Cradle and All by M. J. Rodgers

*
    “I’ VE GOT AN ace-high straight, boys,” the eighty-five-year-old lady with the humped back and thin, blue-veined hands said as she slapped her cards down on the table. “Read ’em and weep.”
    The other senior citizens sitting around Tom and Anne at the rickety old card table moaned in unison as they threw in their cards.
    “She’s cheating, Father,” sputtered a thin, wrinkled man who Anne was certain had to be at least ninety. “Nobody wins eight straight in a row fair and square!”
    Tom peered across the table at the smug grin on the old lady’s face as she gingerly scooped up the pile of wagered matchsticks from the middle of the table.
    “You dealing from the bottom of the deck again, Shirley?” Tom asked.
    Shirley stared at Tom with the face of a born cardsharp. “Accusing an old lady of such a thing. You should be ashamed of yourself, Father Tom. Just for that you owe me another cupcake.”
    Tom shifted the feeding baby in his arms to reach into the basket at his feet. He drew out a chocolate-topped cupcake and slid it slowly across the table toward Shirley.
    Shirley eyed the cupcake greedily. When she reached for it, however, Tom quickly pulled it back. As Shirley made a final, valiant grab, an ace slipped out of her sleeve.
    “There! See? See?” shouted the old man.
    “Oh, put a cork in it, Walter,” Shirley said, totally unperturbed at having been caught. Her twinkling eyes returned to Tom. “Now, you going to hand over that cupcake, or am I going to have to arm wrestle you for it?”
    Tom eyed Shirley for a moment as though sizing up his opponent. Then he pushed back from the table, stood up and carefully handed Tommy to Anne.
    “Two out of three,” he said as he started to roll up his sleeve.
    Pandemonium at once reigned as the senior citizens at the table began rolling wheelchairs and hopping on their canes in order to reposition themselves to get a clearer view. Matchsticks got dumped onto the table as they yelled out their bets to Anne, whom they immediately designated as their official bookie.
    Anne had a hard time restraining her mirth—particularly when she noticed that the previously irate Walter was smiling happily as he bet all his matchsticks on Shirley. The formidable old lady was the odds-on favorite.
    Tom and Shirley sat face-to-face, knee-to-knee, elbows on the table, hands clasped. Tom huffed and puffed and made a good show, but Shirley easily pinned him two in a row.
    Shirley was smugly munching her cupcake and basking in the back slaps of the other seniors when Tom and Anne left the convalescent home a few minutes later.
    “Does this go on every Sunday?” Anne asked as they headed for his car in the parking lot.
    “First day I came to visit them they told me straight out that they knew the scriptures better than I ever would,” Tom explained with a grin. “Said if I insisted on bothering them on Sundays, I’d better bring food and be ready to play some poker.”
    Anne chuckled. Tom was really very nice. And such a blend of contrasts. A sort of sexy saint and sinner all rolled up into one.
    Every time she thought about that very personal message he had delivered to her earlier, she could feel the blood charging through her body. It astounded her that she could come so unglued just by learning of a man’s interest in her. But then, as she was quickly discovering, Tom wasn’t just any man.
    “How’s Tommy?” he asked.
    They had reached the car, and Anne waited at the passenger door while Tom dug into his pocket for his keys.
    “He’s awake and looking at you,” Anne said as she held up the baby.
    Tom glanced over at Tommy. The baby’s eyes were indeed wide and alert—and very blue. A wisp of pale-blond hair curled over his forehead. His light-bronze skin was clear and smooth. It was the first time that Tom had seen the baby when he wasn’t eating, in a fit of crying or passed out in sleep.
    The little boy was beautiful.
    When Tom gently touched the