Diana Whitney - Ooh Baby, Baby

The nurse spiked a quick glance through the nursery window and smiled sadly. “That’s the preemie nursery.” She added a deflective nod down the hallway. “Your babies are in the next room.”

Peggy’s breath rushed out all at once. She sagged bonelessly into Travis’s arms. A warm, liquid feeling spread through his chest. He tried to ignore it, but a sweet fragrance wafted up from her hair, and the feel of her soft weight against him made him feel, well, kind of knightly.

It was a stupid sensation. Travis wasn’t anybody’s knight in shining armor. Even the fleeting image made him feel like a fool. Still, there it was, a protective instinct so strong that it shook him to his boots.

When Peggy’s gaze shuddered toward the incubator, the nurse’s did, too. “That’s Christopher,” she said with a sad sigh. “He was born late last night, only it was a little too soon for him, so he has some problems.”

Peggy’s lip quivered. “Will he be all right?”

“We hope so.”

Peggy looked up at Travis, her eyes wide with concern, moist with sympathy. “The poor little thing. His mother must be so frantic.”

The nurse’s lips thinned into an angry line. “One would think so. Unfortunately, we have no idea where she is. A security guard saw her slip out through the north-wing exit, but he didn’t realize that she was a patient, and since we were having trouble with the hospital generator at the time, things were a bit chaotic.”

Peggy was horrified. “You mean she simply walked away and abandoned her baby?”

“So it seems.”

“How can that be?” Peggy whispered. “How could any mother do such an evil thing?”

The nurse made a conspicuous attempt to soften her disapproval with a forced smile. “Christopher’s mother wasn’t much more than a child herself. She may have been overwhelmed by the responsibility of motherhood. We hope she’ll be back when she’s had a chance to think things through.”

Travis followed Peggy’s gaze to the incubator, which was partially exposed now that most of the medical team had moved away. Apparently the crisis was over. Electronic screens reflected rhythmic peaks and valleys, and inside the clear plastic box, hooked to a vicious assortment of tubes and wires, was the tiniest human Travis had ever seen in his entire life.

One doctor in surgical scrubs remained with the infant, gazing through the Plexiglas with an incredibly sad expression, but the rest of the group were already removing their masks, exiting the area with tight faces and rounded shoulders.

The nurse nodded at the red-eyed physician still hovering over the incubator. “That’s Dr. Howell.”

Peggy glanced up. “Randi Howell’s brother?”

“Yes. It’s been a horrible time for poor Noah. First his sister disappeared on her wedding day, then Olivia’s death, and now this poor little preemie struggling for life without anyone to love him.”

Travis knew Peggy was going to cry even before the first surge of moisture brightened those meadow green eyes. He made eye contact with the nurse, who understood his silent question and took Peggy’s arm, urging her down the hallway.

The woman’s smile broadened. “Your babies are doing beautifully, Mrs. Saxon.”

Peggy sniffed, brightened. “Are they?”

“Indeed, and they’re just gorgeous. Let’s go have a look, shall we?”

“Oh, yes.” Breathless, Peggy wiped her wet cheek, focusing on the window toward which she was being tactfully guided. “Oh…oh, there they are! Aren’t they beautiful, Travis?”

“Uh—” he gulped “—huh.” Clearly, childbirth had affected the poor woman’s vision. To Travis’s good old twenty-twenty sight, the red-haired infants in question resembled a matching pair of rumple-faced orangutans. “Umm, how come they’re all wrinkly?”

Peggy laughed, a delightful, melodic sound that sent happy chills down his spine. “Patience, Mr. Stockwell. God just hasn’t had a chance to iron them yet.”

Oddly enough, that made sense. Travis nodded dumbly, his gaze locked on the tiny faces blinking up from their Plexiglas bassinets. The boy, so designated by a blue-striped stretch cap, had loosened the tight infant wrap and was placidly gumming his fist. The pink-capped little girl completed a giant yawn, then stared straight at Travis as if thinking, “Hey, I know you!”

A lump rose in his throat, nearly choking him. They may not be the prettiest babies he’d ever seen, but he was absolutely convinced that they were the smartest.

“The staff adores them,” the nurse was saying. “They’re such good babies. Have you decided on names yet?”

Smiling, Peggy touched the window, flexing her fingertips against the glass. “What was the name of that road we were stuck on?”

Travis blinked. “Road? Oh, you mean Virginia?”

“That’s it.” She bent forward, wiggling her fingers at the little girl. “Hello, Virginia Marie. Mommy loves you.” Angling a glance over her shoulder, she smiled. “Marie was my mother’s name. And as long as we’re performing introductions, Travis John Stockwell, I’d like you to meet Travis John Saxon.”

If he hadn’t been gripping Peggy’s elbow, Travis would have fallen smack on his face. He opened his mouth, closed it, tugged his hat brim and stared at the floor. “I get it. You’re having fun with me again, right?”

She straightened, eyes sparkling. “If you mean I’m enjoying your stunned expression, yes, I guess I am. But Travis is a fine name, strong, sensitive, gentle—” her gaze jittered and dropped “—just like the man who carries it. I want that for my son.”

Travis licked his lips and shifted. “I don’t know what to say, ma’am—”

“Peggy.”

“Yes’m, Peggy, it’s a real honor—and I appreciate it, really I do, only…”

She cocked her head. “Only what?”

“Only your husband might not be real excited about having his son named after a broken-down rodeo bum.”

For a moment, she simply stared at him, with that tousled mane of hair spiraling around her face like a fountain of flame. Her complexion had pinked up considerably, although she was still extremely fair, and the smattering of freckles were standing at attention like a platoon of rust-colored soldiers. Even without a speck of makeup, Peggy Saxon was one incredibly beautiful woman.

Travis wondered why he hadn’t noticed that before.

She pursed her lips and tapped a bare foot. “First off, Mr. Stockwell, I take umbrage at the term ‘bum.’ You’re a fine man, and I won’t allow you to make light of yourself.”

Completely taken aback, he murmured, “Yes’m, sorry,” then winced at the foolish response.

Ignoring his discomfort, she appraised his body from scalp to toe and back again, with such blatant admiration that he felt his neck heat. “Second, nothing about you is visibly broken-down, and even if it was, I also consider that term to be derogatory and therefore off-limits when referring to my son’s namesake. Last but not least, I have no husband.” She speared him with a look. “Does that about cover your list of objections?”

Travis swallowed hard. “Yes’m, I believe it does.”

* * *

Issuing a pained sigh, Travis settled into the lounger and cooled his forehead with a can of soda. “I’m plumb tuckered. Having babies sure wears a man out.”

In the corner of the Conways’ converted den, Sue Anne swiveled away from the dispatch center to toss her brother a sour look. “Try shoving a ten-pound watermelon up your nostril and I might consider feeling sorry for you.”

He popped the soda can, took a long swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yep, women sure got it easy, just lie back and puff like a hound while us menfolk do the real work.” He ducked as a throw pillow whizzed past his head.