Because of the Baby.... Cat Schield
It wouldn’t be right to touch her delicate skin with anything so abrasive.
“Keaton?” Lark’s tone had softened. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s really small.” He paused. “And...”
“You’re afraid to hold her.”
“No.”
“How do you expect to help me take care of her when you aren’t comfortable enough to hold her?”
He let a breath hiss out from between his clenched teeth before replying, “I’m going to be fine. I just need a little time to get used to her.”
“No time like the present.” Lark moved into his space, her manner determined. “Give me your left arm.”
He resisted her imperious tone for only as long as it took her to lift her gaze to his. She had the greenest eyes, like spring grass after a week of rain. How had he never noticed how beautiful they were? She raised her eyebrows at him. Moving slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind, Keaton let his arm swing forward.
She took ahold of his wrist and placed his arm against his abdomen. Her fingers were warm and light against his skin. His heart shifted off its rhythm.
“You need to support her head.”
Her shoulder bumped against his chest as she placed the delicate bundle in his arms. The top of her head swept beneath his nose, offering him a whiff of whatever shampoo she used. It reminded him of summertime and his mom’s strawberry shortcake. His mouth watered.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” But his protest came too late. Grace lay along his forearm, her tiny body swaddled from chin to toes. The baby couldn’t move, much less roll off his arm, but Keaton rested his right palm lightly on top of her.
“You doing okay?” Lark’s soft lips wore a slight smile as she watched him cradle Grace.
“Fine.” As long as she didn’t fuss or move, he’d be great.
“I’ll understand if you tell me you can’t do this,” Lark said. “Taking care of a baby is hard work.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.” Keaton suspected she wanted him to back out. That was the last thing he was going to do. “I can do this. I just have to get used to how small she is.”
“You do have rather large hands.” Lark touched Grace’s cheek with a fingertip. Her hand grazed his, making his skin tingle. “They make her look smaller than she is. But she’s stronger than you might think.”
He had a hard time believing that. Grace picked that second to yawn hugely and open her eyes. Her gaze latched on to his face, the expression wide and startled. Keaton stared back, mesmerized, until her eyes shut again. It wasn’t until that happened that he realized his heart was thudding erratically.
Expecting Lark to laugh at his inexperience, he was surprised to find that she’d moved off several feet. Panic flared for a second. He noticed that Lark was watching him, gauging how he handled the situation. He was far out of his comfort zone. Relax, he told himself. He had to appear comfortable being alone with his niece if he was going to convince Lark that he could take care of the delicate infant.
He shifted Grace a little, learning the feel of her. Once again the baby opened her eyes. This time she let out a strange little grunt. Keaton didn’t know if that was normal or not. He needed to do some research on preemies. A little knowledge would go a long way toward making him feel more confident.
“You really don’t need to do this,” Lark said, coming up alongside him once more.
“Yes, I do.” He shoved aside any lingering doubts about his ability to take care of such a tiny baby. “She grunts.”
“I noticed that. Might have something to do with her acid reflux issues. A lot of preemies suffer from it. Luckily Grace isn’t too bad.”
Another thing for him to worry about. Damn Jake. Where the hell was his brother? Skye and Grace were his responsibility. Keaton stared down at the sleeping baby. Jake’s unavailability disturbed him. It wasn’t like his brother to go off the grid. Something bad must have happened, but Keaton didn’t have a clue where to start looking.
“Here, let me take her.” Lark had stepped into his space once more.
Keaton liked how his body reacted to her nearness. Since Skye’s accident and Grace’s birth, he’d been at the hospital at least a couple times a week to check on them. He’d had plenty of time to notice Lark and indulge his curiosity about her.
“I’ve got her.”
“But she needs to be changed.” She gave him an assessing look. “Have you ever changed a baby before?”
“No. And before you say anything, let me point out that I intend to learn everything there is about taking care of a baby before you have to go back to work.”
“Everything?” She looked doubtful.
“Everything.”
“Why do I believe you?”
“Because like you, I graduated at the top of my class?”
Her lack of surprise at his declaration told Keaton that she’d known this about him. Logic told him her confidence in him would grow if she understood he brought intelligence as well as determination to the table.
“I suppose just about everything can be found on the internet these days,” she agreed.
“So, are you going to walk me through changing her?” Keaton ignored the voice inside his head warning him how tiny and fragile Grace was. If he let any nervousness show, he’d never convince Lark to let him help.
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want.”
The ranch house where Lark and Skye had grown up was a sprawling single-story structure with a cathedral ceiling over the enormous, open great room. Lark’s father was an avid hunter, and the walls between the windows and ceiling were covered with trophies of white-tailed deer and bobwhite quail.
Above the dining table hung a chandelier made of antlers. A second one hung above the living room seating area composed of a brown leather couch and love seat. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Set into a sixteen-by-fourteen foot wall and surrounded by large river rock, it took up a corner of the room. As usual the television was on. Lark could tell her father wasn’t home because it wasn’t tuned to a sports program. Instead her mother had on the shopping channel.
Lark’s rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the tile as she went across the room, shrugged out of her wool coat and draped it over one of the dining chairs. Her mother was in the open kitchen. Lark tried to gauge her mother’s mood as she drew near.
“Oh, Lark. Must you wear those scrubs? They do nothing for your figure. And you really should do something about those dark circles under your eyes. They’re not attractive.”
Having just come from a double shift at the hospital because Marsha had called in sick again, Lark couldn’t summon the energy to explain why she looked so tired. “Is that a new lipstick?” she asked. It made her mother happy to talk about herself, and Lark needed her in a good mood.
Vera Taylor smiled, obviously pleased that her daughter had noticed. “Passion’s Promise.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a tube. “It might be a good shade for you. Come closer and let me see.”
Fighting down impatience, Lark let her mother apply the vivid red, knowing it would look ridiculous on her. She rarely wore make-up at all, much less something as eye-catching as ruby lipstick.
“And a little concealer.” Her daughter’s docility had prompted Vera to pull a bag of make-up out of her purse.