The Baby Bond

But he didn’t. He merely gave a brief, sad smile and reached into the large holdall he had obviously left in the kitchen with Mrs Fitzpatrick. From the depths of the bag he produced a bottle of milk, in the manner of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, and Angel’s relief knew no bounds. ‘I had a rapid introduction to learning how to make up baby formula,’ he told her drily. ‘And I’m now an expert.’

‘Can I heat it for you?’ she questioned eagerly, keen to push the questing baby away, even while part of her longed to cradle his head there and soothe him.

‘Sure.’ He raised his dark brows in query. ‘Unless you want me to do it—while you hold him?’

But Angel shook her dark head reluctantly. ‘I think that I’m proving a bit of a…distraction,’ she finished stumblingly.

He shot a swift stare of comprehension at her flushed face. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said swiftly. ‘Here. Let me take him.’ He held his arms open and Angel carefully bent down and placed the white-swathed bundle in the crook of his elbow.

‘I think he’s wet,’ she murmured apologetically as she took the bottle from him in exchange.

‘So that’s why you couldn’t wait to off-load him,’ he joked softly, and his teasing seemed to evaporate some of the tension which the hungry baby had unwittingly provoked.

‘He must be desperate for his mummy,’ observed Angel, trying to keep the tremble in her voice at bay. ‘Doesn’t he miss her like anything?’

Rory shook his head. ‘Not really, no. I spoke to a child psychiatrist just after the accident. He told me that babies this young have just one thing that drives them—and that’s survival. They’re tough—tougher than we think. He may have missed his mother very briefly, but he’s too young to have formed any kind of deep attachment to her. He just transferred his dependence onto the next stable figure to come into his life.’

‘And that’s you, I suppose?’ she asked, as she heated up the bottle on the range.