Pixie lifted him out of the playpen for a hug. “Red car.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “Let’s get your diaper changed and then take a walk.”
He jumped, smacking the top of his head into her chin. For her, it smarted. He barely noticed. “Wok, wok, wok!”
“You do love to be outside, don’t you?” Pixie led him to the bedroom. This house, where Marlow had lived before marrying Cort, was bigger than the lake house, but still had only one bedroom. She could easily make the dining room into a bedroom, and Cort had suggested it, but she wasn’t ready to have Andy on the other side of the house, where she couldn’t hear his every move.
Honestly, he might need to be in his teens before she was ready for that. Glad that she didn’t have to worry about it yet, she got what she needed from the closet, then lifted Andy to the changing table. After noticing that he’d gotten a little milk on his shirt, she decided to change his clothes, too.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—primp over her own looks. Really, there was no point. But as a mother, she wanted her son to look his best.
While she hummed to Andy, her mind wandered to Brogan.
She guessed him to be thirty or so. With his bearing, the way he carried himself, she should have known right away he was military. Cort had the same presence about him, a calm confidence that drew people to him.
It was a remarkable sight to see a man so large and solid, with such a rock-hard physique, oh-so-gently cradling a tiny baby girl in his arms.
When she’d mentioned diaper rash, his gray eyes held a flash of strong emotion. On a lesser man, it might have looked like pain, but Brogan wasn’t that easy to read. Pixie badly wanted to understand what he was thinking and feeling. Was itsomething about himself, the baby, or an experience they might have shared?
It would have been better if Cort had been here to get Brogan settled. Not that she wasn’t happy to do it for him. She owed Cort and Marlow her life. Without them, she didn’t know what she would have done.
It had taken her a year, but she could finally recall their first meeting without feeling smothering shame. She’d been at an all-time low, rock bottom with a baby to care for and nowhere to go, no way to survive.
They’d not only offered assistance, but they’d also accepted her, befriended her, and introduced her to a better way of life.
Because of them, she was able to be the type of mother Andy deserved. She could respect herself, and she was largely independent.
That meant she owed them everything.
For a year, she’d put her entire focus on being a mom, paying back her debts, and proving she could be more—more than the girl who had been duped, the girl who’d screwed up and ruined her life. Not once had she given any man a thought, at least not with any romantic interest.
Marlow had truly become a sister of her heart, and that made Cort a big brother. Family. Until they’d taken her in, that essential element had been absent from her life.
“Wok,” Andy demanded, squirming to get up.
“Shoes,” she told him, lifting him down to sit on the bed and quickly getting socks and sneakers on his pudgy feet. She managed, even though he draped himself over her, giggling and playing with her hair.
She playfully wrestled him down on the bed and blew raspberries on his tummy. Soon they were both laughing.
He wiggled away from her and took off, shouting, “Wok!”
Hoping he wouldn’t bonk his head or run into anything, Pixie ran to catch up. Once she had him, she grabbed her keysand the diaper bag. With the stroller packed, they were on their way to the lake house only a few minutes later.
At fourteen months old now, Andy loved being outside and often kicked his legs the entire time he was in the stroller. He also enjoyed hearing her sing, so she did, softly when she was in public so no one else would hear.
In her opinion, he was an incredibly beautiful little boy. His blond hair often stuck up in adorable spikes around his head, like morning bedhead that could never be tamed. His light blue eyes were sweetly curious, and he was forever grinning about everything. Since learning to walk, he was always in a hurry, but he also enjoyed riding in the stroller.
And he dearly loved practicing new words, more so every day. She considered Andy extremely verbal for his age, but others reinforced that, too.
“Squir,” he said, pointing to a squirrel that scampered across the yard and into a tree. “Bird. Bird.”
“A lot of squirrels and birds,” she agreed; then she peeked around the stroller canopy to make certain he was protected from the bright afternoon sunshine. Only his little sneakers-covered feet showed, but living near a lake meant diligence with sunscreen.
Because they were near the lake house, she stopped singing, worried that her new neighbor might hear her. The house looked quiet, but the big black SUV was still in the driveway, and she trusted Brogan would be there for their meeting.
“Sing, sing, sing,” Andy demanded in his happy, high-pitched voice.
To distract him, she asked, “Do you want to meet a new friend?”
“Fend.”
