Read Online The Baby Invasion (Destiny Bay-Baby Dreams) by Helen Conrad - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Helen Conrad
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leaned slowly forward, searching his eyes.
“You really are a mean old man, aren’t you?” she accused softly.
He pushed the plate away, full at last.
“If someone who doesn’t like neighborhood block parties gets that hung on him, I guess I am.”
Her blue eyes searched his again. “Oh, sure,” she said. “You enjoy being a grouch. But deep down, you really like kids, don’t you?”
It was time to bite the bullet. There was no point in pretending. To lie to her now would be to ask for trouble—and maybe raise expectations that could never be fulfilled. He raised his face and said it clearly.
“No. Not really.”
Shock widened her eyes, and then she smiled, sure he was kidding. “Oh, come on. Everybody really likes kids deep down.”
He stared back, not flinching. “I don’t.”
She would not give up. Not wanting to be responsible, like Joey, was one thing, but to actually dislike children! That went against the laws of nature.
She gazed quizzically at him, coaxing a different response. “Think this through now,” she urged. “I mean little babies in little pink bonnets with curlicues on their foreheads, with shy little grins, chubby little legs taking their first steps...”
He shook his head firmly. “Can’t stand any of it.”
He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers and said distinctly, “I think all children should be locked up in cages at birth and released on their eighteenth birthday only if they’ve been very, very good.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
There was no give in him at all. This couldn’t be. Not like children? Really not like them?
She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m willing to make a concession. I know that you said you... Don’t care for children.”
“Right.”
“I understand that. I can come to terms with it.”
Why did she care? That was the question. But she didn’t want to deal with that now. For some reason she had to find a way to change this answer of his. She had to find a chink in his armor.
She gazed at him, biting at her lip and thinking hard.
“Okay, you say you don’t like kids. But it’s just because you don’t know children.”
He sighed, leaning back and shaking his head. “Sorry, Cathy,” he said firmly, almost sad for her. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
She hesitated. “What do you mean? I know you’d change your mind if you came to know their sweet little ways.”
“You’re dead wrong.” He said each word emphatically.
She stared at him, completely at sea.
“Cathy, the fact of the matter is...I probably know more about children than you do.”
What an odd thing to say. It didn’t make any sense. She frowned, shaking her head. “What are you talking about?”
He turned in his chair, looking at her from under lowered lids. There was a storm brewing in his eyes now. For the first time, she could read his feelings in his gaze. He’d kept his tone light, but she could see the reality beneath the amused detachment. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, as though she needed to hold on to something, as though it were going to be a bumpy ride.
“I was the oldest in a family of seven,” he said. “My mother had seven children in fifteen years. I was eighteen before I escaped.”
His smile was humorless and he shook his head.
“Until then, I was nanny to every one of my brothers and sisters. My mother’s pregnancies weren’t easy and she spent a lot of time in bed. Someone had to do the work. And there I was, a ready-made mother’s helper. When other guys were out playing baseball, I was inside, warming formula and sterilizing bottles. I spent my days changing diapers, fixing lunch boxes, cleaning up spilled milk, when I should have been studying to get into a good college, playing football, taking out some pretty cheerleader.”
His grin was bittersweet.
“Until I was eighteen, babies ruined my life.”
Cathy felt as though the force
“You really are a mean old man, aren’t you?” she accused softly.
He pushed the plate away, full at last.
“If someone who doesn’t like neighborhood block parties gets that hung on him, I guess I am.”
Her blue eyes searched his again. “Oh, sure,” she said. “You enjoy being a grouch. But deep down, you really like kids, don’t you?”
It was time to bite the bullet. There was no point in pretending. To lie to her now would be to ask for trouble—and maybe raise expectations that could never be fulfilled. He raised his face and said it clearly.
“No. Not really.”
Shock widened her eyes, and then she smiled, sure he was kidding. “Oh, come on. Everybody really likes kids deep down.”
He stared back, not flinching. “I don’t.”
She would not give up. Not wanting to be responsible, like Joey, was one thing, but to actually dislike children! That went against the laws of nature.
She gazed quizzically at him, coaxing a different response. “Think this through now,” she urged. “I mean little babies in little pink bonnets with curlicues on their foreheads, with shy little grins, chubby little legs taking their first steps...”
He shook his head firmly. “Can’t stand any of it.”
He leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers and said distinctly, “I think all children should be locked up in cages at birth and released on their eighteenth birthday only if they’ve been very, very good.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
There was no give in him at all. This couldn’t be. Not like children? Really not like them?
She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m willing to make a concession. I know that you said you... Don’t care for children.”
“Right.”
“I understand that. I can come to terms with it.”
Why did she care? That was the question. But she didn’t want to deal with that now. For some reason she had to find a way to change this answer of his. She had to find a chink in his armor.
She gazed at him, biting at her lip and thinking hard.
“Okay, you say you don’t like kids. But it’s just because you don’t know children.”
He sighed, leaning back and shaking his head. “Sorry, Cathy,” he said firmly, almost sad for her. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
She hesitated. “What do you mean? I know you’d change your mind if you came to know their sweet little ways.”
“You’re dead wrong.” He said each word emphatically.
She stared at him, completely at sea.
“Cathy, the fact of the matter is...I probably know more about children than you do.”
What an odd thing to say. It didn’t make any sense. She frowned, shaking her head. “What are you talking about?”
He turned in his chair, looking at her from under lowered lids. There was a storm brewing in his eyes now. For the first time, she could read his feelings in his gaze. He’d kept his tone light, but she could see the reality beneath the amused detachment. Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, as though she needed to hold on to something, as though it were going to be a bumpy ride.
“I was the oldest in a family of seven,” he said. “My mother had seven children in fifteen years. I was eighteen before I escaped.”
His smile was humorless and he shook his head.
“Until then, I was nanny to every one of my brothers and sisters. My mother’s pregnancies weren’t easy and she spent a lot of time in bed. Someone had to do the work. And there I was, a ready-made mother’s helper. When other guys were out playing baseball, I was inside, warming formula and sterilizing bottles. I spent my days changing diapers, fixing lunch boxes, cleaning up spilled milk, when I should have been studying to get into a good college, playing football, taking out some pretty cheerleader.”
His grin was bittersweet.
“Until I was eighteen, babies ruined my life.”
Cathy felt as though the force
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