Raising Baby Jane

“Three million?”

“That’s not unrealistic, apparently, if they go ahead with the movie,” he pointed out. “Although Karen says that they might reprint the paperback using movie stills for the cover.”

“Gee, you know all about it!”

“Don’t you, too? She’s been reading the manuscript of the book all week and giving me updates on the plot, as well as a play-by-play account of the problems with the cover design. I assumed she’d been doing the same with you.”

“Karen and I…Well, we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately,” Allie said uncomfortably.

“Haven’t you?”

He looked up. He had the crib all set up now, and had found the crib-size quilts folded in the top of Karen’s suitcase. Their eyes met as he shook one out, revealing a fluffy pink-and-white-striped flannel fabric. Allie flushed, then chilled, in the space of a few seconds. She could tell quite clearly what he was thinking.

He knows it’s because of Jane.

But he couldn’t know why. Was he going to let it go?

No.

“And yet you seem close, like you really care about each other and like each other’s company.”

The tone was mild, but he was deliberately pushing. She could tell. And she felt angry. How dare he? What gave him the right to probe like that, with all the hostility and disapproval such probing implied?

She glared at him, and then—wham! It hit her like needles of hot water under a welcome shower. Like the taste of chocolate after strong, sugarless coffee. Like the rush of a summer wave on a Carolina beach. There was chemistry between them, insistent and physical, full of promise and delight. Chemistry that shattered her control, even while it made her heart dance. Chemistry that frightened her, even while it sang to her soul.

Underneath, she’d known it all along, right from the first moment she’d heard that gravelly, cream-filled and not entirely safe voice of his. Right from the moment she’d seen the startling blue eyes beneath the intimidating black hat.

And her sudden understanding of this chemistry answered the indignant question she’d just silently posed. That was what gave him the right to probe for answers from her as he was doing. Because he felt the chemistry, too.

Her breathing was shallow now, and she wanted to run a mile. She couldn’t possibly dare to open up to this. She had to freeze him off. Freeze herself off, too, because there was no way she was ready to let a man into her life at this point—any man—when she had so much else to struggle with.

“We are close,” she answered him frostily at last. “Which is exactly why we can take some time out from our relationship when we need to.”

“And you’ve needed to just lately?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t going to explain any further. Let him think what he liked!

“Okay.” He shrugged and bent to spread a second quilt on top of the first. “Cute,” he commented, studying the lush, hand-quilted and machine-appliqued design of sea creatures illustrating the numbers from one to nine. He bent lower, and touched the bright beading that picked out a sea urchin’s shell. “Karen made this?”

“I did.” She turned deliberately away so she wouldn’t see the surprise on his face as he straightened, but he didn’t let it go, despite her crystal-clear signal.

“You quilt?” he sounded astonished.

The man was relentless!

“Yes,” she retorted. “And I have three heads and the body of a leopard.”

“Hey. Hey…” His voice had softened so that it sent hot prickles of need charging up and down her spine. “Is it a crime on my part to suggest that you seem more like a career gal?”

“Must people be purely one or the other?”

“No, of course not. But—”

“Jane’s fussing,” she announced abruptly, and fled from the room and down the stairs.

She only realized when she reached the bottom that it was the first time in Jane’s life that she’d gone to her willingly and without an agony of turmoil, in the handful of times they’d been under the same roof. And what a tribute to Connor Callahan’s effect on her equilibrium that was!

“Hi, little girl,” she said softly as she entered the big, open living area and approached the glorious warmth of the fire. Janey was whimpering and fretting as if to say, “Okay, I’m done looking at the fire. Isn’t somebody going to come smile at me soon, and show me something interesting? I’m bored!”

“I know,” Allie answered her, as if Jane had spoken her complaint in clear English. Then, with her heart beginning to pound, she bent down and picked the baby up.

But it was too hard. “Are you looking for your…your Mommy?” she asked, her voice coming out with an unnatural intonation.

What would happen if I kissed her, just smothered her with kisses, and smelled her little head and let her little hands grab at my clothing? Allie wondered. What would happen?

Unconsciously, she held Jane farther away from her and her arms were stiff and awkward. No wonder the baby writhed, arching her back and screwing up her face. She wasn’t happy with such blatant ineptitude. She wanted to be held against a warm body. Who could blame her?

Allie heard Connor’s footsteps behind her.

“Want me to take her?” There was a surprising amount of understanding in his voice.

“Uh, sure. I was going to get that hot chocolate, wasn’t I?”

“Yup. I’ll take a mug, too, while you’re at it. Kitchen’s back through that door.”

“Two hot chocolates, coming right up. And I’ll put the casserole in a low oven to start heating up while I’m at it,” she planned aloud. “It must be still half-frozen, and it’s already after five o’clock.”

“I guess Janey, here, will want to eat early,” he agreed.

He was holding her with casual, practised ease, bouncing her on his hip and earning radiant, open-mouthed smiles, entirely uncomplicated by the presence of teeth. Allie’s envy and torment was like a straitjacket.

“The jars of baby food are in her diaper bag, I think,” Allie said. “Is there a microwave? Because I think she likes them warmed up.”

“There’s a microwave. Any idea what time she eats and goes down for the night?”

“I think she’s usually down by seven, but she has a bath before that, so I guess she eats at about six.”

“See, kiddo,” Connor crooned, “we’re cookin’, here. We’ve got your routine worked out—we know what you eat. You’re not gonna miss your mommy at all, are you?”

If the gurgle was an answer, it sounded like Jane agreed.

Allie hid in the kitchen for the next half hour, apart from ten minutes spent sipping her hot drink by the fire while Connor changed a messy diaper. He made so little fuss about the task that she didn’t even realize he’d done it until he dumped the diaper bag back on the end table next to the squashy cream sofa and announced, “Fresh as a daisy again.”

Back in the kitchen, as she turned the oven up higher and found salad and garlic bread amongst the provisions her sister had brought, Allie wondered about Connor’s new attitude. He didn’t seem so hostile anymore, and there was a peacefulness in the atmosphere now. Against the night-dark sky, the snow still whirled, thick and silent, promising changed plans, but in here it was seductively cozy.

The savory aroma of the beef casserole began to snake through the house, mingling with the faint tang of wood smoke. Connor had put on some soft music, and maybe it was that or maybe it was the warmth of the fire, or just the long, travel-filled day, but Jane was getting tired.

At six, Connor came into the kitchen with the baby and announced, “No way is this little princess going to make it until seven o’clock, and I think we’d better skip any thought of a bath.”