A Baby For Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

shook her head, embarrassed.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Well, that ends now,” he informed her. Taking charge—he didn’t know how to do anything else—he rose to his feet. “You stay here and I’ll put something together for you to eat.”

      He was already beginning to leave the living room to make good on his promise.

      Amy looked at him in surprise. “You cook?”

      Connor grinned. “Yeah, but I reheat better.” And then he explained. “My housekeeper, Rita, went to visit her sister in Austin for a few days, but, bless her, she prepared a bunch of casseroles for me before she left. I think she was secretly afraid that I’d wind up subsisting on scrambled eggs three times a day until she got back.”

      This, too, was news to Amy. It made her realize even further that a great deal had happened since she had left Forever.

      “You have a housekeeper?” she asked in amazement.

      “That’s right. You’d left town before Rita came to work for us.”

      He watched as Amy flushed at the mention of her having left town. Connor silently upbraided himself for having so carelessly tossed the phrase around. He didn’t want to rub salt into her wounds, especially since he had no way of knowing what those wounds were or just how deep they actually went.

      Wanting to distract her, Connor said, “Tell you what. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me? That way you can talk while I warm up your meal.” He saw the reluctant expression on her face as Amy glanced toward the cradle. “Don’t worry. If Jamie starts to cry, we’ll hear him,” Connor assured her. “The kitchen’s only a few feet away.”

      It was all the persuasion she needed to sway her. Although still a little hesitant, Amy rose to her feet and followed Connor into the kitchen.

      “When you said your housekeeper came to work for you, you used the word us,” Amy began.

      Opening the refrigerator door, he rummaged around. There were still a number of casseroles to choose from, and Rita, bless her, had labeled everything.

      “Yeah, I did,” he answered absently.

      “By ‘us,’ did you mean your brothers and Cassidy?” Amy asked.

      “Yes,” he told her, making his selection. He seemed to recall that turkey was always her favorite. But wanting to be sure he wasn’t mistaken, he asked, “Turkey okay with you?”

      “Anything is fine,” she answered, although her smile told him that he had remembered correctly. He took the casserole out and shut the refrigerator again. “So where is everyone?” Amy wanted to know. Then, not wanting to seem as if she was digging into his personal life, she clarified by saying, “Cody, Cole and Cassidy. Are they out?”

      Connor laughed softly. “Oh, they’re out, all right. They’re all out on their own.” When he saw the slightly quizzical look on her face, he added, “As in married with kids.”

      “Really?” Although her own life had taken that course, somehow, she hadn’t thought of anyone she’d left behind doing that. To discover otherwise was extremely eye-opening.

      “Really. All three of them are married. They still live around here and Cole turns up like clockwork five mornings a week to help me with the work on the ranch,” he said. He placed the casserole in the microwave oven and set the timer. “And everyone turns up here on Sundays for dinner. They’d all love to see you.”

      Just then, the microwave dinged, signaling that the meal was warm enough, and he opened the door. Taking a towel, he carefully eased the hot dish out onto the counter.

      “I doubt that,” she murmured, almost more to herself than to him.

      He looked up at her sharply.

      “I don’t,” he countered. “And with Jamie by your side,” he went on as he set the individual casserole dish right in front of her on the kitchen table, “you’d fit right in here.”

      The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he saw they had generated tears in her eyes.

      “I really doubt that,” she repeated in an even quieter voice.

      Seeing her cry really got to him. He had always felt helpless in the presence of a woman’s tears. The two times he’d been around Cassidy when she’d cried, he’d felt utterly at a loss, and Cassidy had never been one of those gentle little flowers despite the fact she was small in comparison to the rest of them.

      But seeing Amy cry just ripped his insides to shreds—and even though he was by and large a nonviolent man at heart, it made Connor want to punch out whoever was the cause behind her tears.

      Most likely, his number one candidate was Clay Patton, Connor thought. There’d never been any love lost between them to begin with and even less now.

      Connor fisted his hands at his sides in mute frustration.

       Chapter Three

      Sitting down at the table opposite Amy, Connor said nothing for a moment, letting her eat in peace. But good intentions notwithstanding, Connor could only remain quiet for so long.

      Questions grew and burned on his tongue, seeking release. He contained them for as long as he could. While he respected Amy’s privacy, there was a very strong need to know.

      “Amy,” he began, finally deciding to broach the subject, “I know that it’s really none of my business, but what happened?”

      Amy took a deep breath as if centering herself. It was obvious that she was doing her best to keep any more tears at bay.

      “I guess I do owe you an explanation, turning up on your doorstep like this,” she said.

      “You don’t ‘owe’ me an explanation,” Connor told her gently. “You don’t owe me anything, Amy. But if there’s something that you want to talk about, something you need to get off your chest, then I’m here for you. To help, not to judge,” he added, sensing that Amy might be afraid he would wind up looking down at her.

      She didn’t need that right now. Who would? What she needed was to feel safe and to know that someone was on her side, no strings attached. Amy had the same look in her eyes that one of the stray horses he’d found last summer had. There was only one thing that could put that look there: mistreatment.

      But he wasn’t about to make any assumptions or jump to conclusions. Whatever the story was, he needed to hear it from Amy.

      As Connor paused, he saw Amy put her fork down even though she had barely touched her casserole.

      Looking from the casserole to her face, Connor told her, “I can get you something else if you didn’t find that to your liking.”

      “No, the casserole’s very good,” she quickly assured him, then said, “I just kind of lost my appetite.”

      “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That’s my doing.”

      Connor felt bad. Instead of distracting her, he’d forced Amy to think about what had caused her to leave everything behind and come here.

      “No, it’s not,” Amy insisted. “You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” She paused, searching for words that seemed to be eluding her. And then she raised her eyes to his, fresh tears shimmering in hers. “He threw me out, Connor,” she whispered haltingly. “Clay threw me out. He said some hateful words, telling me that I ruined his life, that Jamie and I were just lead weight dragging him down and he wanted us gone.” She made a visible attempt to rally. “He was drunk at the time, but what he said still hurt.”

      Her voice was hollow as she continued. “When he passed out, I threw some things into a suitcase, took the baby and left.” Amy stopped for a moment