as if I was in heaven. His mother was like Martha Stewart on steroids.”
“Martha who?”
“Stewart. She has a television show. And a magazine. She’s the world’s leading expert on all things domestic, from removing wine stains from white linen to making Halloween punch with the illusion of a dismembered hand floating in it.”
“Terrifying,” he said drily.
“The Halloween punch or Martha?”
“Both. You were telling me about your in-laws.”
“They had lived in the same house for twenty-five years.”
“That’s not long. There have been Hallidays on this place for over a hundred.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Amy got a distinctly dreamy look on her face.
“For somebody like me who never had a home, a family in the same place for so long was like a fairy tale coming true. And then it was all about cooking, and stunning crafts, and décor, and creating an environment that whispered sweet welcome.
“But somewhere along the line, I realized it was all about how everything looked, and not about how it felt. Cynthia’s perfect home, her perfectly cooked meals, her crystal collections and towels folded in precise thirds—everything looked so perfect and felt so plastic.
“And, I’m afraid that describes my marriage, too. I thought it was the house, so as soon as Edwin finished university, I wanted to move out. But he said it was too much pressure. He’d been appointed CEO of one of the family companies, and that was his life.
“Honestly, I felt as if I was back with my parents. He worked. I was invisible. I thought the baby would help.”
“Ah.”
“It helped me. I didn’t feel so alone. I finally had something to live for.” She said softly, reluctantly, “It was not what I had hoped my marriage would be.”
“My first clue—living with his parents. My second clue—he wanted to live with his parents. Pretty hard to chase each other around the house shrieking with amour when Mommy and Daddy are looking on.”
“We managed to make a baby,” she said primly.
“Miracle of miracles.”
“I’ve never said this to another living soul.”
He said nothing, waiting.
“The baby was wonderful. Other than that, I’ve never felt so lonely. My own parents had decided to retire. You know how the type A personality retires? Mountain trekking in Nepal.”
“Not there for you.”
“You want to hear something ironic? They built an orphanage in Africa.”
“And you were practically an orphan.”
“I didn’t mean to sound like I wanted pity. I had absolutely everything growing up.”
“You didn’t sound like you wanted pity,” he assured her.
“So, almost by accident, after Jamey was born, I started this little website on the internet called Baby Bytes. I never even told Edwin, my parents, his parents. It was so precious to me, and I knew I couldn’t handle the put-downs or the patronizing or the criticism or the input.
“Edwin was killed in an accident very shortly after that. He was coming home from work late. He’d had a few drinks and hit a telephone pole.
“I feel like my little company kept me going, gave me back an identity when I was suffocating in everyone’s expectations. Their expectations actually felt even more stifling after he died.
“I was supposed to behave like the grieving widow for the rest of my life. Live with his parents. Gratefully accept their help and their gifts.
“When the house-sitting opportunity came up, I knew I had to take it. To make the break. Baby Bytes has started to make money, and I know I can take it to the next level.”
“Tell me about it.”
She gave him a wary look, as if she was deciding whether or not to tell him the color of her underwear.
“It’s just a website. It’s free for people to use, mostly young moms. It’s got recipes on it for everything from making bread to making your own baby food. And I put up patterns for clothes and homemade toys. Photography tips. I have little contests for cute baby pictures and best names. Nobody is more surprised than me by the number of people using the site.”
She ducked her head, as if waiting for him to mock her success.
“I think that’s great,” he said, and he meant it.
“It’s kind of like the Martha Stewart of the baby world,” she said, her tone self-disparaging.
He hated that. When no one else put her down, she did it herself.
“I like how you are blending different worlds,” he told her. “Using high tech to showcase things you value.”
He was aware that was what they had been doing for the past few days, too. Blending worlds. Moving back and forth between each other’s worlds with a growing amount of comfort.
“I started putting out feelers,” she confided shyly, “and a couple of the big baby companies, like Baby Nap, have committed to taking out ads on it. It’s going to give me a very comfortable living within a year.”
“So you have your parents’ business acumen, too. That’s amazing. You must be very proud.”
“I’m scared.”
“No, you’re not. You were scared, but today and yesterday you played with a horse. And now you don’t have to be scared anymore. Not of anything.”
“Anything?” she whispered. She took a deep breath, and turned, and looked at him with those amazing, beautiful eyes. “How about the fact it’s still snowing?”
“I think we’ll survive.”
“It’s the twenty-first of December today. How about the fact I may be spending Christmas with you?”
“It’s just another day. You can celebrate it however you want when you leave.”
She looked at him long and hard, as if he was clearly missing the point. She drew in another deep breath.
He had to have known this was coming. He had to have sensed it in their growing comfort with one another, the effortless way he had become her extra hand, the enthusiastic way she was embracing his world.
But somehow her next words shocked him completely. Completely.
“How about the way I’m starting to feel about you, Ty Halliday? How about that?”
