Baby in His Arms (7 page)

“See you then.” As Davis walked away, Creed said, “Good guy right there.”

“Seems to be. He attends my church. Not that I always go, but I see him when I do. He must be a regular.” Her gaze followed the blond man back to his table. Two children gazed up at Davis with hopeful expressions. “Raising two kids by himself can’t be easy.”

“He’s doing a good job,” Creed said. “So are you.”

Surprised at the comparison, she shook her head. “I foster. There’s a big difference.”

“Really? Kids are kids. Taking care of them is the same.”

“The kids aren’t mine. They come and go. What I do is not real parenting.” An ache started below her rib cage. She shifted Rose. The ache remained.

“Pardon while I disagree.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced. “You take care of children, love them, nurture them, feed them. You make kites and play games and take special care to dress Rose in pretty outfits. I call that parenting. And love.”

The pain in her chest tightened. A little lower and she’d think she had appendicitis. Haley wasn’t a parent. She couldn’t be. She didn’t know how to be. All she could promise was to be there when a child needed her and to say goodbye with dignity when their time was up.

“An infant doesn’t know the difference between a fancy outfit and a plain onesie.”

A tiny stream of milk seeped from the corner of Rose Petal’s mouth. Haley dabbed at the liquid with a napkin.

“See? Exactly like a mama would.”

The ache spread into her throat. Maybe she was having a heart attack. “She has a mama.”

The teasing light went out of Creed’s dark eyes. His jaw tightened. “A mama who didn’t want her. Who walked out and left an innocent baby alone at the mercy of anyone who walked into that church. Women like that don’t deserve to be called mothers.”

He tossed his napkin on the table.

Haley blinked, a little shocked. Such strong emotions from the flyboy.

“The fact remains, Rose Petal is not mine. Babies this young are in high demand. As soon as the legalities are out of the way, someone will adopt her.”

“Doesn’t seem right. You’re the only mother she’s ever known.”

“I can’t allow myself to think like that.”

“You want them to take her away?”

“It’s not my decision to make.” The discussion was quickly veering into the danger zone. Didn’t she have these same thoughts late at night as she rocked this tiny darling and sang to her? Thoughts that could bring nothing but more heartache? “Can we discuss something else?”

Creed was silent for a moment while the disagreement simmered between them, a live wire capable of arcing into a fire that could burn them both.

“You care about her,” he said softly, his gaze drifting to the now-content baby nestled in her arms. “I know you do.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” And that was all she’d admit. She cared so much she ached. Every day she had to remind herself that Rose Petal was like everyone else, just passing through.

Creed eased back in the chair, shoulders relaxing. Her admission seemed to satisfy him. “Ready to go home?”

“When you are.”

At the register, Creed paid the bill while she bounced the now-wide awake Rose Petal against her shoulder. The baby, face toward Creed, made an
oooh
sound. He kissed her forehead. “Flirt.”

An older couple approached the register, too, and stopped to admire the baby.

“So adorable,” the woman said, looking from Rose to Creed’s grinning face. “I think she has her daddy’s eyes.”

Creed opened his mouth to correct the mistake but seemed to change his mind. Instead, he shot a wink at Haley. “Beautiful like her mama.”

The clown. Even though she knew he teased, the suggestion that he might think she was pretty sent a warm flush up the back of her neck and over her cheeks.

He paid the bill and they turned to leave.

Creed reached for Rose Petal’s carrier. He was great about that. Without being asked, he assumed the load, swinging the carrier in one strong arm as if baby and carrier weighed nothing.

As the café door closed behind them, Haley whispered, “They think we’re a couple.”

He paused on the sidewalk. Dark eyes sought hers and held. “I’m good with that.”

But was she?

Chapter Seven

“A
man has to eat.”

Creed repeated the phrase the next evening at Haley’s house. She’d surprised him with a phone call that morning and he’d said yes. They’d talked for a while, teasing about bean sprouts and fried dandelion, and he’d found himself thinking about dinner all day. Not dinner exactly. Haley.

Last night had been enjoyable. They’d discussed everything. Easy and natural like old friends. Even after he’d taken Haley home, they’d sat in her living room talking. She’d plied him with green tea which had been every bit as revolting as he remembered. But he’d drunk the nasty stuff to please her.

When had he ever done something like that?

He’d also rocked baby Rose to sleep and had even gotten up the courage to change her diaper before putting her down for the night. He’d made such a dramatic deal of it that Haley had laughed and laughed. The pleasure of that sound stuck inside his chest, warm as Rose’s sweet, milky breath on his cheek.

Now, due to a last-minute tour, the hour was later than they’d planned. But when he’d called to cancel, she’d said, “A man has to eat.”

So he was here. Again. Last night’s words came back to him.
They think we’re a couple.

He and Haley a couple? She hadn’t seemed too excited by the idea. But she’d invited him back.

Thomas was home this time, quieter than usual. He’d thanked Creed for the helicopter model and then slipped silently out of the living room.

“I thought he’d be excited to have his own chopper,” Creed said as he followed Haley into the kitchen where wildly fragrant smells drifted from the oven.

“Don’t take it personally. He loves your gift, but he’s always down after a visit with his mother.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I know. I’ve asked the social worker about his moods. She thinks he’s sad because he wants to stay with his mother, but she’s not quite ready.”

Her statement was so matter-of-fact that Creed wondered. “Doesn’t that bother you, even a little? That he wants to leave?”

“Why should I feel bothered? He’s not my child.”

“No, but you love him.”

She shook her head. “I take care of him. He’s not mine to love.”

There she went again with her crazy idea that love had parameters. “That’s a crock, and you know it.”

She shoved a stack of plates against his chest. “Set the table.”

Creed decided against pushing the topic. He’d watched her in action. She couldn’t be as heartless as she sounded.

“What’s that amazing smell?”

“Rosemary and lemon chicken. The rosemary’s from my herb garden.” Using a thick pot holder, she pulled the pan from the oven. “Buttered carrots and red potatoes. How does that sound?”

“Better than dandelion sprouts,” Creed joked, but his mind was on Thomas. The boy’s somber silence disturbed him. “Mind if I talk to Thomas? Maybe try to cheer him up?”

“Go ahead. I’ll call you when dinner’s on.”

After knocking at the bedroom door and receiving permission to enter, Creed found Thomas lying on his twin bed with his stick-thin arms folded behind his head. The room was plastered in childish drawings of airplanes. Even though the comforter was plain blue, more planes flew on the white pillowcase. Creed scooted Thomas with his hip and sat on the edge of the mattress, the way his father would have done.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “How’s your mom doing?”

“She’s getting better.”

“Are you worried about her?”

“I guess.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Thomas stared at the ceiling and said nothing.

“Might as well spill your guts, buddy. I know something’s wrong, but I can’t help unless you tell me.”

Thomas’s thin shoulder jerked beneath Creed’s fingers. “You can’t help.”

“Tell me, anyway. Make me feel better.”

Thomas rolled toward him. He’d removed his glasses, leaving behind a permanent indention in the bridge of his nose. He looked pale and smaller somehow without the thick glasses. “There’s this kid at school. He calls me a nerd and four eyes. Stuff like that.”

“Yeah?” Creed said, hoping the one word would keep Thomas’s words flowing.

“Yeah.” He heaved a beleaguered sigh. “Today, he talked about my mom. He said she’s crazy.”

The word twisted in Creed’s gut. “You know your mom’s sick, right? She can’t help the way she is.”

“Yeah, I know.” His lips fluttered with another breathy sigh. Knowing his mother was ill wasn’t the point. Hearing a bully call her crazy in front of others no doubt was.

“Did you tell the teacher?”

“Then he’d called me a snitch. The teachers can’t do anything, anyway. They tell him to stop, but he doesn’t.”

“You’re pretty brave for telling.”

“I’m a wimp. Everybody says so.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I am. I cry like a big baby. I don’t mean to but tears just come out. I want to punch him in the nose but I can’t. I’m too scared.” He sniffed.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Thomas. The other kid is the bully. He’s the one with the problem.”

“I guess.” Thomas’s forlorn eyes lifted to Creed. “I bet no one ever bullied you.”

“You’d be wrong.”

Thomas leaned up on one elbow. “But you’re a pilot and an army guy. You’re tough.”

“Not when I was a kid. I had a weight problem. You know how kids are about that.”

“You?” Thomas sat all the way up.

“When I was in elementary school, yes.” He remembered some of the cruel “jokes.” “My dad sat on the edge of my bed the way I’m sitting here. You know what he told me?”

“What?”

“To pray for those kids. To ask God to show me their hearts and help me forgive them.” He felt Thomas drawing away in disappointment the same as he’d done all those years ago. “I thought praying for the creeps was a terrible idea, too, but my dad was usually right about things. And I knew he loved me and wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, so I tried it.”

“Did they leave you alone?”

“Not at first. But after a while, their taunts didn’t bother me so much.”

“Did you ever want to punch them?”

Creed chuckled. “Sure did. But I learned that the madder I got, the more mean things they said. When I finally decided to walk away and act as if I didn’t care, they stopped bothering me. Today some of those people take my helicopter tours. Some of them are even good friends.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He hooked an arm around Thomas’s shoulders. “How about we pray about this together right now?”

“Like you and your dad?”

A lump formed in Creed’s throat. “Yes, just like that.”

With eyes wide and trusting, the little boy nodded and folded his hands beneath his chin.

* * *

Haley stood at the bedroom door listening to the soft murmur of man and boy, her heart pounding. A tangle of emotions pushed and twined like new spring growth, both painful and sweet.

Other than the preacher, she’d never been around a man who prayed. Lots of men said they were Christians, but like Brent Henderson, their actions spoke louder than their words. Creed was different.

He’d taken the time to discover Thomas’s problem. Then, he’d not only told Thomas to pray, but he’d also prayed with him.

Such behavior didn’t fit into her well-crafted definition of flyboys. Or men, for that matter.

Oh, Creed, what are you doing to my head?

The murmur of voices ceased and Haley heard movement. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, she hurried back to the kitchen.

All through dinner and later when he offered to put Thomas to bed, Haley observed Creed with renewed admiration. Good looks were one thing. A good heart was difficult to resist.

* * *

Much later, Creed flipped the light switch and quietly closed the door to Thomas’s darkened bedroom. The little guy had a difficult path to walk.

With a troubled soul, he returned to the living room. Finding Haley and Rose absent, he stood listening to the quiet house, the creeks and groans of aged wood and the tinkle of wind chimes on the front porch. The air still smelled of rosemary chicken.

He understood Haley’s attachment to her little sanctuary here on the edge of Whisper Falls. Someday, he’d trade his apartment for a place like this. Someday.

The restlessness stirred in his blood and he was honest enough to know the cause.

She was coming toward him down the hallway.

* * *

Creed was looking at her with the strangest expression. “She’s asleep,” Haley said, softly.

His handsome mouth curved. “That makes two of them.”

“Thanks. I usually take an hour to get both of them settled.”

“I read three chapters of
Hank the Cow Dog.
Must have bored him with my version. He started yawning on chapter two.”

“He was tired, emotionally spent more than anything, I think.”

“What about you?” Dark eyes searched hers. “Am I keeping you up?”

“Goodness, no. Once the kids are asleep, I can work.” Though tonight work wasn’t on her mind.
He
was. Creed Carter fascinated her more than any other man ever had. He wasn’t what she’d expected. He was more.

“What is this mysterious work you do in the middle of the night?” he asked with a charming tilt of his mouth and his eyes dancing. “Werewolf? Vampire? Batman?”

She laughed. “Nothing quite as dramatic as that, though I did have a Catwoman costume once.”

“The kind with the skinny tights and the black body suit?” He pumped his eyebrows.

“No, the kind with painted-on whiskers and plastic ears.”

“And did you wear this costume to work?”

Haley snorted. “Come here, you.”

Grabbing his short sleeve with a finger and thumb, she tugged him through the kitchen and out into a room bordered all the way around with windows. Moon glow streaming inside the room disappeared when she snapped on the overhead light.

“Wow.” His gaze went from table to table, all the way around the space. “Look at this.”

He was impressed. A hum of pleasure started in her fingertips and tingled all the way to her shoulders.

“You told me you did gourd art but I had no idea. This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

He roamed the room, touching a piece here, lifting a vase there. “My dad mentioned my mom buying something from you, but I didn’t pay any attention. I remember now. She has a birdhouse like this one.”

He pointed to a whimsical beehive complete with yellow-and-black bees and trailing vines.

“Those have been popular at art shows. I mostly concentrate on the birdhouses, but lately vases have caught my fancy.” She picked up a recent project, an autumn-colored leaf vase, carved, etched and painted with an overlay of shiny polyurethane. “What do you think?”

“Beautiful. Different.” He replaced the vase on her work shelf. “Where do you sell these? Whisper Falls isn’t big enough to support an artist.”

“Art shows mostly, or at small-town festivals. My art is one of the reasons I chose to live and work in the Ozarks. Folk art is appreciated here.”

“Enough to pay the rent and keep you afloat?”

He was treading on personal ground but Haley wasn’t offended. He had been present the night Brent had dropped by. Creed knew she wasn’t growing money in her garden. “Usually. Some months are thin, but spring through Christmas is steady.”

“Brent Henderson giving you any more grief?”

“I paid the rent if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I guess it was.” He gave a sheepish shrug. “What about next month and the next?”

His questions were nosy, but his voice was laced with concern. “I get by. The vegetable garden brings in a little extra in summer and fall. I make as many art shows and town fests as I can. War Eagle hosts a huge folk art festival next month. When I attend, I generally do well.”

He frowned. “War Eagle? That’s pretty far, isn’t it? What about Rose and Thomas? How will you manage with a baby?”

She didn’t say the obvious—that both children might be gone by then. He tended to overreact to those facts of her lifestyle.

“Something will work out. Don’t worry. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” A lot longer than he, a much-loved son from strong, loving parents, could begin to imagine.

The crease between his black eyebrows deepened. “When is this show exactly?”

She named the date.

He rotated a freshly dried gourd in his hands, quiet, staring down at the dull, ugly brown as though he could see the beauty she saw waiting to be claimed.

“You’re deep in thought,” she said.

The dry gourd thumped softly as he replaced it. He rubbed his chin, squeezed his upper lip and finally said, “I could move my schedule around, fly you up there and back. Maybe help out with the kids.”

Haley blinked, stunned. “You’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke?” He lifted both hands in a shrug. “Friends help friends.”

The man must be crazy, but she was hard-pressed to be angry at his memory lapse. Quite the opposite, in fact. She thought he was...sweet. Creed had offered to help out with Thomas and Rose and rearrange his schedule. For her.

When had anybody ever done that?

“I don’t fly, Creed. Remember?” She was amazed when her voice remained several notches below hysteria.

He went silent again, hands on hips, lips pressed tight. She saw the struggle on his face, the need to argue with her and call her irrational. She’d heard all the useless arguments before.

Haley touched his arm, her garden-worn fingertips against his warm brown skin. “I can’t, Creed. Please understand.
I can’t.
”

He brought his focus back to her and dropped his arms to his side. “Okay. I get it.”

She wondered if he did. “It’s not that I don’t want to...”

“At least you’re being honest now.”

“You think I wasn’t before?”

He spread his hands wide, the motion breaking their tenuous contact. Something in his expression made her sad, made her wish she was different, that her life hadn’t been what it was, that she didn’t need the walls of protection she’d built around her heart and soul.

“God doesn’t give the spirit of fear, Haley. He’ll take care of you. All you have to do is put your life in His hands and trust Him.”