Baby in His Arms. Линда Гуднайт
He led them to the table, too aware that Haley followed, the baby now bouncing against her shoulder while she patted the tiny back. He tried not to notice Haley’s bare feet and the way her reddish hair curved against her cheek. Try being the operative word.
“It’s just a cheap kite from the dollar store. I hope it will fly,” she said.
“We’ll make it work.” To Thomas, he said, “You ever heard of Bernoulli?”
“No.”
“Well, you will. He was a famous scientist.”
“Did he invent the kite?”
Creed grinned. Cute kid. “No, but his theories explain why something flies.”
“Even a helicopter?”
“Right. Same principle. Let’s get the dowel rods in place first and I’ll show you what I mean.”
He helped Thomas spread the plastic diamond on the table and insert the balsam rods from point to point. Together, they tied the strings to hold the sticks in place. In minutes, the kite was formed.
Haley lurked at his elbow, watching, commenting. He felt her there, smelled her garden fresh scent and heard the soft murmurs she made to the baby.
Try as he might to remember his mission—the baby and a kite—Haley’s presence made him itchy, as if he’d rolled in poison ivy in her yard. Considering the jungle out there, maybe he had.
“You can put the tail and string on in a minute, but first let me show you something.” Holding the center rod, he lifted the kite parallel to the table. “Here’s where Bernoulli’s law comes in.” He passed his hand over and under the kite. “There’s air in this room all around the kite. But the kite divides the air so the air underneath is blocked and slowed down. When the wind is blowing, the pressure builds up against the bottom of the kite until—” he tilted the kite upward as if it was about to fly “—you have lift.”
“Did you learn that in pilot school?”
“Actually, I learned it in Mr. Winton’s junior high science class. But I studied it more in pilot school. Helicopters and planes fly the same way.”
“Wow.” Thomas took the unfinished kite and holding the frame as Creed had, sailed the plastic dragon around the room. “I want to fly, too.”
“He’s fascinated by helicopters,” Haley said and looked none too happy at the admission. “Every time you fly over, he runs outside and waves.”
Creed winked at the blushing boy. “I’ll wave back next time.”
“You will?”
“I’m a man of my word.” To Haley, he said, “Is she asleep again?”
“Fed, changed and sleeping.” Gently, she placed the baby in the blanket-lined basket. “Sleeping is what she’s good at so far. I have a feeling tonight may not be as easy as the day.”
“Don’t you have a regular bed for her?” He watched as Thomas fashioned a kite tail out of strips of cloth. Those, he knew, didn’t come with a cheap kite. Haley must have cut them for the boy.
“This bassinet is a loan from social services. It’ll work fine for the time she’s here. I don’t expect to have her long.”
He’d been enjoying himself, but now the fun leached out. Rose Petal, a temporary name for a nameless child, slept in a loaner bed because she was only passing through. “Doesn’t seem right.”
“Maybe not, but that’s the way foster care operates. Deciding her fate is not my job. That’s up to the courts.”
“Don’t you care what happens to her?”
Her eyebrows dipped together. “Of course I care. I wouldn’t be a foster parent if I didn’t.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her. “I need to go. Sorry for bothering you.”
He started toward the door but stopped when Thomas said, “Aren’t we going to fly the kite?”
Creed smothered a sigh. A glance outside gave him an excuse to decline, though in truth, he wanted to get away from Haley and the weird feelings he’d had all day. “Getting dark now, pal. Sorry.”
“Tomorrow? Will you come back tomorrow?”
Creed shoved a hand in his pants pocket. He wasn’t an overly emotional man, but today had wrung him out. Looking into Thomas’s pleading blue eyes wasn’t helping matters at all. “I don’t want to bother your...Haley. She’s pretty busy with the new baby.”
Thomas gazed at him and then at his foster mom. “It’s okay if he comes over again, isn’t it, Haley?”
Haley looked everywhere but at him. “Creed is probably too busy.”
She didn’t want to invite him back, a fact that bugged Creed more than he wanted it to. Women usually liked having him around. What was the trouble with earth mother Haley that made her so prickly where he was concerned?
The stubborn streak his parents had battled through junior high raised its petty head.
“Have the string on and ready to fly tomorrow evening,” he said to Thomas. “I’ll be here by six.”
Chapter Three
The next evening, after the dinner dishes were put away and homework completed, Haley found herself watching the clock. Would Creed really show up? If he didn’t, would Thomas be disappointed?
At ten minutes until six, Thomas laid his kite and string on the table. The cheap kite had turned out well thanks to Creed Carter. A bright blue-and-red dragon with a tail made from scraps of cloth she’d cut from an old shirt, to Thomas the toy was the next best thing to an airplane.
“Creed will be here any minute,” he said with that absolute certainty only a ten-year-old could have. “He said six o’clock and Creed’s a man of his word. He told me so.”
A better question would have been, how disappointed will he be when the flyboy doesn’t show up?
She glanced at the clock again. Five more minutes and the man was toast.
She’d not particularly wanted Creed to come over tonight, but now she’d be furious if he didn’t. Thomas had enough disappointments in his life.
She’d thought about the flyboy too much today. About the way he looked so military-neat and masculine-handsome. About the way he’d fretted over Rose Petal. But especially about that tingly moment when they’d been feeding the baby. Haley knew all about tingly moments with a guy, enough that she’d long ago decided attraction was grossly overrated. Especially after Creed had insulted her yesterday and made it clear he thought she was unfit to foster Rose Petal.
But he’d better show up tonight or else be prepared to receive a very irate phone call tomorrow.
She poked a finger in the potted seedlings growing by the kitchen window, finding the dirt still moist. In another week or two, she’d transplant the gourds outside and hope this year’s crop did better than last year’s. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. More important than the seedlings were the unfinished pieces in her work room. An artist couldn’t sell what wasn’t finished.
“He’s here!” The shout from Thomas jolted her from her worry.
Following the sound of male voices, she entered the living room to find Creed Carter standing inside the front door. She needed to have a talk with Thomas about letting men into her house!
“You came,” she said.
Creed, wearing a black Carter’s Charters T-shirt, gave her a long, piercing look. “I said I would.”
She tilted her chin. “So you did.”
If