The Baby Season. Alice Sharpe
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pleasantly of hay and horses. There were four stalls, a stack of bales at the far end and a smattering of equine paraphernalia hanging from walls and dividers. Only one stall was occupied. A palomino mare and her foal glanced at the humans with obvious curiosity.
“Ah, now, isn’t she sweet?” Jack said softly, draping himself over the gate and petting the mare’s velvet muzzle, his eyes on the baby. “There you go, Goldy. You got yourself a real beauty this time.”
The mare snorted and sniffed and managed to look proud of her offspring. The youngster stayed back by her mother’s flank, as though bashful.
Roxanne’s impatience with this diversion dissipated as her television producer instincts kicked in—babies of any kind sold a story.
The image of this little filly, for instance, and the strong, good-looking guy hanging on the fence admiring her, was great. Even the shadowed stall and the glint of sunlight from the open door spilling across the hay-scattered floor would come alive on the screen.
As for Jack? Well, besides an interesting face and eyes to die for, he had broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist, and an absolutely top-rate denim-clad rear end. Add the way he moved, kind of long legged, and the way he spoke, kind of warm but with an edge, and you had a man captivating enough to interest any female with a pulse.
Even the hat was perfect. Crushed, dusty, sexy as all get out, especially when Jack peered from under the brim with those laser-blue eyes.
She wondered if her boss would be interested in a story about modern cowboys. Maybe they could dig up a few cows to lend credibility…
The mare nosed Roxanne’s arm, making her jump about six inches in the air and cutting short her reverie. She must have made a startled sound, because she heard one. The two men stared at her with raised eyebrows and twitching lips.
“This is the closest I’ve ever been to a horse,” she mumbled.
“Really?” Jack said. The filly moved toward his outstretched hand, and he ran his fingers through the tufts of her sprouting mane.
“How old is the baby horse?”
Jack and Carl exchanged quick glances. Finally Jack said, “About twelve hours. Goldy always births in the wee hours of the morning.”
The baby was the same color as the straw, lighter than her mother. She had a white blaze running down her face and one white sock on her front left leg. Roxanne said, “She’s just the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.”
“The second most darling,” Jack said, and glancing up at him, she found him looking at her. Wait a second now…Was he saying that she was more darling than this horse? Was that a compliment?
For a second, she lost herself in the pure blue of his eyes, amazed he would express such a tender sentiment—assuming that comparing a woman to a horse was indeed tender—after knowing her such a short time. No, amazed wasn’t the right word. Dazzled, perhaps. Intrigued. Breathless.
Stunned.
He was the most impressive guy she’d ever met, hands down, flat-out mesmerizing.
What about Kevin?
Kevin who?
But the moment passed and it dawned on her that his gaze was really fixed on the open door. She turned to see what he found so fascinating, and discovered he hadn’t been talking about her at all. A very small girl stood just inside the barn. She was wearing denim overalls, a pink shirt and matching pink shoes. Her yellow hair was wound up into two blond pigtails that glowed with the sunlight behind her. And she was undoubtedly adorable.
“Daddy!” she screeched, running at Jack with open arms.
The commotion unsettled the jittery new mother horse, who snorted, stamped a foot and turned in her stall. The baby whinnied and turned, too.
Jack caught the child and swung her up on his hip. “Shh,” he said. “You’re frightening Goldy.”
“And the baby,” the child said with a lisp.
“Yes, and the baby.”
“Is that mine?” she asked, pointing at the pink box in Jack’s hand.
“Yes, but not until your party.”
The little girl finally noticed Roxanne. She buried her head against her father’s shoulder, revealing just one blue eye, which she fixed on Roxanne’s face.
Roxanne smiled and the child completely buried her head. Roxanne wasn’t surprised. This was not only her first experience with a small horse, but also with a small human. She’d probably frightened the poor little thing.
“This is my daughter, Ginny,” Jack said, looking from Roxanne to his child. “Ginny, this lady’s name is Roxanne.”
“Hello, Ginny,” Roxanne said in her best put-a-child-at-ease voice. “Is it your birthday?”
Ginny pushed her head away from her father’s chest and produced a grin that looked just like her father’s. “Yes,” she said holding up three pudgy fingers.
Jack said, “Hey, pumpkin, how are Aggie’s puppies doing?”
“Good.”
He tickled her and she wiggled to the ground. With another shy glance up at Roxanne, the child said, “Wanna see?”
“The puppies?” Roxanne said.
“No.” Pressing one small finger against her lips and whispering, she added, “It’s a secret.”
Roxanne felt like scratching her head. The puppies were a secret? From whom?
“I think I know what she means,” Jack said as they both watched the little girl make her way across the barn to an empty stall, glancing back over her shoulder at them periodically. “Follow me,” he added.
Jack walked into an empty stall, Roxanne right behind him, watching her step. The straw might look innocent, but she’d found it poked at her tender city toes if she stepped on it wrong. Ginny was halfway up a stack of bales, scrambling at such a pace it was obvious she was experienced at this kind of thing. Jack climbed a couple, and reaching down, took Roxanne’s hand and pulled her up beside him. She teetered a second, and his grip tightened. A totally unexpected shiver ran up her arm.
“You okay?”
“Just not used to climbing around in the hay.”
“Shall I keep hold of your hand or are you steady now?”
“Oh, I’m steady,” she said as he dropped her hand. The truth was that she was anything but. His touch had spurted up her arm like a fizzing fuse. She was loathe to have him take his hand away, but even more concerned that he should sense this.
What was going on? She felt kind of dizzy. Perhaps it was the effects of dehydration.
They climbed up beside Ginny who motioned for Roxanne and her dad to take a look. Roxanne peered over Ginny’s bent head into a crevice formed between the bales, and found six faces staring back.
Kittens.
One orange, two black, a gray-and-white, a pure white and a tabby. Little meows. Tiny little pink tongues and blurry bluish eyes.
“Go ahead, touch one,” Jack said as he gently stroked a tiny white-and-pink ear.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Roxanne said. They looked far too fragile to touch. Jack seemed to know what he was doing, but his finger looked huge next to the kitten’s head.
Pointing at each kitten in turn, Ginny said, “Blinky and Fuzzy and Foggy and Casper and Blackie and George.”
Just then, the mother cat appeared at Ginny’s elbow and jumped down into the crevice. As she flopped onto her side, the kittens, meowing in earnest now, jockeyed for position until everyone was lined up with their own nipple and settled in for lunch.
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