Baby, Oh Baby! (14 page)

"Steal her?" Jake's brow knit together.

Annie tried to nod. "I know you want custody, and ... " She drew a deep breath. Henry had told her she needed to work out an arrangement with Jake. Now would be a good time to say she was willing to discuss it later, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. She didn't want to share her child. She drew a shaky breath. "Madeline needs me. And I—I need her."

Jake's dark gaze settled on hers. For a moment, she thought his eyes softened. His hand tightened around hers. "I won't try to take her away from you. Madeline and I will both be here when you get out of the hospital."

Annie didn't know why, but she believed him. Releasing her hand, he bent down and picked up the child. Madeline wailed a protest.

"You just concentrate on getting well. I'll bring Madeline back to see you tomorrow."

Annie watched them turn toward the door. Madeline stared at her over Jake's shoulder, crying pathetically. Annie's heart turned over.

"She likes to be rocked and read to at bedtime," she called. "She likes lullabies, too."

Madeline's wails grew louder. Jake adjusted her in his arms and turned back to Annie. "Sorry—I couldn't hear that last part. What did you say?"

"She likes lullabies. And, Jake—she'll usually stop crying if you'll give her a Binkie."

The baby was crying at full volume, her mouth close to his ear. Jake stared at her so oddly that she wasn't sure he'd understood, but then he nodded and pushed the door open.

Chapter Eight

The dachshund sat below the kitchen table and eagerly wagged its tail, waiting for Madeline to drop more crumbs on the kitchen floor. The little dog's vigilance was soon rewarded.

"Slow down, Madeline," Jake said as Hot Dog's tongue mopped the floor. "No one's going to take it away from you."

Madeline gave Jake a big grin, exposing a mouthful of sponge cake and cream filling. The child's face was a mess and her pajamas were covered with crumbs, but Jake didn't really care. He was far too pleased by the fact that she was sitting in his lap and smiling.

Annie's parting advice as they'd left the hospital earlier in the day had been a real lifesaver, he thought, watching Madeline stuff another fistful of cake into her mouth. The baby had been wailing so loudly he hadn't been sure he'd heard her correctly, but he must have, because it was working like a charm.

"She'll stop crying if you give her a Twinkie." Who ever would have guessed that snack cakes were the key to a contented baby? He'd headed directly to a vending machine in the hospital snack bar and purchased a pack-' age of them as soon as he'd left the recovery room. Sure enough, Madeline had stopped crying the moment he'd ripped off the plastic wrapper and handed her one.

They'd worked so well that he'd stopped at the Wal-Mart in Bartlesville and bought four entire cartons of them, letting her eat another cake in the cart while he bought himself three changes of casual clothes, a razor, and a toothbrush. Twinkies didn't strike Jake as a particularly wholesome food, and they weren't on the pediatrician's list of recommended fare he found posted on Annie's refrigerator, but he'd talk to her about improving the child's diet later. Right now, he was grateful for anything that could sweeten up Madeline's attitude.

The cake had ruined her appetite for dinner, though—she hadn't touched the chicken and noodle casserole in Annie's fridge. Jake had eaten some and found it surprisingly tasty—hearty and earthy and satisfying, completely different from anything Rachel had ever fixed.

Rachel. The thought of his late wife sent a somber shadow over the warmth of the kitchen. She would have loved Madeline, he thought somberly.

"She should have been yours," Jake murmured into the night. He wondered if Rachel could hear him, wondered if she could see him here with Madeline.

The thought made him irritated. Crimony—what was wrong with him? Of course she couldn't see him. To believe in that would be to believe in an afterlife, to acknowledge that something bigger and more powerful was out there, implying that life had meaning and purpose. Jake didn't hold with that: Such ideas were for fools who couldn't deal with reality, who needed some kind of crutch, some kind of hope.

All the same, it, was funny; being around Madeline had given Jake an inexplicable sense of optimism. It. made no sense, but somehow the all-consuming task of caring for Madeline left him with a feeling of peace and purpose he hadn't felt in years. He was completely in the moment, he realized, not thinking about the past or planning for the future. He'd called his office once soon after arriving at the hospital to let them know he wouldn't be coming in, but after that, he hadn't given his work a second thought. Tulsa and the office, and his life there seemed another planet away.

Thinking of the office reminded him that he'd better call his voice mail and get his messages. And he would, just as soon as he got the baby to bed.

"Ready to go night-night, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart-now there was a word he hadn't used in a while. He wasn't a pet-name kind of person, but he d occasionally called Rachel that. It had always made her smile.

Just like Madeline was smiling now. Jake grinned back, lifting the baby in his arms as he rose from the chair. "Okay, kiddo. Let's go knock off those crumbs." He carried her across the kitchen to the sink, then bobbed her up and down over it until the crumbs tumbled off. Grabbing a paper towel off the roll suspended under the wooden cabinets, he dampened it and washed her face, then carried her to her bedroom.

He stood in the doorway, looking at the shadowy pink nursery. White lace curtains framed the windows in a froth of frills, a border of bunnies marched along the walls near the ceiling, and a giant white teddy bear sat in a child-sized chair at a tiny ,table. A wooden baby bed, a dresser, a large rocking chair, and two huge baskets filled with toys and books completed the room.

Still carrying the baby, Jake headed to the books and selected a couple. Annie had said Madeline liked bedtime stories. Just how the heck did a person read a bedtime story to a baby? Should he put her in the crib, then stand by the railing and read to her? He couldn't very well crawl in there with her. There was a lot to this baby business he didn't know.

"Let's start with Plan A," he said to Madeline, placing her in the crib. She grabbed a yellow pacifier from the comer, stuck it in her mouth, then promptly rose to her feet and grunted, her arms held out over the railing.

She wanted him to pick her up. After a day of screeching every time he came near, she actually wanted him to hold her. The realization warmed him like a cup of cocoa in February. "Well, okay, Madeline. Looks like you prefer Plan B."

Lifting her out, he carried her to the rocking chair in the corner. The baby settled contentedly against his chest, the pacifier firmly clenched in her mouth. Jake opened the book. "'Baby bunny loves to hop,' "he began.

Less than ten minutes later, Madeline was fast asleep. Jake sat and rocked her, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, feeling the child's chest rise and fall against his own, and his throat grew tight with emotion. An odd feeling swept over him, a feeling like the one he'd had when he'd visited the Grand Canyon.

Awe—that was it. It was a sense of awestruck wonder, of being confronted with something so immense and significant that he couldn't quite take it all in.

Here, finally, was something that mattered, something that counted, something worth living for. Something worth dying for.

A child. His child.

The rocker creaked gently, and out the window, cicadas and tree frogs sang a rhythmic evening chorus. Madeline's soft breath formed the pulse of the rhythm, a rhythm that encircled him, enclosing him like a heartbeat in a womb.

The wreck had taken everything from him. His wife. His parents. All of his family, all of his hopes, all of his dreams.

Finding Madeline was like getting a part of it back. Here was a key to the future, a link to the past. He needed this child in his life. Not just on the periphery, either, but right in the heart of it. He wanted to be a real father to her, an involved father—the kind of father Tom had been to Rachel, the kind he'd always wished he'd had.

In order to do that, Jake needed access to the child— more access than a court was likely to give him. And he needed it sooner, too.

He'd already missed out on the child's first year. He didn't intend to miss out on any more.

He gazed down at the baby, felt the rise and fall of her chest against his, and a sense of purpose, profound and deep, took root in his soul. He had to come to some sort of agreement with Annie. Over the course of the next few days, he intended to do just that.

Annie checked her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, a sense of anxiety growing in her stomach. They were more than a half-hour late. She'd called her house at eight this morning, ostensibly to tell Jake what to fix Madeline for breakfast, but mainly to check and make sure he was still there. She'd spent the night tormented by strange, fragmented dreams. She vaguely remembered Jake and Madeline ' visiting her after the surgery, but it seemed like a'' bizarre hallucination. The baby had had a black mouth; Jake had looked like a homeless drifter; they'd been accompanied by a teenager with spiky pink hair....

She had sighed with relief when Jake had finally answered the phone.

"Hollister residence," he'd said in that deep, sexy baritone. He'd reassured her that Madeline was fine. He'd held the phone to the child's ear, and Annie had smiled as Madeline ` had squealed into the mouthpiece. Then Jake told her that Madeline had eaten a good breakfast, and he'd assured her they'd be at the hospital by ten.

Annie looked at her watch again. It was already ten-thirty. Annie fretted the hem of the sheet with her fingers. Just because he'd been at the house when she called didn't mean she could trust him. He could have been there packing up the baby's things. For all she knew, he'd hung up the phone and headed straight to the airport. He could be en route to Timbuktu, and she wouldn't have the resources to track them down. She'd been nuts ever to have left her child with a man who'd told her he wanted custody.

And yet, what else could she have done? She'd been too ill to search out a babysitter.

A soft knock on the door made her pull herself up on the bed. "Come in."

A wave of relief poured over her as the door pushed open to reveal Jake, carrying Madeline. She was wearing a frilly pink dress with a white eyelet pinafore, which looked ridiculous with her yellow Big Bird sneakers and purple Barney socks. Her hair apparently hadn't seen a comb since the day before, but her mouth wasn't black anymore. It was a healthy shade of pink, and it was turned up in a huge grin.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma," she cried, struggling in Jake's grasp. He awkwardly set her on the linoleum floor and she ran to the bed.

Annie started to reach out her hand to the child, then

grimaced with pain. "Could you lift her up on the bed?" "Aren't you afraid she'll hurt your incision?" "I'll put a pillow over it."

Jake gave the child a boost up on the bed, then sat down on the edge of it beside her. Madeline threw her arms around Annie, and Annie buried her face in the child's soft hair. It smelled like baby shampoo. Evidently Jake had managed to wash it the night before.

"Madeline, baby," Annie crooned, holding her child.

"Bay-bay-bay," Madeline echoed.

Annie looked at Jake over Madeline's head. "I don't know how to thank you for watching her."

"Hey, I enjoyed it. It gave us a chance to get acquainted."

The words clutched at Annie's heart. She didn't like the idea of this man in Madeline's life, and yet here he was—in Madeline's life, and hers, as well. She swallowed hard and looked back at her child.

"Bay-bay-bay," Madeline repeated.

"You want to hear your baby song?" Annie asked. "Well, all right." She put her head against Madeline's and crooned in a singsong voice:

Baby, oh, Baby! Baby, oh, Baby! Baby, oh, Baby— Oh!

Baby, I love you. Baby, 1 love you. Baby, I love you so.

Madeline gave a gurgle-like laugh. "Bay-bay-bay." Annie smiled softly. She looked up to find Jake watching her.

"Nice rhyme," he said.

Annie wrapped a finger around one of Madeline's curls, suddenly self-conscious. "The lyrics aren't exactly inspired, but that's as good as I get at two o'clock in the morning."

Jake's eyes were warm and interested. "When was that?"

"The first night I brought Madeline home from the hospital. She was crying, and I'd run out of lullabies, so. . ." She lifted her shoulders, only to discover that it hurt to shrug. "She likes it. I've sung it to her every night since."

He was looking at her with those dark eyes, those eyes that were so much like Madeline's. "Are you in much pain?"

"Some," Annie conceded. Not as bad as from the C-section."

"That's how you had Madeline? By C-section?"

Annie nodded, then was immediately irritated at herself Why was she giving this man any information? He had no right to any part of Madeline's life.

But good grief, his eyes were just like his daughter's. Except they were entirely male. And they were trained on Annie in a way that made her intensely aware that she was wearing only a thin hospital gown.

The door creaked open and a short, dark-haired man in a white jacket stuck in his head. "Mrs. Hollister? I'm Dr. Meyers, the surgeon who operated on you. You probably don't remember me."

Annie was relieved at the intrusion. There was something about Jake, something in the air between them, that made her nervous at being alone with him.

Annie smiled at the doctor."It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to see you conscious. You were in pretty bad shape yesterday." He nodded pleasantly at Jake and stuck out his hand. "You must be Mr. Hollister. Sorry I missed you yesterday after the surgery."

"He's not ..."

Jake abruptly rose and shook the surgeon's hand. "What she means is, I'm sorry I missed you, too. The baby here had a diaper emergency."