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Authors: Barbara Hannay
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love.’
He switched his gaze to a far corner and scowled.
‘With your kitchen setup,’ she added hastily, cheeks burning.
‘The baby will get cold if we stay in here too long,’ he said, but he didn’t meet her gaze as he opened the door for her.
* * *
Reece’s father sat at the dining table, waiting for his dinner, a napkin already tucked into his shirt as he watched Jess mix Rosie’s formula.
‘What’s wrong with mother’s milk?’ he asked, his jaw at a belligerent angle.
Jess winced, instantly defensive. The old man might have had a hard life, but he had no idea how hard it had been for her in those early weeks. She’d been so scared trying to care for her tiny newborn daughter on her own, and at the same time grappling with the shock of losing Alan while acquiring his mountainous debts.
She took a deep breath before she answered. ‘I’m afraid I was too stressed after my husband died, and I just wasn’t able to breastfeed.’
As Michael shook his head, unimpressed, Reece turned from the stove—he’d insisted on fixing dinner on this first night. ‘Give the girl a break, Dad. What would you know about babies?’
Jess could have hugged him. Michael glared at them both, but after a while his face lost its sneer and he gave a sheepish shrug. ‘Well...maybe you’ll have better luck next time.’
‘Oh, I very much doubt there’ll be a next time.’
‘Rubbish. You’re bound to have a tribe of ankle biters, isn’t she, Reece?’
Reece didn’t grace this question with an answer, but continued stirring savoury mince at the stove, adding extra Worcestershire sauce. Jess was used to working with men in the kitchen, but she found it incredible that Reece managed to look even more intensely masculine and outdoorsy while he was working at the stove. She was beginning to suspect that his muscles and low-riding jeans were an indoor health hazard.
Her breathing would certainly be a whole lot steadier when this kitchen was her sole territory.
* * *
It was shortly after midnight when Rosie started crying.
Reece heard her wailing as he lay in his swag on the veranda, and then he heard the creak of a floorboard as Jess stepped out of bed. He heard Jess’s soft whispers as she tried to hush the baby, and he pictured her lifting Rosie onto her shoulder, kissing the baby’s soft pink cheek and jogging her lightly up and down, trying to rock her back to sleep.
Problem was, he’d spent far too much time today watching Jess with Rosie. He’d been entranced by the way her face softened whenever she looked at her baby, by the way her voice grew gentle and loving. He could have spent ages watching the way she cuddled Rosie close, showering her with soft, sweet kisses. It touched him deeply to witness such tender intimacy and selfless love...
No doubt a shrink would connect his newfound fixation with buried feelings of abandonment by his own mother.
Yeah...
Whatever...
When Rosie’s crying continued, he left the swag and tiptoed through the house to make sure his father’s bedroom door was closed, and for good measure, he closed the doors at the ends of the hallway as well.
He thought about knocking on Jess’s door and offering to heat up a bottle. Imagined encountering Jess in her nightgown and thought better of it.
By the time he was back in his swag, lying with his hands stacked under his head and staring out at the starry sky, the house was silent again. He heard the board creak as Jess climbed back into bed.
So that was that...time for sleep. Only one problem. When he closed his eyes, he was plagued by images of Jess in her nightgown, of the soft see-through fabric and moonlight outlining her slim, pale curves...fantasies of her leaving her room and coming to him...
Damn. It was too late now to admit he’d made a major mistake when he’d invited her here—into his home, his life.
* * *
The next morning Jess cooked breakfast.
‘You might be all right,’ Michael told her with an
He switched his gaze to a far corner and scowled.
‘With your kitchen setup,’ she added hastily, cheeks burning.
‘The baby will get cold if we stay in here too long,’ he said, but he didn’t meet her gaze as he opened the door for her.
* * *
Reece’s father sat at the dining table, waiting for his dinner, a napkin already tucked into his shirt as he watched Jess mix Rosie’s formula.
‘What’s wrong with mother’s milk?’ he asked, his jaw at a belligerent angle.
Jess winced, instantly defensive. The old man might have had a hard life, but he had no idea how hard it had been for her in those early weeks. She’d been so scared trying to care for her tiny newborn daughter on her own, and at the same time grappling with the shock of losing Alan while acquiring his mountainous debts.
She took a deep breath before she answered. ‘I’m afraid I was too stressed after my husband died, and I just wasn’t able to breastfeed.’
As Michael shook his head, unimpressed, Reece turned from the stove—he’d insisted on fixing dinner on this first night. ‘Give the girl a break, Dad. What would you know about babies?’
Jess could have hugged him. Michael glared at them both, but after a while his face lost its sneer and he gave a sheepish shrug. ‘Well...maybe you’ll have better luck next time.’
‘Oh, I very much doubt there’ll be a next time.’
‘Rubbish. You’re bound to have a tribe of ankle biters, isn’t she, Reece?’
Reece didn’t grace this question with an answer, but continued stirring savoury mince at the stove, adding extra Worcestershire sauce. Jess was used to working with men in the kitchen, but she found it incredible that Reece managed to look even more intensely masculine and outdoorsy while he was working at the stove. She was beginning to suspect that his muscles and low-riding jeans were an indoor health hazard.
Her breathing would certainly be a whole lot steadier when this kitchen was her sole territory.
* * *
It was shortly after midnight when Rosie started crying.
Reece heard her wailing as he lay in his swag on the veranda, and then he heard the creak of a floorboard as Jess stepped out of bed. He heard Jess’s soft whispers as she tried to hush the baby, and he pictured her lifting Rosie onto her shoulder, kissing the baby’s soft pink cheek and jogging her lightly up and down, trying to rock her back to sleep.
Problem was, he’d spent far too much time today watching Jess with Rosie. He’d been entranced by the way her face softened whenever she looked at her baby, by the way her voice grew gentle and loving. He could have spent ages watching the way she cuddled Rosie close, showering her with soft, sweet kisses. It touched him deeply to witness such tender intimacy and selfless love...
No doubt a shrink would connect his newfound fixation with buried feelings of abandonment by his own mother.
Yeah...
Whatever...
When Rosie’s crying continued, he left the swag and tiptoed through the house to make sure his father’s bedroom door was closed, and for good measure, he closed the doors at the ends of the hallway as well.
He thought about knocking on Jess’s door and offering to heat up a bottle. Imagined encountering Jess in her nightgown and thought better of it.
By the time he was back in his swag, lying with his hands stacked under his head and staring out at the starry sky, the house was silent again. He heard the board creak as Jess climbed back into bed.
So that was that...time for sleep. Only one problem. When he closed his eyes, he was plagued by images of Jess in her nightgown, of the soft see-through fabric and moonlight outlining her slim, pale curves...fantasies of her leaving her room and coming to him...
Damn. It was too late now to admit he’d made a major mistake when he’d invited her here—into his home, his life.
* * *
The next morning Jess cooked breakfast.
‘You might be all right,’ Michael told her with an
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