Baby On The Run. Kate Little
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you up,” she said softly. “She’s sweet,” she said to Ben.
“She’s a big mush. Once you get to know her. She’s probably wondering what you’re doing here. I don’t have many visitors.”
Not many visitors? She imagined this guy had women stacked up at the door, right next to the woodpile. Maybe he was the type who always stayed at the woman’s place. So he could make a quick getaway in the morning.
He opened the door and the dog bounded outside. “Just make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a while. Dixie needs some exercise.”
He left the house, closing the door behind him and Carey was suddenly left alone with Lindsay, which was just as well. There was plenty of baby maintenance to perform—a diaper change, a bottle, pajamas, if she could find them.
She gazed around, trying to get her bearings. She stood at the entrance to a large, open living room with a stone fireplace on the far wall. The wide pine plank floor was polished to a mellow glow and covered by woven area rugs.
A long, comfortable-looking couch, covered with kilim pillows, and two big armchairs were arranged in the living room, near the hearth.
In the corner, by a window, she saw a mission-style desk, covered with papers and stacks of books, a laptap in the middle of the mess. All in all, a totally masculine, somewhat messy decor, yet at the same time, very homey looking.
Adjoining the living room, a dining area with a wooden table and ladder-back chairs was separated from the kitchen by an open counter space. There were open rafters across most of the ceiling, which added to the house’s rustic feeling.
Carey set the baby down on the couch and took off her jacket, then took off the baby’s snowsuit. She found the baby bag and changed Lindsay’s diaper. Then she carried her into the kitchen, where she fixed a bottle and heated it in a microwave.
The overstuffed armchairs in front of the fireplace proved as comfortable as they looked. Carey sat with Lindsay in her arms, the baby’s body growing as heavy and relaxed as a rag doll as she contentedly sucked down her bottle.
When Lindsay was finished, Carey put the bottle aside, coaxed a burp from her little girl. Then she sat back and gently rocked the baby, cradled against her shoulder.
Lindsay’s eyes grew heavy with sleep. She seemed perfectly content. It was always amazing to Carey how flexible babies were. How oblivious. The little girl had no idea of what had nearly happened tonight, how they had come within a heartbeat of being seriously hurt. And she had no notion that they were once again on the run.
Maybe someday she’d tell her daughter what they had been through this past year. When Lindsay was all grown-up and could understand. Carey only hoped when that day came, their lives would be peaceful and happy. Could that ever be? she wondered.
A fleece throw hung on the back of the armchair and Carey slipped it around her shoulders. The house was cozy and warm, but she still felt chilled to her bones and was practically shivering. Still in shock maybe, she realized. And suddenly exhausted, all the adrenaline draining from her body.
She’d been in a panic mode for hours; first, running from Vermont and then, shaken up by the accident. A shudder raced through her slim form. She and Lindsay had been lucky. Maybe Ben Martin had been right. Maybe the snowstorm had been fortunate. One of those things that at first seems an obstacle but turns out to be good luck in disguise?
Her eyes drifted closed, the snug blanket around her shoulders recalling the feeling of Ben’s strong arm surrounding her as they climbed up the hill, side by side. He’d just been doing his job, helping an accident victim. She doubted he’d even noticed.
She’d noticed. More than she should have. More than she wanted to admit, even in her private thoughts. The sense of his closeness had somehow made her feel breathless and amazingly serene at the same time. She’d felt as if she could have climbed a mountain beside him. Part of it was feeling safe and protected. A rare feeling for Carey.
The same way she felt now, in his house. Though she knew it was only a temporary illusion. It was a wonderful feeling to let go and let her guard down, just for a few hours.
Just long enough to rest. To get a second wind, she reminded herself. Before you and Lindsay move on.
Chapter Two
Carey woke slowly. She realized she’d been dreaming. A frightening dream she had often. She is always alone, walking down an empty street at night. Someone is following her, she turns and can’t see anything. She walks faster, then runs. Suddenly, they are right in front of her and reach out to grab her. She can feel a painful cold grip on her body, a touch like ice.
She fights back and screams…
Then wakes up.
“Hey…wake up. You’re dreaming. It’s okay…”
Her eyes finally opened and she blinked. Ben was crouched near her chair, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his face very close. He’d been shaking her awake, she realized.
She sat up suddenly, feeling embarrassed as he stood up and looked down at her.
“You had a bad dream.”
She pushed her hair back with her hand. “I guess so… I can’t remember it now,” she lied.
“I shouldn’t have let you sleep in that chair. It doesn’t look very comfortable.”
“It wasn’t the chair,” she assured him.
He met her gaze again but didn’t answer. He walked over to the stone hearth and tossed another log on the fire. The flames jumped and glowed, filling the room with a sudden flash of light.
“I fixed a little bed for Lindsay. I hope you don’t mind. I was afraid she might slip off your lap and I didn’t want to wake you.”
She sat up suddenly, the blanket falling from her shoulders. Her baby was no longer in her arms. She hadn’t even realized it…
“Don’t worry. She hasn’t gone very far,” Ben reassured her.
Carey looked down at her feet and found Lindsay snug and soundly asleep in her car seat, tilted back and covered with a soft blanket.
“Thank you. She looks very comfortable.”
He stood up and smiled down at her, looking quietly pleased by her compliment.
“Are you hungry? I made a bite to eat. It isn’t much, just what I could find in the refrigerator.”
“I could eat anything right now,” she admitted.
She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She stood up and followed him to the kitchen, forcing herself not to make a mad dash.
A few minutes later, she was seated at the table beside Ben, relishing spoonfuls of thick, hot beef noodle soup and eyeing the grilled cheese sandwich he’d set down beside her bowl.
Neither of them spoke and Carey forced herself to eat at a slow, polite pace.
“This is great soup,” she said between spoonfuls. “It tastes homemade.”
“My freezer is stocked with takeout containers from the hotel restaurant. Guess I’m the best-fed single guy in town.”
And probably the most chased after, Carey silently added for him. But the stocked freezer explained one reason why none of the local single females had caught him yet.
Carey did wonder at the rest of the story.
“I made the sandwich. Just don’t look too closely,” he warned.
Carey glanced at the grilled cheese, golden on one side, burned to a crisp on the other.
“Not a problem. I’m so hungry, I’ll eat anything.”
“A clean room, some heat…eats anything you put down in front of her. You’re not very hard to please, are