Quade's Babies - Brenda Jackson [25]
“No, that’s okay. You have more experience with that sort of thing,” Quade said, and then quickly, yet gently shifted the baby from his arms back to hers.
He moved aside when she headed toward the baby’s changing table and watched as she went about changing Troy’s diaper. She glanced over at Quade. “Just so you know, when it comes to changing a baby boy, you have to use defensive diapering.”
He lifted a brow. “Defensive diapering?”
“Yes, or you may get caught. Changing the diaper of a little boy can be like getting shot in the face with a loaded water gun.”
When Quade caught on to what she was saying she heard him laugh. The sound was rich, as well as sensual, and did something to her insides. “Okay, laugh if you want, but don’t ever say I didn’t give you fair warning.”
“Okay, I won’t,” he said between chuckles. “When is your nanny returning?”
She looked over at him. “Nanny?” At his nod she smiled and said. “I don’t have a nanny, Quade.”
He looked taken aback. “You’ve been handling the babies by yourself?”
“Not completely. My mom has helped a lot, as well as other family members. But I told them that starting today I wanted to handle things on my own.”
“But there are three babies,” he said as if the very thought of doing such a thing was ridiculous.
She rolled her eyes. He sounded like her cousins and sisters. “Trust me, I know how many there are. Just like I know I can manage things.”
“I see.” A few minutes passed and then he asked. “Is that why you don’t want me to take responsibility? Because you’re trying to prove a point?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No. The reason I don’t want you to take responsibility is because for some reason you think taking responsibility means getting married. Shotgun weddings played out years ago. Women get pregnant all the time without getting forced into marriage.”
“Yes, but none of those women got pregnant from a Westmoreland.”
She picked up the baby and placed him back into her arms, hoisting him to her shoulder and began gently massaging his back. “Are you saying you’re the first guy in your family who had a child born out of wedlock?”
“No.”
“And all those others ended in marriage?” she asked incredulously.
A smile softened his lips. “Eventually, yes. Westmorelands can be a very persuasive group.”
She clamped down on her teeth to keep from saying that they sounded like a very arrogant group to her. Instead she crossed the room back to him and said, “Troy’s all done. Here, hold him for a second while I check on the girls.”
Again he seemed at a loss as to what he was supposed to do when she placed the baby in his arms. “The girls are awake?” he asked, glancing over at the other two cribs.
“Yes, they’ve been awake. I told you earlier chances were Troy had awaken them.”
“But they haven’t said anything,” Quade said as if amazed.
“Usually they don’t, unless they’re hungry or wet. They are good babies. Only Troy tries to be difficult. But then, he’s a typical male.”
Half an hour later Quade sat in a chair with a baby resting in each of his arms—his daughters—while Troy was being breast-fed by his mother. Quade tried concentrating on the babies instead of what was going on across the room, but he found it difficult to do so.
Cheyenne had referred to his son as a typical male and, true to form, once presented with a breast Troy had latched on to it with the same greediness that his father had months ago.
Quade shifted in his chair, actually envying his son and thinking his daughters would be next. He smiled, wondering if there was a way he could sign up for some breast time.
Trying to get such thoughts out of his mind, he glanced down at his daughters and studied their features. Beautiful, the both of them. Less than two months old and they looked like their mother. Pretty, smooth brown skin and gorgeous dark eyes were staring at him, but not with the same intensity his son had earlier. The girls both had coal-black, almost straight hair. Not for the first time, Quade