She grinned. “Couldn’t find another taker for that fabulous Adams charm, huh?”

“Never even tried,” he admitted, then shrugged. “You’ve spoiled me for anyone else, Me...liss...a.”

She studied his face intently, looking for signs that the comment was no more than a glib, charming lie. He appeared to be dead serious. A little flutter of excitement stirred deep inside her. Was it possible that Cody really did intend to stick around through thick and thin, through good times and bad?

For the first time since he’d come home from Wyoming, she dared to hope that he really had changed. If he had...

No, she cautioned herself at once. It was too soon to leap to any conclusions at all about the future.

“Good night, Cody,” she whispered, her voice husky with a longing she would never have admitted.

“Good night, darlin’.”

Cody felt as if he’d slept on an old washboard. Every muscle ached like the dickens. Every vertebra in his back had either been compressed, twisted or otherwise maimed by Melissa’s sofa. He suspected she’d made him sleep there on purpose, knowing what it would do to him.

He also had the distinct impression that there was a tiny wanna-be drummer in his head flailing away without much sense of rhythm.

He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking at the sunlight streaming into the living room. That was when he realized that the loud clanging wasn’t in his head. It was coming from Sharon Lynn’s room. If that was the case, it just might be something he could stop before his head exploded.

Moving inch by careful inch, he eased to his feet and padded down the hall to the baby’s room. When he opened the door a crack, he found her bouncing in her crib, banging a wooden block on the railing. The instant she spied him, a smile spread across her face.

“Da,” she enthused, and held out her arms.

Cody wondered if he would ever get over the thrill that sweet, innocent gesture sent through him.

“Morning, pumpkin. I take it from all the commotion in here that you’re feeling better.”

“Ya...ya...ya.”

“That must mean yes,” he decided as he plucked her out of the crib and took the toy block from her as a precaution. His head was feeling marginally better, but another round of Sharon Lynn’s musical skills would be a killer.

Her temperature seemed to be gone. He quickly changed her, then carried her into the kitchen. Once there, he was stymied. Was she old enough for regular cereal? Or was there some sort of baby food she was supposed to have? He didn’t recall discussing breakfast when he and Melissa had shopped for groceries.