Page 21 of Silver-Tongued Devil
Russell grunted out something that could have been a laugh. “You might as well hang onto her, then, and I’ll finish lighting the grill. Tip that bottle right up so she doesn’t get any air, or she’s liable to spit up that milk all over your shirt when you burp her.”
Oh, great. He was burping her? Well, it wasn’t her fault that her mother wasn’t everything she could be. She was actually pretty cute, now that she wasn’t screaming her head off. Her eyes were closed in blissful satisfaction, her cheeks were working hard to get every bit of that milk, and her tiny feet were pushing against the leg of his jeans like a cat kneading bread. If she’d been as miserable as a baby hopelessly lost in the desert before, right now she seemed as contented as a baby… well, as a baby who was getting what she needed.
He could hear the whine of an electric drill coming from the house. “Got to say,” he told Russell, “I’m better at putting up shelves than I am at babies.”
“Join the club,” Russell said, busy at the grill. “Luckily, they teach you, just like Gracie’s doing right there. They’ve got a pretty good signaling technique.”
Russell got the fire going the way he wanted it, put the cover on the barbecue, and came over to sit down. Blake asked, “How old is she?” because that was a question people always asked about babies.
“About five months now, I guess,” Russell said, which was a fairly casual answer about your—well, sort of your granddaughter.
“She seems strong,” Blake said lamely.
“Oh, yeah, she’s an active little thing. Got a killer smile, too, though I guess you haven’t seen that, and a pair of dimples that’ll just about take you out. Evan’s got his hands full, but he’s not complaining.”
Evan? Not Dakota? Blake was confused again. He realized that the plastic bag inside the bottle was empty and the baby was sucking on air, and pulled the nipple hastily out of her mouth. He remembered the spitting-up thing. She made a protesting sound, and he worried he’d hurt her, yanking it away.
“You’re wondering what you do now,” Russell said, the amusement lurking in his blue eyes again.
“Well, yeah.” Blake looked down at the now-cherubic face. Gracie smiled at him, wide and joyous, and damned if shedidn’thave dimples, plus a pair of great big blue eyes. And she didn’t have any teeth. He couldn’t have hurt her, then, yanking the bottle out like that. “And I’ve noticed that you’re laughing at me, in case you were wondering.”
“Nah,” Russell said. “I was that guy myself once. Kinda funny to watch you do it, though, it’s true. What you do now is, pick her up and rest her against your shoulder. Pat her back, help her get the bubble up.”
Blake did it, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy, but the baby made a surprisingly snuggly little bundle. He could get the hang of this. But if there were any diapers to be changed, he was bowing out.
Russell said, “You’re not going to get anywhere patting like that. A little harder. Don’t whale away on her or nothing, just harder than that.”
All right, Blake might have been sweating again. How hard was hard enough?
The next thing he knew, the baby made a choking noise, and Blake felt something wet and warm against his T-shirt. He lifted her a little bit away from him and looked down.
“I told you not to let her get too much air,” Russell said, completely unhelpfully. “Well, she got the bubble up, anyway. Here, give her to me.”
Oh,nowhe was taking her. Blake checked out the milky mess on his shirt and sighed. Good thing he went for Hanes. Some of his more fashionable teammates, who wore T-shirts that cost a boat payment, would’ve been in deep wardrobe trouble right now.
The noise of the drill had stopped some time ago, and this was the moment Dakota and Evan chose to head outside.
Dakota didn’t look at Blake. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she was still barefoot, but she’d fixed her hair and changed into a stretchy little orange knit skirt. It wasn’t quite a mini, but it was coming mighty close. What was worse, she’d topped it off with a snug white T-shirt with a wide neckline, and the bra under it wasn’t the thickest thing he’d ever seen. If he wasn’t supposed to look at her, he wished she’d have worn something else.
Russell said, “Gracie’s about asleep. Evan, why don’t you go on and grill that salmon for me and stick around and eat with us? Dakota, you can set the table and make a salad real quick. But first, take Blake on back and get him one of my shirts to change into. Gracie spit up all over him.”
Dakota muttered something that sounded like, “Good taste,” and Evan said, “Sure. I’ll put Gracie in the house, though.”
“You can put her on my bed,” Dakota said, and Blake thought,Wait, what?
“Well, decide and put her somewhere,” Russell said. “Blake and I are hungry, and those coals are going to be ready soon. We caught the fish and cleaned it. I figure our part’s done.”
“Wait,” Blake said. He was going to be direct again. “Whose baby is that?”
Everybody stared at him. “Mine,” Evan said. “Of course she’s mine. Whose did you think?”
“Oh,” Blake said. Russell had on his amused look again. Blake was glad he was entertaining somebody, because he was feeling downright annoyed by now. He was covered with baby puke, he’d been beating himself up for lusting after somebody else’s girlfriend, and now she wasn’t?
Russell said, “Nah. She’s not Dakota’s. Evan’s my partner.Wasmy partner. He’s Dakota’s partner now.”
“Business partner,” Dakota muttered. “Painting partner.”
My partner has a baby.She’d said that, out at the rocks. “Oh,” Blake said again. He practically had whiplash by now, he’d changed directions so many times this afternoon.
