Sam worried because Catherine was so small, so when her time came, he sent to Dallas for a doctor. After an amazingly short labor, Catherine was delivered of a healthy baby girl. The doctor arrived several hours after the baby did.
Sam and Catherine had been arguing for weeks over names. A boy would be named for Catherine’s father, of course, but Sam insisted a daughter of Cat’s should be named Kitten, while Catherine held out for something more traditional.
One look at Sam’s face the first time he saw his child settled the matter, however. Joy Connors was the light of her father’s life, and he doted on her the way he’d never allowed himself to dote on David.
She enchanted David, too, and as long as Catherine lived, she’d never forget the expression on Sam’s face the first time David called him Papa. When Joy was no more than an hour old, David came in to greet the new arrival.
Sam sat in the new rocking chair beside the bed where Catherine lay, cradling his precious bundle, and David grinned broadly at the sight of Sam’s work-roughened hand stroking the baby’s delicate cheek. “Hello, Papa,” he chirped.
“Papa?” Sam echoed hollowly, stunned.
“Yeah, Papa, you’d better get used to it now that you are one.” He winked at Catherine. “From the look on his face, it’s a good thing I started breaking him in early. If the baby’d said it first, we might’ve lost him.”
“It does sound strange,” Sam managed hoarsely. He and Catherine had argued over David, too. She insisted David had a right to know Sam was his father. He would understand, she’d said.
And what if he didn’t? Sam had responded each time, effectively ending the discussion. Thus, they’d kept the secret.
David gazed down at the baby in Sam’s arms. “She sure is little, isn’t she?”
“She’ll grow,” Catherine informed him wryly.
Obviously intimidated, David touched the baby’s tiny fist with the tip of his finger. To his surprise, Joy grabbed it, looking up at him with Catherine’s blue eyes. “Hello there,” he said, and then—or so Sam and David always swore—she smiled.
Sam and David were completely smitten and began a competition to see who could spoil her more thoroughly. Catherine often observed that if Joy hadn’t come to her to be fed, she never would have gotten to hold her own baby.
One afternoon when Joy was about six months old, Catherine wandered into the parlor to find out why her daughter hadn’t awakened from her nap. Catherine’s full breasts told her it was past time, and when she peeked into the room they’d made for the baby in the corner of the front room, she knew why.
Stolen! Joy had been stolen again. Since David had left a few weeks earlier for Philadelphia—using the reward money to finance his trip—Catherine knew exactly where to look. She found Sam and his daughter stretched out on the big bed he and Catherine now shared.
Even before she opened the bedroom door, she could hear Sam talking nonsense and the baby’s cooing replies.
“Aha!” Catherine cried in triumph as she threw the door open. “Thief! Kidnapper!”
Sam grinned unrepentantly, and Joy shrieked an enthusiastic greeting to her mother.
“I found her all alone in her bed, and she told me her mama was neglecting her,” Sam said in defense as Catherine climbed onto the bed beside them.
“Liar,” she chided playfully as she unbuttoned her bodice and offered Joy her breast. “You woke her up and carried her off.”
“She didn’t complain,” he informed her, watching with adoration as his child suckled.
Joy released Catherine’s nipple for a moment to cast Sam a flirtatious glance before resuming her meal.
“You are entirely too absorbed in this baby,” Catherine informed him with mock sternness.
Sam captured Joy’s bare foot and kissed her toes, eliciting a milky giggle. “I can’t help it. I could never be this way with Davy, for fear somebody would guess I was his father.”
“Well, you’re going to ruin this poor child if something isn’t done to stop you,” Catherine said, maintaining her stern pose.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his dark eyes laughing at her.
“The solution is obvious: You must have more children.”
He grinned wickedly. “I’m perfectly willing to do my part, but I’ll need help.”
Catherine sighed dramatically. “Well, since this is so important, I’m willing to make the sacrifice...”
“Sacrifice!”
Joy jumped and gave her father a quizzical look, which he ignored.
“Yes, sacrifice,” Catherine insisted. “I’m sure you’ll need at least six or seven children to bring you into line.”
“Six?”
“Or seven. Maybe even more. I’ll have to see how you do.”
Sam frowned, no longer amused by her teasing. “You’re awfully small, Cat. Don’t you think—”
“You heard what the doctor said. I’m made for having babies small or not. Of course, I might get plump.”
“I like you plump,” he said, stroking the curve of her hip.
“So if you don’t mind making the babies, I’ll gladly have them. It’s for your own good, Sam.”
“Seems like I remember you didn’t mind making Joy,” he recalled slyly.
Catherine’s lips twitched, but she managed to maintain her pose. “As I said, I’m perfectly willing to do my wifely duty.”
Sam lunged, catching her by surprise with the fierceness of his embrace. His mouth sought hers hungrily, and for a moment they both forgot they were not alone.
“Whaaa,” baby Joy wailed in protest at being scrunched between her parents.
Sam eased away, making a space for her while still holding Catherine fast. “What do you think are the chances of Joy taking another nap real soon so her parents can get on with their ‘duties’?”
“Not very good,” Catherine replied. “But maybe Inez will watch her while we take one.”
Sam grinned. “I’ll go ask her right now.”