Marriage by Contract Part 3. Sandra Steffen

that his face had been so prone to frowns all week that the smile he was trying to give her hurt, or she was too prudent to comment, because she smiled in return and placed Christopher in his arms.

      “He just finished eating, so he should be ready for a nap soon. If he needs a clean sleeper, they’re in this drawer. The extra blankets are here.”

      “Beth.”

      She stopped talking and turned to look at him.

      “We’ll be fine. I’ll feed one end and diaper the other. I promise to take good care of him. Now, go. You’re going to be late.”

      Christopher let out a little squawk as if to accent Tony’s statement. Beth looked from one to the other, evidently realizing that the baby was in good hands. She strode toward them, lithely leaning down to whisper a kiss on Christopher’s forehead. Tony held his breath, wondering if she was going to do the same to him. When she turned, calling goodbye over her shoulder, he told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

      From the doorway, she said, “Do you have any questions?”

      He shook his head. “How about you?”

      Her gaze slid from his, then slowly climbed back to his face. “There is one thing.”

      “Yes?”

      “I was just wondering if you’ve been spending time with Abigail Horton.”

      She didn’t wait around for his comment. That was okay. He didn’t know what he would have said, anyway.

      The scent of her expensive perfume lingered in the room after she left, the expression on her face lingering in his mind even longer. He wondered if she’d been aware of the smile that had stolen across her face at her stab at wry humor. He wondered if she’d had any idea what that smile of hers had done to him.

      Tony thought about scowling, but he looked down at Christopher, who was staring up at him, and he smiled, instead. He hadn’t taken lessons from Abigail Horton, no matter what anybody said. But old Abigail could have taken a tip or two from him this past week.

      “Bye, you two,” Beth called up the stairs. “See you shortly after eleven.”

      “We’ll be here,” Tony answered.

      By the time he walked to the top of the stairs, the foyer was empty. Moments later he heard the back door close. “Well, kid,” he said to Christopher. “It looks like it’s just you and me. Bethany said she’ll be back around eleven. We should be able to handle things for the next eight hours without too much trouble, right?”

      The baby stared up at him silently.

      “That’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I know what you’re thinking. This should be a piece of cake.”

      * * *

      A piece of cake, hell, Tony thought, stiffly switching Christopher to his other shoulder. The baby cried when he jiggled him. The baby cried when he patted him. He cried when he laid him down and picked him up. He’d been crying for the better part of the past three hours. And Tony was at the end of his rope.

      Chris wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t burp.

      It was like his and Beth’s wedding night all over again. Tony racked his brain trying to remember what Beth had done that night and every night since. She’d made it all look so easy.

      “Easy, my eye,” he murmured in Christopher’s ear.

      Christopher seemed to listen. Was it possible that his cries were beginning to wind down as he drew in a shuddering breath? Was his little body relaxing, his knees straightening slightly, his muscles softening just a little? Tony was almost afraid to hope.

      “That’s better,” he murmured, to himself or Chris, he wasn’t sure.

      The baby turned his head toward the sound of the masculine voice. He stared up at Tony’s face. Tony held his breath. Before his very eyes, Christopher’s lower lip jutted out in a little pout and his chin started to quiver. And then holy hell broke loose all over again. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and a high-pitched cry worse than fingernails on a chalkboard bellowed from his throat.

      “What are you doing to that poor kid?” Gib yelled from the doorway.

      Tony jumped, which startled Christopher, making him cry all the harder. Tony swore under his breath. “What does it look like I’m doing to him?”

      “Can’t you make him stop?”

      Tony shot his best friend a penetrating look. Gib, who had grown used to Tony’s moody side years ago, limped into the room. “Maybe a pin’s poking him.”

      Tony snorted. A lot of help Gib was going to be. He may have been an expert in tactical maneuvers, but he didn’t even know that babies rarely wore diapers with pins anymore.

      Tony knew he could have called his mother or any one of his sisters for help. But they’d surely recognize the strain in him, and he simply wasn’t willing to discuss his sex life, or his lack of a sex life, with the females in his family. So, he’d called Gib. At the time, it had seemed like a logical course of action. Now he wasn’t so sure.

      All six foot two, two hundred and twenty pounds of Gibson Malone was looking bewildered and extremely unhelpful. “Maybe he’s hungry.”

      “Of course he’s hungry,” Tony answered. “He hasn’t eaten in more than three hours.”

      “Then, why don’t you feed him, for crying out loud?”

      Gee, Tony thought to himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

      Realizing that they weren’t going to solve anything by shouting at each other over the top of Chris’s dark head, Tony took a deep, calming breath and lowered his voice. “He won’t eat for me. He wants Beth. He’s not the only one.”

      Gib leaned heavily on his cane, his eyebrows the only part of him moving. Not much got past Gib Malone. Tony had a feeling he was going to pay for that little slip of the tongue. But right now, with Christopher screaming his mad little head off, Tony didn’t care. Right now, he had a baby to take care of. It shouldn’t have been so difficult. He’d handled hundreds of babies. Now that he thought about it, most of those had been screaming, too. Great. He brought babies into the world screaming, and he seemed to have the same effect on his new son.

      “Here,” Gib muttered. “Let me try. Maybe the hair on your chest is tickling him. Where’s your shirt, anyway?”

      Tony didn’t see much sense in explaining that he’d evidently left Chris uncovered too long when he’d been changing his diaper. The wet shirt had been a surprise, but the kid had a darned good aim.

      He placed the wriggling infant in Gib’s big hands. “He’s strong, but you’ve still got to support his head.”

      Gib’s mouth dropped open, a look of wonder crossing his face. “I can hardly tell I’m holding anything. How much does he weigh?”

      “Just under six pounds.”

      Tony removed his eyes from Christopher long enough to glance at his friend. Gib’s blond hair looked freshly washed and was secured at the back of his head in a stubby little ponytail. His face was clean-shaven. The man had seen horrors he wasn’t at liberty to discuss. Right now, his hazel eyes, eyes that were as changeable as the seasons, were trained on Chris. “He’s got a lot of cry for a six-pounder.”

      Tony told himself there was absolutely no reason he should suddenly feel taller, broader, stronger. No reason why he should feel so, so proud. But he straightened his shoulders and fought the urge to ruffle Gib’s hair, anyway. “Yeah. He’s always been a fighter. He’s an amazing little kid.”

      Feeling strangely uncomfortable with his new set of emotions, he reached for Chris, saying, “Here. He’s a baby, not a live grenade.”

      Gib handed the baby over willingly. “Then, I guess throwing myself on