Stephanie Dees - Their Secret Baby Bond

It had been her absolute fearlessness.

He’d known then she was different from other girls, but now that he spent his evenings teaching college students, he was even more aware how rare that kind of self-confidence was. He dropped his backpack and she looked up, a smile in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I was late and you spent your whole afternoon here.” Latham glanced over at Pop, napping in the recliner in the living room, a glass of iced tea at his fingertips on the side table. “He’s been okay?”

“Aside from being a little confused that Fran had to leave and I was here, he’s been totally fine. I hope it’s okay that I raided the garden to cook his supper.”

He shot her a grin and relaxed. “Feel free to raid my garden anytime, especially if you’re going to cook in my kitchen. Are those fried green tomatoes?”

“Yes. Your grandpa really liked them.”

“They’re his favorite and I always make them too soggy.” Latham popped one in his mouth. Even cold, it was delicious.

“The key is the ratio of cornmeal to flour. I’ll email you the recipe, if you promise not to tell Bertie. Trade secrets and all.” Wynn stood and grabbed her sketch pad. “I should probably be going.”

“Join me for some tea on the back porch?” The words were out and hanging in the air before he even knew he was going to say them.

Her eyes, glass blue and crystal clear, met his, and he could see her hesitation. “Please? I could use some adult conversation after the class I just taught.”

She nodded. “So, no one cut their finger off today?”

Confused, he looked up from pouring tumblers of sweet tea. “No, you mean like with a saw?”

“Isn’t that what you do in shop class?” She held the back door open for him to walk through.

He laughed and handed her a drink as they sat down. “I teach Government, although I was filling in for World History this evening.”

Her cheeks tinged with pink. “I’m sorry, I just assumed you’d be teaching carpentry.”

“You wouldn’t be the first. I have a Master’s degree in Political Science, so naturally I build things for a living. Makes sense, right?”

“Hopefully you’re building good citizens as well as beautiful tables.”

He clinked his cup to hers. “That’s the idea. Hey, you should come and speak to my class some time.”

“Me?” Her expression was shocked and just a little horrified. “Why?”

“Most of them have probably never met anyone who worked on Capitol Hill. You could give them some insider info, what it’s really like.”

Her face shuttered. She set the glass on the small table beside her chair. “I don’t think so. Listen, I have to run. I promised my mom I’d be home for dinner tonight.”

Latham got to his feet, aware he’d said something to upset her but not sure exactly what it was. “Sure thing.”

He walked her to the car and opened the door for her. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you staying with Pop. He’s really special to me.”

“I enjoyed it. And I’m looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. Just let me know what time you need me.” She slid into the driver’s seat, and before he could say anything else, she was driving down his gravel drive toward the highway.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her taillights fade into the distance. The door opened behind him and Pop stepped out onto the porch.

“Hey, old man. I thought you were out for the night.”

Pop settled in a rocker, hanging his cane over the arm of the chair. “I was faking.”

A laugh burst out. Latham stared at his grandfather. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it’s not like you bring pretty girls out here all the time. And you can’t have meaningful conversation with your old grandpa butting in, now, can you?”

Latham shook his head. “Sometimes I have to wonder which one of us is more with it, Pop.”

His grandfather, who had raised him from the time he was a toddler, chuckled to himself. “So, did you ask her on a date?”

Latham stared at the dusky sky, where the North Star was just beginning to glimmer. “No. I don’t think she’s interested in me like that. I couldn’t even get her to agree to speak to my class.”

“Your gran wouldn’t go out with me when I first asked her. She had her cap set for that moon-face jerk Phillip Stewart. I was persistent, though. I asked her so often that I finally wore her down. She went out with me just to shut me up.” Pop grinned, his laugh nearly a cackle. “That was the last time she mentioned Phillip Stewart.”

Latham laughed. “The rest is history, as they say. Gran knew a keeper when she saw him. She was a smart lady.”

Pop’s eyes clouded. “Margenia?”

The lucid moment was gone. Latham tried to be grateful for it and not sad that it was over. As he held his grandfather’s elbow and helped him into the house, his mind drifted to Wynn. She had come to his rescue with Pop when she didn’t have to, but she sure didn’t seem interested in spending any more time with him.

Pop recommended persistence. It had certainly paid off for him. Latham smiled.

Maybe he would have to give it a try.

* * *

The next Sunday, Wynn sat in a rocking chair under the big oak tree at Red Hill Farm, a two-month-old baby girl, the newest of Claire and Joe’s foster children, in her arms.

This baby was small. Really small. How much smaller was a baby when it was a newborn? That terrifying thought speared through her mind as the baby met her eyes with a serious stare.

Family lunch had been the usual insanity. Kids running everywhere. Adults trying to snag a bite or two of food in between chasing the kids. Today two adoptive families had joined the fray, including the family who’d adopted ten-year-old twins, Jamie and John.

Claire dropped into the chair beside Wynn and handed her a lukewarm bottle. “I was on my way to get this when I heard screaming about blood gushing. Matthew cracked his knee open.”

Wynn stuck the nipple in the baby’s mouth. She’d given Ash and Jordan’s little boy a bottle lots of times. It was no big deal. So why was sweat beading on her forehead?

The baby attacked the food with ferocity. She seemed to know what to do. Wynn relaxed back in the chair, letting out a slow relieved breath. “So was there?”

Claire was staring into the distance. “Was there what?”

“Blood gushing?”

Her sister-in-law grinned, one hand pressing into her back, the other sliding around to rub her very pregnant belly. “Oh, yeah. Everywhere. Luckily, from experience, Ash knew to bring his medical kit to lunch today and he was able to super-glue the cut. No stitches unless Matthew breaks it open again. Which, let’s face it, has a high probability of happening. That kid runs everywhere.”

Latham came loping across the yard in front of them, his hands in the air, a football dropping into them. He was dressed in jeans, a faded red RHS T-shirt and his work boots. He tossed the ball back and held his hands up in surrender. “Dude, I’m old. I gotta rest.”

He fell against the tree beside Wynn. “I really have to work out more.”

Claire laughed. “I’ve been telling myself that for months. No one tells you that raising children is an extreme sport.”

Latham peeked over Wynn’s shoulder. “This one’s new?”

“Yep, she’s just here for respite, though. She goes back to her foster family next week.”

“Cool. Pop’s with a neighbor, but he’ll be back pretty soon. Do you mind if I look at the cottage now?”

Surprisingly, the idea of giving up the sweet weight of the baby girl in her arms wasn’t as welcome as Wynn had imagined it would be. She glanced at Claire.