The Cowboy's Unexpected Baby. Stephanie Dees
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that one was easy. The baby could be wet or need a change. And yes, there were diapers in the bag!
But dairy? He chewed his lip as he dug through the bag. That had to be milk.
“Oh, you’re hungry!” He grinned at her like he’d made a breakthrough scientific discovery. She was unimpressed, the crying ratcheting up to a decibel he had no idea a child could reach.
Frantic now, he went back to the bag, searching the pockets in desperation. Nothing. He looked inside. There were a couple of little outfits, but he didn’t see a bottle. With a frustrated grumble, he picked up the bag and shook the contents onto the couch cushion.
Finally, he found two small prefilled bottles, the kind Devin’s twins had when they first left the hospital. He picked up another small package with the nipple, screwed it on to the top of the bottle and set it on the coffee table.
He unlatched the buckles, freed her arms from the straps of the car seat and gingerly lifted her out. One hand under her backside and the other behind her head, he held her like a bomb that could explode any second. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he’d be less freaked out holding a bomb than he was holding this screaming baby. A baby he’d just found on his front porch.
Going on pure instinct and vague memory, he moved her into the crook of his elbow and picked up the bottle. As soon as he touched her mouth with the nipple, she latched on and began to drink, her distraught cries subsiding except for a few lingering shuddery breaths.
She looked up at him with bottomless blue eyes, tears still pooling in the corners.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He eased into a chair and stared, shell-shocked, at the wall across from him.
Whose baby was this? He ran through his list of clients in his mind. Would one of them be so desperate that they would leave a baby on his doorstep?
His head jerked up as the front door swung open.
“I need coffee. What’s so important that…” His brother Devin limped into the room, his voice trailing off as he spotted the bundle in Garrett’s arms. “Uh, that’s a baby.”
“Brilliant deduction.”
Devin shot him a look and continued to the kitchen. He took a mug out of the cabinet and filled it with coffee before he came back to the living room and sat down in the chair across from Garrett. “Yours?”
“What? No! I walked outside and she was there, on the porch.” His voice sounded panicky, even to his own ears, but that was probably because he was panicking.
“Why’s all that stuff on the couch?”
“She was screaming and I couldn’t find the bottles so I dumped everything out.”
“I get it, trust me. But it looks like you’ve got it under control now.” Devin reached over and picked a white envelope up from the floor. “What’s this? Want me to open it?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” The baby sucked the last little bit of milk from the bottle. Her eyes were closed now, her little body finally relaxed. “Wait. She finished the bottle. Am I supposed to burp her now?”
“Just put her on your shoulder and pat her back.” Devin didn’t look up from the papers. “The baby’s name is Charlotte. She’s two weeks old. Wow. Two weeks?”
“Who thought it was a good idea to leave a two-week-old baby with me?” Garrett’s voice rose in alarm as he patted the back of the tiny little girl.
“Well, there are some legal papers here that look like someone thought it was a good idea to leave a baby with you forever. You’re listed as Charlotte’s legal guardian.” His brother laughed. “Well…this will put a damper on your merry-go-round of girlfriends.”
Garrett scowled.
“You know I haven’t been out with anyone si—” His mouth dropped open. “Guardian?”
His mind would not process this. Finally, he said, “The mother’s name?”
“Brooklyn Brady. Do you know her?”
Garrett slumped back in the seat, one hand holding the baby in place on his chest. “I know her. I was her law guardian until she aged out of foster care. I didn’t even know she was pregnant.”
Garrett’s eyes stung. Brooklyn had been his client for as long as he’d been doing family law. She’d grown up in foster care with her own mother dropping in and out just often enough to keep the courts from terminating parental rights. Brooklyn had finally been freed for adoption, but by that time she was an angry fifteen-year-old and no one wanted to adopt her.
“There’s a letter here for you.” Devin looked up from the papers in his hand. “How old is this girl?”
“Eighteen.” Garrett’s emotions had been on a roller coaster—no, roller coaster wasn’t descriptive enough. This morning had been more like one of those slingshot rides that shot you into the sky and bounced you around on rubber bands until you got sick.
Mostly now, he just felt sad. Sick, but sad.
“She says she can’t give Charlotte a stable life. She can’t give herself one. So she’s leaving Charlotte with you because…” His brother cleared his throat. “…because you’re the only person who ever made her feel like she wasn’t damaged goods. Like she was worth caring about. That’s why she left the baby with you.”
Garrett had tried to do his best for Brooklyn, but he felt like he’d failed her. She’d aged out without a family, without anyone to guide her and be her support system. She’d kept in touch with him for a while but when she’d stopped calling, he hadn’t tried very hard to find out why.
“What are you going to do?”
Garrett wanted to settle down. He wanted to know that when he came home from work, someone would be there waiting for him. He hadn’t found the right person yet—not for lack of trying—a fact his brothers teased him about incessantly. But he was tired of being alone.
He wanted a family. He just hadn’t expected it to happen like this. “If the paperwork holds up?”
“Yeah.”
Garrett tucked a sleeping Charlotte into the crook of his arm. She barely stretched from his elbow to his wrist. So tiny and so dependent. He blew out a shaky breath and looked up at his brother. “Guess I’ll have to learn how to change a diaper.”
Abby Scott strolled down the main street of Red Hill Springs, Alabama, getting her first look at the little town where she’d taken a temporary grant-funded job as the town social worker. Her golden retriever Elvis walked calmly beside her. He was on a leash, but didn’t need to be. He wouldn’t budge from her side unless she asked him to.
Together, she and Elvis had traveled almost constantly for the last eight years, providing animal-assisted therapy in disaster areas. She was the expert in mental health, but Elvis was her partner, the one who really made the kids she worked with feel better.
Compared to the places she usually stayed, the small house she’d rented in Red Hill Springs had seemed positively luxurious when she’d stopped by this morning to drop off her stuff.
The town was charming with the carefully curated storefronts and restaurants. There was even a pediatrician’s office on this street. For a moment, she wondered if he saw a lot of childhood trauma in his practice and then shoved that thought right out of her head. She’d find out soon enough.
The call from Mayor Wynn Grant asking her to set up a program in their town to make sure no kids slipped through the cracks had come at a perfect time. She was on leave from her job at the disaster relief organization, making her own mental health a priority for a few months.
Her last assignment had been hard.