Free Prince Charming in Dress Blues by Maureen Child Page B

her quickly died away, and she intended to pretend it had never been there in the first place. After all, she didn’t want him calling her “sweetheart” anyway, right?
    He scooped Jordan up into his arms and smiled into her scrunched-up, beet-red face. Her little legs curled up toward her body, and her spine stiffened as she let loose with another howl loud enough to shatter glass.
    Her mother winced. “She’s been crying for hours,”Annie whispered, and wondered if he heard the whine in her voice as clearly as she did.
    “It’s good exercise,” he said, shooting her a quick smile before looking back at the baby. “Strengthens her lungs, lets her kick her legs and wave her arms.”
    “Oh,” Annie said, pitching her voice to carry over the din, “I think her lungs are plenty strong.”
    He grinned and lowered the baby until she was lying belly down along the length of his forearm, her head cradled in one wide palm. Then he stepped into the “sway and soothe” rhythm that Annie had already tried—and failed at—several times.
    Naturally, Jordan quieted right down for him.
    And Annie was so pathetically, everlastingly grateful, she didn’t even resent his obvious way with the baby.
    Silence. Blessed silence.
    The lack of sound almost hurt her still-ringing ears.
    “Man,” John said, unknowingly shattering the glorious peace with a question, “just what kind of bomb was it that got set off in here?”
    Annie followed his gaze as he looked around the small living room of her two-bedroom apartment. She heard herself sigh and realized anew just how out of orbit her life really was.
    Before Jordan’s birth the apartment had been ruthlessly neat. A place for everything and everything in its place. Annie’s natural instinct for order had shown in everything from the alphabetized spices in her cupboard to the fact that she didn’t even have a junk drawer. Now, though, her whole apartment was a junk drawer.
    Baby things lay scattered across the furniture and the rug. Toys, bottles, diapers, clothes, shoes, practicallyeverything Jordan owned was on display. There was a swing in the corner near Annie’s china cabinet and a floor mobile on a quilt spread on the floor. Stuffed animals perched on the couch and chairs as if they were guests waiting for lunch to be served.
    Dishes were stacked in the kitchen sink and she didn’t even care, she thought with an inward sigh. She was just so darned tired. She felt as though she hadn’t slept in years. Why had no one told her just how hard the mommy life really was?
    But she knew the answer to that one. If word got out about the difficulties of caring for babies, it would bring the population explosion to a grinding halt. And the economy couldn’t take that. Toy stores. Clothing manufacturers. Obstetricians. They were all in on the conspiracy.
    Oh, boy, she thought, lifting one hand to push her hair up and off her forehead, she was more tired than she thought.
    “Hell, Annie,” John said, tipping her chin up with the tips of his fingers, “you don’t look much better than the apartment.”
    “Gee, thanks.”
    He smiled, and that half dimple winked at her from his cheek. Oh, good God.
    “I just meant you look a little tired.”
    “No,” she said, and walked over to the couch. “I’m a lot tired.” Sinking down into the overstuffed cushions, she sighed and felt her body melt. Maybe sitting hadn’t been such a good idea. As long as she was standing, moving around, she could cope. Once she sat down, though, it was all over.
    “You’re running your mom ragged aren’t you, sweetstuff?” John murmured as he idly stroked the baby’s back.
    “Who knew it would be this hard?” Annie asked aloud, not really expecting an answer.
    “It’s not hard,” he told her as he came closer, “it just takes practice.”
    “Practice, huh?” she asked, drawing her feet up and curling her legs beneath her. “If you suck at something, all the practice in the world isn’t