The Bachelor and the Babies

Harrison knew just the place.

He paced, more to keep himself awake than because it made any difference to Matthew.

Poor kid. At a time like this, a baby needed his mother. Just how far out in the wilderness was Stephanie anyway? Her group had only left Saturday morning. How far could a bunch of women hike in a day?

Over the din, Harrison heard a knock on the door. Great. Which of his neighbors had the baby awakened?

He looked down at himself. He was wearing loose knit boxer shorts, his usual sleeping attire. Clutching the baby to him, he peered out the peephole.

An eye peeped back at him.

Startled he jerked backward, which set Matthew off on another round of sobbing.

More knocking. “Harry—Harrison? It’s Carrie.”

“Terrific,” he muttered to himself and flung open the door.

“What are you doing to the baby?” she demanded. “I’m not doing anything to him! He’s teething.”

“Ohhh, poor Matthew. Come to Carrie.”

She held out her arms and Harrison gladly relinquished his nephew.

Carrie headed for the couch, talking nonsense to the baby, and darned if Matthew didn’t tone down his bawling to a few hiccuppy sobs.

Soon, even those subsided.

Carrie was an angel, an angel of mercy dressed in black leather, patterned stockings, boots and enough jewelry to lard a Nevada silver mine.

“He’s exhausted,” she whispered as the baby’s eyes drooped.

Matthew wasn’t the only one. “That’s a trick. He does it just to give you hope, then snatches it away,” Harrison grumbled. He lowered himself onto the chair by the sofa. Every muscle ached.

“You can hear him crying all over the complex,” Carrie said.

“Did he wake you up?”

“Do I look like I’ve been asleep?”

Harrison took in the dark eye makeup and the way she’d bunched part of her hair on top of her head. No telling what she’d been doing. “You look like a corrupted doll.”

She quickly looked down, but not fast enough to hide the flash of hurt in her eyes.

Harrison felt guilty for taking the verbal jab. “I meant...well, the contrast between the way you’re dressed and the fact that you’re holding a baby...” Oh, give her the compliment. “By the way, black leather is a good look for you.”

She didn’t look up, but she smiled. “I got home twenty minutes ago and started writing up my reviews. Saturday is my busiest night.”

Matthew gave a shuddering sob, then wrinkled his face. Carrie reached for the bottle on the lamp table. “Is this the one you were trying to feed him?”

“Yeah.” How had she known he hadn’t been able to get Matthew to take his bottle? “He didn’t want it.”

“Maybe he’d like a little now.”

Matthew latched onto the bottle as though he hadn’t been fed in days. Within minutes, though, it was clear that he’d fallen asleep.

Harrison took him from Carrie’s arms and put him in the playpen.

Together, they crept toward the door.

This was twice Carrie had helped him, and Harrison was uncomfortably aware of being in her debt.

He was also aware of other things, namely, that he was not wearing a whole lot of clothes and that leather really, really was a great look for her.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he said, wondering if a kiss on the cheek might be in order.

“It’s okay. I’ve got to get these pieces written and I couldn’t concentrate with the crying.”

“Matthew was that loud?” Harrison opened the door.

Carrie turned to face him. “I could hear him through the duct work. You know, you’d better be careful. You don’t want to get crosswise with the condo board. I know from experience that they’re very strict.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Harry, that this is an adult-only complex.”

CHAPTER THREE

“HAWEE?” A small hand patted his face, barely missing his eye.

Harrison struggled back to consciousness, feeling as if he’d been hit by a truck.

“Hawee?”

“Nathan, buddy, what time is it?” Squinting at the digital clock-radio, Harrison groaned when he saw that it was 6:20 in the morning. At least he hoped it was morning. What if he’d slept all day?

He forced his eyes all the way open and turned on the radio. An organ blasted through the speakers. Church music. Sunday. Sunday morning.

He collapsed back onto the pillows.

“Joose?” asked Nathan hopefully.

“’S not time for juice,” Harrison mumbled. “It’s still sleepy time.”

Nathan didn’t argue with him. Seconds later, Harrison heard the crackling sound chubby legs wrapped in extra padded diapers made when they walked.

It grew fainter.

He wanted to go back to sleep. Desperately. This was prime sleep time, especially since he’d missed a chunk of his regularly scheduled sleep.