The chairs at the two-seater corner table didn’t look sturdy enough to support a man of his size.
Pixie either didn’t notice his scrutiny or assumed he’d love the place as much as she claimed to. And honestly, it didn’t matter. He needed a safe, clean space for the baby. Nothing more.
She was his priority. Her comfort and security mattered more than anything else.
“There’s a stack washer/dryer in the utility closet.” She looked around as if seeing the tiny house again for the first time. “I know it’s a tight space, but when I lived here, it just meant less to keep up with. Babies, as I’m sure you know, require the lion’s share of your attention.”
Brogan leaned back on the counter, set the empty bottle in the sink, and put Shayna to his shoulder so he could burp her. While he gently rubbed her back in a circular motion, he agreed with her assessment. “Logic doesn’t apply, right? You’d think a tiny person with a smaller appetite, wearing only itty-bitty clothes and sleeping most of the time, would require less care, but somehow it’s the opposite.” His little angel belched, squirmed a moment, and then got comfortable in the crook of his neck.
Christ, he loved her, more than he’d known was possible.
“Around-the-clock care,” Pixie said softly.
“Not that I’m complaining.” Never. Having the baby’s care entrusted to him was the greatest gift he’d ever received in his entire life. “It’s fascinating, though.”
When Pixie grinned, he didn’t just see it, he felt it, clear down to his soul. Not even to himself did he want to sound corny, but she was like sunshine breaking through darkness. The magic of laughter after hearing so many broken cries.
She didn’t know it, but she was an open door when every other exit was blocked.
He hoped she’d be okay with his plans. Everything he’d read about her made it seem possible.
“You might want to get her out of those wet clothes before she falls asleep again. You don’t want to deal with diaper rash.”
Of course, Pixie didn’t know that she’d just stepped on a topic about as explosive as a land mine. He breathed a little harder, remembering things better left forgotten. He had Shayna now and he was determined she’d never suffer another ill.
Getting his mouth to smile wasn’t easy, but he forced it, adding a lighthearted truth. “This girl sleeps like a champ. I’ve changed her, and once even bathed her, while she dozed through it.”
“It’s amazing how trusting babies can be.”
It was especially incredible that this baby, after what she’d been through, could trust him—but she did. His voice emerged as a rasp. “When they’re feeling secure. When they have reason to trust.”
She tipped her head, studying him curiously. “As all babies should.”
Glad that she shared that sentiment, he nodded. “Hundred percent.”
“Do you have a crib for her in your car?”
“A Moses basket, though I’ll probably need to get her a crib soon. She’s started rolling over, and once she starts, she wants to keep going.”
With a quiet laugh, Pixie asked, “Clean baby blankets? Another bottle ready?”
It amused him to see her shift into mom-mode. He could take exception to her question, which suggested he couldn’thandle things, but obviously she loved kids and knew what she was doing. “Got all that,” he said. “Though I’ll prepare a few more bottles tonight.” Worries caught up to him and he admitted in a low voice, “Sometimes she’ll almost sleep through the night, like five hours or so, and it scares me. I almost preferred it when she was up every couple of hours.” It gave him the chance to hold her, to know she was okay. To tell her over and over that he’d never let her down, would never leave her alone, that he’d protect her always.
Reaching out, Pixie brushed the back of one finger over Shayna’s silky hair. “No other kids?”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t here for her until she was nearly two months old.” Remembering felt like having a part of his guts removed—without anesthesia. “I’m military and I was away …”Dying.Or at least that was what he’d wanted at the time.
To be left alone to quietly die. To join his brothers. To escape the gnawing guilt of surviving—when they hadn’t.
Then he’d gotten the news about a half sister he barely knew, the niece he’d never met, and God, how it had invigorated him with purpose. He had a reason to go on. One hell of a reason.
“Cort was military, too,” she shared. “A Marine recon sniper. He’s considered a hometown hero around here.”
“Once a Marine, always a Marine,” Brogan replied. He felt the same way. The military was now in his blood, the better part of him, the survival instinct that kept him going—and thank God it had, since Shayna needed him now. “As a SEAL, I had the honor of working with a few of those guys.”
“You’re a SEAL?” Awe sounded in her voice.
Damn it, why had he said that? Henevertalked about his service. She’d taken him by surprise, just tossing out Cort’s rank like that. She and Cort must be close for him to haveshared it with her. Instead of answering her question, Brogan changed the subject. “What do you need me to sign?”
