was
doing, forcing this quality time thing. Bonding is what she'd called it.
Hell, that was
fine. Jonathan was his son after all. But Mitch couldn't help his feelings no
matter how many bottles of formula he fed the baby. To Mitch, Jonathan still
seemed so foreign. Still so strange, it scared him.
When he'd
finished giving Jonathan his nightly bottle, and the baby was deep into a
formula-induced sleep, Mitch set him in the cradle in Sara's room, paying
particular care that Jonathan was propped up on his side as Sara instructed.
Then he went down stairs intending to go to the workshop, but found his way
into the kitchen. He found Sara there, seated at the table with a pile of baby
clothes covering it.
“You're getting
better at it,” Sara said, not looking up at him when he walked in.
He took a moment
to look at her. Really look at her. Her hair was pulled back in some sort of
a wide white headband that made a striking contrast to her almost black hair
and the gold hoop earrings she wore. The silk blouse and flowing slacks
billowed, hiding the slender curves he knew were there. On her feet, she wore
a pair of gold sandals.
For the first
time, he realized he had never seen Sara in a pair of blue jeans. He was going
to have to buy her a pair of cowboy boots just to keep her from killing herself
walking around the ranch in those sandals.
“How can you
tell?” he finally asked.
“You didn't
call me once to come rescue you.” She lifted her face to him then and he saw
the slight tilt in her full lips. His head went into a cataclysmic spin and
his heart hammered. How could one woman affect him so strongly?
“Maybe he's
getting used to me.”
“He's not the
only one.”
Mitch couldn't
help but smile. He liked that about Sara. He never wondered what she was
thinking. She'd let you know in her subtle way. It was a far cry from all the
secrets Lillian had kept from him.
“What are you
doing?” he asked as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of
orange juice.
She kept her
concentration on the clothes, cocking her head to one side as she placed one
outfit on top of another, then discarding one only to do it all again with
another outfit. When she decided on a piece, she started cutting it into a
square.
“Jonathan
doesn't fit in this outfit anymore.”
“Already?”
He'd practically croaked out the word. “They haven't even been washed once.”
She chuckled.
“Twice actually. Babies grow fast at this age. I could change his outfit
every time I change his diaper just to get some wear out of his clothes and
he’d still outgrown them before they wear out.”
“So what are
you doing with them?”
“I thought I'd
start a quilt. I can cut squares out of the clothes that don't fit him
anymore. It won't be long before I have enough fabric to finish it. Years
from now you'll be able to look back on this quilt and picture him as he is
now, so tiny and innocent. It'll help you keep your sanity when he's bent on
destroying the place and getting into trouble like most young cowboys.”
Mitch hooked
his thumbs in the front pocket of his jeans and leaned against the counter.
“Not my boy,” he said, a bit of pride making him grin.
“Yeah, right.”
Miss Hollywood.
“What did you
say?”
Sara was
looking at him directly now, having abandoned the swatches of fabric she'd been
intent on cutting and arranging when he walked into the room. Mitch hadn't
realized he'd said the words aloud until Sara lifted her wide brown eyes at
him, casting him a cautious, quizzical look.
“You're not
like the girls I've know from around here. You dress like a model out of some
glamour magazine.”
“Really? I
hadn't seen any of those magazines lying around the house,” she said dryly.
“All I need is
eyes. And I have two very healthy ones.”
“I'm sure.”
“You're sitting
there all fancy while you're cutting squares for a quilt.