Having His Baby Read Online Free PDF Page B

of black hair and those big brown eyes. She's the spitting image of Jake!"
    A numbing sensation spread quickly through Jake's body. He wanted to turn around and walk away, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. You're not ready for this! an inner voice warned. What kind of father would you be? You don't know the first thing about babies, especially baby girls. Do that little girl and her mother a favor and get out of their lives.
    "Have you held her yet, Jake?" Tallie asked as she lifted the infant in her arms. "Come here and take your daughter."
    Jake hesitated momentarily. All eyes were on him. He forced himself to move, to cross the room and accept the bundle that his sister offered him. His hands trembled. His arms stiffened. The tiny newborn felt weightless. What the hell was he doing? His gut tightened painfully.
    Holding the infant as if she were made of glass, Jake gazed down at his daughter. His daughter! She wriggled. He tensed, then quickly offered her to Tallie.
    "Here, do something with her before I drop her."
    Tallie laughed, took the child from him and carried her over so that her other two aunts could coo over her adoringly. Jake watched while the women made a fuss over Louisa. Louisa Christine. He still thought the name was too much for a baby. He liked the idea of calling her Christy, but figured Donna wouldn't approve.
    What difference does it make anyway? That inner voice asked. You probably won't be a major part of her life. Unless you marry Donna.
    He glanced over at the bed just in time to see Donna take the baby in her arms. The picture was perfect. Madonna and child. Mother and daughter.
    "You've got yourself a peach of a mother, kiddo," Jake said to himself. "A beautiful, classy lady. But I'm afraid your old man isn't much of a prize."
    Susan lowered her infant son close to the newborn. "Lowell, I'd like to introduce you to your cousin, Louisa. You two are going to be really good friends."
    "I think we should all leave and let the mama and papa have some time alone," Hank suggested. "We can come back tomorrow for another visit."
    "I'll be going home tomorrow afternoon," Donna said. "Dr. Farr told me that there's no reason to keep me and Louisa more than twenty-four hours. That's pretty much hospital procedure these days."
    "We'll come over to your house tomorrow night," Sheila said. "I'll bring supper and Susan and I can help you adjust to being home."
    "Thanks. I'd appreciate that." Donna caressed little Louisa's rosy cheek. "I've hired a nanny, but she won't start work until next week."
    Had he heard her correctly? Jake wondered. A nanny? If Donna could afford a nanny, that had to mean she had a job and money of her own. She wouldn't need him to help support their child.
    But fathers are needed for more than financial support, he reminded himself. A kid needs a father around all the time, even a little girl.
    Jake waited until his family had left before he approached Donna's bed. She seemed totally absorbed in her inspection of their child. He cleared his throat. She ignored him. He cleared his throat again—louder. She glanced up, a frown marring her pleasant features.
    "I think maybe we should talk, don't you?" he said.
    "What's there to talk about?"
    "About you and me and—" he nodded toward the infant "—our child."
    "She's my child, Jake. I've never thought of her any other way. I don't expect you to take any responsibility for her, if that's what you're worried about."
    Heat rose up Jake's neck and spread across his face. Donna's comment pushed all the wrong buttons, bringing his temper to the boiling point.
    "Dammit, woman! Did you ever stop to think I might want to take responsibility? That I might want to play a part in my daughter's life?"
    That's what she'd been afraid of—that Jake Bishop might want to be a real father to her baby girl. Donna didn't want this big, roughneck cowboy to be a part of Louisa's life in any way. After their weekend in Plain City, she'd thought she would never see