Linda Goodnight - Baby in His Arms

He gave her another of those cool looks she didn’t understand. He did that a lot, she noticed, as if she were from another planet and any minute he expected her green scales to show.

But his conversation was remarkably normal. “Thomas is a nice boy.”

“Yes, and a valiant spirit.” The child had endured loss and pain but hadn’t grown bitter or angry. At least not yet. She hoped and prayed he never would, but she was also a realist. Whatever happened happened.

Haley crossed her ankles and settled onto the grass.

Thomas had the kite well in hand now, his blond head tilted back to watch the spectacle.

Creed crossed his arms over the yellow helicopter logo but didn’t join her on the grass. “How long has he been in foster care?”

“Off and on most of his life. His mother has mental health issues.” Haley plucked a dandelion blossom and stuck the bright yellow flower behind one ear. “When she’s well, she’s a good mother. She’s also wise enough to know when she’s going downhill.”

“What do you mean?”

A bumblebee buzzed past. Haley gently waved her hand to send it on its way. “She forgets to feed him, forgets he’s even there, so she calls social services to pick him up.”

Creed whistled softly and turned a thoughtful gaze to the boy. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Must be tough.”

“He’s strong about it.” So far. “He misses his mom, but he’s seen her spiral downward. Her illness scares him. He worries about her.”

“A kid shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“Mental illness isn’t a choice, Creed. His mother can’t help being sick.” But sometimes Haley wondered why a good God didn’t change things. Why people had to suffer. Why children were tossed in and out of the social system. Why some mothers’ needs were more important than their children’s. Foolish thoughts. Life was just that way. Good today and bad tomorrow.

She yanked another dandelion. “Did you know these are edible?” she said, more to stop thinking than because she cared to share her knowledge of dandelions.

His expression was amused. “Yum.”

“No, I’m serious. The lowly dandelion is one of the most useful plants God created.”

“Really?” He dipped his head and looked at her from beneath raised eyebrows.

She could see he didn’t believe her. He probably thought she was a space cadet. Not that she cared. Still, she felt compelled to prove her point.

“The flower can be battered and fried, made into wine or jelly and a lot of other things. The leaves—” she yanked a handful and held them up “—when tender are similar to spinach. Toss them into a bowl with feta cheese, add vinaigrette and voilà, you have salad. Even the roots can be dried and ground into a coffee substitute.”

Creed chuckled. “No one will starve with you around. You should sign up for a survivor show.”

Let him laugh. She knew what she knew. Haley pushed up from the grass, watching the leaves flutter to the ground. Creed moved as if to offer a hand but she shied away. “I should run inside and make sure Rose Petal is still sleeping. Want something to drink?”

“Fresh ground dandelion coffee?”

She made a face at him. “You’re not funny.”

Yet, as she walked away from the handsome pilot, she giggled inside. She didn’t want to like him, but he was kind of charming.

* * *

Creed pivoted so that he had one eye on Thomas and the other on the woman striding with a lithe, easy swing of her arms toward the back porch. Tonight she wore khaki shorts and a white tank top beneath a gray zip-up hoodie. Beneath the hem of the shorts her legs weren’t long but they were...nice. Lightly tanned. Shapely. Come to think of it, so was the rest of her.

All her silly talk about dandelions had confirmed his suspicions. Haley Blanchard was a throwback flower child. Flakey but harmless. And pretty cute.

“Looking good out there,” he called to Thomas.

The boy, both hands firmly on the twine reel, grinned. “My arms are getting kind of tired.”

“Ready to land that bird?”

“I don’t want to tear it up.”

The kite was cheap to make and easily replaceable, but to a boy who’d never had one, taking care of the thin plastic mattered.

Creed’s heart squeezed.

“Tell you what,” he said, coming up beside Thomas. “You reel her in. I’ll catch her before she hits the ground. Deal?”

Thomas nodded. “Okay.”

By the time they’d safely landed the kite, Haley exited the back door, Rose Petal in her arms. “The baby’s awake and hungry. You can come inside if you want to.”

The invitation wasn’t the most enthusiastic he’d ever received, but Creed was going to accept, anyway. He’d dreamed about Rose Petal last night, waking with a knot in his throat. In his dream, he’d skipped his usual prayer time and no one had been at church to find the baby. She’d been alone and helpless and crying hysterically.

The memory clung to him like the scent of mint clung to the backyard as he fell into step with Thomas and his kite. Haley waited on the porch, baby in arms.

The plastic kite crinkled and fluttered in Thomas’s hands. “I had fun.”

Creed grinned down at the boy. “Flying’s the best. Even if you’re on the ground.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a safe place to store your mighty dragon?”

“I’ll keep it on my dresser. Well, the dresser is Haley’s, but you know what I mean. I hope I can take it with me when mama comes.”

“The kite? Sure, you can. It’s yours.”

“If Mama says I can. Some things freak her out.”

“Oh.” Creed didn’t know where to go with that one so he kept quiet.

Sharply sweet smells rose from a half barrel of red flowers as they joined Haley on the porch, their shoes thudding on the hollow wood. Creed sniffed, liking the smell. Geraniums, he thought, and some other flowery things he didn’t recognize. Mom grew geraniums, though not in nearly as much abundance.

No one on the planet crowded as many flowers and green things into a pot or a spot as Haley Blanchard. A cord strung across one end of the porch held some brown, odd-shaped squash-looking things. Gourds maybe?

With an inner smile, he wondered if she ate those, too.

Thomas reached the door first and opened it, waiting politely while Haley carried Rose Petal inside.

“Nice job, ladies’ man.” Creed said the last to make Thomas laugh and was rewarded with a display of crooked teeth.

Inside the apple-green kitchen, Haley jostled the fussing infant against her chest while attempting to prepare formula with one hand. More of the brown, odd-shaped fruits—or whatever they were—were scattered on newspapers along the short countertop. Haley elbowed them to the back.

“Thomas, grab a snack if you want one. You’ll have plenty of time to read a book before your bath.”

Thomas groaned. “A bath!”

Creed felt his pain. No ten-year-old liked baths. He scruffed Thomas’s hair. “Someday you’ll enjoy smelling good.”

“So I can be a ladies’ man?”

Creed laughed at Haley’s surprised expression. “Want me to hold her while you do that?”

He’d never been a guy who went around holding babies, but Rose Petal was different. She’d stolen a corner of his heart yesterday morning and he hadn’t gotten it back yet. That a tiny infant wielded such power felt nothing short of weird.

He reached for Rose. His fingers collided with Haley’s soft smooth skin. The bizarre tingle came again, raising the hairs on his arms. His pulse jumped. He took Rose and stepped back, bothered.

He wasn’t attracted to this earth mother hippie. He couldn’t be.

“Ladies’ man?” Haley asked, oblivious to his discomfort as she repeated last night’s scene of pouring white powdery stuff into a baby bottle. “What have you been saying to Thomas?”