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Sophie’s bottle emptied with a sucking sound. Jenna lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted the tiny back.
Gavin remained at her side, one small hand resting on the arm of the chair.
“She burped,” he announced. “Can she say ’Scuse me?”
What an adorable little boy. “Not yet, but when the time comes, I hope you’ll help her learn your nice manners.”
Gavin’s chest puffed with importance. “I will. I promise. I know how to say ‘scuse me.” He turned his head and emitted a pretend belch and then whipped around with a proud grin. “‘Scuse me please, ma’am.”
Jenna laughed. “You are excused. Thank you very much.”
“Gavin!” Dax’s voice rang from the living room. “Time for bed.”
One hand supporting Sophie’s back, Jenna rose. “Your dad’s calling. Let’s read that story and get you tucked in.”
“Okay!” Gavin took off like a Thoroughbred in the Kentucky Derby.
Jenna followed behind more slowly. Her body yearned for a hot bath and a long slumber.
As she passed through the living room, she paused. Her employer was kicked back in a burgundy recliner that had been drawn too close to the television. He had to know she was in the room, but he chose to ignore her.
Dax Coleman was a puzzling man. One minute he was brusque and crabby. The next he was kindness itself.
The encounter in the kitchen after dinner had shaken her in the oddest manner. Dax had been angry and demanding at first, and then some other emotion had flashed from him that had set her heart to thundering and her belly aquiver. The sparks had almost ignited her hair.
After Gavin’s timely interruption, Dax had abruptly withdrawn. Yet their conversation had given her hope that she and her employer would get along. He’d even helped clear the table and put dishes in the washer, gruffly chastising her for overdoing.
Yes, puzzling was the word. For all his bluster, perhaps he was, as Crystal had indicated, one of the good guys. He just had a hard time letting anyone know.
She cleared her throat.
A commercial danced across the television screen. The furniture in this room was lovely if badly arranged. To see Dax’s face, she had to walk around the chair and stand between him and the television.
“Gavin wants a story. Would you care to join us?” He was the boy’s father. Most likely, they shared a bedtime ritual.
Dax squinted in her direction. At some point, he’d run a hand through his longish hair and it stuck up in front. His five o’clock shadow had deepened to a real need for a shave. The quivery feeling returned to her belly and this time she recognized it for what it was. Attraction. Crystal Wolf was right about this, too. Dax Coleman looked delicious. Rumpled, relaxed, and delicious.
Oh dear. The last time she’d been attracted to a man had resulted in disaster.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. Dax followed the motion; a muscle in his jaw twitched before he abruptly turned back to the television.
“Tell Gavin I’ll be in later to say good-night.”
So that was that.
By the time she reached Gavin’s room he had crawled beneath a blue dinosaur comforter and sat with his back bolstered by two fat pillows.
“Sit here.” He patted the spot next to him. “I can hold Sophie if you want me to.”
Jenna smiled. “You are very thoughtful, but I think I can manage.” With Sophie in the crook of her elbow, she picked up a book with the opposite hand. Already she was learning that mothers need three arms. “Is this the story you want?”
“Yep.” He propped his hands behind his head. “That’s the one.”
Jenna rested the baby along her thighs before stroking a hand over the book’s colorful cover. “Peter Rabbit. I remember this from when I was a little girl.”
“Did your mommy read it to you?”
Jenna’s chest clutched. “No.”
“Mine, neither. I don’t have a mom.” He said the words in a manner-of-fact tone, but Jenna sorrowed for what he’d missed. At least she’d had a mother on the premises, though Elaine Carrington was not one to dirty her hands with the day-to-day details such as story-reading. A Carrington daughter was a collector’s doll to be taken out of the box in pristine condition, displayed briefly at meals or recitals, and returned to the care of servants, not to be seen or heard until the next time. Without the kindness of nannies she’d likely never have heard a bedtime story.
She was determined this would not happen to Sophie.
With a lump in her throat she began to read. By page three Gavin had scooted until his body pressed against her side, bringing with him the pleasant smell of soap and toothpaste. She circled his shoulders with one arm, displaying the book so he could see the pictures. He sighed his approval, leaned closer and grasped the book’s edge with one hand.
