The Brennan Baby. Barbara Boswell
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“You’ll never guess wheats on.” Devlin’s voice sounded over the line.
“I just saw him. A face from the past, Lancelot Link.” Gillian couldn’t help but chuckle. “I instantly thought of you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” There was a smile in his voice.
The easy moment’s camaraderie turned awkward. Devlin cleared his throat “Ashley didn’t wake up when you put her in her crib?”
“No, she’s out like a light.”
“She should have another dose of the antibiotic in six hours, even if that means waking her to give it,” Devlin was all professional physician now. “She can also have the pain and fever meds at that time, if she needs them.”
“I’ll set my alarm.” Gillian drew a deep breath. “Thanks again, Dev.”
“No problem.”
They hung up, his nonchalant response ringing in her ears. Why did everybody say “no problem” instead of “you’re welcome” these days? she mused. “No problem” seemed so detached, so casual...and there, she’d just answered her own question about the popular usage. Everyone knew that detached and casual was preferable to even minimal involvement
Not that she had any reason to complain, Gillian conceded. She wanted Devlin Brennan to remain detached and casual toward her. God forbid he should ever get close enough to put together the obvious clues of Ashley’s parentage.
For just a few moments Gillian allowed herself to imagine that scene. Having once been an unwanted, unexpected child herself, she had no trouble predicting the outcome. Devlin would be beyond furious to learn he had a child. She shivered, remembering her own birth father—Craig Saylor’s—rage when his daughter Gillian had arrived, an unsolicited surprise, on his doorstep at the age of twelve.
Even worse than her father’s anger at her existence had been his complete rejection. He’d made it unmistakably clear he didn’t care that he had a twelve-year-old daughter who needed him. Craig Saylor didn’t want her and refused to have anything to do with her. As far as he was concerned, it was the state of Michigan that was stuck with Gillian Bailey until she turned eighteen, not him.
That particular memory had long ago lost the power to hurt her, but the experience of seeing Ashley roundly rejected by the man who’d fathered her was one Gillian knew she couldn’t bear. She loved her child too much to have her devalued as anybody’s unwanted mistake.
Restlessly, Gillian wandered back into Ashley’s bedroom and leaned over the crib. The baby was deeply asleep, lying on her back, her tiny fingers balled into fists. History was not going to repeat itself, Gillian promised her daughter—and herself, as well. Ashley Joy Morrow had a mother who loved her, who wanted her and would always be there for her.
Gillian stroked Ashley’s dark curls. She’d loved her child from the moment the nurse in the delivery room had placed the newborn infant in her arms. Maybe even before. She smiled, remembering Ashley’s gymnastics while in the womb She had cared about the baby then, of course, but when she’d gazed at that innocent little face, maternal instinct became something stronger. Her love was also an act of will, a vow to nurture Ashley and to keep her safe always.
She’d done that for eleven months without any help from Devlin Brennan and she would continue to do so. Gillian blinked back the sudden tears that burned in her eyes.
“You’re a smart girl, Gillian,” she remembered Dolly Sinsel telling her many times over the years. “You don’t go chasing after what you can’t have. You know what to want, and you make sure that it’s something you are able to get.”
But wanting Devlin Brennan hadn’t been smart. She couldn’t have him. After three months she had sensed him tiring of her, had felt his waning interest, and couldn’t bear the agony of waiting to hear him say he didn’t want her anymore. So she’d taken matters into her own hands and ended the unbearable suspense.
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