Ben's Bundle of Joy

But, ultimately, the responsibility rested with Ben. He didn’t want to send the baby away any more than the rest of them. And he was fast losing the battle against his own insecurities and doubts. “I’ll need lots of help,” he said at last. “I don’t know a whole lot about babies.”

“You can hold your own,” Betty told him as she took off her glasses and came around the desk. “I’ve seen you with the children right here. They love you.” At his doubtful look, she added, “You’ll be just fine, Ben.”

“Okay.” Ben scissored his fingers through his hair, then let out a long sigh. “Guess I’m a temporary father.”

Betty patted him on the arm. “I’ll have Warren load a bassinet and all the other equipment to take to the parsonage. And I’ve already been to the grocery store—got you plenty of formula and diapers. And I even bought two of the cutest little outfits—nice and warm, with teddy bears and baseballs.”

“Thanks, Betty.” Ben got up, then looked over at Sara. She sure seemed amused with all of this. “Well, time to pay up, Miss Conroy. Want to come to my house and show me how to mix up formula?”

“Does this count as our first date?” she teased, in a voice meant for Ben’s ears only.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in me, except in a strictly temporary guardian capacity,” he shot back. “Since you seemed so determined for me to take this foundling.”

Lifting her brows in surprise, she retorted, “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to come and visit you, Reverend.”

She was rewarded with another blush. Not used to flirting, or being flirted with, Ben did manage a glib reply. “All you had to do was ask.”

Sara laughed, then moved past him. “I’ll follow you in my car.”

“Do you know the way?”

“Julianne pointed your house out to me when we took a walk at lunch,” she told him.

“And just so you’ll know,” Betty interjected, “Emma has already told Sara that you are single and in need of female companionship.”

Ben groaned while Sara nodded, that amused look coloring her face. “And she grilled me, so I’ll just go ahead and get the awkward questions out of the way. Yes, I’m single, but no, I’m not interested in any type of long-term commitments, and yes, I just want a little peace and quiet, but yes, I’m more than willing to help you with Tyler.”

“So much for our first date,” Ben said, an uncomfortable grin pinching his face. Somehow though, he felt disappointed that she’d answered all his questions before he’d even had a chance to ask them. Oh, well, that was probably for the best. He had a full plate—no time for starting a heavy personal relationship, and Sara Conroy struck him as a no-nonsense, tough-minded woman. It would be hard to win her over.

“You don’t have to look so relieved,” Sara said as they made their way up the hall to the nursery.

Ben felt sheepish and knew he was a coward. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“And becoming a temporary father hasn’t helped?”

He stopped as they reached the room where the babies up to one year old spent most of their days while their mothers worked. It was a colorful, playful room with a painted mural of Noah’s ark centered on one wall, and various other bright Biblical figures painted on every available surface.

The room was quiet now; most of the parents had already come to claim their little ones and the aides were busy cleaning up for the day. Outside, the burnished sunset that proclaimed Minnesota in the fall shined golden and promising.

“I’ll take care of Tyler,” he said, more to himself than to Sara. “I just wish I could help the person who left him here. Whoever did it, must have been so desperate, so alone. His mother is probably out there somewhere right now, wondering if she did the right thing.”

Sara watched the man standing beside her, and felt a tug at her heartstrings that almost took her breath away.

Almost. Hadn’t she just five minutes earlier told Ben in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested in any kind of romantic relationship? Hadn’t she pledged to avoid opening up her heart to that kind of pain ever again?

Remember, Sara, she reminded herself, time and circumstance can ruin any relationship.

That’s exactly what had happened with Steven. She’d never had the time to give to him, to nurture what they had together, and because of the circumstances—her mother, his work—he’d taken a job in Atlanta, Georgia, far away from the cold winters of Minnesota and far away from what he’d termed her cold heart.

But this man, this man would understand why she’d had to sacrifice so much for her own work and her mother’s illness. This man, this gentle, kind man, would do the same thing. He was doing the same thing by taking in Tyler.

Somehow, knowing that warmed her, melting away the layers of hardness she’d wrapped around her heart. But with that warmth came a warning—to take care, to be cautious.

Time and circumstance could once again bring her pain. She only had a little time here before she’d have to make a decision regarding her job back in St. Paul, and she wouldn’t let the circumstance of an abandoned baby trick her into thinking she, too, could find a good life with someone like Ben Hunter.

Besides, the man was a minister, a preacher, a man of God. And she was definitely not preacher’s wife material.

As she watched Ben lift baby Tyler out of his crib and bundle him in a thick cotton blanket, she regretted that. Ben would make the right woman a fine husband. Except her. Except Sara Conroy. No, she was too cynical, too burned-out and disillusioned for someone like Ben Hunter. She wasn’t the right woman, and she had to remember that.

“I think I can remember all of this,” Ben said hours later as he tucked the baby in, hopefully for a few hours of sleep at least. “Sterilize the bottles every night, mix the formula, put it in the refrigerator, heat it till it feels warm on my skin.” He shook an empty bottle toward his wrist to demonstrate. “Feed him every three or four hours, regardless of what time it is, until he gets on a schedule. Change diapers as needed—what?”

Sara couldn’t help the laughter bubbling over in her throat. But she couldn’t possibly tell Ben that he looked so incredibly adorable, standing there in his flannel shirt and old jeans with a burp cloth slung over his shoulder and his dark curls all mushed up against his forehead, while one of the three cats he owned meowed at his feet. “It’s nothing,” she said. “You just look so helpless.”

“I am not helpless,” Ben retorted in mock defiance. “Well, not as long as you’re here, at least.”

She took another sip of her coffee, ignoring the little tremors of delight his innocent statement brought to her stomach. “Oh, I think you’ll be just fine. From all the phone calls you’ve received, I’d say you’ve got more than enough help.”

“You’re right there. My congregation has really surprised me with all their support. I was afraid some of them would frown on this—a single man taking in an infant. I’m pleasantly surprised, and very grateful.”

“Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit,” she said as he refilled her coffee. “Of course, I’ve heard a lot about Reverend Olsen—hard shoes to fill.”

“He was the best. I still visit him in the nursing home and sometimes I bring him here, just to spend an afternoon with me. He is the wisest man I know and I respect his suggestions, even if I don’t always follow them.”

“I see,” she said, smiling back at him. “You want to do things your way.”

“Sometimes, but I find that I mostly have to do things His way.” He pointed heavenward.

“An awesome task,” Sara retorted, meaning it. She had long ago stopped trying to figure out God’s plan for her life. Now she was taking things one day at a time.

“Do you plan to come to church, hear one of my sermons?”

The question, so direct, so sincere, threw her. “I … I probably will.” Lowering her head, she added, “I haven’t been very regular in my faith lately. In fact, I think I kind of gave up on it.”

“Losing a loved one can do that to you,” Ben said, his head down, his whole stance seeming to go weary.

His tone was so quiet, so introspective, that Sara wondered if he’d suffered such a loss himself. Not wanting to pry, she stayed silent, helping him put away the many supplies required to feed and care for a baby. “I’m better now. I was bitter for a while—about my mother’s illness, about life in general. And I hope coming here will help me to…to find some sense of peace.”

He turned to her then, his gentle smile reminding her that although this man was different, a man of strong faith no doubt, maybe he was still just as vulnerable to pain and frustration as the rest of humankind.

Leaning close, he said, “I hope you find your peace here, Sara. This is certainly a good place to start.”

Is that why he’d come here? she wondered. Before she could ask him to tell her, he lifted off the counter and turned away. “Let’s sit down and catch our breaths.”

Then he dropped the diaper and grabbed his own coffee cup, motioning for Sara to follow him into the tiny sitting room of the cottage he called home. The room, like many of the rooms she’d noticed in the charming, old house, was in a state of repair.

“Sorry about the boards and nails,” he told her as he offered her the comfortable old leather armchair near the fireplace. “I fully intend to finish that wall of bookcases, and all the other work around here—someday. But I’m not the handyman type. I’ll have to get Warren Sinclair to repair my repairs, I’m afraid.”

The small kitten that had been meowing at Ben’s feet, aptly named Rat because he was a deep gray and tended to skitter like a mouse, hurriedly followed them into the room, then jumped up on her lap the minute she sat down.

Sara nodded as she glanced around the cozy room. Books everywhere—that didn’t surprise her—and a few unpacked boxes coupled with very few personal touches. In spite of the volumes of philosophy and poetry and religious tomes, in spite of the clutter and typical male chaos, it looked as if Ben was just a visitor here—not really settled in yet. Maybe that was why he was afraid of taking on little Tyler. He wasn’t ready for any permanent commitments, either.

Since she knew that feeling, she shrugged. “I like it. It has potential.”

“Somewhere underneath all the old paint and leaking roof, and all my many messes, yes, there is a lot of potential for this to once again become a showcase.”

Sara thought the current occupant had a lot of potential, too, but she didn’t voice that opinion. “I’d better get out to the lake,” she said instead. “It’s getting late and we both have an early day tomorrow.”

Ben held up a hand in protest. “I could warm up some of that stew Emma sent over. Or we could just go for the oatmeal cookies.”

“Reverend, are you stalling the inevitable?”

Ben lowered his head. “Yeah, I admit it. I’m terrified about being alone with that baby. What if I don’t know how to handle his cries?”

“Your cats seem to be thriving—even if they are fur balls instead of humans. You must know something about nurturing babies.”

He grinned, then rolled his eyes. “Emma thinks I’m the humane society. But taking care of little Rat and his fuzzy companions is a tad different from providing for a baby.”

“Just hold him,” she said on a soft voice, her eyes meeting his in the muted lamplight. “That’s what most babies want and need the most.”

“Most humans,” he echoed, his voice warm and soothing, his eyes big and blue and vastly deep.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Because the conversation had taken an intimate twist, and because for some strange reason she herself felt an overwhelming need to be held, Sara placed the still-whining Rat on the braided rug at her feet and got up to leave. “You can call me, day or night.”

“Even at 3:00 a.m.?”

Imagining his sleep-filled voice at three o’clock in the morning didn’t help the erratic charges of awareness coursing through her body. “Anytime,” she managed to say. Why did his eyes have to look so very blue?

“I’ll hold you to that,” he told her as he escorted her to the front door. “Drive carefully.”

“I will. It’s only a few miles.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.” She hurried out to her car, not daring to take a breath until she was sure he couldn’t see her. What on earth had come over her, anyway? Her first day in a new town, her first day on the job, and the first eligible man to walk through the door already had her nerves in a shamble and her heart doing strange pitter-pattering things that it shouldn’t be doing at all.

It’s just the stress, she decided. She’d been through so much—first Steven’s decision to transfer to Atlanta—with or without her, then her mother’s inevitable death, then the hospital telling her she might want to consider an extended leave of absence because she was exhausted and not too swift on her feet. It had all been just too much for one person.

Maggie’s call had come at exactly the right time, but now Sara had to wonder if she’d made the right decision, coming here. She only wanted to concentrate on the children in her care, enjoy the less stressful, much slower way of life here, go home each night to her quiet cottage, and stare out at the endless blue waters of Baylor Lake.

That’s all she needed right now—time to decide where she wanted to go in her life, time to heal from the grief of watching her mother deteriorate right before her eyes, time to accept that Steven wasn’t coming back for her and that she wouldn’t get that family she’d always dreamed about.

If she let herself get involved with the town preacher, she wouldn’t know any peace, none at all. But she could be a friend to Ben Hunter, and she could help him with little Tyler. That at least would ease some of her loneliness.

And his, too, maybe.

Ben’s kindness, his gentle sense of nobility, had touched on all her keyed-up, long-denied emotions. That was why she felt this way—all shook up and disoriented. Throw in an adorable, abandoned baby, and well, any woman would start getting strange yearnings for home and hearth, strange maternal longings that would probably never be fulfilled. Any woman would feel completely and utterly lonely, sitting in her car in the cold.

“I’ll be all right,” she told herself as she drove toward the charming cottage she’d rented at Baylor Lake. “I’ll be all right. I came here to find some time, to heal, to rethink my life. Not to get attached to a poetic preacher and a sweet lost little baby.”

But somehow she knew in her heart that she had already formed a close bond with those two, a bond that would be hard to forget, even given time and circumstance.

Chapter Three

In a blur of baby, blankets and bags, Ben Hunter stepped inside the outer reception room to his church office, thankful that the cold morning air didn’t have a hint of snow. That would come soon enough in November. And he couldn’t imagine having to dress a wiggling, tiny baby in a snowsuit. It had taken him twenty extra minutes just to get Tyler in the fleece button-up outfit Betty had thoughtfully supplied.

“Oh, there you are.”

Emma Fulton got up to come around her desk, her blue eyes flashing brightly as she cooed right toward Tyler. “Let me see that precious child, Reverend Ben.”

Ben didn’t hesitate to turn the baby over to Emma. The woman had five grandchildren, so she knew what to do with a baby.

“He had a good night,” Ben said, letting out a breath as he dropped all the paraphernalia he’d brought along onto a nearby chair. “He was up around four, but other than that, we did okay.”

“Of course you did,” Emma said, still cooing and talking baby talk. “Even if the good reverend does look a little tired.” Pointing her silvery bun toward the small kitchen just off her office, she said, “There’s pumpkin bread.”

“Bless you,” Ben replied, heading straight to the coffeepot. “Somehow I didn’t manage to get breakfast.” With a grin he called over his shoulder, “But Tyler sure had his. That little fellow can go through a bottle.”

“He’s a growing boy,” Emma replied as she danced a jig with the baby. “Oh, my, look at that. He’s laughing. He likes his aunt Emma.”

“Well, go ahead,” Ben teased as he came back into the room with a chunk of the golden-brown bread, “tell him you were Strawberry Festival Queen in…what year was that, Emma?”

“Never you mind what year, kid. Just remember who you’re dealing with here.” Her smile belied her defensive tone.

“I always remember who’s the boss around here,” Ben admonished. Then when he heard someone clearing his throat in his office, he turned to Emma. “Visitor?”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” She whirled with the baby in her arms. “Finish your breakfast first. It’s Mr. Erickson.”

Ben immediately put down his coffee and the last of his bread. “Maybe he’s heard something from Jason.”

“Don’t know,” Emma whispered, her expression turning sad. “Want me to take Tyler to the nursery for you?”

“Would you mind?” Ben gathered the baby’s things for her. “Tell Sara I’ll be over in a little while to check on him and give her a report about his first night with me.”

“I certainly will do that,” Emma said, getting her smile back in a quick breath, her eyes perfectly centered on the baby.

Ben knew that look. Emma would try to match him up with Sara. Somehow, the thought of that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should—considering Emma had tried to match him up with every single woman in Fairweather, usually with disastrous results. With Sara Conroy, he couldn’t foresee any disaster, other than the one in which he might lose his heart. And he wasn’t willing to risk that just yet.

As he entered the quiet confines of his office, however, another type of disaster entered his mind. Richard Erickson stood looking out over the prayer garden, his hands tucked in the pockets of his dark tailored wool suit pants, his graying hair trimmed into a rigid style, just the way he ran the local bank and most of this town.

Ben dreaded another confrontation with the man, but his heart had to go out to Mr. Erickson. His only son, sixteen-year-old Jason, had run away from home several months ago.

“Hello, Mr. Erickson,” Ben said, extending his hand as the older man pivoted to stare at him with a look of condemnation mixed with a condescending air.

The handshake was quick and unmeaningful, but Richard Erickson was too polite and straitlaced to behave without the impeccable manners that befit a descendant of the founding family of the town. Ben gave him credit for that much, at least.

“Reverend.”

“What can I do for you this morning? Any word from Jason, sir?”

At the mention of his youngest child’s name, Richard Erickson’s whole demeanor changed. After having three daughters, his son, Jason, had been his pride and joy, and ultimately, the child of which he made the most demands and held the highest expectations.

His expression became etched with regret and pride. “No. I was hoping you might have heard something. He did call you before.”

“You know I would call you immediately if Jason tried to contact me,” Ben told him. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard anything since the last call back in September.”

“Are you sure you’d tell me if you did?”

Ben could see the hostility in the man’s brown eyes. It still galled him that this man who contributed so much financially to the church, could not contribute anything emotionally to Ben or his ministry, or to his son Jason, for that matter. Yet Ben didn’t have the heart to tell Richard Erickson that part of the reason his son was missing today was because of Mr. Erickson’s cold, distant relationship with the boy.

Jason had confided in Ben, and he wouldn’t break that confidence. Early on, right after Jason had left, Ben had tried to sit down with Richard and Mary Erickson and explain what Ben had told him. He’d gotten to know the boy pretty well, after serving as coach for the church basketball team.

But the Ericksons would not listen to Ben’s concerns. They had told him in no uncertain terms that they blamed him for interfering in their relationship with their son, that Ben’s influence had put newfangled notions in the boy’s head and caused him to rebel.

Now, however, Ben was their only source of comfort, since Jason had contacted him on two different occasions after running away earlier in the year. For that reason, and for Jason’s sake, Ben swallowed his own resentment and tried to counsel the couple—when they would let him.

Sensing that Richard needed to talk, Ben gestured to a floral armchair. “Please, sit down.”

“I don’t have much time,” Richard said, but he did sit on the very edge of the chair, his back straight, his expression grim. “I just wanted to tell you—if you hear from my son again, you have to let me know. My wife is beside herself—what with the holidays coming up and everything. And all our efforts to track him down have only brought us disappointment.”

“I understand, sir,” Ben said, his hands folded over his heavily marked desk pad calendar. “I will do whatever I can to convince Jason to come home. I hope you realize that.”

“I realize,” Richard Erickson said as he rose to leave, “that my son is deeply troubled and that I hold you partially responsible for whatever brought him to this extreme.” He held up a hand then. “But I do appreciate your efforts on Jason’s behalf, and in light of this new situation, I just wanted to remind you where your priorities should be.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” Ben said, getting up to follow Erickson out of the office. “What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Erickson?”

Richard Erickson stopped at the door, then turned to face Ben, the look in his eyes devoid of any compassion or understanding. “Taking in a stray baby, an orphan? Come on, Reverend, we both know that you have no business trying to take care of an infant. You should be concentrating on taking care of your congregation. I still get complaints about you, you know. And this latest development hasn’t helped matters, not one bit.”

Shocked and angry beyond words, Ben gripped the edge of Emma’s desk in order to regain his composure. “You don’t need to worry about Tyler, Mr. Erickson. I know what I’m doing and I don’t intend to let taking care of this baby interfere with my work here. Rest assured, I know what my responsibilities are.”

“Do you?” Erickson pointed a finger in the air. “If you had concentrated on preaching instead of sports, my son might be here today. But you had to form that basketball team, just to glorify yourself. You had to prove that you were the best in college, so you got these local boys all worked up about basketball and winning. Jason didn’t have any complaints in life until you came along. Then all he could think about was practice. He was neglecting his studies, getting behind in school. He changed right before our eyes. And now you’re planning on raising a baby?”

Ben couldn’t believe the things coming out of Richard Erickson’s mouth. The man had a skewered idea of what had brought his son to such desperate measures.

Hoping to set him straight, Ben said, “Jason had problems long before I came into the picture, sir. If you’d only listen—”

“I’m done listening to you, Reverend. And I have a good mind to call the authorities and tell them what I know about you. You are not fit to raise that baby, and by trying to prove yourself once again, you will fail. And this church will suffer even more for it. Maybe you should have thought about that, before you took on this new challenge.”

Ben looked up to see Sara Conroy standing in the hallway that led to the small narthex of the church. She must have come in from the other side, and from the frozen expression on her face, she’d obviously heard most of their conversation.

Feeling defeated, but refusing to give in to Richard Erickson’s rigid attitude, Ben sighed, then asked God for guidance. The very thought of this man trying to have Tyler taken from him only reinforced Ben’s close bond with the baby. “I can take care of that baby. I have plenty of people more than willing to help me through this.”