The Rancher's Miracle Baby. April Arrington
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a close eye on him, she changed out of her wet clothes and into the dry ones Alex had provided. Her mouth quirked as she held the jogging pants to her middle to keep them from falling. Alex had been right. The pants were at least three sizes too big, but she folded the waistband over several times and tied a knot in the bottom of the T-shirt to take up some of the slack in both.
When she was finished, she pulled her cell phone from the soggy pocket of her jeans and tried calling Jen. But there was no service, just as Alex had said. Sighing, she turned it off, gathered up the wet clothes and lantern, then made her way down the hall, drawing to an abrupt halt in the kitchen.
Alex stood by the sink, tossing back a shot glass and drinking deeply. He stilled as the light bathed his face and the bottle of whiskey in his hand.
A trickle of dread crept across the flesh of her back and sent a chill up her neck. The sight was nothing new. Her father had adopted the same pose every morning and every night. For him, each day began and ended with a bottle, and she imagined it was still that way, though she hadn’t laid eyes on him in eight years.
The desire to run was strong. It spiked up her legs and throbbed in her muscles, urging her to drop everything and take off. Even if it meant walking twenty miles in the dark to the nearest town.
“I brought the wet clothes,” Tammy said, shifting from one foot to the other, her boots crunching over shards of broken glass. “I can lay them out if you’ll just tell me where—”
“No.” He set the shot glass and bottle on the counter, then held out his hand. It still trembled, and the light from the lantern couldn’t dispel the sad shadows in his eyes. “I’ll take care of them. Thanks.”
The calm tone of his voice eased her tension slightly, and she handed the clothes over before returning to the bedroom to check on Brody. She set the lantern on the nightstand, then trailed a hand over his rosy cheek, closing her eyes and focusing on his slow breaths.
His soft baby scent mingled with that of Alex’s, still lingering on the sheets. Uncomfortable, she kissed Brody’s forehead gently, then slipped away and stood by the window. She parted the curtains, and the glow from the lantern highlighted her reflection in the windowpane.
“He sleeping?”
Alex’s broad chest appeared in the reflection behind her, and she stepped quickly to the side and faced him. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for seeing to him,” he said, looking at Brody.
Tammy nodded. “He...he’s been asking for his mama.”
He watched the baby, his mouth tightening, then took her place at the window. A muscle ticked in his strong jaw as he stared at the darkness outside.
Tammy fiddled with the T-shirt knotted at her waist. “I’m sorry about Dean and Gloria.”
Alex dipped his head briefly, then turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Did you know them well?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He dragged a broad hand over the back of his neck, his tone husky. “We all grew up together. Dean and I’ve been best friends since second grade. And Gloria and Susan—” His words broke off, and his knuckles turned white, his grip tightening around the base of his neck. “Dean helped me build this house. And I helped him build his.”
Tammy stilled, her palms aching to reach out and settle over his hard grip. Ease the pain in some small way. She focused on his words instead, wondering who Susan was and why he’d clammed up so abruptly after mentioning her.
His wife, maybe? This was a big house for a single man. But she hadn’t seen any women’s clothing in the closet or feminine toiletries in the bathroom.
“Is Susan—”
A steady pounding drummed the roof and bore down on the walls of the house. Fat drops of water splattered against the windowpane, and steady streams began flowing down the glass.
“It’s raining again,” he said, releasing his neck and placing his palm to the window. His biceps flexed below the soggy sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t know when emergency services will make their rounds out here. We’re so far from town.” His whole body shook as he stared straight ahead. “I can’t leave them out there alone,” he choked. “Not like that.”
He shoved off the window and strode swiftly to the door.
“Alex?”
He paused, gripping the door frame and keeping his broad back to her.
Tammy blinked back tears and gnawed her lower lip, wanting so much to help but feeling useless. “What can I do?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his voice thin. “Stay here and take care of Brody until I get back?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He left and the rain grew heavier, the sound of water pummeling the house filling the room. Rhythmic tings and plops started in the hallway as water leaked from the ceiling and hit the hardwood floor.
Shivering despite the heat of the summer night, Tammy moved slowly to the bed and sat down. She watched the empty doorway for over an hour, waiting to see if someone who knew Alex would walk in. A wife or girlfriend. Maybe a family member or friend. Anyone who cared enough to brave the weather, make the drive to Alex’s ranch and check on him.
But no one did.
Eventually, the day became too heavy to carry, and the tears she’d struggled to hold back ran down her cheeks, the salty taste seeping into the corners of her mouth. She gave in and lay on the bed, curling into a ball near Brody and placing a comforting hand on his small shoulder.
She thought of Brody’s parents and Razz in the dark, in the rain. She thought of Brody. And Alex...
His distinctive scent grew stronger as she silenced her sobs in the pillow and realized that, for the first time, she’d found two people who were more alone than she was.
* * *
“I’M REAL SORRY, ALEX.”
Alex forced a nod as Jaxon Lennox, a paramedic and old classmate from high school, joined his colleague and lifted a second gurney into the back of an ambulance. The white sheet covering Dean flapped in the early-morning breeze.
Stomach churning, Alex spun away from the sight and studied the ruins of Dean’s house. The rain from last night had soaked the wreckage, leaving deep puddles of dingy water on the piles of broken wood and battered bricks.
Alex had remained at Dean and Gloria’s side all night until emergency services arrived in the early-morning hours. He’d been unable to bring himself to leave. The scene blurred in front of him, and he blinked hard, balling his fists against his thighs to keep from dragging them over his burning eyes.
The ambulance doors thudded closed, and Alex stiffened as footsteps approached from behind.
“I spoke to the sheriff. He said he’d contact a social worker this morning about the baby,” Jaxon said. “Probably Ms. Maxine.”
Alex held his breath and tried to suppress the heat welling in his chest and searing his cheeks. Deer Creek was a tiny community by anyone’s standards, and everyone knew Ms. Maxine. Most everyone also knew Ms. Maxine had served as Alex’s social worker from the time he’d turned five until he’d aged out of foster care at eighteen. She’d attended his high school graduation and his wedding. And had been the first guest at his and Susan’s housewarming party eleven years ago, with an armful of gifts in tow.
Ms. Maxine was one of the brightest spots of a naively hopeful past that he wanted to forget.
“Sheriff said she should be at your place this afternoon to collect the child. I told him about that overturned truck at your place, too, and he said he’ll send someone out as soon as he can.” Jaxon sighed. “Wish we could’ve gotten here sooner, but things are so crazy right now. That storm was a monster, and it