A Forever Kind of Family. Brenda Harlen
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so much more than she could give him, but she was trying. Of course, she might be more successful if she could get more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep in any given night, but so far that hadn’t happened.
Oliver had apparently started sleeping through the night when he was five months old, but he hadn’t done so even once since the accident. According to Ryan’s mom, who had become their go-to source for all child-related questions, his nighttime waking was neither surprising nor cause for concern. His life and his routines had been disrupted and it was reasonable that he would be upset and confused. Harper’s understanding of that didn’t make her any less cranky.
And as the baby continued to cry, his sobs punctuated with heartfelt entreaties for “Ma-ma-ma-ma-ma,” she wanted to cry right along with him. Instead she padded across the hall.
Other than the soft glow of the night-light that emanated from the baby’s room, the hall was in complete darkness. She had no concept of time: how long she’d been sleeping or—
The unfinished thought was snatched from her brain along with the air from her lungs when she collided with a wall.
Not a real wall, but the wall of Ryan Garrett’s chest.
Solid, strong, naked.
And wet.
His hands, strong and steady, caught her hips as she stumbled backward. She felt the imprint of every finger through the whisper-thin cotton of her boxer-short pajama bottoms, and the heat of his touch made her skin tingle and her pulse race in a way she hadn’t experienced in a very long time—and definitely didn’t want to be experiencing now.
She sucked in a breath and inhaled the clean, fresh scent of a man just out of the shower. Which explained why he was wet—but not why he was wandering around the house half-dressed.
“I just turned off the shower when I heard Oliver crying,” he responded to her unspoken question. “I was trying to get to him before he woke you up.”
“Too late.” She winced as the baby’s cries hit the next decibel range. “So maybe you could take the time now to put some clothes on?”
Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but she didn’t apologize for snapping at him. She knew it wasn’t his fault that the child’s cries had awakened her, but she was half-asleep and his half-naked torso was waking up parts of her that she didn’t want awakened, so she wasn’t in a mood to be fair.
“I’m wearing pants,” he said, following her into the baby’s room. And though it was too dark for her to see the sexy half smile on his face, she could hear it in his voice. “In fact, I put them on just for you.”
As if pajama bottoms sitting low on his hips could be classified as pants.
The man knew how attractive he was. After all, he was a Garrett, and it wasn’t a hardship to look at any one of them. To describe Ryan as tall, dark and handsome would be accurate but completely inadequate. Those complimentary but generic words didn’t begin to do him justice. He was at least six-foot-two, because he towered over her own five-six frame even when she was wearing heels. His hair was thick and soft and the color of dark roasted coffee beans; his brows were the same shade, straight and thick over eyes that were probably noted as hazel on his driver’s license but were actually mossy green with flecks of golden amber. His jaw was strong and square and often covered with stubble. She didn’t usually like the unshaven look that seemed to be in vogue these days but couldn’t deny that it suited him, somehow increasing rather than lessening his appeal.
But Harper had grown up surrounded by beautiful people, so she wasn’t readily enamored of a handsome face or an appealing physique—and Ryan Garrett had been blessed with both. Far more dangerous, at least to her way of thinking, was the quick mind and easy smile that added to the package. As if that wasn’t enough to stack the odds in his favor, he was also friendly and charming and kind. And if her brain had been more awake than asleep, she would have spun on her heel and gone back to her own bed. Instead she followed him into the baby’s room.
She turned on the lamp beside the rocking chair while he went directly to the crib and lifted Oliver into his arms. The baby’s heart-wrenching cries immediately ebbed to shuddery sobs as he snuggled against Ryan’s strong chest.
Harper hovered a few feet away, feeling useless and ineffectual as she watched him soothe the distressed child. His voice was low and even, and the sexy timbre was enough to stir the blood in her veins.
She knew only too well how it would feel to be cradled in his strong embrace, to lay her cheek on his chest and feel the beating of his heart. She knew because she’d spent one incredibly magical night in his arms—then the sun had come up, bringing not just morning but the harshness of reality.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Ryan crooned to Oliver softly. “Are you wet? Hungry?” He patted the baby’s bottom. “Yep—a diaper change is definitely in order.”
She watched him work, noting how Ryan held Oliver in place on the changing table with one hand splayed on the boy’s tummy while he rummaged on the shelf beneath for a clean diaper. He made it look so effortless and easy, while she worked up a sweat trying to prevent the little guy from wriggling off the edge whenever she attempted the task. Which was, admittedly, not nearly as often as Ryan did.
Over the past two and a half weeks, they’d started to establish a routine. He took care of Oliver in the mornings while she was at work, and when she got home from the studio, he would go into his office for a few hours. They hadn’t created a specific schedule for grocery shopping or laundry yet, but Harper was pretty sure that, in the past week, Ryan had done the bulk of those chores, too. She usually started dinner before he got home, and after they finished eating, they worked together to clean up, followed by bath time for the baby. But when it was Oliver’s bedtime, he’d made it clear early on that he preferred falling asleep in Harper’s arms.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder at her now as he finished fastening the tabs on the diaper. “Go back to bed, Harper. I’ve got him.”
Since her alarm would be going off at 4:45 a.m., she wanted to do exactly that. When she’d gone back to work a few days after the funeral, Ryan had offered to be the one to get up in the night with Oliver so that she could sleep through. It wasn’t his fault that she heard every sound that emanated from Oliver’s room, across the hall from her own.
Thankfully, she worked behind the scenes at Coffee Time with Caroline, Charisma’s most popular morning news show, so the dark circles under her eyes weren’t as much a problem as the fog that seemed to have enveloped her brain. And that fog was definitely a problem.
“Do you want me to get him a drink?” she asked as Ryan zipped up Oliver’s sleeper.
“I can manage,” he assured her. “Go get some sleep.”
Just as she decided that she would, Oliver—now clean and dry—stretched his arms out toward her. “Up.”
Ryan deftly scooped him up in one arm. “I’ve got you, buddy.”
The little boy shook his head, reaching for Harper. “Up.”
“Harper has to go night-night, just like you,” Ryan said.
“Up,” Oliver insisted.
He looked at her questioningly.
She shrugged. “I’ve got breasts.”
She’d spoken automatically, her brain apparently stuck somewhere between asleep and awake, without regard to whom she was addressing or how he might respond.
Of course, his response was predictably male—his gaze dropped to her chest and his lips curved in a slow and sexy smile. “Yeah—I’m aware of that.”
Her cheeks burned as her traitorous nipples tightened beneath the thin cotton of her ribbed tank top in response to his perusal, practically begging for his attention. She lifted her arms to reach for the baby, and to cover up her breasts. “I only meant that he prefers a softer chest to snuggle