Randall Wedding (2 page)

She didn’t respond.

He had no idea what her name was. He bent over
her. “Lady, what’s your name? Come on, wake up. What’s your name?”

“Izzy.”

She still didn’t open her eyes. And he wasn’t sure what that name was. “Izzy? Izzy, open your eyes.”

Long lashes fluttered several times. Then they settled on her cheeks again.

“No, Izzy, come on, open your eyes.” He pulled on her arms, raising her to a sitting position as she struggled to wake up. “Izzy, I’m going to help you to the bathroom, okay? When you get in there, put on your pajamas. Okay?”

He slid an arm around her slender figure and lifted her to her feet. “Come on, Izzy. I’m going to feel pretty strange if that’s not your name.”

They made their way to his bathroom. “Izzy, you’re in the bathroom now. Can you change your clothes?” When she started to undress, he slipped out of the room.

He came back after putting a pan on the stove and filling it with a can of chicken soup. He knocked on the door. “Izzy? Are you dressed in your pajamas?”

When there was no answer, he eased the door open. No, she wasn’t in her pajamas. She was sitting on the floor half-asleep. He took a deep breath and got her pajama bottoms on her. Then he carried her to the bed. He removed her sweater. She was a beautiful woman, and Russ held his breath, trying not to notice. By the time he got her into the pajama top, he was breathing heavily. He pulled the covers
over her and was relieved when her eyes closed and she didn’t move.

He went back to the stove and poured the soup into a bowl. Then he poured some grape juice into a glass. Once again, he tried to wake Izzy. After propping her up on several pillows, he managed to feed her a few spoonfuls of soup. Then a few drops of juice. Not much.

Finally he let her sleep.

It was his turn. He took out a frozen dinner and put it in the microwave. It was well past lunchtime and he was hungry. After he’d fed himself, he lay down on the sofa and decided he’d rest a few minutes.

He awoke to the “siren” sounding for the baby’s next meal. He’d meant to have a bottle ready so the baby wouldn’t wake her mother.

Too late.

How in the hell had nature chosen him to be a nursery maid? That was the last thing he wanted to do, but at this point he had no choice. He steeled himself to pick up the warm bundle of baby, fighting the joy that flowed through him. He was in big trouble.

Forty-eight hours.

Russ stared at the white world outside his window. Because of a snowstorm, he was lost.

Not lost in the snow. He was lost in a baby’s warmth. In her tenderness. In her need for an adult to care for her. Every four hours, she signaled her need clearly, but her mother couldn’t respond. Oh, she tried. He’d been amazed how she’d stir from the deepest sleep to try to get to her baby. Every time he’d assured her he’d take care of Angel.

He was becoming an expert with the tiny baby. He could even get her to stop screaming—at least for a minute or two—before the bottle was ready.

She recognized his voice, his touch. She knew when he showed up, food would soon follow. But this afternoon, they’d varied their routine.

Izzy had begged to feed her baby. To hold her against her. She hadn’t run a fever in a while, but she was still weak. When he used that excuse, she’d
promised to stay on the bed if he’d bring the baby to her. So he’d done so.

He’d had to leave the room, because it hurt too much to let someone else feed her. In forty-eight hours, Angel had carved a place in his heart.

He stood there, staring at the blizzard, telling himself that he was foolish even to think of a relationship with Angel. For all he knew, Angel had a perfectly upstanding, caring father. Izzy had said nothing about their reason for being on the road alone. He didn’t even know their destination. They could’ve been taking the scenic route to Yellowstone.

He gave a grim smile at that thought. Not where he’d take a new baby. Hard to be interested in mountains and hot springs when your kid was waking you up every four hours. His brothers and friends had mentioned how tired you got when you couldn’t sleep straight through the night.

He loved getting up with Angel. But he was wearing down, he had to admit.

“Hello?” Izzy called from the bedroom. Russ realized he’d never told her his name.

He hurried into the bedroom, his hands reaching out to take the baby.

“Hi. I…I need a clean diaper.”

Her eyes, just as blue as Angel’s, weren’t glittery with fever any longer. Her black hair hung down her back in tangled curls, and her pajama top was almost slipping off her slender shoulders. He
thought her face was a little gaunter than it had been when she was running a fever.

“I can change her. I’ve gotten quite good at it in the past couple of days.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said softly, smiling shyly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He tried to resist the warmth and charm. “No need.” He held out his hands for the baby again.

“She needs a new nightgown. If you’ll bring me one…”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said firmly, and scooped Angel into his arms. Then he hurried out into the living room.

He’d made part of the sofa into a changing table. He lay Angel down on the soft blanket he’d spread out. “I just stole you from your Mommy, didn’t I, little girl. But I missed you. Did you drink all your milk? What a good girl you are,” he added, smiling at her. He was crooning nonsense to her, and she loved it, as usual.

She was too young to smile at him, he’d decided, but she put those rosebud lips together and tried to blow bubbles. “Did you miss me? Did you think I’d gone away? Of course not.”

He gently removed her nightgown. Pretty soon he’d need to wash a load of baby clothes. Would his regular laundry soap be all right? He’d have to call his mom again. Not that she’d mind. She seemed to be enjoying his calls.

He changed her diaper and found another soft nightgown, this one pink, instead of a blue print.
“Pink is your color, my Angel. It makes you look beautiful. You’ve got your mother’s hair, of course.” It was black and curly, making her look like an expensive doll. He could imagine her in her terrible twos, those curls bouncing in every direction as she raced through the house, getting into trouble.

To his surprise, the picture was as clear as could be. Much clearer than his memories of Abby. He stared at the baby in horror. What was wrong with him? This baby wasn’t his. Abby was his. His memory, his love.

Angel’s face puckered up, as if he’d frightened her. Abby would never want that. Russ relaxed once more, using his soothing voice to reassure the child.

“Hello?” called Izzy. “Has she gone to sleep?”

He still hadn’t told Izzy his name. “Just a minute,” he called back. Then he picked up Angel and walked to the door of the bedroom. “She’s settling down now. I’ve been letting her sleep in the carrier. Is that all right?”

“Yes, of course, but if you put her here, I can feed her when she wakes up.”

“Not unless you get up and make a bottle.”

He felt badly about his abrupt return to reality. She bit her bottom lip. “Maybe I can manage that, too.”

“I apologize, Izzy. What in hell is that short for, anyway?”

“Isabella.”

“Oh. That’s a lovely name. I’ll go put Angel to bed. Then I’ll come back and introduce myself.” That was the least he could do. It looked as if she was finally getting well. He’d talked to Jon several times to make sure he was doing the right thing.

He laid the baby in the carrier and tucked a blanket around her, thinking he’d never seen anything quite as beautiful as Angel sleeping. The phone rang and he hurried to answer it so it wouldn’t wake the baby.

“Hi, son. It’s Mom. Everyone is waiting for our daily report. How’s the baby doing?”

He chuckled. “
I’m
doing fine, Mom, thank you for asking.”

“Well, I can tell that. Now, how’s the baby?”

“Doing fine, too. She just finished her bottle, had a change of clothes and has gone back to sleep.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job,” Janie said.

“Well, her mother fed her just now. I guess she should get some praise, too.”

“The mother’s awake? How is she doing?”

“I think she’s better. I was just going to fix her something to eat. Why don’t I call you back after she eats?”

“All right. Ask her—”

“I know what to ask her. Talk to you later.”

He’d fed the woman soup ever since they’d been in his apartment, but he didn’t think she’d finished as much as a can. He stepped to the door of the
bedroom. “Isabella, I’m going to make an omelette and share it with you. I’ll be back in a minute.”

A faint thank-you drifted after him as he headed for the kitchen. He concentrated on the omelette, able to handle that with no trouble. He wondered about the woman, was not even sure she was a good mother. After all, she and her baby had been alone in a storm.

Of course, the storm had come up suddenly. Even the weatherman hadn’t given them much warning. Nevertheless he’d warn her to check more carefully before she set out again.

He made a vegetable and cheese omelette. Once he made sure she would eat meat, he’d fix her a steak. But he thought this would go down easier for her first real meal. He cut about a fourth of the omelette for her. Then he put the rest on his plate.

He dug out a tray and put both plates on it. Then he added some orange juice and some buttered toast. That should be enough for her first meal.

He entered the bedroom to find her eyes closed. Going to the opposite side of the bed, he set down the tray. Then he leaned over the bed and shook her shoulder. “Isabella? Wake up. I’ve brought you some lunch.”

She blinked several times, staring at him. Again he was reminded of how much Angel’s eyes were like her mother’s. “I…don’t think I can keep anything down.”

“Just try a little bit. You won’t get stronger until you eat something.”

She struggled to sit up against the pillows and he shoved another pillow behind her. Her fingers were trembling and she grabbed them to try to hide her weakness.

“Do I need to feed you?”

“No! No, I’m s-sure I can manage.”

But when she picked up the fork and it shook, he realized he shouldn’t have asked. “This time I’ll feed you. I don’t want you getting my pajama top dirty,” he added with a smile.

Unfortunately that apparently reminded her of a question she wanted to ask. “Why am I wearing your pajamas?”

“I wasn’t sure how to wash silk pajamas.” He scooped up a bite of egg, cheese and veggies and held it in front of her.

“I have nightgowns in my suitcase,” she said, not taking the bite.

“Come on before I drop it.” He was pleased when she opened her mouth. She chewed slowly, but it didn’t come back out. That made him think he’d been successful.

“It’s very good, but—”

“By the way, I apologize. My name is Russ. Russ Randall.”

She stared at him. “Randall? I’ve heard that name before.”

He held up another bite. “Try another bite before it gets cold.”

“But…” she began, but then stopped talking. He assumed she was following directions and carefully shoved the bite into her mouth.

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Did you bring a napkin?” she muttered after a minute.

He handed her the small glass of juice. “Drink some juice and I’ll go get napkins.”

When he returned, he decided her drink of juice must’ve been small. The level hadn’t gone down much. “Take another swallow.”

She lifted the glass to her lips, but didn’t drink much. “I remember where I heard your name.”

“Oh, really? Where? Connected to rodeos?”

She appeared surprised by the question. “No. I don’t know anything about rodeos.”

“Really? That’s a switch. I thought maybe you’d heard of Pete, Toby or Rich.”

“Who are they?”

“Randalls who’ve made a name for themselves.”

He held up another bite and she took it. “This really is good, Russ.”

“Thanks. Want some toast?”

She took the toast and bit off a little.

He fed her more. She started to speak, but he gave her a determined stare, and she took the bite.

“Didn’t you make a name for yourself?” she asked.

“Not as a rodeo cowboy. I’m an accountant. Not exactly headline stuff.” He’d always scored a lot lower than the rest of his family with the ladies. Somehow, adding up numbers wasn’t as exciting as wrestling bulls or riding bucking broncos. Of course, he didn’t suffer broken bones, either. Rich had done that. But it was how he met Samantha, so maybe it was worth it.

“Accountants are very important,” Isabella said solemnly.

He thought she was mocking him, but her look was sincere.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. Accountants run the world.”

“Well, they certainly keep count of everything.” He scooped up more egg.

“No! I’ll just nibble on my toast and drink more juice. I don’t think I should try too much too soon.”

Russ frowned. “But you only had a few bites.”

“But they were big bites. Besides, your share will get cold if you don’t eat some of it soon.”

“All right. But let me know if you want more.”

She smiled in agreement and picked up her toast.

Russ took a bite of omelette. Lunch was a bit late today and he was hungry.

“How many brothers do you have?”

He looked up, surprised by her question. “Two.”

“But you named three, Pete, Toby and Rich.”

“Only Rich is my brother. My twin, to be exact. Pete’s my dad and Toby’s a cousin. I’ve got another
brother, Casey. He’s the baby of the family. Well, that’s not true. He’s the baby of this generation, but we’ve got three babies in the next generation.”

She stared at him. “How many people are in your family?”

“Well, my father is one of four Randall brothers. They all married and had eleven children between them. Then there’s Griffin—he’s a cousin—and his wife Camille, who have two kids. Then there’s Gabe and Nick, two more cousins, also twins. Gabe and his wife Sarah just had twins and Nick and his wife are expecting. I think that makes a total of twenty-nine and growing. We’re a big family.”

That’s when Russ discovered she’d fallen asleep. Obviously his family wasn’t as dynamic as he thought.

He eased himself off the bed and carried the tray to the kitchen. He didn’t get her to eat much, although in addition to the bit of omelette, she’d managed half a piece of toast and half a glass of juice. Maybe he’d better check with Jon.

When his cousin-in-law answered the phone, he asked him if that was enough food for one meal.

“Sounds like it. Unless you make really bad omelettes,” he teased.

“They’re my specialty, Jon.”

He heard Tori protesting behind her husband. Omelettes had been Abby’s thing for him to fix her, especially if she was sick.

“Russ, I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jon. She did eat half a piece of toast and drank half a glass of orange juice.”

“Big glass?”

“No, a juice glass.”

“That’s probably best. If she keeps that down, that’s good.”

“You mean she might not?”

“You never know.”

“Man, that’s not something to look forward to.”

“Nope. That’s why I keep nurses around.” Jon chuckled, but then he asked, “Hey, did you find out anything about your mystery guest?”

“Her name is Isabella.”

“Pretty name.” He had to repeat it for Tori. “So, I guess she’s Italian.”

“That would be a good guess. She has long black curls.”

“Is she a teenage runaway?”

Russ paused. “No, I don’t think so. I’d guess she’s in her mid-twenties.”

“So what else did she tell you?”

“Uh, that’s it. I was busy trying to get her to eat. That seemed more important than pumping her for information.” He knew he sounded stiff. But he felt awkward once he realized what a poor job he’d done. Man, he certainly didn’t want to call his mother now.

“I’m sure Isabella will tell you anything you want to know when she feels better,” Jon said
soothingly, reminding Russ of how he talked to Angel.

“Yeah. Well, I’d better go. Mom’s still waiting for her daily report.”

“Tori talked to her mother yesterday. The whole bunch of parents are gathering for your daily report.”

“Must be because of the blizzard. Not much to do when you’re trapped in the house.”

“Right. Well, call me if you have any concerns. Oh, I heard the weather report a short while ago. They think the storm might blow itself out by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Terrific,” Russ said, but he noticed a decided lack of enthusiasm in himself that he didn’t want to examine.