Daddy, He Wrote. Jill Limber
the front room.
Nothing happened.
Trish groaned. The power was out already and the storm had just started. That meant no lights and no water, because the well pump was electric.
Still holding Emma, she turned around and headed back to the main house to get the generator going.
Trish unlocked the door and settled Emma, who was starting to fuss, on the couch with pillows around her to keep her from rolling off. Then she tackled the generator.
Within minutes she had the lights on and could hear the hum of the refrigerator. She could also hear the wind starting to howl around the house.
Trish turned on the television and listened to the news as she tried to nurse Emma again. The baby felt too warm and Trish tried to gauge her temperature. She was still running a little fever, which would account for her crankiness. Normally she was a very happy baby.
The local newscaster was predicting temperatures in the teens, high winds and two feet of snow.
There was no way Trish could keep Emma warm at the stone house. There was no heat besides the fireplace, and when the wind blew, the flue did not draw well and the air inside became smoky. With her stuffed-up nose Emma was having enough trouble breathing as it was.
She tucked the baby into the crook of her arm. “I guess we’ll stay here tonight.”
Emma smiled a toothless little lopsided grin, the first one Trish had seen all day.
“There’s my girl. You like that idea?”
The baby gurgled and smiled again.
“We’ll just camp out right here. I’ll build a fire and we can be nice and warm all night. We can even watch television.”
Trish fixed herself a can of soup and made a mental note to replace it with her own money the next time she went to the grocery store. Just as she was finishing up she heard Tollie barking at the door to the screened porch on the side of the house.
She went out to let him in, and the chill took her breath away. The dog was caked with snow, and she had to shove against the screen door to close it, because of the wind. Just before she got it shut, Crew squeezed through the small opening and ran through the main door and into the house.
She brushed the old dog off before letting him in, then put a frayed towel in the corner near a heater vent and led him to the spot.
“If you’re staying in, you’ll stay there.”
Tollie turned around three times and then plopped down on the towel, apparently pleased with the arrangement. She could just see Crew’s tail under the china cabinet.
Trish lit the fire in the huge stone fireplace, then got out blankets from the linen closet and settled Emma and herself for the night, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch and savoring the luxury of sleeping in a warm room.
Exhausted, she didn’t even turn on the television and drifted off to sleep almost immediately, the sound of the storm howling around the house strangely soothing.
Tollie’s furious barking woke her up. Groggily she raised her head and looked around the dark room, wondering what had set the mutt off. Then she realized she wasn’t at home, she was at the main house.
She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, and the red glowing numbers of the digital clock on the microwave flashed 12:00. She hadn’t reset it after turning the generator on.
Just as she was about to get up and investigate what might be upsetting her normally placid dog, the overhead lights went on, blinding her.
She peered over the back of the couch, squinting into the bright light. To her horror, Ian Miller stood in the doorway to the great room. The shoulders of his coat were thick with snow, and there was a thunderous expression on his face.
He took his gaze off her for just a moment to glance over at Tollie, who stood stiff-legged and growling, all the hair raised on his back.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted out without thinking. He wasn’t due for two more days.
He set his bag down with a thud. “I might ask you the same question,” he fairly growled at her.
Trish felt her heart sink. He’d fire her. Probably tonight, considering the furious expression on his face.
She told Tollie to hush and wondered where she could go. What was she going to do? She had no money, no marketable skills and no family. She still owed the hospital and the funeral home. She’d been homeless before, and she wasn’t going to let her baby live that kind of life. Ever. She looked down at her sleeping daughter, overwhelmed with dismay.
Ian stared at the tousled, delightful-looking woman curled up on his couch, her big blue eyes blinking against the light. He felt like Papa Bear come home to find Goldilocks in his bed.
Except he didn’t think Goldilocks had had a demented-looking mutt. At her command the dog had downgraded his barking to growls, and his spooky white eyes were staring past Ian. Ian watched Trish, but didn’t take his full attention off the dog.
She appeared to be confused and scared and still managed to look utterly enchanting.
Just what he needed, he thought, rubbing the tense muscles in the back of his neck. His dream of utter solitude dissolved in annoyance.
He was exhausted from fighting the storm all the way from Philadelphia. He’d decided this afternoon when he’d heard the weather predictions that if he waited to leave he’d be forced to delay the trip, possibly for days, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being stranded in the city when he could be at Blacksmith Farm. So he’d decided to come early.
He should have called to warn her, but it hadn’t occurred to him she’d be in his house.
“Well?” He was still waiting for her explanation.
She swallowed hard and made a helpless little gesture with her hand. “The power went out. No lights or water.”
He glanced up at the ceiling fixture. Did she think he was an idiot? “Looks like it came back.”
She shook her head full of tousled, blond curls. “This house is on a generator.”
“No generator at the stone house?”
She shook her head again and continued to stare at him as if he were Attila the Hun.
Just then a cat that looked as though it had gotten its head and tail caught in a piece of farm equipment sauntered into the room and jumped up onto the arm of the couch. Absently she scratched it under the chin, and Ian could hear the rumbling of its purr all the way across the room.
He looked around, wondering how many other animals might be lurking in the corners. At least the dog had settled down. The sound of her voice caught his attention.
“Mr. Miller?” She put the cat aside, struggled out of her nest of blankets and stood up. She was wearing pink flannel pajamas printed with yellow rubber ducks.
She looked as though she might cry. “I’m sorry to be here,” she said, her voice hitching, “but the baby has a cold and I needed to keep her warm.”
Baby? What baby? Ian looked around the room again, wondering how he had managed to stumble into this weird nightmare. “Baby?”
She pointed to a wash basket beside the couch. Ian took a step forward and saw a miniature version of Trish asleep in the basket.
He was hit with a punch of emotions that left him speechless and angry. He didn’t want the confused feelings that welled up and took him completely by surprise. She had a baby. This woman who looked like a child herself was a mother.
She started folding up the blankets with jerky movements. “I’m really sorry about this, Mr. Miller. I’ll get dressed and go home.”
She obviously hadn’t looked outside recently. They were in the beginning