Because of the Baby(8)

“Here, let me take her.” Lark had stepped into his space once more.

Keaton liked how his body reacted to her nearness. Since Skye’s accident and Grace’s birth, he’d been at the hospital at least a couple times a week to check on them. He’d had plenty of time to notice Lark and indulge his curiosity about her.

“I’ve got her.”

“But she needs to be changed.” She gave him an assessing look. “Have you ever changed a baby before?”

“No. And before you say anything, let me point out that I intend to learn everything there is about taking care of a baby before you have to go back to work.”

“Everything?” She looked doubtful.

“Everything.”

“Why do I believe you?”

“Because like you, I graduated at the top of my class?”

Her lack of surprise at his declaration told Keaton that she’d known this about him. Logic told him her confidence in him would grow if she understood he brought intelligence as well as determination to the table.

“I suppose just about everything can be found on the internet these days,” she agreed.

“So, are you going to walk me through changing her?” Keaton ignored the voice inside his head warning him how tiny and fragile Grace was. If he let any nervousness show, he’d never convince Lark to let him help.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”





Two

The ranch house where Lark and Skye had grown up was a sprawling single-story structure with a cathedral ceiling over the enormous, open great room. Lark’s father was an avid hunter, and the walls between the windows and ceiling were covered with trophies of white-tailed deer and bobwhite quail.

Above the dining table hung a chandelier made of antlers. A second one hung above the living room seating area composed of a brown leather couch and love seat. A fire crackled in the fireplace. Set into a sixteen-by-fourteen foot wall and surrounded by large river rock, it took up a corner of the room. As usual the television was on. Lark could tell her father wasn’t home because it wasn’t tuned to a sports program. Instead her mother had on the shopping channel.

Lark’s rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the tile as she went across the room, shrugged out of her wool coat and draped it over one of the dining chairs. Her mother was in the open kitchen. Lark tried to gauge her mother’s mood as she drew near.

“Oh, Lark. Must you wear those scrubs? They do nothing for your figure. And you really should do something about those dark circles under your eyes. They’re not attractive.”

Having just come from a double shift at the hospital because Marsha had called in sick again, Lark couldn’t summon the energy to explain why she looked so tired. “Is that a new lipstick?” she asked. It made her mother happy to talk about herself, and Lark needed her in a good mood.

Vera Taylor smiled, obviously pleased that her daughter had noticed. “Passion’s Promise.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a tube. “It might be a good shade for you. Come closer and let me see.”

Fighting down impatience, Lark let her mother apply the vivid red, knowing it would look ridiculous on her. She rarely wore make-up at all, much less something as eye-catching as ruby lipstick.

“And a little concealer.” Her daughter’s docility had prompted Vera to pull a bag of make-up out of her purse. It was a rare mother-daughter bonding moment. Skye had been the pretty one, the one Vera could relate to. “Some color in your cheeks.”

Vera stepped back and regarded her daughter with something akin to satisfaction. Lark’s chest constricted. No matter how much she loved her mother, Lark had never been completely sure her mother felt the same way about her. Vera’s childhood in San Antonio had been composed of a string of beauty pageants starting when she was one. She’d grown up praised for her beauty and style. Lark was sure it had broken her heart to give birth to a child of average prettiness and no interest in fashion.

Her mother must have thanked heaven when Skye came along. Beautiful and personable, with an abundance of talent. A mini Vera. A doll for her to dress and mold into the perfect pageant princess.

“See, that took me no more than a minute and a half and you look so much better. Imagine what would happen if we did a little mascara and eye shadow. You really should take more care with your appearance. What will people think?”

Considering that her patients in the ICU were unconscious and their family members too distressed to notice anything but their loved ones, Lark doubted that it mattered what she looked like. “I’ll make more of an effort.”