Laura Altom - A Baby in His Stocking

Stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles, he took his sweet time to answer. “Suffice to say it’s complicated.”

“I do have my master’s in counseling.”

He snorted. “That your not-so-subtle way of comparing my brainpower to that of a third grader?”

“Wyatt, I’m serious.” Though the rain outside fell harder, his complexion appeared red and overheated. “I get that your issues must be like a slow death inside, but you can’t run forever—well, you could, but you’d miss out on a lot.”

“Master’s or not,” he said, “feel free to drop it. You’re making me wish I’d never told you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you?” he snapped. “You sit there judging me when you already have the one gift I never will. Think about it.”

Throat tight, Natalie sighed. She slipped on her shoes and coat and made it all the way to the door without him saying a word.

She’d just stepped back out in the rain when Wyatt called, “Hey, Nat?”

“Yes?” Was it wrong for her to hope he’d repair the gaping hole now between them?

“Thanks again for the book, but it’s probably best you don’t come around anymore.”

Chapter Four

“Look how big you’re getting.”

Thanksgiving morning, Wyatt glanced over his shoulder as he crouched in front of his mother’s fireplace. Josie patted Natalie’s growing baby bump and for whatever reason, the sight irked the hell out of him. She hadn’t been that pregnant last time he’d seen her, had she?

“I know.” Natalie raised her shirt to show off elastic-banded black slacks. “I had to go up a size in maternity pants. Suffice to say, my secret is completely out.”

“You look adorable,” Josie gushed. “Almost makes me want to have another baby.”

Laughing, Natalie said, “You might want to consult Dallas about that.”

As if he weren’t even in the room, the two women chatted right past him. Just as well, Wyatt figured while he lit kindling in the hearth. His latest conversation with Natalie still stung. Issues? What the hell did she know about what he was going through? If she’d tried for years to have a baby, but kept miscarrying, would she find it enjoyable to hang with the most fertile family in Oklahoma?

Just as soon as his Thanksgiving duties were over, he was heading to Tulsa. The Mayo Hotel had a rooftop bar. He’d get a room, a few drinks, meet a hot woman looking for a good time. With luck, they’d share fun and breakfast. Time to act like the eligible bachelor he was.

At dinner, his seven-year-old niece Bonnie turned to him and said, “Uncle Wyatt?”

“Yes, ma’am?” He helped himself to seconds of green bean casserole.

“Could you please cut my meat?” She held up a thick slice of turkey and waved it.

“Just eat it like that.”

“I can’t.” She dredged her free fingers through gravy, then licked them like lollipops. “It’s bad manners.”

“And what you’re doing isn’t?” he asked.

Betsy, her twin, who sat on his other side, said, “She likes eating her gravy like that. Me, too.”

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