Father For Her Newborn Baby. Lynne Marshall
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to Wyoming was supposed to be the first step in a better life for both of them, yet Flora’s distress seemed to prove otherwise. Why did she have to doubt herself at every turn since becoming a mother? She couldn’t very well ask her own mother for help.
A key turned the lock in the front door, and from the darkened room Lizzie saw Cole enter. His head immediately turned to the sounds of the baby’s cries.
“Hi,” she said, walking toward him, glad she’d thrown a long sweater over her funky flannel pajama pants and overstretched tank top. It was too late to try to do anything with her hair, though.
He nodded, looking tired and grim when he turned on the light. He watched her a few moments as they both adjusted to the sudden brightness.
“How’s your dad?” She shifted Flora to her shoulder and rubbed her back as she continued to fuss loudly and squirm in her arms.
“He’s stable. The CT scan showed blockage without bleeding, so that’s good. They put him on ATP well within the window for best results. Only time will tell.”
She thought about the news. It was promising, and that was all they could hope for tonight. “So the CVA hasn’t evolved?”
“You still can’t understand him when he tries to talk, but the right-sided weakness seems less. At least that’s something.” Cole threw his keys in a ceramic bowl on the long entry hall table, the sound startling Flora and the fussing turned to crying. “Oh, sorry.” He grimaced.
“It’s not you. We’ve been up for a couple hours. I keep hoping she’ll wear herself out enough so I can nurse her.” God, she wanted to cry, that familiar helpless feeling of not being able to comfort her daughter ripping at her heart.
His brows pulled downward. “You need your sleep just as much as she does.” Surprising her, he took off his jacket, laid it over the back of a chair and reached for Flora. “Maybe a change in scenery will help. Give her to me.” He took her squirming baby, now looking amazingly tiny in his big hands and arms. “Let’s go in the kitchen, and have some herbal tea or something. It’ll do us both good.”
He led the way—her wriggling, loudly protesting baby leaving him unfazed—and, though feeling embarrassed about her appearance, she followed. Fortunately the kitchen light had a dimmer, so Cole left it at half the usual brightness. That worked for Lizzie. The less he saw of her bed hair and unwashed face, the better.
“I’ll put the water on,” she said, noticing that Flora still fussed but had quieted down a little. “Where do you keep the tea?” In a kitchen the size of her entire apartment back in Boston, she didn’t have a clue where to begin to look.
“The pantry,” he whispered, and pointed to the corner, Flora in the crook of his elbow as he unconsciously rocked the fidgety baby. “Second shelf. I like the Sweet Dreams brand, but there’s some chamomile, too, somewhere, I think.”
It tickled her to think of big ol’ Cole Montgomery liking herbal tea and holding babies. Even though he gazed at Flora as if she were an alien from Planet X. After she got the tea she was grateful the cabinets had glass doors, so at least she knew where to find the cups.
Behind her, he chuckled softly. “I think she’s hungry—she keeps trying to suckle my neck.”
“Oh!” Maybe she should stop everything and nurse that child since that seemed to be her message.
“You have a bottle or something?”
“I’m nursing. Why don’t you give her to me?”
He gently handed Flora back to Lizzie, and their gazes caught and held briefly. He seemed to have questions in his, and she didn’t want to begin guessing what he wondered. Most likely something along the lines of—what in the hell are you doing here?
Good question. Would he believe her answer—making a better life for my daughter?
Flora had settled down and showed all the signs of finally being ready to nurse. “If you don’t mind watching the kettle, I’ll take her back to the living room. I’m already in love with your dad’s favorite chair.”
He blinked his reassurance. “I’ll bring the tea when it’s ready.”
Five minutes later, with Flora finally nursing contentedly, Lizzie had thrown her sweater over her chest for privacy, and Cole brought two teacups to the living room, lit only by the light of the moon.
“Mind if I join you?” he whispered.
She smiled up at him as he put her cup on the table nearest her free hand. She’d honestly expected him to use a mug, but he sat across from her and sipped his tea as if it was second nature. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him because her main thought was, Thank goodness Flora quit crying and is nursing. Now maybe she could breathe. At least she knew how to do something good for her baby. Yet, hadn’t Cole calmed the child down? Maybe he had a kid of his own?
“How do you know how to quiet babies so well?”
“I didn’t know I did.” His surprised-bordering-on-shocked expression said it all. Pure luck, the kind Flora wished she had more of. “I just saw you struggling and you looked like you needed some help.” And wasn’t that an understatement?
Her first sip of hot tea soothed her strained throat. It never ceased to amaze her how her entire body tensed when Flora was unhappy. She was surprised her milk let down so easily under the circumstances. “I thought maybe you had your own kids or something.”
He let go a big puff of air, a sound meant to show the absurdity of the comment. “No-o-o. No kids. No wife. Just me and cardiology. See, I understand the physiology of the heart perfectly—the emotional side of things, don’t have a clue.”
She lightly laughed. “I hear you on that one.” Cole had revealed a lot in that last sentence. Maybe they had something in common.
“So is that why you’re not married either?”
Sitting in the dark helped shadow her first reaction—pain. A year ago she would have bet her life on her and Dave getting married, but, after his wicked change in character when she’d told him she was pregnant, she was glad she wasn’t married to him. In fact, her life, or losing it, might have actually been part of the bet. The guy had gone ballistic with the news. He’d flipped out and grabbed her, shaking her violently, then shoved her against a wall, banging her head several times on the surface. You think you can trap me with a kid? Think again. She’d never seen him so crazed; the memory of his wild-eyed stare still sent shivers through her muscles.
She’d never felt more helpless in her life either and vowed that would never happen again. Fortunately, he’d stopped at roughing her up, hadn’t hit her or anything, just manhandled her to frighten her for messing with his plans. He’d given her one last shake and left. So much for true love. And so much for never feeling helpless again. It seemed since Flora had been born, helpless had become her middle name.
She reminded herself she’d come to Wyoming to change things. She wasn’t helpless. She had a job. “Her dad and I couldn’t work things out. He took off. I stayed pregnant.”
“How’d you manage to finish med school with a newborn?”
“Called in a lot of favors.” It wasn’t that she wanted to be abrupt, but, really, they didn’t have all night for her to explain that one. Maybe the guy deserved a bit more than her glib answer, though. “When you’re raised in foster care you learn to be resourceful. I’d helped a lot of students through the toughest modules, did one-on-one study sessions with a girl who probably would have failed the boards otherwise. You know, that kind of thing. They owed me.”
“Wait a second, back up.” He leaned forward. “You were raised in foster care?”
“After my grandmother died, yes.” So she wasn’t exactly being forthcoming. It wasn’t that she wanted to be secretive; she was just saving him the sob story. Did Cole really need to hear