“Around five-thirty.”
“I’ll be there earlier than that.”
“Wait. You’ll need a key.” She removed the front door key from the massive key ring and set it on the counter. Skylar watched as Kade kissed Eliza’s wrinkled forehead and murmured, “Later, sweet baby,” before he awkwardly snuggled her back in Skylar’s arms.
Then he did the strangest thing: he kissed Skylar’s forehead and whispered, “Later, sweet baby,” to her, snatched the key and took off like a shot.
She sighed and settled in the rocking chair. “He’s in for it now, girlie girl. We’ll see how long he lasts in this parenting gig.”
But part of her knew Kade McKay wasn’t a short-term kind of guy. He was the type to stick around for the long haul.
That scared her far worse than him not being around at all.
Chapter Four
Twenty miles from Moorcroft, Kade turned off the main highway onto a gravel road. He motored past the gigantic steel building, noticing an open gate to the parking lot. Being a lifelong rancher, leaving gates open drove him crazy.He passed through another wide-open gate, which separated the Sky Blue factory from Skylar’s private residence. The old ranch house was blocked from view by a row of scraggly trees.
Unlike most Wyoming residents, her front door was locked. Kade set his bags next to the staircase in the cool, dark foyer. He looked at the pictures lining the hallway, a mish-mash of snapshots, artwork, formal studio poses and old-time sepia toned groups of photos from a century past.
The items on the opposite wall were hand-stitched family samplers. Mini-quilts, needlepoint, delicate doilies; all fussy female handiwork encased in glass and gilded frames. He wouldn’t have pegged Skylar’s decorating taste as old-fashioned, Western and homey.
He didn’t snoop beyond checking out the rooms on the main floor. Baby stuff had overtaken the antique dining room table. Didn’t look like Skylar did much entertaining, which filled him with an odd sense of relief.
The formal feeling of the front room—matching floral couches, heavy velvet drapes, tasseled pillows, elaborately carved antique end tables—was completely overpowered by more baby paraphernalia. A swing. A stroller. A half-barrel shaped thing camouflaged with a lace canopy. Piles of pastel-colored clothes were stacked on the coffee table next to every baby book imaginable.
Kade cringed when he finally caught sight of the tiny TV shoved in the corner by the dust-covered piano. After a year of no television, a big screen would be his first contribution to the household.
On impulse he picked up a pink, fuzzy one-piece outfit with snaps from the top down to the feet holes. The scent of soap and baby powder wafted up and his stomach clenched. It smelled like Eliza, clean, soft and powdery-sweet. As much as he’d loved just holding her, he couldn’t wait to do all the corny things like count her fingers and toes, blow raspberries on her stomach and rock her to sleep.
His cell phone trilled in his shirt pocket. No big mystery who was pestering him. “Hiya, Grama. Look, I know you wanna see Eliza, but you hafta give Skylar and me time to work some things out first.” He held the phone away to keep it from blistering his ear.
“No, I don’t know how long. I’ll be drivin’ to and from the ranch everyday startin’ on Monday. Absolutely not. Kane and Dad can handle it for a couple days without me. Because I’ve been gone a year and they’ve done fine. Three more days ain’t gonna make a difference. I’ll keep in touch.” He clicked the phone off. She’d be too busy bragging about her granddaughter to everyone in Crook County to call him back, for at least a day, and sad to say, few others had his new number.
He glanced at the grandfather clock. Skylar and Eliza would be home in roughly two hours. Picking up a stray blanket, he returned to the kitchen.
Kade unfolded the blanket on the table and placed the twenty-pound bag of russet potatoes in the center. He stared at it for a good long time before he sighed and wrapped the fleece around it. “Goddamn I hope nobody sees me doin’ this.”
The potato baby didn’t answer.
Gently, Kade picked up the bundle and tucked it in the crook of his arm. He paced the first floor from room to room, keeping hold of the spud baby, bouncing it, rocking it. Performing all the motions he’d seen women doing with their infants—short of crooning a lullaby. He felt like a darn fool, slinking around, hugging a plastic bag that smelled like dirt, but he was determined Skylar wouldn’t know just how much of a greenhorn he was when it came to holding babies.
A loud crash out by the barn startled him. He tripped on the rug in the foyer and right before he hit the ground, his “baby” squirted out of his arms like a slippery bar of soap. The bag busted open and potatoes flew everywhere.