LITMIR.BIZ

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is it? Is something wrong with Laila?”

      His face was paper white, and his mouth was drawn at the corners. There was no sign of the baby. He shifted from one foot to the other. “She, uh, had an...accident.”

      Adrenaline surged through Molly. She had already started toward the phone to call 911 when his voice stopped her again.

      “Not an accident-type accident,” he said, catching Molly’s arm. “She, uh, well, she’s a mess. So is her crib, the sheets—” Brig held his nose.

      “Oh. I see.” It didn’t take much imagination to get the picture.

      But Brig obviously felt the need to explain. “I guess I didn’t put her diaper on right before she went to bed. She woke up screaming, and when I looked...” He made a face filled with distaste for the situation.

      “No problem,” she said. “I must deal with this at least three times a day. Where is she?”

      “Still in the bed.” He appeared guilty. “I should have picked her up, but...”

      “I understand.” So much for her plan to stay clear of Brig and the baby. Now that wasn’t possible. “She needs a bath. I’ll get my work clothes on. You wrap Laila in something warm—we’ll wash that, too—and we can meet at the center. I have several baby baths there just for this purpose. She’ll be good again in no time.” Molly smiled. “And so will you.”

      The problem for Molly was that meant being alone with Brig in the nighttime Little Darlings with no hovering moms or staff to act as chaperones.

      Moonlight washed the changing room with silvery light. The small space seemed that much tighter with Brig in it, too, but Molly appreciated that he didn’t back out when she uncovered the baby and, indeed, discovered a mess. Molly fought the urge to cover her own nose.

      “She probably hasn’t adjusted to that new brand of formula,” she said, a fistful of baby wipes in hand. “My fault for buying it. Poor little girl,” Molly crooned. “Her system is in an uproar. I can imagine the digestive changes she must be going through after leaving a foreign country and doing all that travel.”

      “Now she’s one of your Little Darlings,” he murmured, standing close to Molly’s shoulder.

      Neither his comment nor his nearness helped her equilibrium. All at once she felt as unsettled, as much in alien territory, as Laila was. His next question only made her discomfort worse.

      “I’m curious. Did you and Andrew ever want kids?”

      Molly tossed a soiled baby wipe into the nearby trash bin kept solely for that purpose, then went back for another. She focused on cleaning Laila’s small body with a light touch.

      “I—we—wanted a big family,” she said, trying to force a smile into her voice, though it wouldn’t come. “But a few months before Andrew...before I lost him...we also lost our first—and, as it turned out, only—child.” She took a breath. “I had a miscarriage.”

      He touched her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

      “I’m not upset,” she lied. “Of course, at the time it was dreadful—as you might imagine.” But then, he couldn’t. Brig had chosen adventure over her, and the six babies they’d planned on had been relegated to her dreams. If Andrew hadn’t come along, if she hadn’t loved him, too... Molly struggled to lighten her tone. “One day we were picking out baby furniture, planning what color to paint the nursery, which until then had been Andrew’s home office, and the next we were putting back his desk and chair...” She trailed off. She hadn’t been able to keep the tears, or the memories, from her voice after all.

      “Did you own Little Darlings, then?” Brig asked.

      “I didn’t open this center until after Andrew... And before that Mom had died, too, and I decided to sell the house in Hyde Park and move back in with Pop. It was the right decision,” she said, and aimed the last baby wipe at the trash. “I used my husband’s insurance money to renovate this carriage barn. It’s Andrew’s legacy, really.”

      “You seem to manage pretty well.” He paused. “I’m not managing with Laila at all. Her dad was not only one of my men but one of my best friends, and at times I just can’t believe Sean is really gone—that he and Zada—”

      Saying the words seemed hard for Brig, too, but clearly he understood loss. Since he’d left her years ago, they had both suffered, and certainly she couldn’t help but admire him for accepting responsibility now as Laila’s guardian. Maybe he wasn’t as selfish as she had wanted to believe. Molly patted Laila’s just-cleaned bottom, all the while whispering calming words to the baby to stop herself from giving in to tears. In front of Brig? No way.

      Her voice was husky. “I know what you mean. I still expect Andrew to walk in the door. But he was too eager that night after work to get home—that’s what I tell myself—and jumped a light in what passes for downtown Liberty. A truck hurrying through the intersection on the yellow hit his car broadside.” The freak accident had robbed Molly of her dreams, all of them, for a second time. She no longer had the husband she had loved even during the worst of their bad weeks after her miscarriage.

      But she didn’t want to dwell on that now.

      Not with Brig, no matter what his losses had been.

      The little room was beginning to seem even smaller, tighter. Brig stood so close she could hear him breathing.

      “That’s sad, Molly,” he said.

      “Yes,” she said, “but—as quickly as with Sean and Zada—that’s what happened.”

      What if Andrew had convinced her to try for another child when Molly hadn’t felt ready? What if she had a boy now like Ernie or a girl like Laila?

      Straightening her shoulders, she reached down for the now-bare Laila. The little girl lay quietly in Molly’s arms, her dark gaze searching the room and the overhead lights. “Let’s get her into the bath. Babies usually love water.”

      “She didn’t like it when I tried last time. Maybe I did too quick a job. I was afraid she might drown even in a few inches of water in your bathroom sink.”

      Molly didn’t point out that such a tragedy was all too possible. But he hadn’t asked her how to bathe Laila. She supposed he had his pride, too. It must be strange for him to admit he was inept at caring for a ten-to twelve-pound infant. Another thing they needed to do tonight: weigh Laila so Brig could chart her growth.

      She moved to fill the plastic bath at the sink. Juggling Laila, she dribbled her favorite baby wash into the warm water, and finally lowered Laila gently into the bath. Her motions came as second nature, and Brig’s gaze widened as he watched.

      “Amazing.” Laila was already cooing her delight.

      “She likes feeling as if she were still inside her mother, where it was always warm and safe.” Molly’s baby hadn’t been that lucky. But then, neither had Laila, who’d lost her mother almost at birth. “And again, it’s only practice. Think of half a dozen like Laila, all squalling and ready for a bath at the same time. Good thing I have staff, especially Ann, to help.”

      “Maybe one of you would like to volunteer for nanny duty.”

      He was only half kidding, but Molly shook her head with a teasing smile. “You’re on your own, soldier.” Against her better instincts, she gestured for him to come closer. “Trial by fire,” she murmured. “Just be sure to support Laila’s head and shoulders.”

      “She’s so slippery,” he said, eyes filled with fresh panic the instant he touched her.

      To Molly’s relief, however, the baby was now looking up at Brig, her gaze roving from his hair to his eyes to his mouth as if she liked what she saw. The only daddy she knew. When she kicked her legs and water flew everywhere, Brig’s shirt got soaked but he laughed and didn’t let go. A good sign.

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