Heidi McCahan - Their Baby Blessing

“That’s a real shame about Bethany and her family moving to Phoenix,” Mom said. “She was a wonderful babysitter.”

“I wish she could’ve given more notice.” Skye pulled a stack of plates from the cabinet and carried them to the table. “Her timing is the worst.”

“Maybe God has something better in mind. For her and for you.” Mom’s gentle smile and trite observations made Skye bristle.

“You don’t believe that’s true.”

“I didn’t say that.” Skye swiped her palm across her forehead and turned away to grab napkins and silverware. “It’s just... Never mind.”

Hurt filled Mom’s brown eyes.

Skye clamped her mouth closed, conscious of poking holes in Mom’s beliefs. Even though they were once her beliefs, too, she sure had a lot of doubts lately about what God must have in mind for her. For McKenna and Connor, too.

“I’m worried. I—I don’t know what we’re going to do without Bethany.”

Without a lot of things. Skye kept her lengthy list of worries to herself while she struggled to tamp down the anxious feelings twisting her up inside. If the business was in worse shape financially than she’d thought, and she had to hire a full-time babysitter for Connor while she tried to save the furniture store, her own personal savings account would dwindle quickly. Both of her brothers said they were committed to helping, but neither of them were prepared to financially support Mom, either.

“We’ve certainly endured quite a few surprises lately,” Mom said quietly.

Connor squealed and banged two plastic measuring cups together, then held one out for her, accompanied by a toothy smile. Grateful his outburst might’ve saved her from discussing her waning faith, Skye leaned over and smoothed a wisp of his pale blond hair across his forehead.

“No, thanks. That’s for you.” When she pulled away without taking the measuring cup, his blue eyes filled with tears and his expression crumpled.

While his cries grew louder, Skye quickly glanced at the timer beside the oven. In two minutes, the rolls needed to come out. The stew in the Crock-Pot was ready, but there weren’t drinks in the glasses yet, and she hadn’t prepared anything for Connor to eat. Still so much to do before Gage arrived, and Mom wasn’t mobile enough to carry hot dishes to the table. Letting him sit there and cry wasn’t okay, either.

“C’mon, let’s move to the living room and play with some trucks. Your favorite.” She scooped him up and carried him into the living room, where his toys were still scattered across the beige carpet.

“Anything I can do?” Mom asked.

“I’ve got it.” Skye set him on the floor and pushed a plastic truck and some blocks toward him, but Connor only screamed louder, while his face deepened to a shade of pink she hadn’t seen before in his previous tantrums.

“Wow.” Skye glanced at Mom over her shoulder. “He’s really angry.”

“He’ll calm down in a minute.” Her mom braced against the table and pushed to a stand. “Let me—”

“No, don’t get up.” Skye hurried to her side and grasped her elbow. “I said I’ve got it. What do you need?”

“Honey, Dr. Bradley said I’m supposed to be walking short distances.” Mom raised her voice to be heard above Connor’s wailing. “There’s no reason for me to sit here while you wear yourself out. I can at least carry a few things to the table.”

Skye opened her mouth to argue, but the timer rang, reminding her that if she had any hope of getting the meal on the table, she’d have to relent and let her mother help a little bit.

“All right. I’ll set the table while you get the rolls out of the oven.”

“Deal.” Mom patted Skye’s arm and then moved slowly toward the kitchen.

“Oh, look at this.” Skye brought Connor a bright-colored shape sorter from the toy bin beside the sofa, and thankfully he dialed back his cries to a pathetic whimper. While he examined the plastic shapes inside the rectangular box, Skye hurried to put plates and silverware on the table.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. No. A jolt of adrenaline zinged through her. She wasn’t ready. She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear and glanced at her plaid button-down shirt and favorite skinny jeans. She’d meant to change before Gage—

Wait. Why did it matter how she looked? A relationship with him apart from their shared interest in Connor wasn’t even on her radar.

She opened the door and Gage stood on the other side. His sandy-blond hair gleamed in the light from the porch, and the skin beside his hazel eyes crinkled when he smiled. A stunning smile that she was working hard not to stare at right now.

“Hey.” That voice. Deep. Confident. Smooth. How could one simple word make her heart pound so easily?

Great. While most normal humans might return his casual greeting, Skye couldn’t find her words. Or ignore Gage’s shoulders, which seemed broader than she remembered. Or was it the green winter jacket that added bulk? Instead of speaking, all she could think about was how that shade of green emphasized the flecks in his eyes and—

“Skye?” Gage’s brow arched. “You did say five thirty, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I was, uh...” Just thinking about your amazing shoulders and gorgeous eyes.

Oh brother. Warmth rushed to her face. “Please, come in.”

She stepped back and pulled the door wide, while another wave of anxiety washed over her. Was she doing the right thing—allowing Gage to meet Connor? He’d been through so much in his first year of life. Introducing another stranger, even one with the best of intentions, made her uneasy.

* * *

The aroma of something delicious—soup, maybe—enveloped Gage as he toed off his boots inside the Tomlinsons’ front door. Definitely smelled more appealing than the canned chili he’d planned to fix for himself.

“Thanks for coming.” Skye took his jacket, and his heart skittered at the way those pink lips of hers curved into a tentative smile.

He quickly banished those thoughts. “No problem.”

“Hello, you must be Gage.” A petite woman with salt-and-pepper curls and wearing black pants and a red blouse walked slowly from the kitchen to the nearby table, her eyes focused on a small basket balanced precariously in her hands.

“That’s my mother, Rhonda Tomlinson,” Skye said.

Before Gage could respond, Connor squealed so loud that Skye winced. “That’s Connor’s way of welcoming you.”

Gage glanced at the little boy sitting in the middle of the living room floor, and his breath hitched. He’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere. They were a carbon copy of Ryan’s. He swallowed hard and glanced at Skye again. “Mind if I say hello?”

“Please do.” Something undecipherable flashed across Skye’s features. “Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Gage approached slowly and sank onto the beige shag carpet. “What’s up, little dude?”

Connor stared at him, wide-eyed, then babbled a string of unintelligible words while offering Gage an orange plastic dump truck.

“Thanks.” Gage gently took the truck and drove it across the carpet and up Connor’s leg, while making the appropriate truck noises.

Connor giggled and playfully pushed Gage’s hand away.

Gage’s heart expanded at the bubbly sound of Connor’s laugh, and he drove the truck along Connor’s gray sweatpants again, making him laugh louder. This time Gage laughed right along with him, and they repeated the cycle. He quickly surveyed his surroundings—casual furnishings, floral curtains framing the windows, and shelves nearby lined with books and knickknacks indicated the Tomlinsons lived comfortably but didn’t seem pretentious.