For a second she was entranced by the transformation of his face. He had a smooth, charming smile he used at work. She thought of it as his client-wooing smile. He also had a wolfish grin. That was his I’m-about-to-devour-some-innocent-company expression.
Neither of those reached his eyes. Neither held any warmth.
But this slight, amused twist of his lips wrinkled the corners of his eyes, and it nearly took her breath away.
Before she could respond, or do something really stupid, like melt into a puddle at his feet, he continued. “Peyton and I have been up for hours now.”
“I’m—”
“Don’t apologize. I’d have woken you if she’d been any trouble.”
Wendy’s eyebrows shot up. When was Peyton not trouble? She fussed a lot. Wanted to be held constantly. Screamed anytime Wendy put her down. In general, made Wendy feel like a real winner as a parent.
“We got up a couple of hours ago,” Jonathon was saying. He continued rocking as he spoke, looking down at Peyton the whole time. “She had her morning bottle. Then we made me some oatmeal. She sat on my lap while I read through some emails. She spit up a little on the office floor. Thank God for the plastic mat my chair sits on, right, Peyton?”
Oookay. Maybe that explained why his smile looked so different than his normal grin. Obviously, it was Jonathon who’d been abducted by aliens and replaced by some sort of pod person. The man before her bore no resemblance to the cold and calculating businessman she’d dealt with for the past five years.
Unfortunately, this new guy was way more appealing, which was so annoying.
Jonathon looked up at her, his expression clouding with concern. “Anything wrong?”
“No, I… Why?”
“You looked a little, faint or something.” “No. I’m… great. Fantastic. But hungry. That’s it. I must be hungry.”
“Okay.” The concern lining his brow had taken on a decidedly skeptical gleam. As though he suspected she might need to spend a little time in a padded room. “Why not get dressed and grab yourself some breakfast. Peyton and I will be fine here.”
As if to signal her assent, Peyton blinked up at him with wide blue eyes, then gave the bottle a particularly vigorous suck before sighing and allowing her eyes to drift closed. She looked for all the world like a baby completely happy and at peace.
Emotion choked Wendy’s throat, something that felt unpleasantly like envy. She’d worked her butt off for that baby over the past few weeks, turned her life upside down, prepared to battle her family to the end. And yet Peyton had never once looked up at her with dreamy contentment. Then again, Jonathon always had been quick to win over the ladies.
Wendy sighed. “I wish she was half as peaceful in my arms as she is with you.”
“Why do you say that?”
Because if growing up a Morgan had taught her anything, it was that the best way to deal with negative emotions was to voice them aloud. Get them out into the open rather than letting them simmer. Still, admitting such a feeling was unpleasant, so she softened her words with a diffident shrug. “She seems to fight me constantly. Makes me wonder if—” Wendy blew out a breath. “I don’t know, if she knows something I don’t. If she knows I don’t have what it takes to be a good mother.”
When she looked back at Jonathon, his smile was still there, but the humor in his eyes had dimmed to understanding.
“The thing about dealing with babies—” he gently pulled the bottle nipple from Peyton’s mouth, then maneuvered her so her belly rested against his shoulder “—it’s about five percent instinct and ninety-five percent experience. Plus, they’re very intuitive—that’s all they’ve got. So if you’re nervous, she’ll pick up on it and she’ll be nervous too.”
Jonathon gave Peyton’s back several thumps. After about the tenth, she burped without even opening her eyes.
“How’d you do that? I can never get her to burp.”
“Like I said. It’s experience. If she’s been a difficult baby so far, it’s not because she has you pegged as a bad parent. You just don’t know all the tricks yet. Besides, she’s been through a lot in her short life.”
Was it really that simple? Time would heal all wounds? Watching Peyton sleep on Jonathon’s shoulder, Wendy certainly hoped so. But she couldn’t help worrying if there was more to it than that. That there were deficiencies no amount of experience could compensate for. After all, she’d never be Peyton’s real mother.
Almost as if he could read her mind, Jonathon added, “Give her some time. Give yourself some time too.” Then Jonathon let out a bark of laughter. “Jeez, I sound like Dr.
Phil.”
She laughed along with him, despite the lump of sorrow burrowing into her chest. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone at work.”
“Thanks.”
A moment of silence stretched between them. She should leave. Take advantage of Peyton’s sleep to go shower or something. Yet she found her feet rooted to the ground as she watched him rocking the tiny infant.
“Why aren’t you a father?” she asked, almost before she realized she meant to say it.
He arched an eyebrow.
Heat crept into her cheeks. “I mean, clearly you’re great with kids. It seems like a no-brainer that you should have some of your own.”
“I get frustrated enough trying to get Matt to clean up his third of the office.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I’ve never had any desire to be a father.” His tone was harsh, leaving no room for doubt. The touchy-feely portion of their discussion was over. “She should be asleep for a couple of hours at least. You should take advantage of it and get some breakfast.”
“Thanks. I will.”
She left the room without looking back, but with his words still echoing in her mind. He’d never wanted to be a father. Yet he’d just signed up for a two-year gig. She’d assumed when he asked her to marry him that he wouldn’t be playing an active role in raising Peyton. But less than twenty-four hours in and he’d cared for Peyton more than she had.
He was going to an awful lot of trouble to keep her around. She could only hope she was half as good an assistant as he thought she was. Because she was certainly going to need to earn her keep.
Since he’d insisted repeatedly that he didn’t need her, she wandered down to the kitchen for breakfast. She’d never even stepped into his house before last night. It wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Like Matt, a few years before, Jonathon had bought one of the ridiculously expensive craftsman houses in Old Palo Alto. Though the homes were aging and modest, the neighborhood was one of the more expensive in the country. The interior of Jonathon’s house had been renovated to its early-20th-century glory with meticulous detail. The furniture was a collection of authentic Mission antiques and
