clothes basket set atop it.
Twenty minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief. “There. I think that’s it.”
She came over and knelt beside him to look, then raised her gaze to his and nodded. “You got it. You pass Clothing the Baby 101.”
He snorted. “What’s 102?”
“Well, 102,”she said, “is the class where you learn the Murphy’s Laws of Childrearing. Like, ‘a child does not have to go to the potty until after you have completely zipped, buttoned and snapped every loose fastener on a snowsuit.’”
“Sounds like you already know them.”
“Teaching,” she said, “has taught me at least as much as I’ve taught my students. Which reminds me, no school tomorrow. It’s Saturday,” Phoebe said. “Bridget’s not much for sleeping in so we’ll be up anytime after six or so.”
“Six! You’re kidding. I’m on leave.”
She shook her head. “No such thing when you’re a parent.”
“I’ll get up with her if you’d like to sleep in.”
Phoebe looked at him as if he’d spoken another language. “You’d do that?”
“Well, sure. It must be tough being the one on call every minute of every day.”
“It’s not so bad.” Her tone was stiff, as if he’d offended her. “You’re welcome to get up with us,” she said, “but until you learn your way around the kitchen and our morning routine, it’s probably best if I get up.”
“Phoebe.” He rose and stopped her with a hand on her arm as she moved by him. “I am not trying to take your role in her life away, and I wasn’t trying to slam you again for—I just want to learn everything there is to know about her.”
She nodded, although she wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry for getting prickly.” The air of tension left and her shoulders sagged. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
That it was. He watched as she bent over and picked up a discarded shoe and sock. She’d changed from the neat skirt and blouse she’d worn to school that day into a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, although she’d neatly tucked the shirt in and added a belt. Probably her version of hanging-around slob clothes.
Her backside was slim and rounded beneath the jeans. Damn, but he was annoyed with himself. He had a lot more important things than sex to think about tonight, and yet every time he looked at Phoebe all rational thought fled and he became one big walking male hormone.
Bridget let out a squeal and he came back to earth abruptly. Phoebe scooped the baby into herarms. “What are you fussing about, you silly girl?” she asked. “Would you like your daddy to read you a story?”
The kid couldn’t exactly answer yes, but Phoebe motioned him over to the big maple rocker and set Bridget in his lap anyway. She came to him as if she’d known him all her short life, settling easily into his lap, then popping her thumb in her mouth. He read the story but after just a few minutes, her little head nodded against his chest and the thumb fell from her slack lips. Glancing down, he realized she’d fallen asleep.
His throat was tight and his chest ached; she was so precious! It was almost too much to believe, that this beautiful child was his.
He wanted to snuggle her against him but he was afraid if he moved she’d wake up. And so he sat with Bridget in his lap until Phoebe stuck her head around the corner of the door frame. “Is she asleep?” she asked in a hushed tone.
He nodded.
She came into the room and knelt at his side, lifting the baby into her arms. As she transferred Bridget’s weight, the underside of her breast pressed against his arm for a moment, and her warm, intoxicating, feminine fragrance teased his senses. Instantly, awareness rose, and with itarousal. He wanted to kiss her again. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than that. He watched silently as she rose to her feet with his child in her arms, and the knowledge that they had made this precious little person together was, oddly, a whole new kind of
Twenty minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief. “There. I think that’s it.”
She came over and knelt beside him to look, then raised her gaze to his and nodded. “You got it. You pass Clothing the Baby 101.”
He snorted. “What’s 102?”
“Well, 102,”she said, “is the class where you learn the Murphy’s Laws of Childrearing. Like, ‘a child does not have to go to the potty until after you have completely zipped, buttoned and snapped every loose fastener on a snowsuit.’”
“Sounds like you already know them.”
“Teaching,” she said, “has taught me at least as much as I’ve taught my students. Which reminds me, no school tomorrow. It’s Saturday,” Phoebe said. “Bridget’s not much for sleeping in so we’ll be up anytime after six or so.”
“Six! You’re kidding. I’m on leave.”
She shook her head. “No such thing when you’re a parent.”
“I’ll get up with her if you’d like to sleep in.”
Phoebe looked at him as if he’d spoken another language. “You’d do that?”
“Well, sure. It must be tough being the one on call every minute of every day.”
“It’s not so bad.” Her tone was stiff, as if he’d offended her. “You’re welcome to get up with us,” she said, “but until you learn your way around the kitchen and our morning routine, it’s probably best if I get up.”
“Phoebe.” He rose and stopped her with a hand on her arm as she moved by him. “I am not trying to take your role in her life away, and I wasn’t trying to slam you again for—I just want to learn everything there is to know about her.”
She nodded, although she wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry for getting prickly.” The air of tension left and her shoulders sagged. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
That it was. He watched as she bent over and picked up a discarded shoe and sock. She’d changed from the neat skirt and blouse she’d worn to school that day into a pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt, although she’d neatly tucked the shirt in and added a belt. Probably her version of hanging-around slob clothes.
Her backside was slim and rounded beneath the jeans. Damn, but he was annoyed with himself. He had a lot more important things than sex to think about tonight, and yet every time he looked at Phoebe all rational thought fled and he became one big walking male hormone.
Bridget let out a squeal and he came back to earth abruptly. Phoebe scooped the baby into herarms. “What are you fussing about, you silly girl?” she asked. “Would you like your daddy to read you a story?”
The kid couldn’t exactly answer yes, but Phoebe motioned him over to the big maple rocker and set Bridget in his lap anyway. She came to him as if she’d known him all her short life, settling easily into his lap, then popping her thumb in her mouth. He read the story but after just a few minutes, her little head nodded against his chest and the thumb fell from her slack lips. Glancing down, he realized she’d fallen asleep.
His throat was tight and his chest ached; she was so precious! It was almost too much to believe, that this beautiful child was his.
He wanted to snuggle her against him but he was afraid if he moved she’d wake up. And so he sat with Bridget in his lap until Phoebe stuck her head around the corner of the door frame. “Is she asleep?” she asked in a hushed tone.
He nodded.
She came into the room and knelt at his side, lifting the baby into her arms. As she transferred Bridget’s weight, the underside of her breast pressed against his arm for a moment, and her warm, intoxicating, feminine fragrance teased his senses. Instantly, awareness rose, and with itarousal. He wanted to kiss her again. Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than that. He watched silently as she rose to her feet with his child in her arms, and the knowledge that they had made this precious little person together was, oddly, a whole new kind of
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