Page 11 of White Collar Rancher

“And normal stuff is that bad?”

“It gets to me. Young and inexperienced, I guess.” She gave Isaiah his bottle and wandered out of the kitchen. “I’ll get through it.”

He couldn’t pinpoint how he knew she was lying, but there was more to the story. Yet she was done talking about it, and that bruised his ego. They were friends. They’d been through a lot together the last few months. The last year. While they may not have spoken directly, their eye communication had been next level.

Maisy would turn to him and say, “Did you hear that, Justin? You can stay over in the hospital room with me as long as I’m in.”

Priya would look over Maisy’s shoulder at him, her eyes saying, “It’s a good idea not to leave her alone with the baby, but don’t for one second think she won’t use this to control you.”

Then when Maisy turned back to her, he’d give Priya a look that said, “I know she’s going to take advantage of it, but what can I do?”

Then there were the times Priya had been at Maisy’s place right after the pregnancy announcement. He’d shoot her a “Has she always been like this?” expression, and she’d return it with a shake of her head, her dark eyes saying, “She’s getting worse.”

Something was bothering Priya. Did he press her? His gut told him no. If it was about her job, she had parents in the field who were much better equipped to understand her situation.

Instead, he fixed her a plate, added extra ketchup, and carried it out to her. Her wooden stare was directed at the far wall as Isaiah gurgled with his bottle. Whatever had happened today wasn’t an ordinary work situation.

He set the plate on the end table next to the recliner. “Finger good. Good for eating one-handed.”

She glanced up, the glassiness back in her eyes. “Oh, thank you.”

He waited for a heartbeat, but she didn’t say more. A frustrating quality now that he was on the other end. He’d never been one to talk about his personal life. But then, he hadn’t had much to be truly proud of. His former life had all been a puppet show—and he’d been the puppet. “You mind if I grab a shower after I do laundry?”

Her attention was back on the wall. “Not at all.”

“Okay.” He gave her one last look that said, “I know there’s something wrong and I’m right here. Talk to me.” But she didn’t look his way.

“You want to show me how to use that thing later tonight?” He pointed to the baby carrier.

That got a reaction out of her. Her surprise was laced with pleasure. She was happy he was taking her suggestion. “Yeah, sure.”

He nodded once and left, planning on a quick shower. There’d be no time to shave—again. The short beard was growing on him, and it was past the scratchy stage,. but he’d at least put on fresh pajama pants. No jeans. He wasn’t a glutton for punishment. It was evening, and the colicky hours were approaching.

Tonight, he was learning how to wear his baby, but it wasn’t for him. He’d be the star pupil, ask questions, model, whatever it took to get that defeated look out of Priya’s eyes.

The hotness scale was burning up.

Justin’s hands were on his hips and his shoulders were impossibly wide. Isaiah was swaddled against his chest, the fuzzy top of his head sticking out. The muscles of Justin’s forearms were corded, like it was taxing his restraint to keep from wrapping his arms around his baby.

“You want to grab him so bad, don’t you?” She laughed, and God, it felt good. Her mouth almost snapped shut, but the temporary release valve for work pressure was too intoxicating. She needed this moment to survive tomorrow and the rest of her days filled with half-empty schedules and canceling patients.

“I really do. I feel like he’s going to fall out the bottom.”

She tucked her finger around the base of the wrap, failing to ignore how hard Justin’s abs were. “Nice and secure. Here. Feel.” She grabbed his hand and placed it where hers was, only she didn’t remove her own.

His gaze was distant as he probed the area. It was best he wasn’t looking at her as heat wicked up her face.

She moved his hand. “And here.” Forcing herself to break contact, she instantly mourned the loss. His hands were surprisingly soft for a guy who worked outside for a living. “You can also keep one hand on him for peace of mind. But it’s a good idea to check his position and that his head is still supported. Krista swears up and down that this method is good for newborns, but she wanted me to tell you that there’s still a lot of disagreement in the baby-wearing community.”

“In other words, do my own research and don’t sue her.”

Priya giggled again. “You already did the research, didn’t you?”

“He fell asleep on me this afternoon but woke up every time I set him in the crib.”

“Gotcha. So now when he naps, you can…” She glanced around at the house, and before he could notice her inspection, said, “You can rest.”

The mantel and end table needed a good dusting. The kitchen garbage was tied and sitting by the front door. He claimed he couldn’t get it into the trash bin, and if he set it on the porch, critters would be attracted to it. Or his dog would get into it. Then there was the clutter. Magazines spilled from the lower shelf of the end table onto the floor. Baby blankets and burp rags were draped over the back of the couch and loveseat. Diapers were piled by each piece of furniture like he changed Isaiah wherever he discovered the boy was wet.

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