The Baby Quilt. Christine FlynnЧитать онлайн книгу.
What would you have done if you’d been hurt yourself?”
His low voice rumbled through her, stiffening her shoulders at his demands, pulling up her chin at the accusation behind them. Not a single day went by that she wasn’t conscious of the fact that she alone was responsible for the welfare of her precious daughter. Everything she did, the backbreaking hours of digging in the fields while Anna slept protected in the shade or cuddled against her in a tummy sling, the planting, the weeding, the canning, the housecleaning for the Clancys—all of it was done with her child in mind.
Moments ago, he’d made her feel protected. Now, he’d jerked away the shield of numbness that had kept her from looking too closely at the enormity of her situation—and left her feeling even more exposed.
“I had her out there because I always keep her with me. She’s safer than she would be alone in the house. And those plants are my livelihood,” she informed him, totally unfamiliar with the sense of challenge he evoked. “I already lost one planting this year to frost. I was trying to save this one because I can’t afford to lose another.”
She swallowed hard. She’d probably lost the planting, anyway. Profoundly aware of the sudden quiet, torn between gratitude for what he’d done and resentment at his implications, she figured she’d best get started saving what she could.
She glanced up, avoiding Justin’s suddenly guarded expression. “The wind has died.”
He didn’t acknowledge her deliberately diverting observation. He didn’t push to know what she’d have done had she been hurt, either. He simply watched the resignation wash through her pale features as she shifted the infant to her shoulder and smoothed the little white T-shirt over her back.
Turning to the foliage and smashed boxes, he jammed his hands on his hips and heaved a sigh. He was out of his element here. He knew nothing of relying on the land for a living. He knew even less about kids—except it seemed to him that something so tiny should be inside in a crib-thing in a nursery or something. What he had known, though, was that he’d been far too conscious of the surprising fullness of her breast, the gentle curve of her hip. Since he’d already been wondering what she’d been using for brains, he’d figured it wiser to focus on that.
He just hadn’t intended to sound so abrupt about it.
Feeling his conscience kicked hard, he frowned at the large limb blocking the steeply pitched stairs.
She slipped from behind him. “At least the steps aren’t broken.”
“Spoken like a true optimist.”
“I’m trying to be,” she murmured, glancing uneasily toward the light filtering through the leaves.
She had no idea what she’d find out there. Seeing her uncertainty, not caring for the twinge of empathy he felt, he shoved aside the limb blocking the first few stairs and held it aside with his back. Pushing through the splintered limbs and leaves wouldn’t be a problem at all. They’d just have to edge up the side. “I’ll go up first and help you out.”
“It might be easier if I go first. You can reach farther than I can. Here,” she said, stepping close to hold out her baby. “When I get to the top, you can hand her up to me.”
Justin froze. Despite the twinge of pain in his shoulder, his hands shot out in pure reflex. He would have done the same thing if someone had thrown him a ball. Only he would have known what to do with a ball. He hadn’t a clue what to do with the little bundle of big blue eyes blinking up at him.
The impossibly light little body was barely longer than his forearm. The tiny fist waving around before finding its way to that wet little rosebud mouth was smaller than the top half of his thumb. He’d never seen fingers so small.
With her hands tucked beneath his, her mom suddenly looked as if she weren’t sure she should let go. “Do you have her?”
His nod was more tentative than he’d have liked. With one palm cupping the back of the baby’s head, he gripped what little there was of a backside with the other. “Yeah. Go on.”
Just don’t fall, he thought as Emily slowly withdrew her support and retrieved the carrier that had rolled under the stairs. The last thing he wanted was to have to figure out what to do with her child if the woman should need help. He’d gone toe-to-toe with three-hundred-pound linebackers playing college football. He’d bested the toughest negotiators in world-class business deals, but he freely admitted that this infant had him feeling completely helpless. Accustomed to being capable, he didn’t like the sensation at all.
“Okay,” he heard Emily call when the rustle of leaves quieted. “I’ll take her now.”
He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the perfect little face, either. Glancing up, he saw Emily framed against the lightening sky. She’d set the carrier on the ground above her and crouched two steps from the top, her arms stretched toward him.
Watching the baby as if he were afraid it might do something to upset his balance, he edged up the bottom steps and carefully lifted the blissfully oblivious bundle past the leaves quivering along the wind-splintered barrier. The sharp scent of fresh pitch swirled in the slight breeze, reminding him to watch for the jagged spikes of wood where the branch had snapped in the middle so they wouldn’t catch the tail of the blanket.
He actually felt sweat bead near his temples when the baby jerked her arm and popped herself in the eye. Her face screwed up at the self-inflicted assault, but she didn’t make a sound. He did, though. When Emily’s fingers slipped beneath his and he felt the baby’s weight shift to her hands, his sigh of relief was definitely audible.
Chapter Two
Justin’s first thought when he stepped onto the wet lawn was that the rain had apparently stopped as abruptly as it started.
His second thought was of his car.
With a sinking sensation, he moved beyond where Emily stood clutching her baby and glanced toward the road. Beneath the heavy clouds, he could barely see the tops of the trees near the little bridge and the curve of the road leading down to it. But the trees were still there, as thick and tall as when he’d parked his car beneath them. Closer in, under a sky that was opening with streaks of brilliant blue, the verdant land remained untouched.
The frustration he’d prepared himself to feel over hassles with transportation and insurance adjusters never materialized. His biggest problem—at the moment, anyway—was still his dead battery. Emily Miller, he was sure, hadn’t fared as well.
When he looked from the coop where the chickens were pecking the ground, he found her staring at the walnut tree. What was left of it, anyway. All that remained was a short, jagged spike that had been blasted clean of its bark. The bulk of the sizable trunk was nowhere to be seen—though Justin figured it a safe bet that the branch poking out of the cellar had once been attached to it. So had the even larger branch that had been stuffed through the back porch. That massive limb had taken out the porch’s center support, but the house itself was still standing. By some miracle, so was the greenhouse. Even the windmill, its blades now turning with laconic ease, appeared unscathed.
He’d expected to see nothing but rubble.
“Are you all right?” he asked, since she’d yet to move. He pulled a white sheet from where it had tangled around an upright water pipe. Tossing it over the T of the clothesline pole, he cautiously scanned her profile. “It’s too bad about your tree. And your porch,” he added, since that was actually the bigger problem. “But it doesn’t look like you lost anything else.”
“No. No,” Emily repeated, responding to the encouraging note in his deep voice. “I don’t think I did.” Her own voice lost the strength she’d just forced into it. “It could have been much worse.”
Brushing her lips over the top of Anna’s soft, sweet-smelling head, she stared at the mass of leaves and branches obliterating her back door. She’d immediately noticed