The Baby Gift. Day Leclaire

him, held him, bound him. He couldn’t recall ever having such an intense and instantaneous connection with a woman before. Not even with Rhonda. “You must find this time of the year even more difficult to handle than I do.”

      She inclined her head, layered strands of silvery-blond fluttering at her temples and across her brow. An image flashed through his mind, an image of his hands thrusting deep into the silken depths at the nape of her neck and feeling the soft caress of her hair rippling through his fingers, teasing the length of his jaw, feathering a tortuous path across his chest. He inhaled sharply and released her. Where the hell had that come from? Dredging up an ounce of common sense, he stepped away from more temptation than he could handle.

      She took his abandonment with good grace. “I guess losing my sister makes me a mite sensitive about family.”

      “Understandable.”

      She returned the photo to the mantel with notable reluctance. Staring at the Salvatore clan for another moment, she set her chin at a determined angle and swiveled to face him. “Now, don’t let my sad news get you down,” she ordered briskly. “That wasn’t my intent. I just wanted to point out that family isn’t something you should take for granted. That’s all.”

      “As I said… They understand.”

      She gave a decisive nod. “I don’t doubt it for a minute. All the more reason to turn to them in your time of need.”

      “My time of need?” Presumptuous little sprite. He was determined to bring her up short. “You may consider yourself qualified to lecture me about family, but I suggest you mind your own business. At a guess, you have more than your fair share of problems to deal with right now without worrying about mine.”

      She brushed the verbal slap aside as though it were no more than a gentle reprimand. “And I’ll be dealin’ with them soon enough. But you’re a man with a family the size of a couple of football teams,” she persisted. “A man, moreover, who chooses to be all on his own at Christmas. That means you’re needy. And when a body’s needy there’s no better help than one’s family. Mark my words. If they knew you were heartsick, they’d be up here in a flash, every last one of them.”

      Fury ripped through him. “First off, I’m not heartsick. Nor am I needy. What I am is a man who wants you to get the hell—”

      She’d fixed those light blue eyes on him again and he found the words jamming in his throat before they could be spoken. He swore beneath his breath, using a flavorful range of Italian expletives. For some reason—maybe because they were the first he’d learned as an impressionable ten-year-old—they came more easily to mind. He gritted his teeth. The motels were full, he reminded himself. The weather was doing its level best to work itself into a full-fledged blizzard. And the woman blinking innocently up at him would be stuck as his guest for at least a day, if not two or three.

      “What I am is a man in desperate need of a cup of coffee.” His voice had assumed the Italian under-tones it often acquired whenever he found himself in stressful situations. He could only hope she didn’t hear it, or if she did, didn’t understand the significance as clearly as his brothers would have. “Would you like one while you wait?”

      If she guessed what he’d originally planned to say, she didn’t let on. “I’d appreciate that.” She swiped her hands across the seat of her jeans with an energetic slap. “Would you like me to fix it for you?”

      “Now why would I want that?”

      The softness of his voice gave her pause, but she shrugged it off with a smile. “Call it Southern hospitality.”

      “My home, my hospitality. I’ll take care of it.”

      “Sure you don’t need my help?”

      There was something odd about this entire situation. Something about her that felt out of kilter. Nothing about her—from the abruptness of her arrival, to her strange reaction to him, to her meddlesome questions—made a bit of sense. Maybe once he’d reignited his brain cells with some caffeine he’d figure it out. Or better still, maybe he’d ask a few of the questions he should have when she’d first turned up on his doorstep.

      “Why don’t you enjoy the fire while I fix us both a cup,” he suggested. “How do you take it?”

      Her smile faded at his question, the vitality seeping from her. Now what had he said to prompt that reaction? She crossed to the couch and curled up at one end. “It’s a reasonable question,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “I take it white, thank you kindly. And having something of a sweet tooth, I wouldn’t object if you tossed in a lump or two of sugar.”

      “Coming right up.”

      It didn’t take long for him to brew a fresh pot of coffee. He used the opportunity to compose a long list of questions. Topping the list would be her name. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t introduced themselves. So much for hospitality, Southern or otherwise. Filling two oversize mugs with a helping of the extra-strong brew, he returned to the living room.

      “Here you go, Miss…?”

      He stood at the end of the couch, holding the two mugs of steaming hot coffee and frowned in disbelief. His visitor had fallen sound asleep. Incredible. This had to be the most bizarre day he’d experienced in a long time. He set the mugs on the coffee table and took a seat in a large wing chair near the fire. Dropping his feet on the ottoman, he stared broodingly at the woman.

      What on earth was he to do with her? Even if Lou came for her car, there wasn’t anyplace for her to spend the night other than here. He glanced at the pile of quilts she’d deposited so carefully on his floor. She couldn’t have driven clear across the country with nothing more than the clothes on her back and a bunch of handmade quilts. He supposed he should check to see if she had any luggage in Babe’s trunk and bring it in. Once he had her unloaded, the matter of where she’d spend the night would be resolved and out of her hands by the time she awoke. No discussion, no argument. Then he could ask a few of those questions nagging at him.

      As though in response to his intense regard, the quilts on the floor shifted. Before Alessandro could do more than bolt upright in his chair, a child dug out from under the colorful mountain. He sat for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings.

      “What the…?”

      At the sound of Alessandro’s voice, the child’s inky-dark gaze fastened briefly on him before shifting to the woman. Instantly, he broke into a wide grin that revealed eight serrated nubs, four teeth centered on the bottom and four on top. He didn’t call for his mother the way Alessandro’s niece and nephews had often done in similar circumstances, but crawled free of his temporary bed. Unsteadily gaining his feet, he made a determined beeline for his mother.

      Alessandro caught the boy before he reached his goal. If ever a woman needed her sleep, this one did. He half expected a tearful response. But the boy didn’t utter a sound. With an expression of utter trust, he allowed Alessandro to return to the chair and promptly made himself comfortable by curling up against the broad chest supporting him and pointing his diapered bottom skyward. Popping a thumb in his mouth, the boy closed his eyes and returned to sleep.

      Alessandro released his breath in a half laugh, half groan. Definitely an interesting day. Who’d have thought the elf had come toting a baby. No wonder she’d looked so exhausted. Working her way across country with an infant in tow couldn’t have been simple or easy. Aware that he’d be stuck in the chair for a while, he stretched out a hand toward his coffee mug. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reach it without getting up. He didn’t dare risk that.

      Damn.

      Shifting to a more comfortable position, he surrendered. Some things simply couldn’t be controlled. And those that couldn’t, he’d learned to endure. Time to start enduring. The boy’s small body generated a surprising amount of heat and Alessandro closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the leather chair cushions. Between the physical exertion of the morning and far too many sleepless nights due to his dreams of Rhonda, catching a little shut-eye struck