The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby. Teresa Carpenter
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froze, worried for a moment he’d stopped, but she felt the soft heat of his breath against her chest.
“Yeah.” She glanced down at her misshaped T-shirt. “I’d feel better if I could see him.”
Nate stepped over, grabbed the neck of her undershirt in both hands and effortlessly tore an eight-inch rip down the front. Michelle gasped, shocked by his outrageous action.
“Hey!” she protested, glowering at him.
“You said you wanted to see the baby. Now you can.”
Yeah, and the swell of her breasts and the pink lace of her bra. She pulled her flannel shirt closed over herself and the baby.
“I thought the point was to keep the baby warm.”
“Right. And skin-to-skin is the best way. Warm fluids would be good, too.”
She nodded toward the diaper bag. “There’s probably stuff to make a bottle in there. Do you think you can handle it or should we trade places?”
“If I’m going to raise him, I may as well learn how to feed him now.” He grabbed a bottle and a tin of formula from the diaper bag and headed for the kitchen.
Michelle frowned after him. Most people would probably find that admirable. She just found it annoying. It was just as much a fault to have to do everything yourself as to want everyone else to do it for you.
Then again she may just be reacting to her disappointment in not getting to see the baby pressed to Nate’s bare chest.
She imagined it would be a pretty impressive sight.
Thinking about it, she decided, no, her annoyance had nothing to do with being denied an erotic peek and everything to do with Sheriff Nate Connor being an arrogant pain in the butt.
In the kitchen Nate leaned against the counter and curled his shaking hands into fists.
How righteous he sounded when he told her he’d be raising Jack. Little did she know the internal fight he went through.
What did he know about raising a kid? Nothing. Sure his uncle had taken him in, but he’d been a stupid teenager and Uncle Stan already had a kid, so taking on Nate had been nothing new. And the Lord knew Nate was already messed up so there was little Uncle Stan could do to damage him.
Not so with Jack. He was an infant with his whole life spread out before him. The damage Nate could do encompassed everything from the baby’s health to his spiritual upraising. Nate groaned. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he went to church, the last time he’d done more than take the Lord’s name in vain.
New rule—no cursing.
Because he was a father now, no matter how freaked the notion made him. Because he was no coward and no quitter. He owed Uncle Stan and Jack, so Nate reached for the can of formula and began to read.
He would learn and he would adjust. And he and baby Jack would be just fine.
The baby stirred against Michelle and she looked down into frowning gray eyes. Jack was awake.
“Hey, little guy, how are you doing?” She smiled in relief and to assure him she was a friend. His color had improved and she cuddled him close and rubbed a finger over the downy softness of wispy wheat-colored hair. “Are you feeling better?”
He blinked at her, which she took as a yes.
“Bad news, buddy, your mom, the lowlife witch—” Michelle’s sweet tone never changed as she dealt the insult “—dropped you on Cousin Nate’s doorstep in the middle of the biggest storm of the season.”
He stared at her with sober eyes, taking in every word she spoke.
“Hopefully, your daddy was smarter than your mommy.” She nodded at the alertness in his gaze. “The good news is your cousin Nate says he’s going to raise you.” Chewing the inside of her cheek, she sighed. “Actually, I’m not going to lie to you. It’s a good news-bad news thing. He’ll be a rock for you, but he’ll have impossible expectations. At least that’s how it was with my dad.”
His little face crumpled and he began to whimper.
“Oh, shoot.” Michelle gently bounced Jack, trying to calm him. “No, baby, don’t cry. Shh. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Nate is different.”
“Different from what?” a deep voice demanded.
Flinching internally, she carefully controlled her expression when she met Nate’s challenging gaze.
“I was warning him how difficult it can be to live with a sheriff.”
He lifted one dark brow, silent reproach in the gesture. “Thanks for undermining me before I’ve even met the kid.”
“The truth is the truth.”
“Being sheriff is what I do.” He handed her the full bottle. “It’s not who I am.”
“I was raised by a lawman.” The warm bottle felt good in her hand. She checked the temperature of the formula on her wrist. Perfect, of course. She fed it to Jack, who latched onto the nipple and sucked, his little hands coming up to rest on the bottle. “I know what wearing that uniform means. Long hours, community service, duty first. Family a far and distant second.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I won’t be judged by the actions of another.”
“Fine. Prove me wrong.”
“I would.” Nate settled into the corner of the couch. “But you won’t be around to see. You just want to sell this house and head back to the city.”
He was right. And she wouldn’t apologize for wanting to move forward with her life. “I’m not going back to San Francisco. I’m moving to Los Angeles.”
“Really?” He lifted one dark brow. “Following some guy south?”
She snorted. As if she’d move across town for some guy. “My agent thinks it’ll be better for my songwriting career. And now who’s judging?”
“I’m just calling it as I see it.”
“There’s nothing in this town for me anymore.”
“You’ve never believed there was anything here for you,” he said.
Michelle glanced up from the sweet baby to study the stoic sheriff. How did he know her so well when they’d only met briefly at the funeral before today? She didn’t think Dad had been the type to talk about his absent daughter. Maybe she’d been wrong about that.
“You were wrong then and you’re wrong now.”
“Wrong?” Could he read minds now?
“About what the town has to offer.”
“I don’t have anything in common with the people here. I want more.”
“More what?”
The same question her dad had always had for her. She didn’t know! She just knew this town lacked what she needed.
“More everything. More music, more options, more money, more entertainment, more men, more people who want more.”
And Dad had never understood, never accepted how important music was to her, that songwriting wasn’t just a dream but what drove her.
“Shallow. I guess you’re right after all. River Run has character, people with heart and integrity who care about their neighbors, where life is more important than entertainment and meeting strangers in the street.”
No surprise, Sheriff Nate Connor didn’t understand, either. Why that hurt she couldn’t say.
She ran the back of her finger over baby Jack’s powder-soft cheek, wishing him a better life in River Run than she’d had. “He’s asleep again.”
“Good.