Teresa Southwick - Baby, Oh Baby!

“Good.” Ashley nodded emphatically.

“Let’s do a group rub,” Jordan suggested, taking it from the woman. “We’ll wish for the most outrageous things we can think of.”

Together they took the lamp and rested it on their palms.

“Feel that?” Rachel asked uneasily. Warmth seemed to emanate from metal she’d expected to be cold. “It feels like it’s vibrating.”

“You’re just shaking.” Ashley looked at the lamp. “I’ll go first. I wish for money and power.” She glanced up and searched their gazes. “What?”

“That’s two wishes,” Rachel pointed out.

“Power is sort of a subset of money.”

As Rachel rubbed her index finger along the curved side of the brass, she thought of the pregnant teenager temporarily sharing her apartment. An emptiness opened up inside her producing an almost painful ache. “I wish I had a baby.” She smiled sheepishly at her friends’ shocked expressions. “You wouldn’t let me wish for a man.”

“That’s the best outrageous you can do?” Jordan heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I can top you both. I want to be a princess and live in a palace.”

“Oo-kay.” Rachel laughed. “That’s pretty outrageous since you have a better chance of kissing an above average-looking toad than meeting a handsome prince.”

But she found herself caught up in the moment and filled with a sense of anticipation. She watched and waited. But nothing happened. Although she hadn’t expected anything, she was oddly deflated when that’s what she got. So much for three wishes.

“Excellent,” Faith said, as she lifted the lamp from their palms.

Rachel rubbed her forehead. “How do you figure?” The Gypsy tilted her head. “Remember, magic works in mysterious ways. Happy birthday to you all.”

Stunned, they stared at her for several moments. “How did you know it was our birthday?” Rachel finally asked.

The odd woman smiled mysteriously.

Then a clock chimed midnight.

June 1, 2004—Sweet Spring, Texas

Through tired, aching eyes, Rachel Manning stared down at the grumpy month-old baby girl, then opened the tabs on the disposable diaper. After capturing the tiny, flailing ankles in one hand, she pulled down the diaper and wrinkled her nose. “Paydirt. No pun intended, Emma. But you’re such a sweet, delicate flower, how can you be such a party pooper?”

Whoa. Rachel hadn’t thought about that phrase since the night of her birthday celebration in New Orleans when she’d made a wish. She looked down at the infant waving her tiny arms and shook her head. Couldn’t be. And even if she believed such a thing was possible, surely her fairy godmother or wish warranty customer service representative could read between the lines.

I want a baby meant finding a man, falling in love and getting married. A baby would follow after nine months of pregnancy. She wondered if there was a wish complaint department because she had a bone to pick with someone. Several important steps had been skipped.

She shook her head. She was giving way too much credence to that surreal scene. Could a person hallucinate from sleep deprivation? “No way do I believe in magic lamps. I still say it looked like a solid brass gravy boat.”

The baby’s mewling sounds cranked up and blended into one, single full-blown wail followed by more unhappy squeaking. “It’s okay, Em. Don’t you worry your pretty head. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you? After a certain amount of arm twisting and guilt-tripping,” she mumbled.

Rachel had met Holly Johnson at Sweet Spring Hospital where she worked. The pregnant teen went to the obstetrical clinic for her prenatal care. At eighteen, she was released from the state foster care program and Rachel had taken her in. This baby belonged to Holly and her boyfriend Dan Fletcher. Very reluctantly, Rachel had agreed to care for the child, giving the teenagers a chance to find out if the two of them could make a go of it or not. They needed time to make a very adult decision about whether or not to give up this baby.

And Rachel took full responsibility for putting the idea of taking some time away into their heads. But who knew they’d tweak it like this? She’d only agreed to care for the baby after the kids told her Dan’s older brother and guardian supported the idea.

But all the logic in the world didn’t take away Rachel’s feeling that this baby had been left on her door-step. And she wanted to believe the teens really would come back. Unlike her own parents.

A rusty, familiar pain twisted inside Rachel. Wow, she must really be tired. It was the only explanation for dredging up those old feelings. That was ancient history and she really was so over it.

And who cared anyway when this beautiful infant was staring up at her with big innocent eyes. Something she’d never before experienced squeezed tight in the region of her heart. This child needed to be cared for and Rachel intended to do just that. To the best of her ability. Which was, at the moment, slightly handicapped on account of very little sleep.

She finished diapering the tiny girl, then cradled the baby against her shoulder. “Shh, little one,” she crooned. “What do you want? You’re fed. You’ve got clean pants. What’s wrong?”

She sat on her couch, but that produced another earsplitting squall that bordered on a pitch only a dog could hear. “Oo-kay.”

Instantly, Rachel stood and paced from one end of her ground floor two bedroom apartment to the other, wondering which would wear out first—the rug, the baby or her. Rubbing the infant’s tiny back as she walked, she tried to ignore her bone-deep weariness. Did all new mothers do this? How, after the physical rigors of giving birth, did the average woman manage this aerobic exercise?

A sudden knock on the door startled her. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning. Who could possibly— Hope expanded like a balloon inside her.

“Maybe that’s your mom,” she said to the baby. “She only left yesterday, but I bet she missed you like crazy and couldn’t wait for a decent hour to see you. Besides, she already knows you’re a baby and you don’t keep decent hours.”

Rachel slid off the security chain and turned the deadbolt, then yanked open the door. But it wasn’t Holly Johnson standing there. Not even close. Wrong gender.

“Morning, Rachel.” The deep voice never failed to scrape along her nerve endings.

“Jake.” Jake Fletcher, the man who rubbed her the wrong way. He also happened to be the baby’s uncle. Could this day get any worse?

“Sorry to bother you—” He stared at her. “Good Lord. Are you all right?”

She glanced in the mirror over the small table in her midget-size entry. Yikes! Her blond hair stood up in spikes all over her head. That was bad since she wasn’t going for the punk look. The only makeup she had on was what she hadn’t had the energy to wash off the night before. Having an infant crying at all hours in a small apartment wasn’t conducive to a regular beauty regimen. Beauty, heck. She’d barely managed basic hygiene. And the cherry on the melted sundae that was her life—she was in pajamas. Shorty pajamas. She was practically naked.

“I’m fine.” She clutched the baby tighter against her. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s about Dan.”

“Of course it is. The last time you came to my apartment was when you found out Holly was pregnant and your brother was the father.”

“I remember. She’d just been cut loose from her foster home after turning eighteen. And had nowhere to go until you stepped in,” he finished, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Jake. But like I told you then, I met her at the hospital’s prenatal clinic and suggested she stay with me temporarily.”