He went back to looking up Regina Graves. Most of the news he found related directly to her marriage to Norton. Doing the math and skimming the old publicity photos, he figured Mia must have been a teenager when her father remarried. Though she smiled in her father’s wedding photos, her eyes were flat and a little sad.
That led him to the pictures online of Mia’s modeling career and eventual wedding. On that happy day, she wore ivory lace that flattered her skin, her eyes sparkled and her smile was the brightest he’d ever seen as she linked hands with her groom, Roderick. Jarvis studied the man again. Her ex was well over six feet tall and powerfully built. For a man known to push the envelope with computers and tech, his thick blond hair, blue eyes and chiseled features were Hollywood worthy.
Jarvis studied the baby resting contentedly in the sling. Silas didn’t resemble his father at all, only Mia. Maybe Jarvis was biased, but he hoped it stayed that way. For everyone involved.
The baby snuffled, hiking up his hips and rubbing his face on Jarvis’s chest. The pacifier came loose and Jarvis started singing, his voice low and gentle as he nudged the pacifier back in place.
It worked for a few minutes, then he squirmed again. Jarvis stood up and carefully unwrapped the sling, still singing. Every minute he could give Mia had to help her. Nestled in the crook of his arm, Silas went back to sleep. Jarvis kept singing and swaying.
* * *
Mia came awake to the mellow sound of a baritone voice singing softly. It was “Home on the Range,” she realized as the melody registered in her sleepy mind. Feeling refreshed, she let herself be lulled by Jarvis’s efforts to keep her son quiet.
It was the sweetest sound and she didn’t want to move and spoil the moment. From under her lashes, she watched him sway gently, silhouetted by the pale light over the sink. She’d never seen a more devoted picture of fatherhood, unless she thought of her own father. She tried to imagine Roderick tending to his son this way and the pieces wouldn’t fit.
There was a picture similar to this one in her baby album. Her mom had caught her dad in the act of singing her to sleep one night. Dalinda had been adamant about creating and keeping memories. After her death, Mia was doubly grateful for her commitment. The album of her first year was in her father’s study at home and she’d planned to share it with Silas one day, to use it as a model for his baby book. Would she ever see that precious scrapbook again?
Right now she used an online journal to keep up with Silas’s baby milestones. The program allowed her to share the online pages with friends and relatives and she could order prints of the pages. But her recent days had been so bad that she hadn’t wanted to revisit them—until this moment, as she watched Jarvis with her son.
Stretching slowly so the mattress wouldn’t squeak in the frame, she eased up to a sitting position. Jarvis didn’t stop singing until he reached the end of his verse. When he finally looked up, the intensity of his gaze stole her breath.
Her body heated in an instant and hormones she barely recognized sat up and begged. For Jarvis. A taste, a kiss, a touch. Any tangible connection he’d allow, she’d gladly accept. What would those hardworking hands feel like on her skin? Her fingertips positively itched to feel the rasp of the whiskers on his square jaw.
She tried to smile, focusing on other reactions and signals. She needed the bathroom and based on the fullness in her breasts, her son would soon need to nurse. Much safer to address those needs instead of this sudden longing for a man who was simply kind enough to help a stranger.
She hurried to the bathroom and took care of herself, splashing water on her face to cool down her heated cheeks. Silas was fussing again when she emerged, but it wasn’t anything like it had been.
Or maybe it was just as bad, but sleep had blunted the sharp edge.
Jarvis was on the floor again, changing her son’s diaper, a more bizarre sight than watching him sing a lullaby. He glanced at her and a grin spread over his handsome features. “Feeling better?”
“Much. Thanks to you.” She picked up Silas and started to nurse while Jarvis disposed of the dia
per and washed his hands.
It should feel awkward, but didn’t. She blamed the illusion of normalcy on the late hour. Since giving birth, she’d discovered that two in the morning gave her a false sense of being separate and distant from real-world constraints. She could think and say things in this hour that no one else would ever hear. It was liberating. Especially after nearly six solid hours of uninterrupted sleep.
“How did you get him to sleep for so long?”
Jarvis shrugged. “Ask him. I didn’t do much at all.”
“You sang to him.”
He tapped his phone. “Just applying advice I found online. Every cowboy knows that song.”
She shook her head at his deflection. “Thank you, Jarvis. You have no idea how much I needed the break.” She brushed fingertips over her son’s head. “We both needed this. You’re a natural.”
“That’s, um... No. I don’t think that fits.”
Maybe this rare hour was only soothing and restorative for her. “Easy, cowboy. It’s a compliment, not a commitment.”
He sat down across from her, his lips tilted sheepishly as he kept his gaze averted. “Noted. Do you want me to stay?”
Yes. “Since you’re the hero of the hour, you can do as you please,” she said. “Just be warned, he might not go another six hours.”
He scrubbed at his face. “I’ll stay. If I go back now, it’s likely to raise more questions than if I’m out all night,” he explained.
She’d visited the Triple R several times for various events and never once given a thought to where or how the crew lived. “You live on the ranch?”