Their Baby Blessing. Heidi McCahan

together all those years. How’s your mom doing?”

      Skye swallowed hard, surprised by the emotion unexpectedly rising at the mention of her father’s good works in Merritt’s Crossing. “Mom’s getting by. I guess you heard she’s had knee replacement surgery. The recovery’s tougher than we expected.”

      “I can imagine.” Mr. Crawford glanced at his wife, the change in his pocket jangling a little louder. “What do you say, hon? Is this the one or—”

      Skye’s phone rang, and she froze. Ignore it? What if it was McKenna? But taking the call meant stepping away from the customers, and she hated for them to think they weren’t important. Quite the opposite, really.

      “Go ahead and answer that if you need to, dear.” Mrs. Crawford smiled politely. “We don’t mind.”

      “I’ll just be a minute.” Skye crossed the showroom in quick strides to the antique rolltop desk that served as the home base when she couldn’t be in the tiny back office. Business cards, a work space for her laptop and a vase of pink carnations with a sprig of baby’s breath decorated the well-worn surface. Her phone’s screen lit up with the church’s number in the caller ID. Oh no. Her stomach dropped. Connor.

      “H-hello?” she said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.

      “Hello, Skye, this is Betty Sanders over at the church. How are you?”

      Skye squeezed her eyes shut. A call from the child care director wasn’t a good thing. “I’m fine, Mrs. Sanders. How can I help you?”

      “We’ve run into a bit of an issue with Connor this morning. Do you have a few minutes to chat?”

      Skye opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford stood close together near the dining room set, talking quietly. At least they hadn’t left. Yet. “What happened?”

      “I’m afraid he bit another child on the arm. As we’ve already discussed, biting is a cause for concern. Since it’s happened two other times, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the Mom’s Morning Out program.”

      No, no, no. Skye pressed her hand to her cheek. “I’m sure you’re aware Connor’s had a lot to deal with lately, with his mom...out of town for a while. I mean, he’s not even one yet. Isn’t there a chance he’s just trying to express his frustration—”

      “Skye, we can’t allow him to bite. It’s not fair to the other children.”

      “But he isn’t trying to be aggressive. He’s never bitten me or my mom or anyone outside the nursery. How do you know he wasn’t provoked?” She knew she was pushing her limit with Mrs. Sanders, but she couldn’t help but try. The Mom’s Morning Out program was her child care lifeline. Without it, she had nothing. Well, nothing except Gage.

      “I can assure you he was not provoked,” Mrs. Sanders said, her tone icy. “As the director, I have a responsibility to provide a safe and nurturing environment for all who attend. While it’s a real shame about Connor’s abandonment, I’m not going to excuse his unacceptable behavior.”

      Skye bristled at the older woman’s harsh, judgmental tone. She bit her lip and glanced at her customers again.

      Mr. and Mrs. Crawford were already halfway to the store’s front door. “We’ll be back,” they whispered.

      No! She wanted to run ahead and plant herself in their path, maybe even offer them a discount off the full price. At this point, she wasn’t above begging them to reconsider. She really couldn’t afford to lose this sale.

      “Skye?” Mrs. Sanders’s voice grated on her nerves. “Are you still there?”

      “Yes, I just—”

      “I’ll need you to come pick Connor up immediately.”

      “What?” Skye glanced at the oversize wooden clock mounted on the wall, the hands on the distressed finish inching toward eleven o’clock. “I usually don’t pick him up until twelve fifteen.”

      “Perhaps I wasn’t explicit enough. He’s being removed from the program. Permanently. I expect to see you here in the next fifteen minutes.”

      “But—”

      There was no point arguing. Mrs. Sanders had already ended the call. Skye pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. What was she going to do with an eleven-month-old in a furniture store? Sure, she could set up the portable crib to keep him contained in the back room, but he wouldn’t be content there for more than a few minutes. And he’d never take a nap there, either.

       Oh, McKenna. What have you done?

      With Connor’s first birthday coming up in a few days, surely her cousin would come home in time to celebrate?

      Tears stung her eyes, but Skye refused to fall apart right now. She didn’t have time for a meltdown, and she wouldn’t give Mrs. Sanders the satisfaction of seeing her cry. After hastily scrawling a note indicating the store’s unexpected closure due to a family emergency, she taped it to the glass door on her way out. This was one more reason why sales had to improve—she needed the income to hire additional help.

      Another storm had blown in, and fresh snow blanketed the sidewalk in front of the store. She made a mental note to ask Drew to stop by and shovel it after work. Again. Ducking her chin against the flakes swirling around her, Skye trudged to her car parked behind the store, the reality of her circumstances weighting her steps.

      A mother who could barely walk, an abandoned baby without a babysitter and her family’s floundering furniture business, not to mention zero resolutions within her grasp.

       What about Gage?

      She pushed out a laugh at the ridiculous notion. They barely knew anything about him, and he hadn’t even spent a single minute alone with Connor. How could he possibly be the answer to her problems?

      * * *

      Gage eased his truck into the Tomlinsons’ driveway and turned off the ignition, wishing he could do the same for the anxiety wreaking havoc on his insides. Man, he hadn’t felt this nervous since his first week at sea on the submarine. Sure, he and Connor got along great last night, but they hadn’t been alone. He’d only played with a couple of toys and shared some food at dinner. Skye did most of the work, and she’d intervened when Connor threw a fit.

      What if he totally messed this up?

      An ache formed in his chest. Yesterday marked one year since Ryan died. He glanced at the picture wedged on his dashboard, the one of him and Ryan on the beach in San Diego that he’d shared with Skye at the coffee shop. After their meeting, he’d tucked the dog-eared photo inside one of the few books he owned, but this morning he’d mustered the courage to retrieve the picture and tuck it into the corner of his dash—a frequent reminder spurring him on to keep his promise.

      Pocketing his keys, he climbed out of the truck and slammed the door. Although the snow had stopped falling, several inches coated the driveway, a sedan parked in front of the garage and the steps leading up to the Tomlinsons’ modest rambler. Should he offer to shovel while he was here? Or maybe Skye wanted to take care of that herself, too.

      He climbed the steps and the door swung open before he could knock or ring the bell.

      “Hey,” Skye greeted him, looking as though she’d stepped out of a corporate boardroom in a long gray dress belted at the waist and stylish black boots. His gaze flitted from her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head, to her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks. Had she been crying? His chest tightened. Did something happen to Connor?

      “Are you all right?”

      “Come on in.” She stepped back, ignoring his question. “I didn’t want you to ring the bell. Connor’s still taking a nap.”

      Gage stood in the foyer and quickly surveyed