“Ready when you are.”
BRIGHT BLUE EYES stared up at her from the most angelic little face.
Amy had sprinted into the darkened nursery, grateful to escape an awkward conversation and her failed flirting attempts with Sam. But she’d gone from the frying pan into the fire because now she held a warm, wiggling bundle that was every bit as precious as she’d once imagined a newborn would be.
Only in her imaginings, it had been her child she’d held in her arms. She’d spent months dreaming about her baby, envisioning herself as a mother, and knowing somehow that the journey to being a parent would heal the broken pieces inside her.
“He likes you,” Sam observed over her shoulder as she held him.
She hadn’t even heard him enter the warm yellow nursery decorated with brightly colored dinosaurs. It smelled like baby powder and infant laundry detergent, with a basket of half-folded tiny clothes near the crib. She had to close her eyes to shut out the vision of Aiden’s sweet expression, the moment so beautiful and painful at the same time after what she’d been through.
“It’s probably my rocking technique that he likes,” she said finally, her voice husky from the mix of emotions tugging on her heart. She’d spent too many hours staring into the hospital nursery after her miscarriage, watching the nurses care for the newborns. Hastily she swiped at a tear that welled in her eye.
She told herself to hand the baby over. To walk out of the nursery and away from Aiden before the boy stole another bit of her heart. Instead, she kept rocking and patting the infant’s warm back where she’d wrapped him in a thin cotton blanket.
“Maybe he misses his mother.” Sam’s voice took on a hard note, and she turned to find him scowling. “She called me this morning to ask for more time?—”
He stopped himself as if he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to talk about it. Amy, for her part, was all too glad to talk about something besides all the dark feelings inside her. Loss. Regret. Longing for the kind of life she wouldn’t have now.
“For what? She wants you to watch him longer?” Curious, she pivoted to face him, her socks sliding on the hardwood.
“According to her, she’s in treatment for postpartum depression.”
“You say it like you don’t believe her.” She remembered what her sister had said about everyone in town thinking Sam was intimidating.
Just now, with the dark scowl on his brow, she understood why.
“I’m not sure I do. She hasn’t given me many reasons to trust her, though I’d hate to think she would use such a serious condition as a cop-out. It’s damn unfair to the new mothers who truly suffer from postpartum depression.” He retrieved a black gym bag that had been stored under the changing table and started filling it with diapers, wipes and baby clothes. “I have to drop Aiden off at my mother’s before I make a few stops around town. Any chance you could take a ride with me? I figure the more we reminisce, the more likely it is that we’ll stir some memories that could help the case.”
She watched him collect supplies from around the nursery, his broad shoulders stretching the cotton of his blue button-down in the most appealing way.
She had been crazy to try coming on to him. But then again, he’d grown only more appealing in the years since she’d seen him last. She liked that he was a serious guy. He never made her feel that she needed to pretend happiness or lightness. Even better, he made her feel safe just with his presence.
“I thought you weren’t interested in my kind of reminiscing.” She shifted Aiden when he stretched like he mightcry again, holding him upright against one shoulder and rubbing his back.
It took all her willpower not to tip her temple to his and sing him a lullaby. What was it about a baby that inspired such an immediate need to cuddle and care for them? It wasn’t just her own loss. Even before the miscarriage, she remembered how fun it had been to care for her brother Scott’s daughter when Ally had been a baby.
Across the nursery, Sam straightened. He set the bag on the top of the changing table and stuffed in a blanket before turning to face her.
“I am very interested.” He stalked toward her, his cool gray gaze unflinching as he watched her. “If I didn’t have a job to think about—or my son to consider—I can promise you this afternoon would have proceeded very differently.” He let the words simmer between them for a minute while she took in the import of the suggestion. “But I’m going to view this extra time to think as a good thing.”
He smoothed a strand of her hair away from where it was caught on Aiden’s blanket. He hadn’t even touched her and her heartbeat tripped over itself.
“You’ve had ten years, Sam Reyes.” She narrowed her gaze. “How much more time could you possibly need?” She could almost hear the argument brewing in his head. But she didn’t want to hear it. So she tucked Aiden closer to her chest and brushed her cheek along his downy head. “Don’t answer that. I’ll go with you, and we can argue all you like on the road.”
Heading toward the door, she wound her way back through the white utilitarian kitchen toward the entrance, picking up her boots along the way. Sam followed her, shouldering a duffel on one arm and stuffing a few items in a leather messengerbag.
Fifteen minutes later, he parked his pickup truck outside the Hastings’ home, waiting for a sheriff’s car to meet them. He’d arranged extra protection for Aiden after the threat he’d received.
“It must be hard letting him out of your sight.” She leaned over in the black leather passenger seat to stare at the infant. He was nestled in his car seat between them in the full-size truck cab. “Not because of the threat. Just for the sake of being with him. I’m sure you’re enjoying getting to know him more every day.” She stroked a finger over the fuzzy terry-cloth sleeper that covered one bowlegged knee. “If he was mine, I’d?—”
Her voice caught awkwardly while Aiden blew bubbles. She was grateful the police car showed up just then, saving her from having to explain why she was an emotional basket case around Sam’s baby.
She unfastened the car seat while Sam stepped out of the truck to speak to the uniformed patrolmen tasked to watch the house—and Aiden—for the rest of the day. Five minutes later, Sam took the baby, the car seat and the gear and disappeared into the house before reemerging with a small brown basket covered with a white-and-blue cloth.
When he got back in the truck, she caught the scent of apples and held her hands out for the mystery basket.
“Was your mom baking?” She’d been alone with Sam for two seconds and already it felt like a date from the past. How many times had his mother sent him out with something homemade?
