all his questions before he’d even had a chance to ask them. Oh, well, that was probably for the best. He had a full plate—no time for starting a heavy personal relationship, and Sara Conroy struck him as a no-nonsense, tough-minded woman. It would be hard to win her over.
“You don’t have to look so relieved,” Sara said as they made their way up the hall to the nursery.
Ben felt sheepish and knew he was a coward. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“And becoming a temporary father hasn’t helped?”
He stopped as they reached the room where the babies up to one year old spent most of their days while their mothers worked. It was a colorful, playful room with a painted mural of Noah’s ark centered on one wall, and various other bright Biblical figures painted on every available surface.
The room was quiet now; most of the parents had already come to claim their little ones and the aides were busy cleaning up for the day. Outside, the burnished sunset that proclaimed Minnesota in the fall shined golden and promising.
“I’ll take care of Tyler,” he said, more to himself than to Sara. “I just wish I could help the person who left him here. Whoever did it, must have been so desperate, so alone. His mother is probably out there somewhere right now, wondering if she did the right thing.”
Sara watched the man standing beside her, and felt a tug at her heartstrings that almost took her breath away.
Almost. Hadn’t she just five minutes earlier told Ben in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested in any kind of romantic relationship? Hadn’t she pledged to avoid opening up her heart to that kind of pain ever again?
Remember, Sara, she reminded herself, time and circumstance can ruin any relationship.
That’s exactly what had happened with Steven. She’d never had the time to give to him, to nurture what they had together, and because of the circumstances—her mother, his work—he’d taken a job in Atlanta, Georgia, far away from the cold winters of Minnesota and far away from what he’d termed her cold heart.
But this man, this man would understand why she’d had to sacrifice so much for her own work and her mother’s illness. This man, this gentle, kind man, would do the same thing. He was doing the same thing by taking in Tyler.
Somehow, knowing that warmed her, melting away the layers of hardness she’d wrapped around her heart. But with that warmth came a warning—to take care, to be cautious.
Time and circumstance could once again bring her pain. She only had a little time here before she’d have to make a decision regarding her job back in St. Paul, and she wouldn’t let the circumstance of an abandoned baby trick her into thinking she, too, could find a good life with someone like Ben Hunter.
Besides, the man was a minister, a preacher, a man of God. And she was definitely not preacher’s wife material.
As she watched Ben lift baby Tyler out of his crib and bundle him in a thick cotton blanket, she regretted that. Ben would make the right woman a fine husband. Except her. Except Sara Conroy. No, she was too cynical, too burned-out and disillusioned for someone like Ben Hunter. She wasn’t the right woman, and she had to remember that.
“I think I can remember all of this,” Ben said hours later as he tucked the baby in, hopefully for a few hours of sleep at least. “Sterilize the bottles every night, mix the formula, put it in the refrigerator, heat it till it feels warm on my skin.” He shook an empty bottle toward his wrist to demonstrate. “Feed him every three or four hours, regardless of what time it is, until he gets on a schedule. Change diapers as needed—what?”
Sara couldn’t help the laughter bubbling over in her throat. But she couldn’t possibly tell Ben that he looked so incredibly adorable, standing there in his flannel shirt and old jeans with a burp cloth slung over his shoulder and his dark curls all mushed up against his forehead, while one of the three cats he owned meowed at his feet. “It’s nothing,” she said. “You just look so helpless.”
“I am not helpless,” Ben retorted in mock defiance. “Well, not as long as you’re here, at least.”
She took another sip of her coffee, ignoring the little tremors of delight his innocent statement brought to her stomach. “Oh, I think you’ll be just fine. From all the phone calls you’ve received, I’d say you’ve got more than enough help.”
“You’re right there. My congregation has really surprised me with all their support. I was afraid some of them would frown on this—a single man taking in an infant. I’m pleasantly surprised, and very grateful.”
“Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said as he refilled her coffee. “Of course, I’ve heard a lot about Reverend Olsen—hard shoes to fill.”
“He was the best. I still visit him in the nursing home and sometimes I bring him here, just to spend an afternoon with me. He is the wisest man I know and I respect his suggestions, even if I don’t always follow them.”
“I see,” she said, smiling back at him. “You want to do things your way.”
“Sometimes, but I find that I mostly have to do things His way.” He pointed heavenward.
“An awesome task,” Sara retorted, meaning it. She had long ago stopped trying to figure out God’s plan for her life. Now she was taking things one day at a time.
“Do you plan to come to church, hear one of my sermons?”
The question, so direct, so sincere, threw her. “I … I probably will.” Lowering her head, she added, “I haven’t been very regular in my faith lately. In fact, I think I kind of gave up on it.”
“Losing a loved one can do that to you,” Ben said, his head down, his whole stance seeming to go weary.
His tone was so quiet, so introspective, that Sara wondered if he’d suffered such a loss himself. Not wanting to pry, she stayed silent, helping him put away the many supplies required to feed and care for a baby. “I’m better now. I was bitter for a while—about my mother’s illness, about life in general. And I hope coming here will help me to…to find some sense of peace.”
He turned to her then, his gentle smile reminding her that although this man was different, a man of strong faith no doubt, maybe he was still just as vulnerable to pain and frustration as the rest of humankind.
Leaning close, he said, “I hope you find your peace here, Sara. This is certainly a good place to start.”
Is that why he’d come here? she wondered. Before she could ask him to tell her, he lifted off the counter and turned away. “Let’s sit down and catch our breaths.”
Then he dropped the diaper and grabbed his own coffee cup, motioning for Sara to follow him into the tiny sitting room of the cottage he called home. The room, like many of the rooms she’d noticed in the charming, old house, was in a state of repair.
“Sorry about the boards and nails,” he told her as he offered her the comfortable old leather armchair near the fireplace. “I fully intend to finish that wall of bookcases, and all the other work around here—someday. But I’m not the handyman type. I’ll have to get Warren Sinclair to repair my repairs, I’m afraid.”
The
