Randall Wedding. Judy ChristenberryЧитать онлайн книгу.
every four hours. Don’t wake her. I’m sure she’ll wake you up when she’s ready to eat. Did you change her diaper?”
“Yeah. Okay, I’ll see what I can do for the mom before the baby gets hungry again.”
“Good job, Russ.”
Russ wasn’t used to all the praise coming his way today. He was only doing what he had to do. He shoved those thoughts away and reached for the largest suitcase. He found a pair of silk pajamas in forest-green. He looked at them and then at the woman. They looked conservative enough. He carried them into his bathroom. Then he turned down the king-size bed.
He returned to the couch and pulled off the mink coat. “C-c-cold,” she muttered, not opening her eyes.
“Come on, lady. You’ve got to put on your pajamas and go to the bathroom. Then I’ll put you to bed.”
She didn’t respond.
He had no idea what her name was. He bent over her. “Lady, what’s your name? Come on, wake up. What’s your name?”
“Izzy.”
She still didn’t open her eyes. And he wasn’t sure what that name was. “Izzy? Izzy, open your eyes.”
Long lashes fluttered several times. Then they settled on her cheeks again.
“No, Izzy, come on, open your eyes.” He pulled on her arms, raising her to a sitting position as she struggled to wake up. “Izzy, I’m going to help you to the bathroom, okay? When you get in there, put on your pajamas. Okay?”
He slid an arm around her slender figure and lifted her to her feet. “Come on, Izzy. I’m going to feel pretty strange if that’s not your name.”
They made their way to his bathroom. “Izzy, you’re in the bathroom now. Can you change your clothes?” When she started to undress, he slipped out of the room.
He came back after putting a pan on the stove and filling it with a can of chicken soup. He knocked on the door. “Izzy? Are you dressed in your pajamas?”
When there was no answer, he eased the door open. No, she wasn’t in her pajamas. She was sitting on the floor half-asleep. He took a deep breath and got her pajama bottoms on her. Then he carried her to the bed. He removed her sweater. She was a beautiful woman, and Russ held his breath, trying not to notice. By the time he got her into the pajama top, he was breathing heavily. He pulled the covers over her and was relieved when her eyes closed and she didn’t move.
He went back to the stove and poured the soup into a bowl. Then he poured some grape juice into a glass. Once again, he tried to wake Izzy. After propping her up on several pillows, he managed to feed her a few spoonfuls of soup. Then a few drops of juice. Not much.
Finally he let her sleep.
It was his turn. He took out a frozen dinner and put it in the microwave. It was well past lunchtime and he was hungry. After he’d fed himself, he lay down on the sofa and decided he’d rest a few minutes.
He awoke to the “siren” sounding for the baby’s next meal. He’d meant to have a bottle ready so the baby wouldn’t wake her mother.
Too late.
How in the hell had nature chosen him to be a nursery maid? That was the last thing he wanted to do, but at this point he had no choice. He steeled himself to pick up the warm bundle of baby, fighting the joy that flowed through him. He was in big trouble.
Chapter Two
Forty-eight hours.
Russ stared at the white world outside his window. Because of a snowstorm, he was lost.
Not lost in the snow. He was lost in a baby’s warmth. In her tenderness. In her need for an adult to care for her. Every four hours, she signaled her need clearly, but her mother couldn’t respond. Oh, she tried. He’d been amazed how she’d stir from the deepest sleep to try to get to her baby. Every time he’d assured her he’d take care of Angel.
He was becoming an expert with the tiny baby. He could even get her to stop screaming—at least for a minute or two—before the bottle was ready.
She recognized his voice, his touch. She knew when he showed up, food would soon follow. But this afternoon, they’d varied their routine.
Izzy had begged to feed her baby. To hold her against her. She hadn’t run a fever in a while, but she was still weak. When he used that excuse, she’d promised to stay on the bed if he’d bring the baby to her. So he’d done so.
He’d had to leave the room, because it hurt too much to let someone else feed her. In forty-eight hours, Angel had carved a place in his heart.
He stood there, staring at the blizzard, telling himself that he was foolish even to think of a relationship with Angel. For all he knew, Angel had a perfectly upstanding, caring father. Izzy had said nothing about their reason for being on the road alone. He didn’t even know their destination. They could’ve been taking the scenic route to Yellowstone.
He gave a grim smile at that thought. Not where he’d take a new baby. Hard to be interested in mountains and hot springs when your kid was waking you up every four hours. His brothers and friends had mentioned how tired you got when you couldn’t sleep straight through the night.
He loved getting up with Angel. But he was wearing down, he had to admit.
“Hello?” Izzy called from the bedroom. Russ realized he’d never told her his name.
He hurried into the bedroom, his hands reaching out to take the baby.
“Hi. I…I need a clean diaper.”
Her eyes, just as blue as Angel’s, weren’t glittery with fever any longer. Her black hair hung down her back in tangled curls, and her pajama top was almost slipping off her slender shoulders. He thought her face was a little gaunter than it had been when she was running a fever.
“I can change her. I’ve gotten quite good at it in the past couple of days.”
“I’m sure you have,” she said softly, smiling shyly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
He tried to resist the warmth and charm. “No need.” He held out his hands for the baby again.
“She needs a new nightgown. If you’ll bring me one…”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said firmly, and scooped Angel into his arms. Then he hurried out into the living room.
He’d made part of the sofa into a changing table. He lay Angel down on the soft blanket he’d spread out. “I just stole you from your Mommy, didn’t I, little girl. But I missed you. Did you drink all your milk? What a good girl you are,” he added, smiling at her. He was crooning nonsense to her, and she loved it, as usual.
She was too young to smile at him, he’d decided, but she put those rosebud lips together and tried to blow bubbles. “Did you miss me? Did you think I’d gone away? Of course not.”
He gently removed her nightgown. Pretty soon he’d need to wash a load of baby clothes. Would his regular laundry soap be all right? He’d have to call his mom again. Not that she’d mind. She seemed to be enjoying his calls.
He changed her diaper and found another soft nightgown, this one pink, instead of a blue print. “Pink is your color, my Angel. It makes you look beautiful. You’ve got your mother’s hair, of course.” It was black and curly, making her look like an expensive doll. He could imagine her in her terrible twos, those curls bouncing in every direction as she raced through the house, getting into trouble.
To his surprise, the picture was as clear as could be. Much clearer than his memories of Abby. He stared at the baby in horror. What was wrong with him? This baby wasn’t his. Abby was his. His memory, his love.
Angel’s face puckered up, as if he’d frightened her. Abby would