With a Little T.L.C.

“I wouldn’t think a man like you would be interested in cuddling,”

Liz told Joe.

“Define ‘a man like you.’”

“An upwardly mobile businessman, single and—” She hesitated.

“And?” he prompted, one dark, well-formed eyebrow lifting with the question.

She’d been about to say “attractive,” but didn’t dare. “And busy.”

“That’s all true. Although I’d like to know how you knew I was single.”

The flirtatious manner was a big clue, although why she couldn’t say. Another lesson from her past experience was that flirting wasn’t exclusive to single men. Married ones could philander at the drop of a hat or the swish of a skirt, too.

“It was just a hunch…until now.”

With a Little T.L.C.
Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Andrea Pascale—your encouragement, support, friendship and love mean more than I can say. My gratitude for sharing your little Valerie with her “outlaw” cousin. The refresher course in baby stuff added so much to this book. Many thanks.

TERESA SOUTHWICK

is a native Californian who has recently moved to Texas. Living with her husband of twenty-five years and two handsome sons, she is surrounded by heroes. Reading has been her passion since she was a girl. She couldn’t be more delighted that her dream of writing full-time has come true. Her favorite things include: holding a baby, the fragrance of jasmine, walks on the beach, the patter of rain on the roof and, above all—happy endings.

Teresa also writes historical romance novels under the same name.

Dear Reader,

If there’s a woman anywhere who can resist the sight of a hunky guy holding an infant, I’ll eat my computer. On second thought, I’ll make her a heroine with enough baggage to tour the continental United States. In fact, I did just that in With a Little T.L.C.

I’ve always loved babies. Even after raising my two sons, the baby bug isn’t out of my system. For a long time now, I’ve wanted to be a volunteer in a newborn nursery. Few things come to mind that are as rewarding as listening to the sounds of a baby as you hold that small, warm body close. Even better is knowing that something so simple can make an important impact on a new life. Studies have been done documenting the critical role of touch in a newborn’s ability to thrive. Unfortunately, I never seem to have enough time to indulge my purely selfish need to cuddle babies.

But I’m a writer. I can send my heroine where I don’t have time to go. Or, better yet, my hero. The challenge was irresistible. We take it for granted that women are nurturers. But why would a man, especially a goodlooking bachelor like Joe Marchetti, spend time holding babies? Remember that heroine with all the baggage? Nurse Liz Anderson can’t help being cynical about her newest volunteer cuddler. Is he just a guy with a scheme to meet women? Or is he really as incredibly wonderful as he seems?

The only thing more rewarding than holding a baby is writing about someone else who holds them. It was fun discovering right along with Joe and Liz that even the most cynical heart can be healed With a Little T.L.C.

Enjoy!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

“You want to be a cuddler?”

Nurse Liz Anderson stared at the gentleman on the other side of her desk. And she did it without gawking, she thought proudly. Not easy when the man gave new meaning to the phrase tall, dark and handsome. Six feet if he was an inch. Brown almost black eyes full of intensity, charm, and humor in equal parts. And so handsome she was grateful that her voice had worked to form the words into a question.

“You sound shocked,” he said.

“That’s because I am.”

He folded his arms over a mighty impressive chest. Almost a year ago she had dragged him out of his sister’s hospital room by his ear because he balked at leaving when visiting hours were over. Considering that impressive chest, how in the world had she managed to do that?

“Why should my intentions surprise you?”

Those words spoken in that deep voice mobilized tingles that skittered down her neck and across her shoulders.

“It’s not every day that I get that kind of offer from a man.”

“It’s their loss.”

A flirt, she thought warily. She’d run into the type before and knew enough to steer clear. “I take cuddling very seriously, Mr. Marchetti.”

“You remember me,” he said, rubbing his ear. “I wondered if you did.”

He grinned, a pleased expression that showed off a masterful job of orthodontia or sensational genes. She wasn’t sure which. But any second she expected a diamondlike sparkle from his teeth, a movie hero come to life. In any case, she thanked her lucky stars that she was already sitting. It wouldn’t take much to knock her on her keister.

“You’re pretty unforgettable,” she muttered softly.

“Am I?” he answered, his smile growing wider.

She hadn’t meant for him to hear that. Apparently all his flaws were in character because his hearing was pretty darn good.

Instead of lowering his hunky frame into one of the two chairs provided for visitors, he sat on the corner of her desk. Proving to her, as if she needed more proof after their one and only meeting, that he was a rule-breaker.

Now he sat a few scant inches from her. His tie was loose and the top button of his white dress shirt undone, allowing a couple of chest hairs to peek out. He’d rolled up his long sleeves revealing strong, tanned forearms. The gray fabric of his slacks pulled tight across his muscular thighs. His cologne added the deathblow to her composure. The wonderful masculine scent surrounded her, adding stomach flutters to her shoulder tingles.

On top of that, she could see the sexy five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and jaw. She glanced at the clock on her desk—6:30 p.m. Wasn’t it past time for him to go home and shave?

Realizing she’d been staring, Liz resisted the urge to shake her head and clear it. No point in giving a man like him more fuel for his over-inflated ego. She knew he’d asked her a question. Now if only she could remember what he’d said, she would answer appropriately.

As if he could read her mind, he asked, “What else do you remember about me?”

That he’d charmed her by teasingly threatening to lock her in the broom closet when she’d told him visiting hours were over. That he had dated one of the nurses and dumped her in a nasty, hurtful way. Liz didn’t especially like the woman but no one deserved to find the man they were involved with in bed with another woman.

“I remember that you left here with a beautiful blonde,” she said.

He frowned for a moment as if he was trying to recall. Then he nodded. “My secretary. She’d left her husband in the car. They’d brought a gift for my sister’s baby.”

Liz didn’t really care what kind of relationship he had with the woman. That was his business. She had a program to run. “Now let me ask you a question.”

“All right.”

“Are you really here to be a cuddler?”

“Yes.” He pointed to the completed, orange volunteer form he’d handed her when he walked into her office. “It says so right there.”

“Holding the babies?” she confirmed.

He nodded. “That’s my intention.”

“I just wanted to make sure we were talking about the same thing.”

Because it was tough to believe he would be interested in spending time with infants. The last time she’d seen him in the hospital he’d hit on one of the nurses, dated then dumped her. Ninety-nine percent of her cuddlers were nurturing women who loved holding babies. The other one percent were retired men looking for something to fill their time. Then in walks Joe Marchetti, a proven playboy and flirt. What was she supposed to think when he plunked his volunteer paperwork down on her desk?

“Do you know what’s involved, Mr. Marchetti?”

“Joe, Miss…”

“I beg your pardon?”

He looked at the gold, upright name plate resting on her desk. “Liz,” he said, then met her gaze. “Call me Joe.”

With every ounce of willpower, fortitude and any other character attributes she possessed, she resisted the power of the charming look he leveled at her. “All right, Joe,” she said with more calm than she felt. “I’ll ask you again. Do you know what’s involved?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She leaned back in her chair, a move designed to look casual, professional, and in control. The first two weren’t a problem. The last was tougher to pull off. “I wouldn’t think a man like you would be interested.”

“Define ‘a man like you.”’

“An upwardly mobile businessman, single and—” She hesitated.

“And?” he prompted, one dark, well-formed eyebrow lifting with the question.

She’d been about to say attractive. “And busy.”

“That’s all true. Although I’d like to know how you knew I was single.”

The flirtatious manner was a big clue, although why she couldn’t say. Another lesson from her past experience was that flirting wasn’t exclusive to single men. Married ones could philander at the drop of a hat or the swish of a skirt too.

But she merely answered, “You’re not wearing a wedding band.” Then she held up his filled-out volunteer form. “And it says so here.”

He glanced at the sheet of paper and then his hand. She followed his gaze and didn’t miss the fact that his fingers were long and there was a great deal of harnessed strength in his hand and wrist.

“I’m getting the impression that you doubt my sincerity. How can you judge me based on one meeting?”

“When your sister was a patient here,” she clarified.

“After my niece was born,” he added, rubbing his ear again.

She grinned, remembering the incident. “You were breaking the rules. Visiting hours were over.”

“A simple ‘please leave’ would have sufficed,” he said, feigning indignation. “You didn’t have to yank my ear off.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Aren’t we being a tad melodramatic?”

“Marchettis never do anything halfway. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Why would I need a warning?”

“Because you’re the nurse in charge of the cuddlers and I’m signing up to volunteer. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Joe. This program isn’t fluff and feathers. Children need the best possible start in this cold, cruel world. Statistics prove that babies stimulated by touch gain weight faster.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“They cry less, have more even temperaments, sleep better and are more likely to calm and console themselves without intervention.”

“I understand.”

“People who aren’t touched much as children don’t touch much as adults and the cycle continues. The volunteers work with babies from at-risk families. This program is designed to break that cycle.”

“Hey, I’m a sure thing. I’m here to do my bit. You don’t have to convince me.”

“No. But we have to count on you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me ask you something first,” she said.

“Okay. I’m all ears,” he said, rubbing the one she’d yanked.

Liz swallowed the smile that hovered, refusing to let his clever pun distract her. “Why do you want to be a cuddler?”

He looked thoughtful, as if remembering something. “After my niece was born and you bounced me out of my sister’s room, I wandered by the newborn nursery. It was just before they shut the curtains and your staff left them open a little longer for me.”

Considering his movie star good looks, Liz couldn’t blame them.

“I watched the volunteers holding the babies,” he continued. “And I talked to one of the nurses on duty that night who explained everything you just said. I was impressed,” he finished.

When he mentioned the nurse, Liz’s interest piqued. That was it. He was on the make and figured a hospital was a good place to meet women. She’d been burned like that before. What other reason could a guy like him have for being here?

“But if I remember rightly, your sister had her baby almost a year ago. As the saying goes, what took you so long?”

He shrugged. “Time got away from me.”

“So why now?”

A shadow crossed his face as he remembered. “My secretary gave birth recently, a very small baby. It turned out that she was a failure-to-thrive infant.”

“That’s rough,” Liz said, sincerely sympathetic. “What happened?”

“She’s doing okay now, but they came too close to losing her. It took extra attention and stimulation. Not to mention that I lost the best secretary I’ve ever had.”

“Really?”

“She quit because she didn’t have family to leave the child with and didn’t trust anyone else. I admire her commitment because they’ll have it tough financially. Anyway, the point is that after the birth, and during the extra time in the hospital, she couldn’t hold the baby twenty-four hours a day. The cuddlers filled in and made a difference. I decided there was no time like the present to do something worthwhile.”

“I’m glad the baby is doing well,” Liz said. “But think about this. We integrate our volunteers into the schedule. The nurses count on them to pick up the slack when it gets busy. You’ve seen firsthand how important it is that they show up.”

He frowned. “And your point is?”

“You’re a single guy with a busy social calendar.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because you look like—” She stopped. What was this need she had to keep tossing him crumbs that would swell his head to the point where finding a hat to fit would be impossible?

“Never mind,” she said. “Picture this scenario—you meet someone and you’d like to take her out on the spur of the moment. But you’re scheduled to be here with the babies.” She held one hand out. “Here we have Miss Nubile.” She held out her other hand. “And here we have Miss Crankypants Infant screaming her head off. Which female do you think you’d pick?”

He scratched his chin. “Tough choice. Is Miss Nubile a blond or a brunette?”

“Which are you more partial to?”

“Tall redheads.”

With an involuntary flash of disappointment, Liz figured a short brunette like herself was safe from him. “Okay, let’s make Miss Nubile a tall, titian-haired temptress.”

“Okay, let’s.”

“I knew you were impossible the first time we met.”

“Thank you very much,” he said brightly.

She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “My point is that when you don’t show up because you and Miss Nubile are tripping the light fantastic somewhere, it’s the babies who lose out. The role of touch is critical in child development. We need people we can count on for this program.”

“You’re prejudging me.”

“Not you specifically, but men in general—”

“So this third degree has to do with the fact that I’m a man.”

More than you could possibly imagine, she thought. But she only said, “Our average volunteer is female.”

“Aren’t there laws against gender discrimination?”

“Not discrimination. A screening process to protect the babies.”

“I would never hurt them.”

“I’m not suggesting you would deliberately harm them, but neglect—”

He stood suddenly and his agreeable, flirtatious facade disappeared. “I don’t neglect children, Liz. I firmly believe that they are our most precious natural resource.”

Funny, she thought. She liked his anger more than his charm. She believed it. She stood too. “That’s something we see eye-to-eye on.”

“By definition I thought you had to take anyone who shows up.”

“True. But I won’t approve any volunteer who might reflect badly on the program. It’s not firmly established yet.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “It’s just about a year old. We’re coming up for review soon. Some members of the hospital Board of Directors feel the volunteers could be better used elsewhere. I don’t want to give them any ammunition to cancel the cuddlers. I have to insist on high standards.”

He looked down at her, way down. “Spell it out.”

“Reliability is a must. And a minimum commitment of one three hour shift a week. We require you to work four weeks in the newborn nursery before going to the Neonatal Intensive Care.” She shrugged. “Those are the rules.”

“You’ve got yourself a new recruit. When is the orientation?”

“Saturday. Ten a.m. Sharp.” She glanced at his paperwork, making sure he’d filled it out completely. “Tardiness isn’t an excuse.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Read and sign the back of this please,” she said, sliding the paper across her desk.

He picked it up and scanned the words. Liz knew it was an agreement to adhere to all hospital rules of safety and confidentiality. It also said a volunteer could be terminated from the program for any reason deemed sufficient by the Director of Volunteers. She didn’t suppose Essie Martinez would consider booting Joe Marchetti before he started because he was too good-looking.

“May I borrow your pen?” he asked.

Hoping she wasn’t making a big mistake, she handed him one and he signed the form. “So we’ll see you bright and early Saturday morning?” she asked.

“I’ll be here.”

She gathered a file from her desk and started for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Where are you off to in such a hurry? Hot date?” he asked, preceding her out the door.

“Sort of. I moderate a new mothers’ support group on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.” She thought of something as she locked her office. “Sooner or later all the cuddlers are required to attend. I think it gives the program some continuity. Maybe you would like to join us now? Unless you have somewhere to go?”

“No, now is fine,” he said without hesitation.

Good, she thought, wondering if this would scare him off. It was never too early to separate the men from the boys, test his mettle. If he was going to chicken out, better sooner than later.

Joe sat in a gray plastic chair at a long table in the front of classroom 2 and watched Liz. Wearing navy slacks and a matching blazer with a bright yellow sweater underneath, she looked stylish and professional as she stood at the door greeting everyone. Women filed in, most of them carrying infants, all of them looking tired.

He studied Ms. Liz Anderson. She was a little thing, which had wounded his male pride when she’d yanked him out of Rosie’s room by his ear. But it was that moxie that had gotten his attention. She was attractive, but not one of those women who gave men whiplash when she walked down the street. Her hair, an ordinary shade of brown, was cut pixie short. Which suited her. Big hazel eyes dominated her small face. If he had to choose a word to describe her it would be cute.

The next one that popped into his mind was wary.

With him a few moments before, she’d been pleasant enough, but he’d bet all of his profit shares in Marchetti’s, Inc. that she didn’t want him in her cuddlers program. She expected him to welsh on his promise. His gut told him there was more to it than that. Which made him wonder why she’d asked him to sit in on the parent’s support group.

He noticed that her manner with the new mothers was warm and pleasant. Everyone got a hug. And when she looked at the babies, her face grew soft, with a glowing tenderness that made her beautiful. He wondered if she had children of her own. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—he’d made it a point to look. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was attached—or unattached.

“I guess we should start,” Liz said, walking to the front of the room.

Several new mothers holding their babies sat around the long table, blankets, diapers and bags placed haphazardly on chairs in between them. They watched Liz as she made her way to the lectern with the chalkboard behind it. Joe sat in the chair closest to her.

She met his gaze. “We have a guest tonight. Ladies, this is Joe Marchetti. He’s interested in joining the cuddlers program here at the hospital.”

He nodded to the women settling themselves. Some were discreetly nursing their infants. Some were standing, rocking from side to side. The lucky ones sat with sleeping babies in their arms. “Hi,” he said. He’d never understood the expression “fish out of water” better than he did at this moment.

Liz cleared her throat. “We’ll leave the door open. There are always stragglers. You all know that with a new baby there’s no guarantee of getting anywhere on time.”

He leaned over to her and whispered, “Would any of those stragglers happen to be fathers?”

“This is a new mothers’ support group.” Liz shrugged.

“Ah,” he answered. “I guess I just assumed some dads would come along.”

“Sometimes they do,” she said. “And they’re always welcome. But in most cases, women are the primary caretakers, and the one whose life is most impacted with the responsibility of caring for and feeding the infant. Which reminds me. Andie, how are you doing with nursing Valerie this week? Is it going any better?”

“I think so.” A dark-haired woman on the other side of the table spoke up. She had circles under her eyes, and a denim shirt that looked as if it had spent several weeks at the bottom of the ironing basket. “I called some of the people you suggested, Liz. I think Val has a shallow latch and as long as I make sure she’s secure, I’m not as sore.”

Joe concentrated on sitting still and looking impassive. All of this was the most natural thing in the world. His sister had nursed in front of him without embarrassment. There was no reason to be uncomfortable.

“Good.” Liz nodded at the woman with satisfaction. “Anyone have any questions, problems they’d like to bring up for discussion?”

A blonde raised her hand. She was discreetly nursing her baby with a light blanket thrown over her shoulder. “What is it, Barbara?” Liz asked.

“My husband is concerned about bringing Tommy into bed with us,” Barbara started, with a quick loving glance at the child in her arms. “I explained that when he wakes up in the middle of the night, it’s easier if I can doze while he nurses. I get more sleep that way. But he, my husband,” she clarified, “is afraid that it’ll start a habit and the baby will go off to college before we get any privacy. If you know what I mean,” she finished.

Joe felt everyone in the room look at him, including Liz. They were waiting for a reaction. So, this was a test. He decided he could act one of two ways. Embarrassed at such intimate discussion, or treat it as the earthy part of life it was. The woman who’d initiated the question had done it of her own free will. She wasn’t put off by his presence. Why should he be uncomfortable?

“A child’s needs versus intimacy is a dilemma that a lot of couples face,” Liz said. “Since we have a guest of the male persuasion, and access to his point of view, what do you think about asking him? Mr. Marchetti, would you care to comment?”

He stood and cleared his throat. “I’ve never been married, but my parents have been together for going on thirty-six years. According to my mother, it’s important for a man and woman to work on their relationship. That’s the foundation of the family. If it’s weak, the first crisis will topple everything.”

“Good advice,” Liz said, a subtle note of surprise in her voice. “But when you add a demanding new baby to the dynamic, whose needs take precedence? How do you deal with that? What about taking the child into bed?”

Joe watched the majority of women nod questioningly. Now he knew that Liz was putting him on the spot, deliberately testing him. He couldn’t blame her. This was her “baby,” her territory, her sphere of expertise. And he was a fish out of water. However, he’d always been a good test-taker. And he didn’t turn his back on a challenge. He had something to prove to Nurse Ratchett. Thinking back, he tried to remember what Rosie had said when her daughter was an infant.

He cleared his throat. “At bedtime start the baby out in his or her own bed. If they wake up during the night and it doesn’t look good for getting them to sleep easily, then you have to make a decision about whether or not to take them in with you.”

A general murmur went up as the women commented to each other. Since they were nodding their heads and smiling, Joe figured he’d done good.

Another woman raised her hand. “Mr. Marchetti, I like bringing the baby in bed with us. I want to know that he’s all right and to strengthen the family bonds. My husband doesn’t mind. But lately he’s been wondering when, you know, he and I can…well, you know,” she finished with a shrug and shy smile.

Keep it light, he told himself. Don’t let on that you’d rather be shooting hoops or pumping iron. Anything but advising new mothers about “you know.” “I guess you’re referring to what my mother calls ‘the wild thing.”’ They all laughed, easing the mood. “When the baby goes to sleep and the two of you are alone opportunity knocks. Answer the door,” he said simply.

“What if you have other children?” someone asked.

“If you’re lucky enough to have grandparents to take over, ask them for help and go to the cabin in the mountains like my folks did. If you don’t have that support, try to find a routine that puts the kids in bed early so that you and your husband have time for each other.”

Just then, Barbara’s baby, who had finished eating, began to wail. She stood and rocked him from side to side. “It’s not easy to find a routine. Every time we do, the master,” she said glancing at the unhappy infant, “changes the rules.”

“Mind if I try?” he asked. After fielding the questions he just had, he figured he’d take his chances with the little guy.

“Are you kidding?” Barbara answered. “Be my guest.” She held out the child.

Joe walked over to her and took Tommy from her arms. It had been a while since his niece had been this small. At first he felt awkward, holding the warm body in the bend of his elbow. The little fella’s face scrunched into an unhappy look as he started to whimper. Uneasily, Joe raised the infant up onto his shoulder. No dice.

The cry increased in intensity. It was almost as if the child knew he was in unfamiliar arms. Joe didn’t know what else to do but rock those arms—already feeling the burn—back and forth. Nada. The cry escalated into a full-blown scream.

“Just talk amongst yourselves,” he said above the crying. “Tommy and I will take a stroll around the room. If that’s okay with you,” he said to the baby’s mother.

She nodded. “It’s you I’m worried about. He can keep this up for hours. How long can you hold out?”

“I’m tough,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

He started walking around the room. The baby’s ear-splitting wail slowed, but he still wouldn’t quiet. Joe stopped and instead of moving him from side to side, he commenced an up and down motion. Almost instantly the baby stopped crying. Every head in the room turned to look at him. When the quiet continued, jaws began to lower. Including Liz who stared at him as if he had two heads.

“I don’t believe it,” his mother said.

Neither do I, Joe wanted to chime in, but knew that would undermine his accomplishment. He wished he could take credit for the technique. But it was something he’d learned on his niece. He was glad he’d remembered. He hoped this was the final exam, the last test to show Liz that he had what it took to be in her program.

It was something he wanted to do. On top of that, as the Human Resources Director for Marchetti’s, Inc., he was conducting his own unofficial research to see if on-site child care was feasible. He was always searching for forward-looking ideas to benefit the employees.

“I’m impressed, Joe,” Liz said.

Was there a grudging note of respect mixed with the sincerity in her voice? He hoped so.

“Thank you,” he answered, handing a dozing Tommy back to his mother.

Another baby started to fuss. Joe remembered it was the baby with the shallow latch. Valerie. Her mother, Andie, looked at him pleadingly. “Want to go for two?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure.” He took the infant and tried the same technique. In a few minutes, the fussy child had calmed.

For the rest of the evening, he became the resident nanny. It gave the mothers an opportunity to listen without interruption to the group. It gave him a chance to prove something to Liz Anderson. He didn’t know why that was so important to him, he only knew it was.

When time was up, the mothers all filed out and he thought their spirits were lighter than when the evening had started. Their radiant smiles as they walked past him were a big clue. So this is what a women’s support group was all about, he thought. Their husbands must be grateful. He was looking forward to learning more about the program. Not to mention the intriguing and exceptionally cute Nurse Anderson.

Andie looked up at him. “Do you hire out your services?” she asked wistfully.

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“Are you going to be here next week?” Barbara asked.

“I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Your social calendar?” someone asked.

“And business,” he added.

Barbara smiled at him. “You would make a wonderful father, Joe. I can’t believe no woman has snapped you up.”

He shrugged as he looked at the group of new mothers. “All of you are already taken.”

Then he was alone with Liz. She was looking at him strangely. “That was an interesting experience.”

“Interesting good, or bad?” he asked crossing one ankle over the other as he leaned back against one of the gray plastic chairs.

“I’d have to say good,” she answered slowly.

“You don’t sound convinced. I think it was clear that they love me,” he said.

“Those women are so tired they would love Godzilla if he could give them a minute-and-a-half of peace and quiet.”