Her Best Christmas Ever. Judy Duarte

her expression softened by something soft and maternal, continued to doze, her head on a fluffy pillow, her brown curls splayed on the white cotton case. She wore no makeup, no sexy clothing, yet Greg was still struck by her beauty.

      He’d found her attractive the first day he’d met her, yet there was something even more appealing now.

      Maybe it was the strength and bravery she’d shown during the terrible pain she’d endured last night. Or maybe it was something altogether different.

      All he knew was that he was inexplicably drawn to her.

      She still held the baby next to her, under her arm and close to her heart. They’d called the child Isabella for a while, but for some reason the name didn’t seem to fit, and Connie had decided to stick with Amanda, which seemed perfect now.

      With tufts of downy black hair, Amanda was a precious little thing. Her head was a bit pointed and misshapen, though.

      Greg had asked Doc about it—privately, of course. And he’d been told that it was normal, that it would even out in a few days. He sure hoped so. If it did, he suspected Amanda was going to be the prettiest little girl this side of cherubville.

      He leaned against the doorjamb, watching them longer than was necessary. Finally, convinced that an unexpected complication hadn’t arisen, he headed to the living room to unlock the door for Doc Graham and to wait on the front porch for his arrival.

      Moments later, as he leaned against the wooden railing, watching the pink and orange fingers of dawn stretch across the horizon, he relished the sights and smells of the raindrenched ranch. At times he missed this place, missed the people who’d become important to him. Yet whenever he came home, he missed the guys in his band, too. The rush of standing onstage. The thrill when he announced a new song he’d written, a song that was met with a roar of approval from the fans.

      As Doc Graham’s pickup, a red Chevy S-10, pulled into the yard, the front tire struck one of the many puddles that speckled the yard and sent a splatter of dirty water flying.

      Greg watched as the old man shut off the ignition, slid out of the driver’s seat then reached back for his medical bag.

      “Good morning,” Greg said.

      “It certainly is.”

      As Greg opened the screen door, Doc wiped his feet on the welcome mat. Once inside the warmth of the house, he shucked off his damp raincoat and left it on the hat tree in the entry.

      “So, tell me something,” Doc said. “Are you going to turn in your guitar for a stethoscope?”

      “No way. But delivering a baby was definitely an experience I won’t ever forget.” Greg wasn’t sure if Doc would understand what he was feeling. After all, in the last half century, Dr. Graham had undoubtedly delivered thousands of babies. So the whole birthing miracle had probably become routine to him.

      As Greg led Doc down the hall, he walked lightly so he wouldn’t wake Connie or the newborn.

      “Well, look who couldn’t wait to have her first turkey dinner,” Doc said from the doorway of Connie’s room.

      The new mother’s eyes fluttered open, and she blessed the doctor with a pretty smile. Then she gazed at the baby sleeping in the crook of her arm.

      “You know,” Doc said, easing closer, “I do believe that’s just about the most beautiful newborn I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

      Greg watched from the doorway as the doctor examined Connie first. For a moment, Greg wondered whether he should slip out into the living room to allow them some privacy, but he just couldn’t seem to turn and walk away.

      What if he’d messed up or had forgotten to do something he’d been told to do?

      And even if he’d done as good of a job as Doc had told him, he still couldn’t help believing that he had some kind of vested interest in both mother and child, although he couldn’t quite figure out why.

      He hadn’t asked for any of this—the storm, the birth—but he’d definitely been sucked in and made an integral, albeit temporary, part of it all. And he wasn’t sure when that role would end completely. But until it did, he couldn’t bring himself to leave their side for very long.

      Nor could he shake the incredible sense of amazement he felt each time he looked at that tiny baby. He’d been part of a miracle tonight, and something told him that his life would never be the same again.

      After an initial exam, Doc declared both mother and daughter healthy. “Years ago, I would have just sat down and had a cup of coffee, then promised to come back and check in on you later. But it never hurts to have a second opinion. So, as a precaution, I’m going to send you to the hospital in Wexler and have you both checked out.”

      That was fine with Greg. He’d be glad for even further validation that everything was okay.

      “Are you taking them?” he asked the doctor. “Or should I drive them in myself?”

      “Nah,” Doc said. “I’ve lined up an ambulance service to do that. They’ll be here in a few minutes. But in the meantime, I could sure use that cup of coffee I was talking about.”

      “No problem.” Greg nodded toward the kitchen. “I just put on a fresh pot.”

      Moments later, the two men sat at the table with steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. There, Doc answered the questions Greg had about how to care for Connie and the baby once she was discharged from the hospital. He figured Granny would know just what to do, but it was hard to say when she’d get back.

      Apparently, now that the hard part was over, there wasn’t much more for Greg to do, other than enjoy his coffee and another large serving of the apple-spice cake Connie had made. After cutting two pieces and grabbing a couple of forks, they each dug in.

      Dang, that woman could cook.

      It was enough to make a man look forward to Thanksgiving dinner—if Connie was the one who was cooking it. But maybe Greg ought to think about calling Caroline down at the diner and asking if he could purchase a take-out turkey dinner.

      “Have you been following the news?” Doc asked, as he lifted his fork.

      “No. I’m afraid I’ve been pretty busy the past few hours.” Greg took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the rich morning brew. “What’s going on?”

      “There’s another storm coming on the heels of this last one. When it hits, you two might be stranded out here for a while.”

      As long as Connie and the baby were all right, that didn’t bother Greg too much.

      “So,” Doc added, “if you’ve got any supplies to stock up on, you’d better do it today. Now that the ground is saturated, the water that fills the low spot in the road won’t be as quick to recede.”

      “I think we’re set,” Greg said. “Granny’s always had a full pantry. But I’ll take a look and make sure. When is the next rain supposed to hit?”

      “Early tomorrow morning. So it ought to really play havoc with everyone’s Thanksgiving plans.”

      “I wonder if the flights will be delayed,” Greg said. “Matt and Tori are supposed to arrive tomorrow from Wyoming. They’re on a horse-buying trip.”

      “That’s hard to say.” Doc dug into his cake, then closed his eyes as though savoring each chew. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

      “Connie’s a good cook, but since she’ll be taking it easy for a while, she’s going to be stuck eating whatever I can come up with for meals.” Greg chuckled. “I hope she likes canned soup and sandwiches.”

      They ate in silence, and when they finished, Doc scooted the chair away from the table and got to his feet. “I have to stop by the Tidball place and check on Elmer’s big toe. According to Grace, it’s been hurting him something fierce.”

      “What’d