Colton Family Showdown. Regan Black
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to prank him, but he was ready for the stunt to be over. “You got me,” he called a little louder.
No reply.
He rubbed one bare foot against his calf. Prank or not, the night was too cold to stand out here without warmer clothing.
“You can’t be here,” he said to the baby. The infant was bundled up, but he couldn’t just leave it out here. “You’re not mine.”
The baby didn’t care about Fox’s denial.
He hauled both baby and bag inside, out of the chill. The diaper bag and car seat contraption were in shades of blue, decorated with airplanes, trucks and trains in various bright colors.
“Safe bet is you’re a boy.” This wasn’t one of his foals, so it wasn’t his job to confirm or deny the fact. “You’re not mine,” he repeated. No way had he fathered a baby without knowing. Hell, he hadn’t even been with a woman in over a year. That was a hard fact to face, even in the privacy of his own head. So who would dump a child on his doorstep? “Are you Wyatt’s?” he wondered.
Naturally, the baby didn’t answer, just kept staring up at him. Fox studied the tiny face, unable to see any obvious resemblance between the baby and anyone he knew.
He’d just seen Wyatt’s newborn. This little guy was too big to be brand-new. Weren’t people supposed to abandon newborns at fire stations or orphanages? How old was the baby? And how had he wound up on Fox’s doorstep? He called the bunkhouse, but no one there had seen any vehicles that didn’t belong to the Crooked C.
“Whoever you belong to, you can’t stay here.” Fox had no intention of having fatherhood forced on him. Considering his troubled childhood, he’d ruled it out way back in college. Possibly even before that. Not that the baby cared.
He locked the front door again and started upstairs. Should he leave the little guy alone? His sister would know. He pulled out his phone and started to call and remembered she was out of town with her family. Checking the straps, Fox decided the baby was secure in the seat. It would only take him a minute to change. “Wait here.” He darted up the stairs, found a pair of jeans and came back to find the baby, eyes wide, calmly taking in the change of scenery.
What did babies see?
He knew how and when horses developed vision, but he’d never bothered to think about the same growth and development in humans.
He sat on the bench next to the door and pulled on his boots. “Come on.” He picked up the car seat. “Oof, you’ve got some heft. Good for you.” Slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder, he picked up his keys. “The police will know what to do with you.”
Tucking the diaper bag behind the front passenger seat, he wrestled the car seat into place in the back, securing it with the seat belt. He didn’t think he had it quite right, but it should do for the short, careful drive into town.
The baby was quiet on the ride and seemed happy enough when Fox carried him, seat and all, into the police department looking for his cousin, Sheriff Trey Colton. If this was a prank, someone was about to get busted.
“Is Trey around?” he asked the officer manning the front desk.
“Come on back, Fox.” Trey waved him into his office, then did a double take when he saw what his cousin was carrying. “Whoa. Who’s this?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Fox set the carrier on the sheriff’s desk and the diaper bag in the chair. “I found him on my porch.”
“When?”
“Less than half an hour ago. I loaded him up and came straight here.”
“Why?”
Why? Fox gawked at Trey. His cousin was clearly overtired if he couldn’t come to his own conclusions on that score. “So you could handle it. Bringing him here seemed better than calling you out to the ranch.”
Eyes trained on the baby, Trey rocked the baby seat. “No one’s reported a missing child.”
“Well, let me be the first,” Fox muttered, planting his hands on his hips. “He isn’t mine.”
The sheriff arched an eyebrow and pinned his cousin with a hard stare. “Why else would he be on your porch?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he retorted. “I haven’t been with anyone.” He could feel his cheeks burning with the admission. “Not in a time frame that would have this result.”
He should’ve just had that vasectomy a few years ago after his sister had gotten pregnant. Sure she was happy now, but all her talk of cousins and playdates had terrified him. He was not father material. Fox didn’t expect her to remember that part of their childhood. Better if she didn’t. If only he’d followed through then, he wouldn’t have to endure the judgment on Trey’s face now.
“It’s not my kid,” he insisted.
“He’s a cute little guy.” With a put-upon sigh, Trey unbuckled the baby and lifted him from the seat. “Look for a note,” he told Fox.
Why hadn’t he thought of that? “No note here.”
“Check the diaper bag,” Trey said patiently, cuddling the baby like a pro. That too was empty of anything as helpful as identification or a note. “Was there anything else with him?”
“No.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a real mystery on your hands,” the sheriff said.
“No.” Fox stepped back. “You do. He isn’t my kid. I can’t keep him.” Just the thought of having a child in his care made his palms sweat. “I can’t keep him,” he repeated.
The baby wriggled in Trey’s arms, making happy gurgling sounds that made the sheriff smile. “Your front doorstep isn’t exactly well-known or easy to get to,” he said.
“Oh, my.” Deputy Sheriff Daria Bloom walked in. “What a sweet face.”
Was everyone on the graveyard shift tonight? With her athletic grace, striking features and golden-brown eyes framed by a cap of short dark hair, she always struck Fox as more of a model than a law enforcement officer. Of course, her real career choice was more than evident since she’d taken the lead on the Avalanche Killer case.
She stepped closer to the baby. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you?” she crooned.
The baby smiled at her and his pacifier fell out of his mouth to the floor. She picked it up. “What’s his name?”
“I wish I knew,” Fox said.
“What are you talking about?” Daria frowned, but the expression melted into a smile when the baby reached for her. She let him catch her finger in his tiny hand.
“Fox found him on his doorstep and is certain he isn’t the father.”
“Your house isn’t exactly easy access,” Daria replied.
“I said the same thing,” the sheriff murmured. The baby’s attention went to the star on his navy blue uniform shirt. “Someone went out of their way for you to have him, Fox.”
“But he cannot possibly be mine,” Fox insisted. “Isn’t there someone you call when this happens?”
Daria backed toward the door, the pacifier clutched in her hand. “I’ll go wash this.”
“I can call child services,” Trey offered. “If you’re sure that’s the route you want to go.”
Child services. “Foster care?” Fox rolled his shoulders, trying to release the sudden pinch between his shoulder blades. “Is that the only option?”
“No note, no identification, no reported lost baby.” Trey shrugged as he nestled the baby back into the car seat. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” he said.