If all had gone as it should, she’d be delivering in a matter of days. A Christmas baby, she’d exclaimed in delight, when the doctor had given them the due date. Even now she would be swollen and heavy with his child, and he’d be rubbing her feet for her and holding her in his arms feeling their daughter kick and roll between them.
Ginger pulled away and carefully unwound the bubble wrap from the delicate porcelain angel tree topper. Using the step stool, Gavin reached up and carefully put the last decoration in place.
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, eyes bright with tears.
He kissed away every single tear and then pulled her into his side so they could stare at the tree she’d taken such painstaking measures to make beautiful. His wife loved Christmas. Their first holiday together would long stand out in Gavin’s memory because, before her, Christmas had been just another day for him. An inconvenience since most places were closed for the holidays and people were out of town or simply unavailable.
But when Ginger came into his life, she’d forever changed him. She’d laughingly dragged him out of his Connecticut home to get the biggest, most glorious live tree they could find.
That was yet another change she’d wrought. Though he owned a grand house with rolling acreage and complete privacy, he’d always hated to stay in it alone. He’d spent most of his time in his Manhattan apartment. Until Ginger.
Now it was rare that he ever stayed over in his apartment and if he did, he ensured she was there too. He hadn’t spent a night away from her since the very first time they’d made love. She’d turned his house in Connecticut into a . . . home. Warm, inviting, full of love and happiness.
“I love the tree,” he said honestly. “You did a wonderful job, just as you do every year.”
“Is it possible that I’ve turned the Grinch into Father Christmas?” she teased.
He chuckled. “What do you think? I didn’t personally spend an entire day trying my best to kill myself by attaching lights to every exposed area of the outside of the house because I hate the holiday.”
“You do hate the holiday. But you love me,” she said cheekily.
He laughed. “I’m getting better. And I don’t hate anything as long as you’re a part of it.”
Her entire expression softened and love warmed her eyes. She turned, tilting her head to receive his kiss when their doorbell rang.
They both frowned and Ginger drew away, her gaze flitting toward the foyer.
It was nearly 11 p.m. Who on earth would be at their door at this hour? For that matter, how would anyone have gotten through their security gate without their knowledge?
Gavin immediately grew serious. “You stay here and don’t move. I’ll see who it is.”
“But . . .” she protested.
He silenced her with a quick squeeze and then reached into the drawer of the sofa table, drawing out his pistol. He tucked it out of view and then gave her another look that told her not to move and then strode toward the front door.
He frowned when he glanced through the speakeasy window that could be opened but was barred to prevent anyone on the outside from opening it. No one was standing there, but the motion light had been activated and still shone over the glistening snow-covered landscape.
Pulling the pistol from its hiding place, he eased the door open and stared into the still night. Cold air washed over him, the wind whistling in his ears. There was a full moon casting a glow over the white layer of snow. Only the sound of trees swaying and the crack of ice as branches broke disturbed the serenity.
He damn near tripped over the object at his feet. He took a hasty step back and glanced down, stunned to see what looked suspiciously like a . . . baby carrier?
He immediately dropped to his knees, carefully pulling back the blanket that covered something inside the carrier. When he lowered it enough to take in the contents, his breath escaped in a startled gasp.
“Gavin, what is it?”
Ginger’s worried voice reached him and before he could tell her to stay back, the baby chose that exact moment to begin wailing, though it came out more of a whimper of distress than a true sob.
His wife gasped and crouched down beside him, reaching for the precious bundle before he could think to do the same.
“Oh dear God, Gavin! Someone left a baby out here to freeze?”
The horror in her voice was evident. He was still too flabbergasted to collect his scattered thoughts.
“Bring the carrier in,” Ginger said crisply, as she hoisted the baby higher in her arms and rose from her kneeling position on the porch.
He followed her in but something told him he should be out there looking for the person who’d left the baby. They still had to be on the premises. He owned quite a bit of acreage and it would take several minutes to get off his land no matter which direction they’d come from.
But he was drawn to the picture of his wife standing by the fireplace, carefully unwrapping the baby and then tucking the downy head beneath her chin as she swayed in an effort to comfort the crying child.
“Is there a note?” she asked anxiously. “Anything at all to explain what in the world someone was thinking to do such a terrible thing? It’s Christmas! You don’t abandon a baby in this kind of weather at Christmastime!”
Distress radiated from her in tangible waves. He quickly tossed the contents of the carrier and indeed, an envelope fell to the floor next to the blankets and two tattered stuffed animals.
“Read it to me,” she urged, though she never looked at him. Her gaze was solidly fastened on the baby in her arms and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.