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cords: working fine Temper: check plus.
    Tough stuff, like her namesake, and his Grandma Abbie would have loved her at first glance. Justin had a sudden urge to hold his daughter and protect her from the man upsetting her, like a dad should.
    Probably better to wait until she had some clothes on.
    “She looks good,” Dr. Charmer said. “You can get her dressed.”
    “Would you hand me the diaper bag?” Jena asked Justin.
    He placed it on the head of the exam table.
    Jena took out what she needed.
    “Her ears look fine,” Dr. Charmer said. “Her lungs are clear. She has good bowel sounds. No abdominal tenderness. No visible injuries. She’s moving her extremities freely. If I had to guess, I’d say she had a bout of gas. If it happens again, it may be colic. Talk to your pediatrician.”
    “Can you recommend a good one?” Jena asked. “I’ve done some inquiring but haven’t decided who to use. Two more weeks and the girls will need their next round of immunizations.”
    “You know in addition to urgent care cases we handle routine pediatrics by appointment, if you’re interested.”
    She wouldn’t be. The urgent care center wasn’t near upscale enough for Jena.
    “That’d be great,” she said with a smile brighter than any he’d ever seen on Jaci. “Would it be okay if I requested you?”
    No. Dr. Blake was a much better choice. Portly, married, Dr. Blake .
    “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”
    He was going to be a lot more than insulted when Justin got finished with him.
    What the heck was happening? Jena was the quiet one. The mousey one. The stuck up one. People didn’t like her. Yet Mary did. And Dr. Charmer did—to the point Justin felt it necessary to attend every pediatric appointment from today on to prevent Jena from falling victim to his charm.
    With Abbie diapered and dressed, Jena struggled to hold her and pour water into a bottle.
    “I can hold her,” Justin offered.
    “It’s okay,” Jena said, taking a can of formula out of the diaper bag.
    “I want to.” She was his daughter and a good father would want to hold her.
    Jena looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said. “For not questioning if I was sure they were yours. For taking this much better than I’d thought you would.”
    Frankly he still felt sort of numb. But one thing he knew for certain, he’d do right by his girls.
    Jena placed Abbie in his arms. So small. Delicate. He felt awkward, his hands too rough, too big.
    “Hold her head.” Jena positioned his hands where they needed to be then measured the formula powder and dumped it into the bottle. “I need a microwave.”
    “Down the hall to the right, third door on your left will be the staff break room.”
    Alone with his crying daughter for the first time the responsibility of parenthood hit him. What did he know about being a father? To girls, no less. About feeding them and dressing them and getting them to stop crying? Absolutely nothing. He swayed and rubbed Abbie’s back the same way he’d watched Jena do it. “Daddy’s got you while mommy’s heating up your bottle.”
    Daddy and mommy . One of each. How he’d wished for a real mommy of his own when he’d been little. Grandma Abbie had tried. But she’d been old and tired. To be honest, he’d wished for a real daddy of his own, too. One who showed an interest in his kid by visiting his classroom on career day and attending baseball practices and games. One who took his kid out to dinner and enjoyed spending time with him instead of constantly looking for places to dump him so he could entertain women too numerous to remember any one in particular without interruption.
    Jena returned. “Mary said they don’t have anyone waiting for the room so we can take as long as we like.”
    He looked at the bottle and saw his hand reaching for it.
    “You don’t have to—”
    Something strange happened. The man who had never before felt an inclination to hold or feed or have any contact with a baby said,