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He ran his big hand over Joy’s back, making her look small and fragile in comparison, and it occurred to Madison that the man touched frequently, with the assurance of someone who expected no objections. The tendency probably went hand-in-hand with his job. Nothing personal. No need to read too much into it. Her tingles settled. A little.
“Are you sure? I tried, and there’s no way I can get my legs like that without breaking something.”
He straightened and sat back on his heels. “Nothing’s broken. A broken bone hurts, and babies let you know right away if they’re in pain. I’m sure her pediatrician checked for dysplasia, but double-checking won’t do any harm.”
“It would put my mind at ease.” She started to move out of his way, but he simply crawled over her. Breath backed up in her lungs at the sight of his thighs straddling her hips, and it didn’t release until he moved to the foot of Joy’s blanket. Mercy.
Thankfully, he appeared oblivious to the puddle of hormones he’d left in his wake. He picked Joy up and repositioned her onto her back. She made a startled sound and threw her arms out wide, fingers splayed, in a non-verbal, yet totally articulate question. What. Just. Happened?
Hunter leaned in and kissed her forehead, and Joy took the opportunity to run her hands through his hair. Smart cookie.
“Hey pretty girl, wanna play?” He tickled the soles of her feet and then gently folded her legs at the knees. He flexed one bent leg outward, then the other, and then both at the same time. Finally, he brought her legs up and touched each big toe to her little nose. “Future Olympic gymnast.”
Madison sat up and ran her index finger across Joy’s open hand. Dainty fingers closed
like a slow Venus flytrap. Would the sight of that tiny hand clasping hers ever get old? “I’ll settle for healthy and happy.”
“To that end…” He got to his feet with an athletic grace she envied, lifted one of the shopping bags off the couch, and placed it beside her. It contained an extra large package of diapers, wipes, baby wash… A second bag dropped in her lap and landed like a big, dense pillow.
She pushed the plastic down and found herself face to face with a pink bear stuffed into a soft-sided, portable baby bed. Her stupid heart clutched. “Hunter, what have you done?”
“Got Joy a birthday present.”
Madison pulled the whole thing out of the bag and then tugged the bear out of the bed. “This is too much. For real. The bear is twice her size.”
“She’ll grow. Look.” He took the bear from her, put it on the blanket, and scooted Joy up until she reclined against the soft tummy. “She likes it.”
Sure enough, the baby snuggled in. Her eyelids drooped. Her fingers opened and closed around one fluffy foot.
Joy had the bear to cling to, but Madison was sinking fast. “She loves it. And the bed is perfect.” Her eyes found his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He placed another shopping bag into her lap. “Her mama should be happy and healthy, too.”
A peek inside told her he’d gotten everything on her list and then some, including some snack-sized bags of trail mix, a name brand shampoo and conditioner, a large traffic-cone orange insulated water bottle, as well as a new mom gift basket chocked full of bath salts, body wash, lotion, and a scrubber. Her dormant girlie side nearly swooned with gratitude, but her stomach sank at the extravagance. “Forty dollars couldn’t possibly cover all this.” She gestured to the bags.
“They were having a Mother’s Day sale.”
Uh-uh. Don’t let him foot the bill. “It’s February. What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Hunter, I’m not your charity case.” She’d already started a list of what she owed him, based on the receipt she’d found in the Target bag, but now numbers rushed through her mind as she arrived at a new total.
“Stop.” He sat on the floor with his back propped against the couch and gave her a hard stare—no trace of the cocky grin. “I don’t want your money, and accepting a few necessities hardly makes you a charity case.”
“These aren’t necessities.” She held up a bottle of lavender bubble bath. “They’re frivolities, and I don’t have time for them.”
“Joy’s health and happiness rely in large part on yours, so you need to take care of yourself. That’s rule number one. Taking care of yourself means eating smart”—he held up a bag of trail mix—“staying hydrated”—he picked up the water bottle—“and learning how to relax and unwind”—he pointed to the bubble bath she still held. “I don’t care if it feels frivolous. It’s not. These things are important, and doing them benefits both of you.”
He had a way of pulling her arguments right out from under her, and making her feel foolish in the process. How could she pit her pride against what was best for the baby? She picked Joy up and hugged the infant’s warm little body against her chest. “It was kind of you—”
“I don’t feel kind. I feel like I just kicked a kitten.”
For some perverse reason, the frustration in his voice had her fighting back a smile. “When I was very young, my grandma used to say my pride would be the death of me, but around the time I became a teenager, she changed her tune and predicted my pride would aggravate everyone else to death.”
“You’re grandma might have been onto something.” The words held no malice, and his lips twitched as he stared her down. “You know, Joy and I could have a few beers and watch porn if you wanted to take a bath or”—he pointed to the bag on her lap—“whatever. Afterwards, there’s pizza.”
A bath and whatever sounded like heaven. “The doctor said no screen time for the first twenty-four months.”
