baby grinned up at her, then hit the water with his free hand, sending it splashing everywhere. When Kate laughed, he gurgled out a giggle, wet, sloppy and joyous. She’d never known it was possible to love this much and every day her feelings for this little boy got bigger. She’d meant every word she’d said to Joe about protecting her child.
“So you like the idea of him being around, huh?” J.T. splashed his approval, but Kate wasn’t happy. Already he’d brought up the M word, but it had everything to do with the baby, not her. Nothing about J.T. was wrong, but tying herself legally to Joe because of that seemed like a disaster in the making.
Unlike her father, Joe had come back. But for how long? He’d given her the best four weeks of her life, then abruptly told her it was over. Why should she believe he wouldn’t do that again? This time to J.T.?
She washed the baby all over and held on tight to her squirmy, slippery little guy. When he was rinsed, she lifted him out and wrapped a towel around him, although she was the wetter of the two. In his bedroom, she settled him on the changing table and handed him a toy to distract him while she put him in a diaper and lightweight jammies.
She brushed his dark hair with a baby brush and smiled tenderly down. “Life was a lot simpler yesterday, buddy. I only had to worry about you and me. When your daddy showed up, things got really complicated for Mommy.”
Yesterday her life had been all about the stress of work and raising her son. Now she had conflict.
Kate carried him back to the living room and spread a big quilt on the floor, scattered some toys and put him down, hoping she’d have a few minutes to grab a frozen dinner before he demanded her attention. After popping one in the microwave, she turned the machine on.
J.T. didn’t demand her attention, but the ringing doorbell got it in a big way. She didn’t have to be psychic to know who was there. Looking down, she sighed at her wet front. She told herself the only reason she cared about her appearance was to make him regret walking away from her and the gullible part of her almost believed that.
The doorbell rang again and she looked through the peephole to confirm her suspicion. Then she said to J.T., “Someone’s here to see you, big guy.”
After turning the dead bolt, she opened the door and felt her heart race at the sight of all that tall, dark and handsome intensity. “Hi, Joe.”
“Hi.”
“Come in.”
When he walked past, she inhaled the wonderful masculine scent. And speaking of masculine, he had a serious scattering of beard that had been five o’clock shadow several hours ago. Maybe he’d been in too big a hurry to shave. Or he knew how susceptible she was to the scruffy look.
She shut the door and found him staring down at the baby. The awed expression on his face worked over her hormones just as efficiently as the scruffy look.
“He’s awake tonight,” Joe said.
“And clean.” The microwave beeped, signaling her dinner was done.
At the same time J.T. started to cry. Hurrying over, she scooped him up, then went into the kitchen and started to take the one-dish meal out of the oven.
“Can I hold him?” Joe asked.
She hesitated, something she would have done if a stranger on the street had asked her the same question. When his eyes narrowed, she knew Joe had noticed.
He wasn’t a stranger. Not entirely. More important, he was J.T.’s father. “Sure.”
When she put the child in his arms, Joe’s intensity disappeared, replaced by tenderness. “Hey, buddy.”
Kate watched her son as he stared up at his father with wide, wary eyes. He was a sturdy little guy and she didn’t have to warn Joe about supporting his head. He’d missed that stage—not because he’d wanted to.
Joe met her gaze, something close to fatherly pride in his own. “He’s pretty beefy.”
“Yeah. He’s always been a good eater.”
“Has he?”
A twinge of regret fluttered through her because he’d missed that, too. And there was no way to make up for it. But this was a photo op if she’d ever seen one because he was holding his son for the first time.
“I have pictures,” she said. “From the beginning.”
“I’d like to see them.” When he shifted the baby’s weight in his arms, J.T.’s soft cheek brushed against the scruff of beard. The already skittish child let out a piercing wail. “Hey, pal, what’s up?”
Looking awkward, Joe tried bouncing him, but this was unfamiliar territory and his body language said so, loud and clear. He was stiff, uncomfortable, and J.T. could feel it. His cries became more urgent—from zero to sobbing in three-point-two seconds.
Unfortunately, it was past his bedtime. J.T. was tired and beyond hope of being distracted.
“Let me have him,” she said, taking the baby.
He wanted the comfort of nursing, another nightly ritual. Another something Joe hadn’t seen and she wasn’t comfortable doing it now. But as the baby got more and more upset and nuzzled his face into her shoulder, Kate knew there was no choice.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“He wants to nurse,” she explained.
She went into the bedroom and grabbed a receiving blanket then sat on the couch hoping Joe would be as embarrassed as she was. Please God, he would take the hint and go.
When he stood his ground, she tugged up her shirt with as much dignity as possible, settled J.T. at her breast where he instantly latched on, then threw the blanket over her front. It was quiet now, except for the hum of the refrigerator.
“What happens during the day when you’re at work?” Joe asked. “How does he—I mean, obviously you don’t let him go hungry.”
The man flew helicopters, complex machinery that was beyond the average person, but the basics of breast-feeding were a mystery. It might have made her smile if she weren’t so tense about this complex mess they were in.
“I pump,” she said.
“Iron? Gas? What?” he asked.
The puzzled expression on his face was so darn cute it made her even more tense and J.T. whimpered. “It’s okay, sweet pea,” she comforted. The sound of her voice quieted him and she felt him relax.
She looked up at Joe. He stood straight and tall with booted feet braced wide apart as if he were standing guard over them, which was oddly comforting. His worn jeans and snug black T-shirt molded to his body and left none of his muscles to her imagination. And she’d imagined him a lot since he walked out on her.
“I have a breast pump that extracts the milk,” she explained. “It goes into bottles that I freeze and take to Marilyn Watson. She’s the lady I told you about who watches him while I’m at work.”
“I see.”
“He’s
