,” Connor replied quietly, deliberately keeping the situation open-ended for her.
“You are here just in time, Mr. Cole,” Rita announced as she came into the kitchen, holding Amy’s son in her capable arms.
Surprised to see that the housekeeper had returned early, Cole was even more surprised to see that Rita was holding a baby in her arms and feeding that same baby with a bottle.
“Welcome back, Rita,” Cole said, greeting the woman. “I take it that you don’t mean I’m just in time for breakfast, do you?”
Impatience creased the woman’s already furrowed brow. “You can have some coffee if you wish and then you can help Mr. Connor bring down the crib from the attic.”
“The one we just put back up there a couple of months ago?” he asked, looking quizzically at Connor.
It felt as if that crib, used for each of the babies who had been here—not to mention that it had once been Cassidy’s when she was a baby—had more mileage on it than his truck did.
“That would be the one,” Connor confirmed. “And it was closer to almost four months ago,” he reminded his brother. “That was when you and Stacy moved into the old McNally place and bought the twins separate cribs of their own.”
Amy still couldn’t picture Cole as a father, much less as the father of two. “You have twins?” she asked him.
But Cole appeared more interested in what was going on at the moment than history, especially his own past.
“I take it that’s your baby,” he said, nodding at the baby the housekeeper was holding.
“You found out my secret, Mr. Cole,” Rita said, her solemn expression remaining unchanged. “I was jealous of all of you with your babies, so I decided to have one of my own.”
She looked so perfectly serious, for a moment Cole didn’t know if the housekeeper was joking or if the woman had actually made off with someone’s baby for some reason she had yet to reveal.
Cole glanced at his brother again. “She’s kidding, right?”
“Yes, genius, she’s kidding,” Connor said. “The baby belongs to Amy and Amy will be staying here for a while.” He glanced in her direction, secretly waiting for her contradiction.
“Just until I figure out what I’m going to do,” Amy added quickly. She didn’t want to come across like a mooch. “Connor was nice enough to put us up.”
“Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m the one who came home with twins one morning,” he told Amy with a laugh.
She was still trying to sort that all out. There’d been a great deal of information flying at her since she’d walked in yesterday. “Then the twins you mentioned aren’t yours?”
“Well,” Cole said, “they are now because we adopted them.”
“‘We’?” Confused, Amy looked at Connor, for some reason thinking Cole was referring to his brother and himself when he used the pronoun.
“He means Stacy,” Connor explained.
“Stacy and I got married,” Cole added in an attempt to lessen some of the confusion. “You remember Stacy Rowe from school, don’t you? She came back to Forever.”
“I didn’t know she was gone,” Amy confessed. It felt as if her head was spinning as she tried to sort out the information that was coming at her at what she felt was lightning speed.
“That’s right,” Cole recalled. “You’d already left town with—” Catching himself just in time, Connor’s brother rephrased his statement. “You’d already left Forever before Stacy did.”
Rita grunted, signaling an end to the present discussion. “Why don’t you two let the poor girl finish her breakfast in peace?” Rita suggested forcefully. “You can use that extra energy of yours to get the crib down from the attic and bring it into the nursery,” she told the two brothers, referring to the room next to the bedroom that Stacy had used before she had married Cole.
“Ah, I’ve missed those dulcet tones of yours these last few days,” Cole told her as he walked by the housekeeper.
Rita’s jet-black eyebrows narrowed as she fixed the younger man with a glare. “You are just lucky I am holding this baby, Mr. Cole, or I would box your ears.”
“C’mon, Connor,” Cole urged his brother. “Let’s go get the crib before she puts that baby down and makes good on her threat.”
“It is only a threat if I do not do it,” Rita said, calling after the departing brothers.
Without missing a beat, the housekeeper turned around to focus her attention on Amy. Seeing that the ranch’s newest houseguest had finished what was on her plate, Rita asked, “Would you like something more to eat?”
Thinking about what Cole had just said, Amy had been caught off guard by Rita’s question. It took her a second to process it.
“Oh no, thank you,” Amy quickly demurred. “I’m so full, if I had one more bite I might just explode. Everything was delicious,” she added, not wanting to somehow offend the woman by forgetting to compliment her efforts.
“Everything was all right,” Rita corrected. “Delicious will be served for dinner,” she informed the young woman with the same straight face she had used to tell Cole that the baby she was holding was her own. Then, giving Amy a penetrating look that seemed to somehow delve into her innermost thoughts, she told her, “It is all right to smile once in a while, Miss Amy. No one will think less of you for it.”
Amy flushed. She didn’t want to come off as some sort of a sourpuss, especially after she’d been taken in the way she had by Connor.
“I’m sorry. It’s just...” Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the right way to say what she was feeling.
Rita seemed to be way ahead of her as she nodded knowingly.
“I know—it is hard to accept that things are not the way you thought they would be and that you need to take the help that is offered to you. But you are not the first to be in this position and you will not be the last. Now,” she told Amy as she began to leave the kitchen, “have another cup of coffee while I go to change your son.”
At the mention of changing Jamie, Amy was on her feet. “I’ll do it.”
Rita gave her a look that forbade her to move. “You will get more coffee and then you will sit and drink that coffee. I will change your son. You can change him the next time he needs it,” she said by way of appeasing what she took to be the young woman’s need to take care of her baby. “There will be many more opportunities for you to do it before he learns to take care of his own needs,” Rita assured her as she left the kitchen.
Because she didn’t want to make waves and cause any further discord, Amy sat down again and savored her second cup of coffee.
Then, taking advantage of the fact that the housekeeper had left the room and Connor was in the attic with Cole, she gathered up both her plate and Connor’s, as well as the utensils they’d used, brought them all over to the sink and then quickly washed them.
It gave her a small sense of satisfaction to be useful, even in such a minor way.
She had just put everything on the rack to dry when Rita returned to the kitchen. Expecting a reprimand, she was surprised when the housekeeper smiled at her.
“You did not have to do that,” Rita told her.
“I wanted to,” Amy answered. “I don’t like being lazy.”
A small laugh escaped Rita’s lips. “You are the mother of a six-month-old. Lazy is not a word that belongs in your world. Here, take your son.” Rita handed the baby over to her. “I have been gone five days and there are many things I need to organize and clean,” she announced.
A thud coming from somewhere on the second floor had Rita glancing up toward the ceiling. “They have brought down the crib. Go and tell them where you want it.”
“Won’t they put it where they usually do?” Amy asked the housekeeper.
She doubted the two brothers would appreciate her ordering them around, especially since this was their ranch house and she was there only as Connor’s guest. If anything, putting in her two cents seemed rather ungrateful to her.
“But that may not suit your needs and you are the baby’s mother. Now go, shoo,” she added for good measure, waving Amy and her baby out of the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am,” Amy murmured as she quickly left the room.
Turning away, Rita smiled to herself.
“She is learning,” she muttered under her breath, pleased.
* * *
“DID YOU COME here to supervise?” Connor asked as Amy ventured into the room that he and his brother had just brought the crib into.
She didn’t want Connor to think she was willfully trying to get in his way.
“It was Rita’s idea,” Amy said. “She told me to come upstairs to tell you where I wanted the crib.”
“So where do you want it?” Connor asked. He and Cole had just brought the crib in, narrowly negotiating the doorway, which was only a little larger than the width of the crib.
“Anyplace,” Cole panted, putting his end of the crib down.
Connor looked at his brother over his shoulder. “I was asking Amy.”
“Wherever you had it before is fine,” Amy said quickly. “Cole’s face is red,” she noted with concern.
Connor made a dismissive noise. “That’s just for your benefit,” he told her. “He wants you to think that he carried the brunt of the crib coming down the stairs.”
“I did,” Cole declared, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
Connor looked at her and deadpanned, “Cole was actually the runt of the litter.”
“Said the man who’s looking to work the ranch alone for the rest of the month,” Cole concluded, taking in a bracing breath.
Ignoring Connor, Amy shifted Jamie to her other side as she asked the other man, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Connor said. “He’ll just go on milking this for hours. He’s actually as strong as an ox.”
Cole gave him a dark look. “A minute ago I was the runt of the litter.”
Connor shrugged, unfazed. “Even oxen have runts,” he quipped.
“Nice save,” Cole commented. “You just don’t want to come off looking like a slave driver in front of Amy and have her thinking badly of you.”
“I’d never think badly of Connor,” Amy told Cole, coming to Connor’s defense. “Your brother is one of the really good guys.”
Cole laughed as he eyed his brother. “You sure we’re talking about the same Connor McCullough?”
Amy smiled. She had no idea where she would have gone if she hadn’t had Connor to turn to. “Very sure,” she replied.
“Well, looks like you’ve got her fooled,” Cole said to his brother.
“Shouldn’t you be getting to work on the stable door?” Connor reminded him. That was the first chore on their list for today.
“Why?” Cole asked, pretending to still recover from bringing the crib down from the attic. The stairs leading from there to the second floor were steep. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“No, but the horses might if that door hinge gets any weaker,” Connor pointed out. It was still in place, but it wouldn’t take all that much for it to come loose.
“All right, all right,” Cole said with a sigh. “Now that we’ve got the crib back in the nursery, I’ll go see about that stable-door hinge.” He paused for half a second just as he walked by Amy. “Like I said, a slave driver,” he told her with a wink.
The give-and-take between the two brothers had left Amy smiling, as well as reminding her of just what she had missed out on by being an only child. It was obvious that the McCulloughs might squabble at times, but the love that was there between them was impossible to miss.
“Now that he’s gone,” Connor said, turning around to face her, “we can get back to fixing up this room. Would you like me to move the crib?”

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