"No, I want Mommy to hold me." Pippa's voice was tinged with tears, but he remained stubborn.
Jett Westgate watched the scene, a wave of irritation washing over him. He'd never been a patient man, but looking at Pippa's face—a mirror image of his own—he forced down his rising temper.
He tried to make his voice sound calmer, as if speaking to a little adult. "Pippa, Mommy needs to rest too. If you keep clinging to her like this, she'll get very tired. You're a little man now. You need to learn to take care of Mommy, not cause trouble for her."
His voice carried a hint of expectation. "Come here. I'll hold you and let Mommy rest."
His gaze was serious, without a trace of perfunctoriness. He believed that, as his son, the boy should be able to understand such reasoning.
Pippa paused for a few seconds, clearly taking it in.
"O... okay, then." He relented with some reluctance, but it was mostly out of concern for his mother.
