Autumn in the Vineyard (A St. Helena Vineyard Novel) by Marina Adair

She was tempted to forgive him of everything, take him up on his sweet offer and start over. Which made her not only a liar but pathetic.
    “Have you met Sofie yet?” Nate asked, walking toward her.
    Frankie, knowing what she’d see, a cute little bundle of poop and tears, took a huge step back. “Yup.”
    Nate raised a brow and took another step closer, boxing her in. “Had the chance to hold her?”
    Frankie either had to look at the baby, and risk sending it into tears, or jump out the window. A glance behind her and a quick calculation of how far the drop was, and if the grass below would act as a cushion, later she was moving toward the window, ready to take her chances. Then she saw the screen and knew she was screwed.
    Hugging her helmet to her chest, she explained, “Babies and I don’t mix all that well.”
    “Ah, come on. She’s got a fresh diaper and was just fed, she’ll be an angel.” Now he was teasing her. He had to be. Otherwise he was just being mean because it was obvious that she was rattled.
    “I’m not good with babies.” But when Frankie put her hands out in what she thought was clearly the universal sign for
hell no
, he took a step closer. Either it was a misunderstanding or Nate wanted to make her sweat, because instead of cuddling the wiggling poop-maker back to his chest, he grabbed her helmet and replaced it with Baby Sofie.
    Frankie looked down to make sure the baby was actually in the bundle of pink cotton because it felt so light and, wow, the kid was knocked out. Dark little lashes rested on her chubby cheeks, her tiny chest rose and fell with each steady breath, andshe smelled like baby powder and new car. Peaceful, cute, not so bad.
    Frankie looked up at Nate and smiled. He wasn’t smiling back. The good news what that it was his turn to be rattled. His gaze dropped to sleeping Sofie and back to Frankie and all of a sudden the room felt like it was getting smaller. The sexual energy that always seemed to buzz between them, heightened to the point of being palpable, surrounding them as though it was just her and Nate and—
    It wiggled. The kid made some grunting noise and her eyes snapped open, hazy and milky at first, and then—
boom
—locked on to Frankie and wouldn’t let go. It was as though Sofie was trying to incinerate Frankie with her gaze. Her face went from peaceful to tomato in two seconds flat, getting redder and redder as her lips puckered tighter and tighter, until—she exploded.
    It wasn’t just a cry. Frankie could handle a cry. It was more like a demonic screech, pulled up from the depths of Hell and released on the room.
    “See,” Frankie said extending the very pissed off package back to Nate. “She doesn’t like me.”
    “Sweetheart, she’s a baby, she doesn’t like anyone,” Nate said, sticking out his finger and fitting it in the tiny hand.
    Only she
really
didn’t like Frankie. Her screeching became wails and the kid’s face was so purple Frankie wouldn’t put it past her to stop breathing all together. How could she explain to one of her two best friends that she’d broken her baby? Just by holding her?
    “Really, I can’t,” she said, a bubble of panic rising up. “I told you I’m not good with kids and”—
breathe, Frankie, breathe
—“I can’t do this.”
    Nate must have realized that she wasn’t screwing around, that she was about to reach DEFCON 1 and lose it, because his smile vanished and suddenly he was behind her, his strong arms around her, supporting Baby Sofie from underneath.
    “It’s okay,” he soothed. For Sofie’s or Frankie’s sake, she couldn’t be sure, but Sofie dropped the theatrics to a steady wet-sniffle and Frankie felt her breathing return to somewhat normal. “She just needs to be reassured that you’ve got her.”
    “But I don’t have her,” Frankie whispered. She’d never had a maternal touch. And it had never bothered her. Until now.
    “Sure you do. Just put your hand here. Good. Now