The Maverick's Ready-Made Family

Bennett took the cup and yawned.

“Are you ready for a nap already?” she asked.

His only response was to lift his arms up to her.

She hesitated, because every time she picked him up, she never wanted to let him go again. But Bennett was clearly tired of being strapped in his chair and, based on the sounds emanating from the kitchen, Clay was thoroughly occupied with the dishes and not planning to return to the dining room anytime soon.

With a sigh that was more resignation than reluctance, Antonia removed the tray from Bennett’s chair, unfastened his belt and lifted him into her arms. He curled into her easily, his head dropping against her shoulder, his eyes already drifting shut.

She’d never thought it was possible to fall in love so quickly and completely, but since the doctor had confirmed the news of her pregnancy, Antonia had realized that none of the usual rules applied to babies. She didn’t know if it was their innocence and vulnerability or her own maternal instincts, but she’d always had a weakness for children. From the moment she first suspected that she was pregnant, she’d been overwhelmed by emotion. And the first time Bennett had looked at her with his big blue eyes, she’d been hooked.

Now, with the slight weight of his body in her arms and the subtle scents of baby powder and shampoo teasing her nostrils, that hook snared her heart even more deeply.

She ventured into the kitchen and confirmed that Clay was loading up the dishwasher. Not with the skill or efficiency of someone who had a lot of experience, but he was getting the job done.

“Why don’t you take Bennett back to your room for a nap and let me do that?” she suggested.

“He doesn’t sleep for more than fifteen or twenty minutes after breakfast,” Clay told her. “So if you could sit with him for a little bit while I finish up here, that would be great.”

“Why don’t you sit with him while I finish cleaning up?” Antonia countered.

“Because I’m almost done here,” he pointed out.

His logic was indisputable and, with a sense of relief she refused to let him see, Antonia settled into one of the wooden ladder-back chairs beside the old kitchen table.

Bennett snuggled in, rubbing his cheek against her shirt, and Antonia’s heart gave another squeeze.

She didn’t know anything about the little boy’s mother—who she was or where she was. She only knew that in the five weeks that had passed since Clayton Traub had showed up at Wright’s Way with his son, she hadn’t heard a single word about the woman who’d given birth to the darling little boy. And she had to admit, the lack of information made her curious.

Not any of your business, she mentally admonished herself.

Just like information about her baby’s father was no one’s business but her own.

“He’s never taken to strangers,” Clay noted. “But there’s no doubt that he likes you.”

And because it was too good an opening to resist, she ignored her own admonition to herself and said, “Maybe I remind him of his mother.”

“Not likely,” Clay said. “Considering that he hasn’t seen her since he was two weeks old.”

She looked up, startled by this revelation. “Why not?”

“She decided a baby was too much to handle and she left him with me and moved to California.”

Antonia was stunned.

She couldn’t imagine any mother choosing to walk away from her child. Her baby wasn’t even born yet and she knew there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him or her. But of course she didn’t say any of that to Clay, she said only, “Why California?”

“To be a movie star.”

“She was an actress?”

“A much better one than I ever suspected,” he noted wryly.

She didn’t have any trouble picking up on the undercurrents in that response. “It must have been difficult—to be on your own with a newborn.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” he admitted. “I hadn’t planned on becoming a father at this point in my life and I knew absolutely nothing about babies. In fact, I’m not sure either Bennett or I would have made it through the first few weeks without my mom.”

In many ways, Clay’s story was similar to her own. She hadn’t planned on becoming a mother at this point in her life, either, and while she wouldn’t say she knew “absolutely nothing” about babies, her experience was limited. But unlike Bennett, her baby wouldn’t have a grandmother to help them through the rough patches.

She shifted her gaze away, so Clay wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. “You’re lucky to have her,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot that your mother passed away.”

She nodded. “Two years ago.”

“I bet you miss her.”

“Now more than ever,” Antonia admitted.

Lucinda Wright had been more than a parent. In a lot of ways, she’d been her best friend, and Antonia missed her gentle guidance and sage advice. Mostly she missed the way her mother always knew when she was worried about something, she missed the comforting weight of the arm she would put across her daughter’s shoulders and the confidence in her voice when she promised that everything would work out for the best.

As her baby shifted in her belly, Antonia wanted desperately to believe her mother’s promise, but right now she didn’t have a clue what would be best for her baby.

Clay didn’t see his brother again until later that night. Aside from the twice weekly group therapy sessions at the hospital, he wasn’t sure what Forrest did to occupy all the hours in his day. Then again, some people probably wondered what Clay did to fill his days, but anyone who had ever been responsible for the full-time care of a baby wouldn’t need to wonder. Bennett kept his daddy hopping 24/7.

He was in the common room on the main floor of the boarding house, watching a National League playoff game, when Forrest came in with a bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of beer. Sometimes the room was so crowded it was impossible to find a chair, but most of the boarders started work early in the morning and, consequently, retired to their rooms early at night—particularly at the beginning of the week. So tonight, Clay had been alone with the ball game until his brother joined him.

He accepted the bottle Forrest handed to him and took a long swallow before setting it on the coffee table beside the baby monitor.

“Ben’s asleep already?”

“It’s almost ten o’clock,” Clay pointed out.

Forrest looked disappointed.

Clay hadn’t been thrilled when his brother enlisted, but he understood that Forrest wanted to serve his country and that it was his decision to make. But when he came home, it was apparent to everyone that the injury to his leg wasn’t the deepest of his wounds.

And yet there had been rare moments when Clay caught glimpses of the easygoing brother he remembered. There had been a few more of those moments since they’d come to Thunder Canyon, illustrated by good-natured teasing and dry humor. But the clearest evidence was in his brother’s interactions with Bennett. The little boy was the only one—at least so far—who had proven capable of breaching all of Forrest’s defenses.

“There was a time when he didn’t settle down until midnight,” Forrest recalled.

“Then I wised up and stopped letting him nap after dinner.”

“If you kept him up later at night, he wouldn’t be awake so early in the morning.”

Clay shrugged. “I’m used to starting the day early.”

“Do you miss it?”