let loose a wail they could use to part traffic during emergencies. Will was surprised the kitchen walls didn’t shake.
Fingers mentally crossed that picking up the baby would quiet him, Will reached into the car seat. The latches on the safety harness turned out to be trickier than he anticipated—or maybe it was only the thrashing, crying baby that made them seem complicated. Either way, after a few fumbled attempts and some nonsensical pleading, Will managed to free the squalling infant. He held Tommy upright, but aside from supporting his head—was the baby young enough that he even needed head support?—Will wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“Your mama is coming back,” he promised. “I know I’m not who you were looking for, but I swear I’m a decent guy.” This did not appease the baby, who only cried louder. “I feel ya, kid. An incompetent bachelor is no substitute for a pretty young woman.” At some point, he’d started patting the baby on the back. Tommy wasn’t getting any quieter, but at least he wasn’t noticeably louder—if that were even possible.
Will paced the kitchen, still patting as if his eardrums depended on it. Over the din, he called, “Amy? My holding him isn’t doing the trick.” It was a stupid thing to point out, considering that she could hear the baby. Folks in the neighboring town of Turtle could probably hear the baby. Still, desperation reduced him to stating the obvious.
Long moments passed with no response.
Desperation escalated to panic. This much crying couldn’t be good for the kid. “Amy?” Pause. “Amy?” His heart raced. Was she okay? There was no telling what drugs Donovan had been feeding her, or what physical effects she might be suffering.
He headed toward the restroom, but the door stood ajar. She wasn’t in there. Outside, then? Did she need help unloading Tommy’s stuff from the car?
Will opened the front door, then stood paralyzed, unable to process what he was seeing. Or, more accurately, not seeing—namely, Amy’s car.
Dread churned in his stomach. “Oh no, no, no, no.” Where her car had been parked, there now sat a small box next to a folded heap of plastic and mesh. Some kind of portable crib, if he wasn’t mistaken, with a note taped to it on bright yellow stationery.
Dear Will,
This is the hardest thing I’ve ever asked anyone, but you’re the only real-life hero I’ve ever met. I know Tommy will be safe with you. I have to get clean for him. I have an aunt who’s been through rehab, and she got me a place in the clinic near her. During the weeks I’m gone, I need someone to watch Tommy. My mom might seem like the obvious choice, but she barely knew what to do with her daughter. She was relieved when I started dating Donovan, so he could take care of me. I’ll be back soon and will be forever in your debt. Please, please keep him safe for me and tell him every day that his mommy loves him.
Amy
Shock jolted through Will, and a word escaped his lips that he had no business saying in front of a baby. He was reeling too violently to censor himself. When Amy had told him she needed his assistance, he’d unthinkingly vowed, “Anything.”
But he sure as hell hadn’t expected this.
Holding Tommy tight against him with one arm, Will used his free hand to drag the crib into the house. The entire time, his head throbbed, and his stomach buckled like he had the worst hangover in history. Tommy’s angry cries only added to the pounding in his skull.
“Look, kid, I’m begging for mercy here. You win—my brothers were never able to get me to say uncle when we were growing up.” His brothers. Should Will call one of them? After all, Cole had plenty of experience with young children, and it had been Jace who suggested Will reach out to Amy in the first place.
But Cole had left for Houston with his fiancée yesterday. And Jace, who made some of his best bartending tips on Saturdays, was probably working. Which left Gayle Trent. He fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket while trying to find some sort of rocking motion that would pacify Tommy. He had to turn the volume all the way up to hear his mother’s phone ring, but, unfortunately, there was no answer. He hung up before leaving a message. The situation seemed a bit too complicated to sum up after the beep.
“All right, we can do this,” he told the baby. “But you’re going to have to work with me, Tommy.” Didn’t babies mostly eat and sleep? Since the kid had already napped, it stood to reason he was hungry. Will just had to strap him back into the car seat long enough to figure out what to feed him. Probably not lasagna.
Milk? Formula? Baby food? “Let’s get you buckled safely into your chair so I can see what your mama left us.” No doubt the massive duffel bag was packed with supplies. But when he attempted to put Tommy back in his seat, the baby arched his back and went rigid, protesting so loudly that his face turned purple.
“Hey, none of that, now,” Will coaxed. “I have a next-door neighbor who specifically asked me to keep it down over here. You wouldn’t want to get your uncle Will in trouble, would you?” Thinking of Megan filled him with a sudden reckless hope. She managed three daughters all by herself. Surely she’d know what to do about one crying baby?
You’re forgetting, she hates you.
True. But maybe her maternal instinct would kick in when she saw Tommy, and she’d help anyway.
* * *
“MAMA?”
Megan glanced up just in time to catch the cordless phone. Daisy didn’t always wait to make sure recipients had a grip on whatever she was handing them before letting go.
“Gammy!” Daisy said as she toddled out of the kitchen, blissfully unaware of how much Megan did not want to speak with her mother.
Since Daisy had so helpfully answered the phone, it was too late to pretend not to be home. Megan hadn’t even heard it ring over the mechanical whirr of the food processor. She’d been shredding broccoli into pieces too small for the girls to pick out of tonight’s macaroni and cheese. Whether the broccoli smithereens were big enough to actually add any nutritional value was debatable, but sometimes the best you could hope for in motherhood was a moral victory.
Frankly, daughterhood was no picnic, either. “Hello?” she said, pasting a smile on her face in an attempt to sound cheery and welcoming.
“I can’t believe you let a three-year-old answer the phone.”
“I’m sure Daisy thought she was being helpful. I was busy getting dinner ready.”
“Too busy to speak to your mother?”
Yes. The word hovered on her tongue, but Megan knew she’d never say it. The lasting drama of Beth Ann’s hurt feelings wouldn’t be worth the short-term satisfaction. “What do you need, Mom?”
“The chance to apologize, for starters. I never should have discouraged you from divorcing Spencer. That man is a no-good cheat.”
Megan blinked, stunned by her mother’s sudden about-face. After Spencer’s first affair, Beth Ann had defended her son-in-law, saying he’d acted rashly in his panic over impending fatherhood and had only succumbed to temptation because Megan was on bed rest and unavailable for “marital relations.” Wanting
