Dreaming of His Snowed In Kiss - Jessie Gussman Page 0,2
on her because she was like Pollyanna, but she thought it was her in particular, and not happiness in general, that he didn’t like.
“It’s hot. You can eat it right now.”
He stood back, allowing her plenty of space to pass and saying without words that she was welcome to come in as long as she stayed away from him.
Not a problem.
She walked past and stood in the living room, looking around and trying to figure out which direction to go to get to the kitchen, as the door clicked closed behind her.
She looked over her shoulder as West scooped the child that was clinging to his leg up in his other arm while trying to bounce the baby in his right.
“Follow me,” he said, not unkindly but not necessarily friendly either.
There were a couple of trucks and some kitchen utensils scattered through the living room as he walked past, taking a right and walking into the kitchen. No sign of the woman whose children they were, but the two small children that he wasn’t holding stood back against the wall, wide-eyed and staring at her, a stranger, walking in.
Her heart tore at their forlorn expressions.
“How’s their mother doing?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the crying baby.
“Not good,” West said matter-of-factly, turning and looking around at her as he said it, his face not giving away anything.
He had to be sad. She was sure he was, but he was definitely the kind of person that was not comfortable sharing his feelings. Happy or sad.
“You can set them on the counter.”
Poppy did, and then she turned, intending to tell him she had more casseroles in the car that she would carry in.
But her eyes hooked on the child in his arms. Not the baby who was still crying, but the little one who had been clinging to his leg. He had one dirty pudgy fist stuck in his mouth and was chewing on it like a nervous habit, which sent a pang through her chest that a one-year-old would even have a nervous habit. His other pudgy fist rubbed his eye like it was past his nap time.
Poppy didn’t have children of her own, but she’d spent plenty of time in church nurseries, among other things, and had a lot of experience with young ones.
She lowered her head a little, so she wasn’t looking at the child head-on—that seemed to be less intimidating in her experience. Then she smiled, not a full, big smile showing lots of teeth. That, too, seemed to intimidate small children. Just a little smile, and she ducked her head even more.
“Are you hungry?” she asked in a soft, sweet voice.
The child looked at her suspiciously, and then West’s eyes opened wide as the little boy took his fist out of his mouth and leaned his whole body toward her.
She didn’t bother to look at West to ask permission. They’d spent enough time in church and various activities bantering with each other that she felt comfortable with him, even if she didn’t think he liked her too much.
He wasn’t going to deny her taking a crying, fussing child out of his hand.
“It looks like it’s nap time for him?”
“Past,” he said shortly.
“Garrett pooped his pants.”
Poppy blinked and looked at the doorway where a serious, sober-faced boy with what appeared to be dried egg on his cheek stood staring at her.
She nodded. Okay. He seemed to consider that important information. She would too.
“Was that just now?”
The little boy shook his head at the same time West answered.
“No, I think Warren is saying that’s why we don’t have Gabriella down for her nap. Or fed. Because there was something more pressing that I needed to take care of than a screaming baby. Not that I would have thought that were possible.”
“Of course. Poop. Or fire.” She refused to allow the shudder that went through her to pull her thoughts in the direction they wanted to go. “A fire would be the only other thing that would be more pressing than a screaming baby.”
Poppy slanted her eyes at West, only half kidding. She’d never been able to exactly joke about what happened to her, but she wasn’t going to allow it to cloud her life. It would throw her into such a deep, dark depression she would never emerge.
Like her mother.
West snapped his fingers and pointed. “I hadn’t thought of that. But you’re right. Fire would be worse.” He seemed to think for a second. “In the