Yuletide Baby

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All he had to offer was the dog and the cat and the yard and the fence—and pigs and goats and horses and ranch land.

Not good enough. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

He shifted his attention back to Heather, who watched over her brood from an old-fashioned wooden rocking chair laden with colorful floral cushions. She hummed a Christmas carol as she rocked. She had a lovely, rich alto voice that enthralled Shawn as much as it did Noelle, purring through his muscles until he felt thoroughly relaxed and yet completely alert at the same time. It was an odd paradox, but true nonetheless.

To his utter astonishment, he discovered that Noelle, who was contentedly curled in the crook of Heather’s arm, wasn’t asleep as he’d first assumed she must be. Instead, she was staring up at Heather, her chubby fist in her mouth and her eyes just beginning to focus on the woman holding her.

What she wasn’t doing was crying. Not wailing, not squalling, not bawling, not even a whimper.

Go figure.

Shawn was amazed by how quickly Heather had made everything right in the tiny baby’s world. He didn’t know if it was because she was experienced in caring for infants or the fact that she was naturally suited to be a mother. Maybe it was a combination of both, but Noelle responded to Heather in a way that made Shawn feel especially incompetent, a fact which, while impressive, grated against his distinctly male pride. He wanted to do it right, get things done the first time and in an expedient manner—not stumble over his every move.

He watched in awe as the baby took a bottle from Heather without a fuss. Adding insult to injury, Noelle fell asleep while Heather was in the midst of patting her back.

Heather definitely must know some tricks of the trade that he didn’t. Or maybe the tiny tyke was plain old worn-out from her self-appointed task of keeping Shawn awake all night. She had to sleep sometime, right?

Just not on his watch.

Shawn shifted his weight and smothered a yawn behind his fist. The catnap he’d taken was a drop in the bucket after the past twenty-four hours. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d had to stay awake, although there was that. It had been quite a few years since he’d pulled an all-nighter. But there was a great deal more to the fatigue weighing him down—like the stress of being singularly responsible for a tiny human life, completely helpless and dependent upon him.

“You still look thoroughly exhausted,” Heather commented. She tilted her chin and blinked up at him with her big hazel eyes that softly glimmered from the lights of the tree. “I think maybe you need to sleep a little bit longer. There’s no rush, you know. I don’t mind watching the baby this afternoon.”

Caught up in her gaze, Shawn’s stomach did a little flip and he barely stanched the urge to clear the catch out of his throat.

“Jo woke me when she phoned to check on Noelle. I attempted to go back to sleep but my mind started spinning with all that’s been going on and that was the end of my nap. As tired as I am, I don’t think I could sleep any more.”

“That’s a shame. Maybe you should have put your phone on mute.” She smiled, though it looked a bit forced. “Well, in any case, you don’t have to stand in the corner. You look like a hat stand—or else like someone put you in time-out.”

Shawn chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And probably not the last. Seriously—please come sit down on the couch and take a load off. You make me nervous when you hover that way.” Despite her kidding tone, he almost got the sense that she truly was nervous. But that couldn’t be right, could it? What reason would she have to be nervous around him?

“I don’t even mind if you put your feet up on the coffee table—well, the storage bench that serves as the coffee table—either,” she continued. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s what it’s there for.”

“Not for decoration? It’s a nice-looking piece of furniture.” The bench looked as if it fit with the rest of her decor—not that he was any kind of expert on matters of decorating. The padded corners were a little worn, but it exhibited the same lived-in look as her other furnishings. He liked lived-in.

She chuckled. “No fancy furniture in this household. Decorative would last about a day. With three kids running around, functional is the name of the game here.”

He groaned in delight as the plush cushions on the chocolate-colored couch enveloped him like gentle arms. True comfort. Everything about Heather’s house suggested it was the genuine article. Her entire home expressed her heart—and it was all about the children.

Her home was far more comfortable and welcoming than the more perfectly kept, sanitized houses of some of his congregants, where he found himself tiptoeing around, afraid to stand near the furniture, much less sit on it. He felt ill at ease in too-clean houses. As a pastor, visiting his flock was one of his favorite tasks, but as a cowboy who lived and worked on a ranch with horses and goats and pigs, he wasn’t always dust-and dirt-free. Heather certainly didn’t need to apologize for her furniture. He wished everyone kept a house like hers.

She was literally encouraging him to put his feet up.

Sweet!

All he needed now was a cold soft drink and a football game on television—although of course he’d never suggest such a thing. He’d already probably put enough dents into her holiday without bringing sports into it.

“I can’t believe how worn-out I feel,” Shawn said, running a hand across the stubble on his jaw and belatedly realizing he hadn’t shaved that morning. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t combed his hair before he left, either—and then he’d gone and taken a nap, which could only have served to worsen his already disheveled appearance. He must look like the abominable snowman’s twin brother, and yet Heather hadn’t blinked an eye, not when he’d appeared at the door, and not when he’d shuffled out after his nap. “I don’t know how new parents do it, but I’m certainly too old to try to pull all-nighters anymore.”