Cradle and All by M. J. Rodgers Read Free Book Online Page B

children, much less show such strength doing it.
    She had some previous assumptions that needed reevaluating. Maybe she’d grown into too much of a judge, become too quick to find fault. Everyone made mistakes. So what if Tom had a child out of wedlock and didn’t want to marry its mother?
    Okay, it was hardly exemplary behavior for a priest, but at least he was trying to care for his child. His sweet little child.
    Anne looked down at Tommy, fast asleep in her arms. The moment she had arrived at the church that morning and taken him out of Phyllis Cooper’s hands, Tommy had stopped crying, settled his tiny head against her and slipped into a sound sleep.
    She had come to expect this from Tommy. What she hadn’t expected was the sudden rush of pleasure when she felt the steady beat of his heart once again next to hers. She had missed him.
    “Thanks for coming, Anne,” Tom said.
    Anne hadn’t heard him enter the room, so intent had she been on the baby. She lifted her head with a start.
    He was standing in front of her chair, looking long and lean in a black suit, clerical shirt and white collar. The contrast of his dazzling smile against the bronze of his skin was dramatic and nothing less than dynamite.
    “I heard you had a rough night,” Anne said, and was dismayed that her voice didn’t sound nearly as tough as she’d intended.
    “I’ve had better,” Tom admitted as he slipped onto the chair beside her. He leaned across her to stroke Tommy’s cheek with the pad of his index finger. She could smell the soap he’d used to wash with, a blend of clean pine woods, laced with a touch of enticing incense.
    “I don’t know how Tommy or I would have managed this morning without you,” he said in that deep-throated voice of his.
    No doubt about it, Tom was just as tempting as sin. But it was the open sincerity in his clear blue eyes that was the real threat to Anne’s composure. She leaned back in her chair, away from his warmth, and reminded herself once again that she was a sober, sane judge and could handle this situation with the proper emotional distance.
    “About your baby, Father Christen—”
    “Please, Anne. Call me Tom.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I can’t wait to find out whether you use that very proper judicial tone when you say my first name or that incredible throaty sigh that slips out once in a while.”
    Tom watched the light of understanding turn Anne’s eyes into dazzling pools of pure crystal.
    She dropped her gaze to the baby. “This isn’t a good idea.”
    But it was too late. Her beautiful, expressive eyes had betrayed her. Somehow she’d gotten past her disappointment in him. And for Tom, the weariness of two nights without any sleep simply faded away.
    He rose and held out his hand. “I’ve packed enough formula and diapers for the day. And there’s a basketful of food. We’ll take it with us.”
    She looked at his offered hand but made no move to clasp it. “Where?”
    “There are some people I’d like you to meet,” he said.
    Tom knew her choice at this moment was an important one for them both. He stood before her with his hand held out for what was probably only seconds, but felt like a lifetime.
    Then, slowly, she slipped her right hand from around the baby and placed it palm down on his.
    Her skin was warm and soft, the tone of her voice wonderfully tart. “I’m not doing any more shopping and I’m not doing any more dishes. And when this little cherub of yours needs feeding or changing, Tom Christen, he’s all yours. Is that clear?”
    “As a church bell,” Tom said as he curled his fingers around her slim wrist and pulled her gently to her feet.
    For a second she stood tantalizingly close, the warmth of her seeping into his senses. She smelled like rain-washed flowers, and the desire to hold her was a growing ache inside him.
    Tom reminded himself that he was stronger than his urges. He stepped back, released her hand and led the way to the car.
    * *