Her Best Christmas Ever

And even if he’d done as good of a job as Doc had told him, he still couldn’t help believing that he had some kind of vested interest in both mother and child, although he couldn’t quite figure out why.

He hadn’t asked for any of this—the storm, the birth—but he’d definitely been sucked in and made an integral, albeit temporary, part of it all. And he wasn’t sure when that role would end completely. But until it did, he couldn’t bring himself to leave their side for very long.

Nor could he shake the incredible sense of amazement he felt each time he looked at that tiny baby. He’d been part of a miracle tonight, and something told him that his life would never be the same again.

After an initial exam, Doc declared both mother and daughter healthy. “Years ago, I would have just sat down and had a cup of coffee, then promised to come back and check in on you later. But it never hurts to have a second opinion. So, as a precaution, I’m going to send you to the hospital in Wexler and have you both checked out.”

That was fine with Greg. He’d be glad for even further validation that everything was okay.

“Are you taking them?” he asked the doctor. “Or should I drive them in myself?”

“Nah,” Doc said. “I’ve lined up an ambulance service to do that. They’ll be here in a few minutes. But in the meantime, I could sure use that cup of coffee I was talking about.”

“No problem.” Greg nodded toward the kitchen. “I just put on a fresh pot.”

Moments later, the two men sat at the table with steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. There, Doc answered the questions Greg had about how to care for Connie and the baby once she was discharged from the hospital. He figured Granny would know just what to do, but it was hard to say when she’d get back.

Apparently, now that the hard part was over, there wasn’t much more for Greg to do, other than enjoy his coffee and another large serving of the apple-spice cake Connie had made. After cutting two pieces and grabbing a couple of forks, they each dug in.

Dang, that woman could cook.

It was enough to make a man look forward to Thanksgiving dinner—if Connie was the one who was cooking it. But maybe Greg ought to think about calling Caroline down at the diner and asking if he could purchase a take-out turkey dinner.

“Have you been following the news?” Doc asked, as he lifted his fork.

“No. I’m afraid I’ve been pretty busy the past few hours.” Greg took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the rich morning brew. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another storm coming on the heels of this last one. When it hits, you two might be stranded out here for a while.”

As long as Connie and the baby were all right, that didn’t bother Greg too much.

“So,” Doc added, “if you’ve got any supplies to stock up on, you’d better do it today. Now that the ground is saturated, the water that fills the low spot in the road won’t be as quick to recede.”

“I think we’re set,” Greg said. “Granny’s always had a full pantry. But I’ll take a look and make sure. When is the next rain supposed to hit?”

“Early tomorrow morning. So it ought to really play havoc with everyone’s Thanksgiving plans.”

“I wonder if the flights will be delayed,” Greg said. “Matt and Tori are supposed to arrive tomorrow from Wyoming. They’re on a horse-buying trip.”

“That’s hard to say.” Doc dug into his cake, then closed his eyes as though savoring each chew. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

“Connie’s a good cook, but since she’ll be taking it easy for a while, she’s going to be stuck eating whatever I can come up with for meals.” Greg chuckled. “I hope she likes canned soup and sandwiches.”

They ate in silence, and when they finished, Doc scooted the chair away from the table and got to his feet. “I have to stop by the Tidball place and check on Elmer’s big toe. According to Grace, it’s been hurting him something fierce.”

“What’d he do to it?” Greg asked.

“Elmer swears he didn’t do anything. So, if that’s the case, it might be gout. From what he said, it sure sounds like it.” Doc slid the chair back in place, then ambled across the kitchen and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’d better take off.”

“Before the ambulance gets here?” Greg asked.

“Yeah. It’ll be here any minute, I suspect. And for what it’s worth, it’s merely a formality. I doubt the hospital will keep Connie or the baby more than a few hours. They’re both doing very well.”

Greg hoped so.

He escorted Doc to the door, thanked him, then stood on the porch and watched the white-haired doctor climb into his pickup. When he drove off, Greg returned to Connie’s bedroom, where he found her propped up on an elbow and studying Amanda’s tiny fingers and toes. She looked up at him, her face glowing almost Madonna-like, and tossed him a smile that darn near squeezed the heart right out of him. “She’s absolutely perfect.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, watching Connie and the baby intently. He’d never known his own mother, but his aunt had told him how much she’d looked forward to his birth and how she’d dreamed that he would make something of his life someday.

Would his mother have held him like Connie was holding Amanda? Would she have marveled at the sight of him, too?

Yeah. She would have.

He couldn’t help wishing that she would have lived to see him grow up. To know that he’d become someone people looked up to.

Not that Tia Guadalupe hadn’t been a good substitute. But she’d died when he was only six, a loss that had struck him hard and cruel. And with no other family to take him in, he’d been sent to live at the orphanage.

Greg shook off the images and thanked his lucky stars that he’d crossed paths with Granny eventually, that she’d adopted him and made him a part of the ever-growing Clayton family.

Still, while the Rocking C had been the only home he’d known in nearly twenty years, he would never want to live and work here. Not that he minded doing chores and helping out while he was visiting. But he loved the bright lights of the stage and thrived on the fame and the glamour. Whenever he strode out to face the cheering crowds, he knew that he’d finally made it. That he’d finally become the success that his Mama Maria had wanted him to be, that he was living the dream she’d had for him.

“I’d planned to make pies this morning,” Connie said, drawing him from his musing. “But that’ll have to wait. I might feel more up to baking in the afternoon.”

“There’s no way you’ll be doing anything in the kitchen for a while,” he said.

“But Thanksgiving is tomorrow.” Connie rose up on the bed. “And everyone is coming here to eat. So I planned—”

“Those plans were changed last night. So don’t give Thanksgiving another thought.”

“But it’s my job—”

“Not today. And not tomorrow, either.”

She opened her mouth as if to object one more time, and Greg pushed off from the wall, standing straight, his arms still crossed. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, ma’am.”

“All right.” Connie sank back on the bed. “But you might call Sabrina and ask her to help.”

“I’m not going to worry about that now.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s supposed to rain again, which means Jared and Sabrina might not be able to get through and we might have to postpone the holiday for a day or two. But either way, I can handle it.” Of course, only as a last resort. He’d never been too handy in a kitchen. But when he’d been digging through the pantry, he found a bunch of stuff that was pretty easy to make, even for a novice like him.

Connie, who was undoubtedly a great cook, probably wouldn’t approve of the simple fare he’d be fixing. He figured that pulling off a major holiday meal probably meant a lot to her.

About the time he was resigning himself to a simple meal, he realized he’d better call the diner in Brighton Valley as soon as it opened and make Caroline, the proprietor, an offer she wouldn’t refuse. He’d pay her triple the cost to cook a take-out feast for the Claytons’Thanksgiving, even if he wasn’t sure how many of them would show up.