The Texan's Convenient Marriage. Peggy Moreland

way. “If you’re the father, you’ll need to scrub up. Otherwise—” he tipped his head toward the door “—the waiting room’s at the end of the hall.”

      Addy lunged, managing to catch Mack’s sleeve. He glanced back and saw the fear in her eyes, the pleading. He set his jaw, knowing there was no way in hell he could leave her to face this birth alone.

      “Where do I scrub?”

      Mack sat in the chair by the window, his long legs stretched out in front of him and his head tipped back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling. Though exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing, his body charged with adrenaline…and all because of the tiny bit of humanity, swaddled in a blue blanket and sleeping peacefully in the bassinet across the room.

      He dropped his chin to look in that direction, and his heart did a slow flip. A boy, he thought, and had to swallow back the emotion that filled his throat, weighing in at a fraction over five pounds but healthy as a horse and with a set of lungs to prove it. Though there had been concerns that the baby wouldn’t be fully developed, he’d passed all the tests like a champ, and wouldn’t have to spend any time in an incubator, as most preemies were required to do.

      Unable to resist, he heaved himself from the chair and crossed to peer down at the baby. Bundled up snug in the blue blanket, only the infant’s face was visible, revealing rosy cheeks and a nose no bigger than a button. Dark fuzz covered his head, but Mack knew from experience that he’d probably lose it and what grew back might be a different color entirely. His own son’s hair had been coal-black at birth, but by the age of two, it was cotton white. He wondered what color it would’ve been if he’d lived?

      Stifling a groan, he dropped his chin to his chest. He didn’t want to think about his son. Not now. Remembering made him hurt, and Mack had hurt for too many years.

      Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head and stared hard, until he succeeded in shoving back the memory and was able to bring the baby into focus again.

      His smile wistful, he reached to smooth the back of his fingers over the baby’s cheek, marveling at its softness, the miniature features.

      “You’re one lucky guy,” he whispered to the sleeping infant. “You’ve got a helluva mother. Even when the pain was really bad, she wouldn’t let them give her anything to ease it, for fear it would hurt you.” He smoothed a knuckle across the baby’s opposite cheek. “Trust me. That kind of love is a rare thing.”

      The baby scrunched up his face, as if preparing to cry.

      “Whoa, now,” Mack warned and quickly lifted the baby from the bassinet. “None of that. You don’t want to wake up your mom, now, do you?”

      Cradling the baby in his arms, he tiptoed back to the chair and eased down. The infant yawned, rooted around a moment, then settled back to sleep, holding one hand curled in a fist against his cheek.

      Mack stared at the infant, and his heart seemed to stop, then kicked into a pounding beat. The baby’s coloring and features mimicked those of his son so closely, he could be Mack’s child. Unable to tear his gaze away, he stared, his heart thundering against his rib cage, as he wondered if this baby was an answer to the problem that had been troubling him lately.

      Though he considered it morbid to think about his own death, that’s exactly what he’d been doing for the better part of a year. He supposed it was a sign that he was getting old, for him to be having such thoughts—although he didn’t consider forty-two all that old. But death was a fact of life, the same as living, and he was aware, especially with an estate the size of his, that he should have a will in place, no matter what his age or state of health. Having one drawn one up was easy enough. All he had to do was call his lawyer. What kept him from making the call was his lack of an heir. Most men named their wives or kids as their beneficiaries, or a combination of the two. But Mack didn’t have a wife or children…at least, none that were living.

      He’d lost his wife and son in a senseless car wreck twelve years before and had never remarried. For the first couple of years following their deaths, he’d found it hard enough to breathe, much less think about marrying again. But even after the pain of losing them had dulled somewhat, he still hadn’t been able to work up the enthusiasm to ask a woman out on a date.

      When asked, he claimed it was because he’d never met one that caught his eye. But the truth was, he’d never looked. Losing his wife and son had changed him, stripping him of the desire to develop attachments with anyone, especially a woman. As a result, he’d reached the ripe old age of forty-two with no family, other than his half brother, to name in a will.

      He scowled at the reminder of Ty. Hell, if he left his estate to his half brother, everything Mack and Mack’s father before him had worked and struggled to build would be lost in less than a year’s time. Ty had the business acumen of a jackass and the attention span of a two-year-old. He looked at everything in terms of what he could turn it for and the fun it would buy him when he did.

      No, he wouldn’t leave his estate to Ty.

      Mack focused his gaze on the baby again, wondering if the child could be the answer to his problem. He could adopt him, he told himself. Raise the boy as his own, ingrain in him the morals and integrity that the child would never learn if left up to Ty.

      Ty didn’t care about the kid, Mack told himself. If he did, he’d be here right now, instead of playing an adult version of hide and seek. If he’d felt any sense of responsibility at all, Ty would’ve been the one holding Addy’s hand while the baby was born, not Mack. And it would’ve been Ty, not Mack, who the doctor had passed the scissors to and allowed to cut the umbilical cord, signifying the baby’s official entry into the world.

      The way Mack looked at it, his willingness to adopt the baby was the perfect solution to everyone’s problems. The child would have a father, Ty would be off the hook, and Mack would have an heir.

      There was only one problem…the baby’s mother.

      In spite of the bond Mack and Addy had forged during the last fourteen-plus hours, he doubted she would embrace the idea if he were to suggest him adopting her baby. In fact, she’d probably think he’d lost his mind.

      “Mack?”

      He jumped at the sound of Addy’s voice and glanced up to find her peering at him curiously.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked in concern.

      Fearing she would somehow read his thoughts and know what he’d been thinking, he dropped his gaze and tucked the blanket more snugly at the baby’s chin. “No. He looked like he was going to start fussing, and I thought if I held him awhile, it would give you the chance to sleep a little longer.”

      Her smile tender, she eased herself to a sitting position and held out her arms. “Here. Give him to me. I’ll bet he’s hungry.”

      Rising, Mack carried the baby to the bed and settled the infant in her arms.

      As if sensing his nearness to his milk supply, the baby twisted his head toward her breast, his mouth open like a baby’s birds.

      Addy placed a finger against the infant’s lips and laughed when he began to suck. “See?” she said, and began to rearrange her nightgown. “He is hungry.”

      She stopped and glanced up at Mack, her cheeks stained a deep rose, as if she’d just realized the intimacy of what she was preparing to do.

      He immediately took a step back. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, and turned for the door.

      “No! Wait.”

      He glanced over his shoulder, surprised by the panic in her voice.

      Dropping her gaze, she fluttered a hand. “Just turn your back until I get him situated.”

      Mack did as instructed and waited until he heard her signal of “ready” before turning around. Finding her and the baby modestly covered by the blue blanket, he reached behind him to drag his chair closer to the bed.

      “Its