Cradle and All Read Free Page A

the rectory.
    Anne stared after him for several long moments without moving. Her statements about the baby had been direct, clear, unequivocal. And he had ignored them. Irritation licked along her nerves.
    They were going to settle this. Right now.
    She charged up the stairs, ready to do battle. But when she opened the back door and entered the kitchen, she found herself already in the aftermath of a war zone.
    Dishes littered the surfaces and sink. Banana skins turned brown on the counter. The blender spilled over with mushy gray liquid. Empty cereal boxes lay scattered everywhere. Cans of beef and chicken broth and several bottles of juice stood open, most of their contents congealing inside them. Dishcloths and paper towels soaked in messes on the table and floor.
    And Tom was calmly standing over the stove, bouncing the wailing baby as he warmed a bottle that sat in a pot of water.
    “What happened here?” Anne asked.
    “He refused to eat his formula,” Tom called over his shoulder. “Took me a while to come up with the winning additives of a teaspoon of chicken broth and one of cranberry juice.”
    Anne shook her head. “That can’t be good for him.”
    “He’s getting it down,” Tom said amicably. “Some of it, anyway. The general store should be opening in about thirty minutes. I’ll try him on some different stuff then. Would you mind pouring me a cup of coffee?”
    It was clear to Anne that Tom had been up most of the night trying to take care of the baby that had been dropped so abruptly on him. She didn’t know of many men who would have made the effort. Hell, she didn’t know of any men who would have done that.
    “Where’s the coffee?” she asked.
    She followed Tom’s pointing hand to the coffeepot, drew a cup out of the cupboard and filled it to the brim. She had seen sludge that looked and smelled better.
    “How do you drink this stuff?” she asked.
    “By the gallon,” Tom said cheerfully.
    “You realize that baby has to be handed over to the authorities so that he can be properly cared for?” Anne said.
    Tom turned off the burner and picked up the bottle. He dripped its contents on his forearm, seemed satisfied with the temperature and eased onto the nearest chair.
    “I’ll be ready for that coffee in just a minute,” he said.
    He had ignored her question again. Anne was not pleased. Good intentions aside, the guy obviously didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
    It was time for her to lay down the law.
    But before she could, Tom stripped off the towel from around both the baby and his chest, and tossed it onto the table.
    His exposed bare chest was magnificent—two mounds of smooth muscular pecs over a six-pack of rock-hard abs. Anne forgot whatever it was she had been about to say.
    Damn. It had to be a sin for a man of God to be this sexy.
    Tom rewrapped the towel around the baby before cradling him in the crook of one muscular arm. He held the bottle up to the infant’s mouth, but the baby fought taking it. It took some gentle nudging before the little boy finally accepted the bottle and settled down.
    A blessed quiet descended on the kitchen.
    When Tom’s eyes rose from the baby’s to Anne’s, she knew she had been caught staring, and quickly held out the cup in her hand.
    As Tom freed one hand and took it from her, he flashed her a knowing smile that made her short of breath. Anne had never seen a man who exuded such a relaxed air of self-awareness. Tom Christen knew exactly who he was, and was comfortable with that knowledge. His eyes never left hers as he drank the coffee.
    “Are you passing through the village today?” Tom asked when he was finished drinking and had set down the cup.
    “I’m staying at the Twin Oaks B and B this weekend,” she said.
    “You’ve picked the right time. April has never begun better here in the Berkshires, so I’m told. Why don’t you sit down, Anne?”
    Anne wished she could make herself comfortable, eat his stale cake, drink his