sink.”
Molly didn’t point out that such a tragedy was all too possible. But he hadn’t asked her how to bathe Laila. She supposed he had his pride, too. It must be strange for him to admit he was inept at caring for a ten-to twelve-pound infant. Another thing they needed to do tonight: weigh Laila so Brig could chart her growth.
She moved to fill the plastic bath at the sink. Juggling Laila, she dribbled her favorite baby wash into the warm water, and finally lowered Laila gently into the bath. Her motions came as second nature, and Brig’s gaze widened as he watched.
“Amazing.” Laila was already cooing her delight.
“She likes feeling as if she were still inside her mother, where it was always warm and safe.” Molly’s baby hadn’t been that lucky. But then, neither had Laila, who’d lost her mother almost at birth. “And again, it’s only practice. Think of half a dozen like Laila, all squalling and ready for a bath at the same time. Good thing I have staff, especially Ann, to help.”
“Maybe one of you would like to volunteer for nanny duty.”
He was only half kidding, but Molly shook her head with a teasing smile. “You’re on your own, soldier.” Against her better instincts, she gestured for him to come closer. “Trial by fire,” she murmured. “Just be sure to support Laila’s head and shoulders.”
“She’s so slippery,” he said, eyes filled with fresh panic the instant he touched her.
To Molly’s relief, however, the baby was now looking up at Brig, her gaze roving from his hair to his eyes to his mouth as if she liked what she saw. The only daddy she knew. When she kicked her legs and water flew everywhere, Brig’s shirt got soaked but he laughed and didn’t let go. A good sign.
“She’s strong. I’m always surprised by how strong she is.”
“It’s a survival thing, I’d say. She holds her head up really well for her age.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, but I could deal with a raw recruit much easier—and I’m talking about some ‘kid’ who weighs two hundred pounds.”
“Then Laila should be a piece of cake.” She couldn’t resist teasing him some more. “Don’t tell me you’d let this little girl get the best of you?”
Brig glanced over his shoulder, keeping a steady grip on Laila.
“She already has.”
But Molly knew he didn’t mean her bath. The baby had definitely captured him. By the time he finished washing, then rinsing her, Laila was half-asleep.
Molly handed him a clean diaper and fresh clothing.
“No, please. You do it,” he said. “I’m at my limit for tonight.”
He stood over the changing table again, his sleeve now and then brushing Molly’s bare arm and making the hairs on her skin rise, while she diapered Laila and slipped her into a clean sleeper. Then Molly stood back, forgetting how near Brig was, and bumped into him, their bodies touching. Instantly, she turned away so Brig couldn’t see her flushed face.
She had to get out of there. The small room had become suffocating, and if she stayed any longer, there was a very real danger that she’d be tempted to slip into his arms. So much for her promise just to look.
Briskly, she bustled around the room, rinsing the plastic tub and shutting down lights until, to her dismay, they were standing in the now-dark space, and Brig was whispering, as if he felt the same temptation, “Molly.”
Her name went through her like a welcome breeze and cooled her pink cheeks. No way would she let herself be lulled once more by Brig’s good looks and the newer, more tender side of him that she’d never encountered before. Soon enough she’d be seeing the back of him. Laila, too. So instead...
“I offered you some books on child care,” she said, walking toward the door, “but you’ll need more than that. Hands-on experience. If you’d like to avoid another mess in the crib, or at least lower the possibility, I could...give you a few lessons—for Laila—in diapering and so forth.”
“And so forth,” he echoed, following her out the door.
Molly hurried back to the house, to the light she saw still shining in her bedroom. She had to do at least some brainstorming before she went to sleep. She had to remind herself that too many years had gone by, with too many losses.
And she wasn’t about to risk another.
* * *
“THERE SHE IS AGAIN.”
At her father’s voice Molly turned the next afternoon from plumping the sofa cushions in the living room. He had just awoken from his nap—a new habit of his that worried her, when he’d always been full of energy—and for some reason was staring out the side window at the Colliers’ house next door.
The still-empty house, as far as Molly could tell.
Which was worse luck for her. Because after last night in the changing room at the center, she was trying to ignore her memory of Brig’s closeness and her foolish urge to glide into his arms.
She’d decided then that any baby-care lessons from her would be given during daytime hours with her entire staff present.
“That woman,” Thomas said. He was now looking out at the yard, taking care to stay out of sight, one hand pulling the curtains back just enough so he could see without being seen. “She’s a friend of Bess Collier’s.” He peered harder at their neighbors’ house. “Look, she’s ringing their bell again like some town crier. Maybe they stood her up like they did Brig.”
“Maybe,” Molly said, “but she might not know they’re away. Why don’t you go out and say something?”
His hand dropped from the curtain as if he’d been burned. “I’m not stepping foot out of this house. Every time she spots me, she comes over to talk.”
“Really,” Molly said, wishing he might welcome some company.
But Pop was on a roll. “Last month she tried to get me to some potluck dinner at the community center. The Colliers were going, she said, so I wouldn’t be a stranger—a ding dang double date, as if I couldn’t see that coming a mile away.” Molly noticed an odd expression on his face that looked to her a lot like...yearning? “Then only a week ago she had some notion I might like to join her senior bowling league.”
Molly grinned. “You’re a good bowler. I think she’s sweet on you, Pop.”
His face turned red. “That’s all I need.”
Molly wanted to say, Maybe that’s exactly what you need. But that hadn’t gone over well with Ann about Jeff Barlow. Molly was out of the matchmaking business.
Thomas eyed her as if she’d spoken anyway and didn’t get his point. “Your mother was the closest thing to a saint I ever knew. She had a gentle way about her. Never said a bad word about anyone.”
“I know, Pop.” Molly’s eyes stung. “I assume you said no to the potluck.”
His
