Sherryl Woods - The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby

“Maybe I’ll wait to go see her, though,” he said, seizing the excuse. “She’s got a right sharp tongue when she’s riled up. I wouldn’t want to upset her.”

Lizzy grinned at him. “Want to hold the baby first?”

Hardy was tempted, more tempted than he’d ever been by anything other than a grown-up and willing female. That was warning enough to have him shaking his head.

“I don’t think so.”

She regarded him knowingly. “You’re not scared of a little tiny baby, are you?”

He scowled. “Of course not.”

“Come on, then,” she said, grabbing his hand and propelling him into the nursery. “You can rock her. Look at that face. You can tell she’s getting ready to wail again. She’s been keeping the other babies up.”

Before he could stop her, Lizzy had him gowned and seated in a rocker with the baby in his arms. He stared down into those wide blue eyes and felt something deep inside him twist. Oh, this was dangerous, all right. If he’d been able to thrust her back into Lizzy’s arms without looking like an idiot, he would have.

“She’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Lizzy asked, gently smoothing the baby’s wisps of hair.

A lump formed in Hardy’s throat. He was pretty sure he couldn’t possibly squeeze a word past it without making a total fool of himself. He nodded instead, rubbing the back of his finger along the baby’s soft cheek. She was…amazing. It was the only fitting word he could think of. Since he’d never considered marriage, he’d figured fatherhood was a moot point. Holding this precious little girl in his arms, he was beginning to realize that he was actually sacrificing something incredible.

“Here comes her mama now,” Lizzy said brightly. “Don’t you two be fighting over her.”

She beckoned to the woman who was gazing through the window. Hardy took one look at the baby’s mama and wanted to flee. She was every bit as beautiful as he’d remembered, every bit as much of a shock to his system. If he hadn’t been holding her baby, if Lizzy hadn’t kept a hand clasped on his shoulder in a less-than-subtle attempt to keep him in place, if it wouldn’t have been the most cowardly thing he’d ever done, he would have leaped up and run like crazy.

Lizzy made the formal introductions that had been skipped the night before, gave them both beaming smiles, then took off and left them alone, clearly satisfied by a sneaky job well done. Hardy awkwardly got to his feet, then gestured toward the rocker.

“After what you went through a few hours ago, you should be sitting down,” he scolded.

Trish gave him an amused look, but she dutifully sat. He all but shoved the baby into her arms. For a moment, with her attention riveted on her daughter, neither of them spoke. Eventually she sighed.

“I still can’t quite believe it.” She looked up at him. “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.”

“You handled it like a real pro. Are you in the habit of delivering babies by the side of the road?”

“No way. This was a first for me. Can’t tell you how glad I am that I didn’t foul it up. What were you doing out on a lonely stretch of highway in a snowstorm, anyway?”

“Running away from home,” she said wryly. “It’s a long story.”

And one she clearly didn’t want to share. Hardy pondered why a woman in her twenties would need to run away from home. Was it that husband she’d said didn’t exist that she was leaving? If so, getting to know her any better would just be begging for trouble. He twisted his hat in his hands, then asked, “Does that mean you’re not from around here?”

“Yes. I’m just passing through.”

To his surprise, her reply actually disappointed him. Because he wasn’t wild about the reaction, he backed up a step. Entranced by the daughter, intrigued by the mother, he was likely to do something he’d regret. In fact, if he wasn’t very careful, he might be crazy enough to suggest that she stay on just so he could sneak an occasional peek at that little girl growing up. The words might pop out despite his best intentions to steer as far away from them as possible from this moment on.

“Ought to be going now,” he said in a rush.

She reached out a hand, but he was too far away for her to make contact. The gesture was enough to bring him to a halt, though.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said firmly. “You and I need to talk.”

“About the bill,” he guessed, based on Lizzy’s warning. “Don’t get all worked up over it. I was just trying to keep the nurse from having apoplexy. You know how hospitals are about their forms these days.”

“Oh, I’ll admit that threw me, but I figured out what had probably happened. It’s settled now. I’ve already explained to the billing office that the bill is my responsibility,” she said. “No, what I wanted to talk to you about is more important.”

Hardy regarded her warily. He didn’t like the sound of that. “What’s that?”

“The baby needs a name. I was hoping you could help me choose one. Something that would be special to you.” Her gaze met his. “Your mother’s name maybe.”

Hardy froze at the mention of his mother, a woman who’d run out on him so long ago he could barely recall what she looked like. It wasn’t a betrayal he was ever likely to forget, much less honor.

“Never,” he said fiercely.

The fervent response clearly startled Trish, but unlike a lot of women who’d have taken that as a sign to start poking and prodding, she didn’t pursue it.

“Another name, then. Maybe a sister or a girl you’ve never forgotten.”

Hardy thought of the older sister who’d left home with his mother. Neither of them had ever looked back. He’d go to his grave resenting the fact that his mother had loved his sister enough to take her but had left him behind.

Then he considered the long string of woman whose memories lingered. None were important enough that he wanted to offer their names.

Finally he shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Surely there’s a girl’s name you like,” she persisted. “Or even a boy’s name that we could change a little to make it sound more feminine.”

He squirmed under the intensity of her gaze and her determination to pull him into a process that was by no means his to share. Naming a baby should be between a mother and a father. A stranger should have no part in it. But he recalled that she’d told him the night before that there was no father. Well, obviously, there was one, but he wasn’t in the picture. That still didn’t mean that Hardy had any business involved in this.

“Can’t think of a single name,” he insisted, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Well, then, I guess it will just have to be Hardy, after all.”

He thought at first she was teasing, but he could see from her expression that she was flat-out serious.

“Oh, no,” he said adamantly. “That’s no name for a pretty little girl. Not much of one for a man, if you think about it. Comes from Hardwick, an old family name on my daddy’s side. At least one boy in every generation had to be a Hardwick. Just my luck that I came along first in my generation. You would think after all those years of saddling poor little kids with that name, some mother would put her foot down and insist on something ordinary like Jake or Josh or John.”

“What were the girls in your family named?”

He chuckled as he thought of his cousins, every one of whom had been named after flowers. They’d viewed that as being every bit as humiliating as Hardwick. “Rose, Lily, Iris,” he recited, ticking them off on his fingers. He watched her increasingly horrified expression and kept going for the sheer fun of watching the sparks in her eyes, “I believe there might even have been a Periwinkle a few generations back.”