“It’s okay, Oscar, your daddy will figure it out soon enough,” she said, stroking the baby’s cheek. “Sometimes grown-ups take a while to adjust to changes. And, tiny as you are, you’re a huge change for someone like your father.”
Oscar grunted, wiggled, and burst into tears.
She grinned and picked him up. She cradled him close, once more appreciating just how tiny he was. “Are you tired of lying there?” she asked. “Well, let’s get you changed and something to eat.”
She’d unloaded her bag from Klemps earlier, prepared for the eventual end of Oscar’s nap. She changed his diaper, inspecting his toes and fingers, his long legs, a birthmark on his little hip, and rounded tummy. He was perfect—and red-faced and screaming by the time he was swaddled and cradled against her chest.
“Come on,” she said, unruffled. “Let’s get you something to eat, shall we?”
Mr. Dean’s housekeeper, Augustina, wasn’t the least bit pleased with Jessa or Oscar’s arrival. And since she had no idea what Mr. Dean had said to the woman by way of introduction, she could do little but make small talk and act like nothing was out of the ordinary.
She smiled at the middle-aged woman as she made Oscar’s bottle, chatting to the baby the whole time. She’d always done that; her mother had told her the best thing she could do with her brothers was talk to them and let them hear her voice. It made them feel less afraid and alone—or so her mother had said.
Once the formula was ready, Jessa cradled Oscar and offered him the bottle.
“He’s loud,” Augustina said.
“He is,” Jessa agreed.
“There’s a rocking chair in the front room,” Augustina said, pointing. “Through there.”
“Thank you.” Jessa left, carefully cuddling Oscar as she headed down the hall and into the front room. It was as modern as the rest of the house. Impressive, but stark. The rocking chair resembled a piece of modern art but was surprisingly comfortable. She sat, bracing Oscar on her shoulder to burp him. He did, with gusto.
“Well, that was impressive,” she said, laughing.
She looked up to find Finnegan Dean standing in the doorway. He was watching them curiously, frozen in place. “It was,” he agreed.
Oscar fussed then, so Jessa offered him the rest of the bottle. “Would you like to feed him, Mr. Dean?”
“No,” he said, his gaze intense.
She turned her focus back to the baby then. If Oscar Finnegan Dean the third wasn’t ready to accept Oscar Finnegan Dean the fourth, then she’d have to compensate for it. At least for now.
“Did you shop?” he asked.
“Yes. Thomas said everything would arrive by five,” she said.
“I’m sure he did,” he said softly. “Anytime now.”
She nodded. “Which room is Oscar’s?”
“The one next to yours,” he said. “I’ll have it emptied.” He typed something on his phone. “What else?”
She shook her head. “Do you have any requirements you’d like the nanny agency to consider? I know it’s early, but I want to contact them now, give them time to pull the best candidates versus waiting until the last minute.”
“Experience and length of service with each family.” He leaned against the doorframe, looking at the baby in her arms. “I don’t want him to get attached to someone who will leave him.”
She nodded, glancing at Oscar. He was dozing, his little pink lips sliding off the bottle. She smiled, lifted him against her shoulder, and patted his back.
“No one under forty. I don’t want anyone hoping to get to me through him,” he added.
She looked at Finnegan Dean, struggling to understand the position he was in. He was a wealthy, gorgeous man. Of course women would use any angle available to try to win him over. What would that be like, to be so sought after? To be wary and suspect of everyone you met? Clearly he didn’t feel that way about her. She didn’t know if that was a compliment…or an insult. She decided to believe the former.
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Dean.” She stood, walking closer. “He has long legs and a birthmark on his hip.”
“Does he… Ten fingers and toes?” He stared at the baby with…fear?
Poor Finnegan Dean. She smiled. “He’s perfect. Would you like to hold him?”