Beginning With Baby. Christie Ridgway
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right apartment, maybe.
The right woman—definitely not.
But there was an infant against her shoulder, and as he stared she tried soothing its fussiness with that familiar, sweet voice. She flicked a glance his way from eyes the clear bluish-gray of a dawn sky, fringed by lashes as dark as the night in which he felt so at home.
Hell. He shifted on his feet, a dull, embarrassed burn heating his neck. Poetry. She had him thinking poetry! He was embarrassed, too, that he was half-dressed, bear-grouchy and completely flummoxed at the sight of her.
“Yes?” that melodious voice asked warily.
He still stared, his mouth unable to move. Her eyes were beautiful, sure. Her voice no surprise. But what had Jackson’s jaw scraping his knees was the rest of the package.
Flowery dress, its hem brushing neat anklet socks folded tidily above pristine Keds. Long, dark hair that waved past her shoulders. Round cheeks, smooth skin, a mouth that looked kiss swollen but that he would wager had never been touched.
He’d never seen a woman who looked so…so…innocent.
Hell. So innocent, that he’d really blush if he had to tell her how that fretful baby she held against her fine body was made.
She threw him another nervous glance and started gently jiggling the baby as it cried harder. “Yes?” she asked again.
He couldn’t think. Beyond her he could see half her living area—a laptop computer was set up on the small dining table—and half her kitchen, where a bottle was warming in a pan on the stove.
Unlike the utilitarian white-on-white of his own apartment, hers was painted a soft-peach and cream. Five or six framed family photos took up one wall.
But none of this observation was getting the job done. Gritting his back teeth, he lowered his brow and put on his best thunderous expression—with his dark hair and eyes, he hoped he looked as dangerously annoyed as he felt.
“Excuse me,” he started, his voice a rumble.
She gulped.
He gestured toward his half-open door. “I…”
Her nervousness suddenly disappeared. “You’re my neighbor!” she exclaimed in friendly relief, obviously just realizing that fact. A smile broke over her face.
For some stupid reason he thought about the dawn again, and he could only watch as she reached her hand toward him. Her smile widened and that hand waved him forward. “Come in, come in.” She stepped back in welcome, all the while patting the noisy and unhappy baby.
In the face of all that friendliness, what could a man do? He let himself walk out of the dim hallway into the light of her apartment.
Just inside, he hesitated. Damn. It would have been better to voice his complaint in the neutral territory outside her door. But another loud squall from the baby had him squaring his shoulders. “I’m Jackson Abbott. I came over because—”
“I’m so glad you did!” She fished in her pocket for a pacifier, which the baby quickly tongued away. “I’ve been meaning to introduce myself and welcome you.” Another smile dug a dimple into one of her smooth cheeks. “I’m Phoebe Finley.”
Then, still trying to calm the baby, Phoebe Finley started rocking from foot to foot, and, following her with his gaze, Jackson went a little seasick. Fighting the queasiness kept him quiet for another crucial moment.
Crucial, because it gave her a chance to talk again first.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you, too,” she said.
His stomach dropped. Thank me?
Her body stopped moving, and she scooped the baby higher in her arms. “But as you can see I’ve been busy.”
Okay, the perfect opening, Jackson thought, preparing again to voice the complaint on his tongue. But the way she held the infant gave him his first full shot of the source of his sleeplessness. Instead of getting to the point right away, he stared at the baby and the baby stared back.
When Jackson’s mouth did finally open, he found himself talking to the infant. “Hey, little—” he narrowed his gaze and tried to make sense of the genderless shape she held, dressed in yellow terry cloth “—it.” A thick diaper covered the obvious parts. Its head was hairless, but Jackson remembered that both girl and boy babies were bald.
That happy dimple dug into Phoebe’s cheek again, as if she approved of men who greeted infants. “This is Rex. My brother’s baby boy.” She took a step toward Jackson, her tone confiding. “And the reason why I need to thank you.”
“Thank me for what?” Jackson asked gruffly, focusing on the dark sweep of Phoebe’s left eyebrow to keep his eyes off the baby and all of Phoebe’s smooth skin.
“For not complaining about the noise, of course!”
His gut dropped again, and his throat closed over a loud groan. “The noise?” he choked out.
The baby started crying once more, and she laid him against her shoulder and started bouncing on her heels. “You must have heard it,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” he said faintly.
“Well, every tenant and his houseplant is complaining. Thanks to you, I’ve been able to point out to our landlady, several times, that if you aren’t bothered, then why should anyone else be?”
Jackson swallowed. “Yes. Why.” Why was he such an idiot? Why hadn’t he come over and ranted and raved on day one? “Is your…is your brother visiting you…for a short while?” he asked hopefully.
A funny expression crossed her face. “Well, uh, no. Just Rex. For the next month, at least. Maybe longer.”
Another month? Nearly his whole time left in Strawberry Bay! Great. If the baby fussed for the next few weeks the way he had for the last two, Jackson didn’t have a bunny’s chance in the fast lane of getting any sleep.
But then his eyebrows snapped together. Another month? This didn’t make sense.
She seemed to read the puzzlement on his face. “It’s a trifle, um, complicated. Rex’s mother died right after he was born, and my brother needed a little time away. I’m…filling in.” Looking down at the baby, she brushed a soft kiss over his head.
It wasn’t a “filling in” kind of kiss. It wasn’t a “filling in” kind of look in her eyes, either.
But he wasn’t there to assess, judge or, dammit, appreciate, even though he found himself fascinated by her lush and innocent mouth again.
Her tone turned confiding once more, and she smiled, obviously happy. “You’ve been so kind and tolerant, I don’t mind letting you be the first to know I hope to keep Rex with me forever.”
Jackson’s brain came to a screeching halt. “What?”
She cleared her throat. “Well, right now my brother is kind of, um, missing, but he’s going to come back, and then we’ll settle the custody of the baby.”
Still reeling, Jackson opened his mouth to set her straight. Someone needed to tell Pollyanna here that happy endings like the one she wanted were only in fairy tales. People had a way of going out of one’s life—under their own steam or because they were torn from you. In his thirty years he’d experienced both.
But then his mouth snapped closed. None of this was his business or the reason he’d knocked on her door. “Listen,” he started. Hell, what was he going to say now? Could he really burst even the smallest of her fantasy bubbles by griping about the kid? “I came over because—”
At the sound of Jackson’s voice, the baby started squalling again. Phoebe patted, shushed, rocked, but nothing worked.
Accepting defeat, actually a little glad about it, Jackson shuffled backward. Much easier to