Jingle Bell Baby

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

Clint Had Daisy Nestled On His

Broad Shoulder.

His deep, warm voice lulled Jessie as he hummed to the baby. The tune sounded like a combination of “Baa-baa Black Sheep” and “New York, New York.” Jessie couldn’t quite make it out, but that made no difference. He was quite a sight. So handsome and strong, so intoxicatingly masculine, and yet so gentle and tender to the precious package in his arms.

Jessie allowed herself to fantasize for just an instant that all her wishes had come true. She had woken up to the kind of Christmas morning she had dreamed about—both Daisy and Clint belonged to her…

And she belonged to them.

Dear Reader,

Happy holidays from the staff at Silhouette Desire! As you can see by the special cover treatment this month, these books are our holiday gifts to you. And each and every story is so wonderful that I know you’ll want to buy extras to give to your friends! We begin with Jackie Merritt’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Montana Christmas, which is the conclusion of her spectacula. MADE IN MONTANA series. The fun continues with Instant Dad, the final installment in Raye Morgan’s popular series THE BABY SHOWER. Suzannah Davis’s Gabriel’s Bride is a classic—and sensuous—love story you’re sure to love. And Anne Eames’s delightful writing style is highlighted to perfection in Christmas Elopement. For a story that will make you feel all the warmth and goodwill of the holiday season, don’t miss Kate Little’s Jingle Bell Baby.

And Susan Connell begins a new miniseries—THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO…—about three former high school friends who are now all grown up in Rebel’s Spirit. Look for upcoming books in the series in 1997.

Happy holidays and happy reading from

AND THE STAFF OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Jingle Bell Baby

Kate Little

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATE LITTLE

claims to have a lot of experience with romance—”The fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romantic fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couples disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and daughter.

To Spencer, my “real life” romance hero and to our precious “Kate Little.”

One

Jessica yanked another tissue from the box on her desk, dabbed her eyes, then soundly smacked the side of the old portable TV to clear the static. She didn’t know why she kept watching this darn old movie. It must have been the fifth time since Thanksgiving and it still made her weepy. A person would think a person spending Christmas Eve alone would know better.

“Bet I could lip synch the entire script by now,” she muttered. “Bells ring. Angels get their wings. Everyone in Bedford Falls lives happily ever after…”

On the small screen a young, smooth-cheeked Jimmy Stewart swooped his daughter up with one arm and with his other, hugged his adoring wife. All around them, a circle of friends and family smiled and sighed, radiating love and holiday cheer..

Jessica sniffed into a tissue as the theme music rose up and the happy scene faded.

The picture suddenly changed to a commercial, a homespun production featuring a local used-car dealer dressed as Santa, ho-hoing his way around a snowy car lot.

As Jessica snapped off the set, she heard the bells on the entrance to the café jingle, announcing the arrival of a late customer.

A very late customer. And the only one so far tonight. She wiped her eyes with another tissue and quickly smoothed back her hair. A few reddish gold curls escaped from her lopsided, upswept hairdo and she pushed them behind her ears.

Whoever was stopping by so late had better be satisfied with nothing more than coffee. Make that coffee to go. She didn’t have the energy to start messing up the kitchen, not at midnight, when she should have flipped the Closed sign in the window an hour ago. And she would have, too, if that ridiculous movie hadn’t distracted her. And if she’d had somewhere to go tonight, or someone to go to…

“Be right with you—” she called out as she left the small room that doubled as the café’s storeroom and office. She walked briskly through the big kitchen and pushed through the swinging doors into the seating area, grabbing the coffeepot en route in a gesture that had become total reflex.

She glanced around, all set to explain that the menu was extremely limited. But the dining area, gaily decorated with lights and pine garlands, was empty. She looked around twice to make sure. Whoever had come in had left. Maybe over the TV she hadn’t heard them enter, and the bells had signaled their exit?

Then she saw it—a large wicker laundry basket sat smack in the middle of the counter. Right between the cash register and a stainless-steel napkin dispenser. A plaid woolen blanket stuck out of the top. What in the world—was this some kind of joke? Jessica put the coffeepot on the counter and looked around the dining area again, this time peering in the wooden phone booth and then out through the front window at Hope Springs’ desolate Main Street.

The snow that had started hours ago now fell fast and thick. The town’s Main Street, with its old-fashioned storefronts, holiday decorations and cast-iron streetlights, looked like a scene that had been lifted right off a Christmas card.

“Not a creature was stirring,” she whispered to herself, turning back to look at the basket. “Not even a—”

Her breath caught in her throat as a small white hand popped up from the blanket. She blinked and shook her head. Then, just as unbelievably, a small bare foot emerged, as well. Hypnotized, Jessica watched as the tiny hand swatted the air, grabbed for the foot and finally caught it. Then a sound, an unmistakable baby gurgle of satisfaction, followed.

With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, Jessica ran over to the basket and swiftly flipped the blanket aside. A bit of powdery snow that had collected in the folds sprinkled down to the floor.

“Oh my Lord!” Jessie said out loud.

A baby stared up at her, looking serious and wide-eyed, still clutching its foot in one hand. Not quite believing that the infant was real, Jessica reached out and ran one fingertip gently along the baby’s smooth pink cheek. The baby tilted its chin against its chest, looking as if it might burst out crying. Then suddenly the baby smiled and clutched Jessie’s finger in a sticky grip.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jessie cooed. The baby’s smile widened in response.

The baby appeared to be wrapped in about three flannel receiving blankets that were now bunched around its middle. Jessica worked her way through the blankets and found that the baby was dressed in nothing more than a thin and stained pink-and-white nightgown. She reached into the basket and pulled the baby out, holding its small warm body close to her chest. “Where did you come from, little angel? Huh?”

The baby put a fist in its mouth, then rested its head against Jessica’s shoulder. Golden curls rubbed against her cheek and Jessie thought she’d never felt anything so soft and fine. A mixture of baby lotion, formula and some other subtle, elusive perfume mingled in a scent that was distinctly baby. Jessica took a rich, intoxicating lungful and felt her heart clutch. Yes, there was indeed a lump of genuine, delectable babyhood in her arms. Pink and white and sweet as spun sugar. A lamb. A dove. A real live baby. Holding the baby to her chest in a firm but gentle embrace, she rocked from side to side, quieting the baby’s soft whimpers.

“You’re okay, kid. You’re okay with me, little sweet potato,” Jessie whispered.

The blankets had been dragged out of the basket and now Jessica could see that under the cushy bed the basket held some baby clothes, a number of disposable diapers and a plastic bottle.

A scrap of paper taped to the basket caught her eye and she pulled it off. It was a note written on a piece of white writing paper, folded in half and addressed on the outside “To Whoever Finds This Baby.” Jessica sat down on one of the counter stools and propped the baby in the crook of her arm so she could read the note.

The handwriting was plain printing, clear and neat.

Please look after my baby. Her name is Daisy and she is real sweet. I can’t take care of her no more. 1 just can’t do it. Help her find a good home with people who love her and can buy her things, etc. I am sorry.

Jessie dropped the note on the counter and turned to look at the baby again. “Daisy,” she said out loud, smiling at the baby. The name suited her, with her big brown eyes, bright smile and halo of golden hair. “Hello, Daisy sweetheart. Hello, little girl. You must be hungry, I’ll bet. You poor little thing. You poor sweetheart.”

Daisy stared up at Jessica, wide-eyed and attentive. Jessie laughed at her. Then, without a second’s warning, the baby burst out crying.

“Oh, golly—oh, my.” Jessie bounced the little girl in her arms, not quite sure of what to do next. “Oh, now, sweetheart, please don’t cry. What’s the matter, honey? What is it, sweet?” she asked the baby. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?” The baby paused for a second and stared at her, taking in a lungful of air, then exhaled, screaming even louder.

Jessie willed herself to keep calm. Though she adored children and desperately wanted her own, the truth of the matter was that Jessie had little hands-on experience with kids, and no experience at all in caring for a small baby.

“Uh, let’s see now. What could it be? Maybe your diaper is wet. Is that it?” Jessica stuck a finger under the edge of the baby’s diaper and felt around. It felt perfectly dry. No luck there.

The baby’s cries were rising, becoming sharper and louder. “Okay, let’s see,” Jessie said out loud. “You must be hungry then. That must be it.”

The baby’s cries continued. Well, there’s only one way to find out if I’m on the right track. This little muffin sure can’t tell me, Jessie thought.

“Let’s fix you something to eat, Daisy. How about a nice bottle of milk? It might just be tonight’s special,” Jessie said as she whisked the baby back in her basket and, carrying it, headed for the kitchen.

Jessie set Daisy’s basket down on the big butcher-block table in the center of the kitchen. Then she held Daisy while she rummaged through the basket to find the bottle.

The ride from the dining room to the kitchen had temporarily quieted the baby. But now Daisy started to make small fretting sounds again, which Jessica guessed would soon build into a full-fledged wail. She hurried around the kitchen, grabbed a container of milk out of the refrigerator and began to fill the bottle. But how much should Daisy get? She had no idea. She filled the bottle to the top, figuring the little girl might be real hungry. But shouldn’t it be warmed up a little? Yes, that was right. You were supposed to warm it, Jessie decided. She took the bottle, emptied the contents into a pot and put in on the stove to warm.

Daisy was crying at the top of her lungs. Just about rattling the pots that were hanging over the stove, Jessie noticed. She tried to soothe her by rocking her basket, then picked her up and held her close and did a few laps around the butcher-block table, but to no avail.

“Your order is coming right up, ma’am. One bottle, room temperature. Sorry for the delay. Just happens to be the cook’s night off and the kitchen is a bit backed up,” she chattered to the baby in a bright, waitressy voice.

The baby stared at her. Her crying lessened to a soft whimper.

“We make a wonderful bottle of warm milk here, if I might say so myself,” Jessie continued. “Babies come from miles around for our bottles and I think you will truly enjoy it, ma’am.”

Finally the bottle seemed warm enough. Jessie placed Daisy back in her basket, then took bottle and baby back out to the dining room where she could sit down comfortably.

With Daisy settled in the crook of her arm, Jessica offered her the bottle. The baby clamped on and sucked with astounding force.

“This one is on the house, honey. And do let me know if there’s anything else I can bring you—”

Daisy’s face soon glazed over with a look of utter contentment. With her eyes half-closed, she reached up and held onto the bottle. Her little fingers rested trustingly on Jessie’s and Jessie gazed down at the tiny hand, feeling a strange and wonderful thrill. A little milk dribbled down Daisy’s chin and Jessie quickly wiped it away with a paper napkin.

She was just so darn cute, Jessie thought. How in the world had anyone had the heart to leave her?

While Daisy sucked away, Jessie guessed that calling the police and reporting she’d found a baby should be the next order of business. But then they would come and take Daisy away—wouldn’t they?

The bells on the door jingled again and Jessie quickly looked up. Drat, she’d forgotten to lock the door and turn the sign. Well, she’d just have to tell whoever it was that she was closed.

A man entered. A huge, snow-covered man who stood with his head bowed, cursing softly to himself as he shook the white powder from his thick dark hair and stomped his heavy boots. The gesture and the sheer size of him distracted Jessica from the baby for a moment.

“Sorry, but we’re closed,” Jessica shouted in his direction. “You can have a cup of coffee to go, but I have to warn you, it’s been sitting there all night and must taste like mud,” she added, looking up at him again.

He had finally picked up his head and stared at her with brilliant blue eyes, eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky. The expression on his face, however, was anything but cloudless—it could only be described as a dark scowl. His dark brown hair, wet and slicked back from his forehead, accentuated his bold features—a wide brow, high cheekbones and square jaw. He was in need of a shave, she noticed, and looked as if he’d had a hard night that wasn’t going to end anytime soon. But he was definitely one hell of a good-looking man. If you liked them tall, dark and difficult, that was. Which she certainly did not.

“Luckily I’m not here for the coffee,” he curtly informed her.

“Well, the rest room is back and to the right,” Jessie said, her attention still fixed on the baby. “Normally, it’s for paying customers only, but I suppose on a night like this it can’t be helped.”

“And I didn’t stop in to use the damn john,” he said, sounding more than a bit insulted, she thought, at her assumption. “I came in to tell you to close up. There’s a fullblown blizzard out there, lady, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I guess I didn’t,” Jessie replied truthfully. She glanced out the window. Yes, it was snowing buckets, but as a native New Englander, the sight of a little—well, a respectable amount of—snow didn’t throw her into a panic.

“Even if you’re not concerned for yourself,” he added in a disapproving tone, “you certainly ought to give a thought to your baby.”

“Listen, you—whoever you are—” Jessica began, ready to set the stranger straight.

The baby had sucked the bottle down to the very last drop and now made a loud sucking sound on the nipple. Jessica turned her attention back to Daisy and gently pulled the nipple from her mouth.

“Now, wasn’t that nice?” Jessie said to Daisy. “You were hungry, weren’t you?”

Totally satiated, the baby stretched across Jessie’s lap as floppy as a rag doll. Jessie wondered if she should just let her go to sleep. Wasn’t there something else you were supposed to do?

Jessica rocked Daisy in her arms, trying to remember what it was you were supposed to do after babies ate.

“Aren’t you going to burp her?” an annoying masculine voice asked. “She’ll just wake up screaming with a gas bubble later.”

That was it! They needed to be burped. Though grateful for the information, Jessie didn’t thank him.

“Of course I’m going to burp her,” Jessie said indignantly. She lifted Daisy up to her shoulder and began patting the baby’s back, as she had seen it done.

Why did people make such a big deal out of taking care of a baby? There didn’t seem to be all that much to it.

As she gave Daisy’s back gentle pats, she turned back to the object of her ire, who had now come closer and was standing right over her. At close range he was even bigger, more imposing…and even better looking.

“Who the hell are you, anyway? Barging into my place, sticking your two cents where it definitely doesn’t belong—”

“This is your place?”

“That’s right. Jessica Malone, owner, manager, tonight’s star waitress.” She introduced herself, her tone edged with sarcasm.

He did not look the least bit mollified.

“Sorry, I’m new in town. I haven’t gotten around to meeting all the local—” She could have sworn he was about to say “characters” but he caught himself just in time. “Business owners.”

He smiled at her, not exactly a warm smile. Still, it did something wonderful to his face, Jessie couldn’t help but notice, crinkling his eyes most attractively around the corners and causing an astoundingly deep dimple to crease one cheek. She would bet dollars to doughnuts—baked on the premises, of course—that this man didn’t smile often. Not from the heart, anyway.

“Apology accepted,” she said. “And you are—?”

“Clint Bradshaw, town’s new sheriff.” He flipped open one side of his jacket to show her his badge, pinned on a black crew-neck sweater that stretched across his muscular chest.

“Congratulations,” Jessica said dryly. She felt her gaze fix on the man’s rather impressi e physique. He caught her looking and smiled again, just the hint of a grin at the edge of his well-formed lips that said, “Gotcha!”

She turned away, feeling the color rise hotly in her cheeks.

It was a classic, nonverbal, male-female exchange, one of the “taking inventory” variety. Not that Jessie had been taking inventory of all that many men lately. But at twenty-nine years old, with one broken engagement under her belt and a few more “definite almosts” on her record, she certainly knew the difference between looking at a man and looking.

She’d been caught looking, and now, at this very moment, she could feel Sheriff Clinton Bradshaw looking at her. She shifted in her seat, patting Daisy a little faster and feeling suddenly self-conscious.

All right, she knew she was a sight tonight, her outfit chosen for comfort, not high fashion. The pink waitress uniform was borrowed for the night from one of her employees, Ivy—who was ten years younger, ten pounds thinner and a good three inches shorter. It fit Jessica like a short, tight minidress. Beneath the short-sleeved dress she wore a red, long-sleeved thermal undershirt. But if that wasn’t bad enough, Jessica had chosen to cover the damage with Aunt Claire’s old gray wool vest. The handknitted vest, a most valued piece of her wardrobe, now looked like the ragged coat of an old dog, she knew, but she couldn’t resist wearing it from time to time for purely sentimental reasons. Especially on a night like tonight, when she had felt so alone and down in the dumps.

Foreseeing the snow, she’d pulled on a pair of black tights and thick socks and her beat-up, clunky hiking boots that gave her legs a real Frankenstein look. Her long reddish gold hair had been swirled into a careless knot and secured with a large clip. The arrangement was now listing to one side of her head, the loose strands hanging in corkscrew curls.

Jessie unconsciously smoothed a few curls behind her ear as the moment of uncomfortable silence stretched on and she tried to think of something, anything, to say that would send this man on his merry way.

Daisy saved her, letting loose an amazingly loud burp.

Both of them stared wide-eyed at the baby for a moment, then Jessica started to laugh. She switched the baby from her shoulder to a sitting position on her lap. Daisy stared up at both of them, smiling and looking quite pleased with herself.

Clint didn’t join in her laughter, Jessie noticed. But he smiled just enough to cause that devastating dimple to make another brief appearance. Jessie met his gaze for a moment and felt her toes curl inside her hiking boots.

“Look, the point is,” he said, “I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d close up here and let me give you two a lift home. Your husband must be worried about you driving in this weather with a baby.”

His tone suggested that any man worth his salt would not only be worried about the situation, he would be parked at the doorstep, waiting to escort the two of them home safe and sound in a snug little snowplow.

Jessica stood up and cradled Daisy’s little head against her shoulder. The baby’s prize-winning burp seemed to have worn her out completely. Though her eyes were wideopen, Jessie had the feeling that if she played her cards right, the baby would drop off to sleep in no time. Without another ear-splitting crying jag, she hoped.

She rocked the baby from side to side, mulling over her situation. She knew that sooner or later she had to officially report that she’d found an abandoned baby. And quite conveniently out of the blue, here was a suitable “official” to report it to. Yet, Sheriff Bradshaw had assumed that Daisy was her baby and her heart told her to just let Sheriff Bradshaw continue on with his assumption.

It wasn’t as if she were telling him a lie; she just wasn’t telling him…everything. If she did tell him the truth, it would only set the official wheels in motion and part her and Daisy all the sooner. Daisy sighed, snuggling closer. Jessica brushed her chin against the baby’s unbelievably soft hair.

Couldn’t it all wait until tomorrow? Or even the next day? her heart whispered.

But Jessica hadn’t been raised that way. It was simply impossible for her to be anything less than completely and totally forthright. Although at times like tonight, she wished her nature would let her get away with just a little white lie here and there.

“No husband,” Jessie succinctly informed him, “so I don’t have to worry about anybody worrying.”

“Oh.” He looked down at his shoes for a moment, then back up at her. His expression was unreadable but his gaze was intense, making her lose track of her thoughts for a moment.

“Not only is there no husband, Sheriff, this isn’t even my baby.” Jessie took a breath and held Daisy a little closer in her arms. “I found her. That is, someone came in here a little while ago and left her. Right on the countertop in that laundry basket.”