A Baby For Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

longer needing to behave like a human blockade, Rita turned on her heel and headed directly toward the sound of the crying baby.

      “Rita, wait up,” Connor called after her. “I’ll make the introductions after I—”

      Since she had come to work for the McCulloughs, Rita had very quickly become not just part of the family but had taken on the role of a surrogate mother. She had no interest in waiting for any introductions to be made. If there were introductions to be made, she would be the one to take care of that small detail.

      She continued to head for the rear guest bedroom like a homing pigeon on a mission. Stopping at the door only long enough to deliver a short, quick knock, she barely heard a woman’s voice say “Come in” before she had her hand on the doorknob. The next moment, she’d opened the door and was walking in.

      Amy looked up, startled. She’d expected to see Connor coming in. Instead, she found herself looking at a small, dark-haired matronly woman who looked as if she was accustomed to being in charge of anything and everything she came across.

      Amy’s hand flew to her chest as if to steady her pounding heart.

      “I’m sorry—who are you?” she asked the woman who made no secret of swiftly dissecting her with her dark eyes.

      “I am Rita Navarro,” Rita informed her. “Who are you?”

      Entering, Connor came between the two women, prepared to act as a human buffer. In his opinion, the housekeeper was a wonderful woman, but she had a tendency to come on too strong at times.

      “Amy, this is my housekeeper, Rita. She tends to think she runs everything.”

      Rita spared him a quick side glance. “That is because I do.” She pressed her thin lips together as she shook her head. “This will teach me to go away,” she murmured under her breath, scrutinizing the young woman sitting on the bed, holding the baby in her arms.

      There was only one way for her to interpret the older woman’s comment. “Then I am intruding,” Amy said, rising to her feet. “I’ll go,” she told Connor.

      “No, you’re not, and no, you won’t,” Connor replied firmly. He gave Rita a warning glance over his shoulder, silently telling the woman to weigh her words.

      Rita tempered her tone as she asked Amy, “How old is your baby?”

      “He’s six months old,” Amy answered. She still looked as if she was somewhat intimidated by the petite but bombastic housekeeper.

      Rita nodded, as if the information jibed with something in her head.

      “Bring him to the kitchen. When I finish preparing your breakfast, I will take care of him while you eat. Come,” she ordered the baby’s mother just before she left the room.

      “And that,” Connor cavalierly said to Amy, “is my housekeeper. I should have warned you—she comes on a little strong.”

      A small smile curved the corners of Amy’s mouth. “Strong. That would be the word for it, all right,” she agreed.

      “Rita means well,” Connor assured her.

      She could only hope that was true, Amy thought, but out loud she said, “I’m sure she does.”

      “Are you coming?” Rita called out from the kitchen.

      “I think we’ve just been given our marching orders,” Connor said, about to take Amy’s elbow to usher her and the baby into the kitchen. “For a small woman, her voice can really carry,” he observed with a laugh. And then, thinking that perhaps the housekeeper’s overbearing manner might be rather difficult for Amy to deal with, he said, “I can talk to Rita and ask her to back off.”

      But Amy shook her head. She did not want to risk possibly getting on the woman’s bad side. “That’s okay. She’s just looking out for you.”

      “Stay here a day and she’ll be looking out for you, as well,” Connor promised. “She might seem gruff, but she’s really good with kids.”

      “Right now, I’ll settle for her just being good with coffee,” Amy said.

      “You’re about to have your wish come true.” He could smell the coffee brewing even before he crossed the threshold to the kitchen.

      “Ah, so you are finally here,” Rita declared. Her back was to them. It was as if she could sense their presence. “Good. The coffee is ready and so is your breakfast.” She nodded at the two place settings on the table, then turned around and crossed to Amy. “Here, give him to me.”

      “That’s all right. I can hold him while I eat,” Amy said.

      “But you can eat better if I hold him,” Rita informed her in a firm voice. Putting out her hands, she waited for the baby to be transferred to her. “Do not worry. I do not drop children.”

      Feeling somewhat uneasy, Amy surrendered Jamie to the housekeeper. The moment that she did, she watched in fascination as a smile blossomed on the woman’s otherwise stern face, instantly transforming her.

      Rita began cooing something to the baby in Spanish, and then she looked up, sparing Amy a glance. “Eat before it gets cold,” she ordered.

      “You heard the lady.” Connor ushered Amy into a chair. “Breakfast is a lot better warm—and so is Rita,” he added with a whisper.

      Amy suppressed a laugh as she sat down, feeling a little more at ease. Maybe, she thought, she’d been right to come here after all.