Connor turned to look at the young woman, still stunned that she was actually here.
It had been a little over five years since he had seen her. A little over five years since Amy had left town. At the time, she’d been swept right off her feet and hopelessly in love with Clay Patton. Handsome to a fault, self-assured to the point, many felt, of being cocky, Clay was the town’s “bad boy.” He had a tongue that was dipped in honey and could sweet-talk the feathers off a pair of lovebirds.
When it became clear that Amy was falling for Clay, Connor began to worry about her. Worry about her getting hurt. But Amy seemed to be so genuinely in love and so determined to make things work between Clay and herself, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to stand in her way.
So he didn’t.
He also didn’t tell her how he felt about her.
Instead, he played his part as a steadfast friend, wished her well and told her that if she ever needed him, for any reason at all, all she had to do was pick up a phone and call him. No matter where he was, he’d find her and be there for her.
All this time and she hadn’t called. Instead, she’d come in person.
The Amy Donavan who had left town floating on a cloud and full of dreams was a far cry from the wan, frightened-looking young woman he saw standing in his living room tonight.
Ushering her and her baby over to the sofa, Connor coaxed, “Why don’t you sit down, Amy?”
Very gently, he had her take a seat on the sofa. It was almost like handling someone who was sleepwalking. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Some tea? Something to eat? Maybe some milk for the baby?”
The word baby seemed to snap her out of the temporary daze that had slipped over her the moment she sat down on the sofa.
“My baby,” she said as if she suddenly realized that she was holding the child in her arms. She pressed the tiny bundle to her chest.
Lord, but Amy appeared incredibly weary, he thought. He was afraid that any moment, Amy’s arms might give way and she’d wind up dropping the baby. “If you’d like to put her—”
“Him,” Amy was quick to correct. “My baby’s a ‘him.’”
“Him,” Connor amended without missing a beat. “If you’d like to put him down, I’ve got a cradle in the back bedroom down here. You could put the baby in there and give your arms a rest,” he told her tactfully.
Connor’s eyes washed over her. In his estimation, Amy seemed beyond exhausted. Not only that, but she looked like she’d lost at least ten, maybe even fifteen, pounds since he’d last seen her. Life with Clay Patton had not been good to her.
She gazed up at him, instantly alert because of the suggestion he’d just made.
“A cradle,” she repeated, coming to the only conclusion she could. “You have a baby.”
Why else would anyone have a cradle? She was stupid to have thought that life had been put on hold for everyone else after she’d left Forever, she admonished herself.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” Amy apologized. Holding the baby against her, she was already struggling to her feet. “I just—”
The baby began to whimper.
“No, I don’t have a baby,” Connor assured her as he lightly took hold of her arm and then gently urged her to sit back down on the sofa.
All the fight had been taken out of her long before she’d walked into Connor’s living room. Consequently, when Connor tugged on her arm, she practically collapsed onto the sofa. But she continued tightly holding on to her child.
“I have a cradle,” Connor told her again, then set her mind at ease. “But I don’t have a baby.”
The reason for the cradle was a story for another time. Right now, the immediate problem was getting Amy to tell him what she was doing here after such a long absence. And why she looked so beaten down and frightened.
“I’ll bring the cradle out,” he offered. “You can set the baby down in it and have that cup of tea I promised you. It’ll do you good. And once you’ve finished your tea, you can tell me what this is all about.”
“Connor, you don’t have to...” Amy began, not wanting to make him feel obligated to go out of his way for her.
Rather than stay and argue with her, Connor disappeared into the side bedroom and fetched the cradle he’d mentioned to her. Carrying it out, he placed it on the floor right next to where Amy was sitting.
And then he stood in front of her, his eyes indicating her son.
“May I?” he asked.
Not waiting for an answer, he very gently took the whimpering baby from Amy’s arms. Rather than place him into the crib, Connor held the boy for a moment, gently rocking him and whispering something in the baby’s ear that Amy appeared not to make out even though she had moved to the edge of her seat.
As if by magic, the baby stopped whimpering and fussing. The next second, he was cooing and making happy noises. The boy settled down as Connor placed him into the cradle.
“It’s got runners,” he pointed out to Amy. “So you can rock your son while I get you some tea.”
She did as he told her, all the while staring at the baby in the cradle. Much to her relief, he looked contented. She was amazed at how calm he had become.
“What did you say to him?” she asked. “He hasn’t been this calm in weeks.”
“I just seem to have a knack with babies,” Connor called out from the kitchen. Within a couple of minutes, he walked back in carrying a mug of tea for her. “I guess after all the babies that have been through here, it’s a talent I just developed.”
“All the babies coming through here?” Amy repeated, clearly puzzled. She had no idea what he was talking about.
He realized there was no way she could know what had been going on here recently.
“Long story,” Connor told her, handing Amy the mug and sitting down beside her.
“I like long stories,” Amy said, taking the mug with both hands. The warmth that seeped through as she held it felt oddly comforting.
“And I’ll tell it to you,” the six-foot-tall rancher promised gamely. “Right after you tell me yours.”
She took a long sip of the tea, letting the soothing, hot liquid fortify her. It never occurred to her to put him off. Connor had been her best friend once—and she really needed a friend now.
“Oh, Connor, I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning is always the best place,” he said kindly. When she looked at him with those same terrified eyes he’d looked into when he’d opened his door to her, he knew she needed his help. And patience. “I’ll start you off,” he said. “What’s this little guy’s name?”
At the reference to her son, Amy seemed to light up a little.
Studying her, Connor could see a little of the old Amy struggling to surface.
“Jamie,” she said, uttering the name almost reverently, as if the baby was the only thing still tethering her to life.
“How old is Jamie?” Connor asked, looking down into the cradle. After returning with tea for Amy, he’d begun gently rocking the boy again. Jamie looked as if he was about to drift off to sleep.
“He just turned six months,” Amy answered fondly.
For the first time, Connor detected a note of pride in her voice. It was easy to see that whatever else was wrong in her life, the baby was clearly the center of her universe.
“Is he