A Baby For Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

sorry,” he apologized. “That’s my doing.”

      Connor felt bad. Instead of distracting her, he’d forced Amy to think about what had caused her to leave everything behind and come here.

      “No, it’s not,” Amy insisted. “You’ve never been anything but kind to me.” She paused, searching for words that seemed to be eluding her. And then she raised her eyes to his, fresh tears shimmering in hers. “He threw me out, Connor,” she whispered haltingly. “Clay threw me out. He said some hateful words, telling me that I ruined his life, that Jamie and I were just lead weight dragging him down and he wanted us gone.” She made a visible attempt to rally. “He was drunk at the time, but what he said still hurt.”

      Her voice was hollow as she continued. “When he passed out, I threw some things into a suitcase, took the baby and left.” Amy stopped for a moment because her voice was close to breaking. Regaining control, she told him, “I didn’t know where to go, so I just kept driving until I drove back down here.”

      He knew that her father had died eight years ago and her mother had remarried, eventually relocating out of state. An only child, Amy had no one to turn to.

      Even if she did, he would have still made the offer he was making now. “You can stay here for as long as you need to,” he told her with quiet sincerity. “For as long as you want.”

      But Amy shook her head. “I can’t put you out like that.”

      “Who said anything about putting me out?” he asked. “You’re not exactly twisting my arm here, Amy. Last I checked, I was able to make up my own mind and my mind’s made up. You’re staying here until you pull yourself together and figure out what it is that you want to do.”

      A wave of despair washed over her. It was hard not to drown in it. “What if I never figure out what I want to do?” she asked.

      That was just the fear talking, Connor thought. What Amy needed right now was some reassurance—and some time to build up her self-esteem.

      He smiled at her. “Then you and Jamie will just go on staying here. My dad built this house with his own hands and he made sure that there were plenty of bedrooms. He always said he might never have a lot of money, but he firmly believed it was having a family that made a man rich. Before Mom died, he really wanted to fill up all the rooms with kids.”

      Amy smiled. “I remember your dad. He was a really nice man.”

      “That he was,” Connor agreed with a touch of wistfulness. And then his tone changed. “And he would have been all over my case for not making you eat your supper.”

      She looked down at the casserole. She had to admit that it was good. It was just that her stomach was tied up in knots. “Maybe, in honor of your dad, I should try to eat a little more.”

      Connor readily concurred. “Maybe you should.”

      The wail of a waking baby broke into his words. Amy was instantly alert.

      “Jamie’s awake,” she said, pushing her chair back from the table.

      Connor put his hand over hers on the table, holding her in place.

      “You finish your supper. I’ll see to the baby.” He saw the uncertain expression on Amy’s face. “Don’t look so surprised. Thanks to Cody, Cole and Cassidy, I’ve really gotten to know my way around babies.” On his feet, he pointed at the casserole dish before her. “Eat,” he ordered as he turned on his heel and went to see why Jamie was crying.

      Amy debated getting up and hurrying after him. She knew he’d told her that he could handle it, but Jamie was her son and she felt guilty about not tending to him. For the last six months, ever since Jamie had been born, hers was the only touch the baby had known. Clay had had absolutely no interest in holding his son, much less in doing any of the things that were involved in caring for the baby.

      He’s your whelp. You take care of him, Clay had snapped at her on the day that she came home from the hospital with Jamie. He hadn’t even made the effort to bring her home. A neighbor had wound up being the one to do it.

      It was the same neighbor who had taken her to the hospital when she’d gone into labor. Clay had been out and unavailable when her water broke. Her calls to him had gone straight to voice mail. Since he had next to no interest in holding down a job and was perpetually “between positions,” as he liked to say, she could only guess that he was either out drinking with his friends, or out with one of the scores of women who were always pursuing him.

      In these last six months, Clay’s attitude toward Jamie never changed. It was indifference balanced out with anger. The anger especially flared up when Jamie’s cries would interfere with his sleep, or with whatever program he was watching on TV.

      Since Clay claimed not to be able to find any work he deemed suitable and she had been forced to leave her waitressing job when Jamie was born, all three of them were living off her savings and the money that her father had left her.

      But between the bills—and Clay’s gambling debts—that money was all but gone.

      Worried sick and close to her wit’s end, when Clay threw her out, she didn’t bother to try to reconcile with him. Her gut told her it was time to leave. She realized there was always an outside chance that Clay would change his mind and tell her to stay. After all, she was his only source of income and he’d been pressuring her to go back to work. But after some soul-searching, she knew she couldn’t stay with Clay any longer.

      She didn’t just have herself to think of anymore and there was no doubt in her mind that Clay Patton was not a good role model for Jamie, even though he was the boy’s father. Moreover, she didn’t want Jamie to grow up thinking that drinking, gambling and cheating on the woman he was married to were what a real man did.

      But neither was running away, she told herself ruefully. That definitely wasn’t the right example to set for Jamie, either.

      Another tear slid down her cheek as she sat at the table, trying to sort things out.

      When had life gotten to be so complicated?

      As she wiped away the tear with the back of her hand, Amy realized the baby had stopped crying. The first thing that occurred to her was something was wrong. Jamie never stopped crying so quickly. Getting up, she hurried from the kitchen back to the living room.

      She found Connor sitting on the sofa, holding her son and gently rocking him in his arms.

      “Looks like your mom’s come to check up on us, Jamie,” he told the baby. “I don’t think she really trusts me with you yet.”

      Amy couldn’t get over how peaceful Jamie seemed.

      “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Connor,” she began, not really knowing how to end her sentence without sounding as if she was a paranoid parent.

      Taking pity on her, Connor bailed her out. “You’re really not used to anyone taking care of Jamie but you, right?”

      “Right. Clay’s not good with babies—with Jamie,” she explained.

      Connor knew that he should just leave the comment alone. But the truth of it was, he had never liked Clay Patton, even back when they were all going to school together. The dislike had come very close to hatred when Clay had run off with Amy.

      Which was undoubtedly why he heard himself saying, “Clay’s not good with a lot of things,” even though he knew he should just let the whole thing pass without making any sort of further comment.

      “For the record,” Connor went on, his voice softening, “I changed Jamie and I think that he might be getting hungry. He’s trying to eat his fist. I’ve got some extra baby bottles, but I’m afraid there’s no formula in the house. If you tell me what kind he needs, I’ll go into town and get some for you.”

      “I’ve got formula,” she said. It was one of the few things she’d made sure to pack, along