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After laying him down, he toweled down his soft, sweet baby skin. The baby glanced at him like who are you?
“I’m your father,” he told him. “I haven’t been around, but that’s going to change. We’re going to be seeing a lot of one another.”
The baby blew a raspberry as his mother stopped in the doorway.
“I’m going to heat up his bottle,” Cristina said. “Are you doing all right? His pajamas are in the cabinet beneath the changing table.”
Even if they weren’t doing all right, he would never admit it to Cristina. She’d been doing all these things alone since Wyatt was born. Blake was determined to learn and do just as good a job.
“We’re fine,” he said drying the baby’s legs. He laid him on the floor and went in search of the child’s pajamas.
In amazement, he watched the baby roll over and then try to scoot on the floor. Was he supposed to be doing that?
Quickly, he found what he hoped were pajamas and knelt on the floor to pull them on him. First, he put a diaper on him and then pulled the material over his legs.
The baby’s mouth began to tremble and his bottom lip pushed out. He gave a whimper.
“Hey, I’m doing the best I can,” he told him. “I’m sorry I’m new to this. We’re going to have to be patient with one another while I learn.”
Raising him, he pulled his arms into the garment and then snapped the snaps. The baby began to scream.
“What? Did I pinch you,” he asked feeling like such a fool. “Be nice to your father.”
Cristina stepped into the room with the bottle in her hand. “He’s hungry. He’s telling me it’s past time to eat.” She held the bottle up. “Is this what you want.”
Wyatt’s legs and arms flailed, and she reached down to pick him up just as Blake grabbed him. They were inches apart and he gasped as the smell of Cristina overwhelmed him.
She was the mother of his child. Heat filled him as he stared at her. She was even better looking than fifteen months ago.
“Follow me,” she said, her emerald eyes widening.
In the living room, she sank down into a rocker and he handed the child to her. She put the bottle to his lips and he eagerly began to suck the formula.
As she rocked him, she cooed to him and his hand reached out to touch her face. Warmth and love filled Blake as he watched the two of them, mother and child. His child. His son.
Why had she not called him and told him she was pregnant?
Sinking back on the couch, he wondered what his brothers would say when they learned the truth. What were the repercussions of having a child? He intended to take care of everything.
As Cristina rocked the baby, his sucking became less and less and his eyes grew heavy. “That’s it, Wyatt. Time to sleep.”
And then his eyes closed and she continued rocking him.
“How—”
She held up a hand.
“Not until I put him down,” she whispered.
As she rocked him, the baby fell into a deep sleep and she pulled the bottle from between his lips. A sigh escaped from him and slowly she rose and carried him into the bedroom.
A few minutes later, she returned, picked up the bottle, and took it into the kitchen.
Then she came back, her face tense.
“Yes, he’s your son,” she said.
“Oh, I knew that the moment I saw him,” Blake said. “He has the Landry blue eyes, my father’s strong cheekbones, and my mother’s dark hair.”
