by Lori Wilde
“What’s GER?” He blinked.
“Gastroesophageal reflux.”
“Is it serious?” He scooted to the edge of the couch, his body language taut and wire-drawn. “Will she be okay?”
Ooh good, he was panicking. She slathered it on thick, giving him way too much information. Going into minute details about GER. Finished with “Her condition is not life-threatening, but it’s something we have to keep an eye on. The opening at the entrance to her stomach hasn’t fully matured, so the feedings come back up at times. We monitor her weight closely to make sure she’s keeping down enough formula to thrive and grow.”
“Will she have to have surgery?”
“Her pediatrician is hopeful that she’ll outgrow it.” Tara paused a beat. “But it could take months.”
Sweat popped out on his forehead. “I need a pen and paper to write all this down. You got a pen and paper?”
Maybe it was the nurse in her, but she had an impulse to pluck a tissue from the box on the table, lean over, and dab away his anxiety. Which you just caused. What’s your deal?
Ms. Bean, who’d come back into the room, thrust out a pen and a piece of paper torn from her yellow legal pad.
He juggled Julie, trying to shift her in his arm so he could reach for the writing instruments. Julie whimpered, and he shot Tara a helpless look.
That got to her. She had a hard time resisting folks in need. “Do you want me to write it down for you?”
“Yeah.”
No “please” or “thank you,” but what did she expect? He was a Lockhart, accustomed to having his every wish, want, and need catered to by others.
Play nice, Tara. The situation would be difficult for anyone.
“I can do better than that,” Tara offered, feeling magnanimous, although maybe she was secretly hoping the information would overwhelm and discourage him. “I’ll make you a copy of her care plan.”
“Care plan?” His question trailed after her as she headed for the nursery.
“It’s an action plan for Julie’s medical team,” she called over her shoulder, as she entered the nursery and took the care plan off the wall where she kept it posted, and she trotted back to the living room. She sat beside him again, held out her palm. “Your phone.”
He jiggled Julie to his other arm as he fished in his pocket for his smart phone.
The baby made a mewling sound.
Rhett looked terrified. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“She’s just expressing herself.” Tara used his cell phone to take a snapshot of the care plan, front and back.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve been with her four months. I’ve come to know all her little sounds intimately,” she said. If he felt guilty, it was on him.
Shamefaced, Rhett eyed the care plan on his phone screen. “That looks extensive.”
“Par for the course. She’s an extreme preemie. She’ll have lingering health issues for many years to come.”
The sweat on his brow trickled down his temple. His color turned ashen. He didn’t look so good. “Um . . . okay . . . I didn’t know.”
Triumphant, Tara murmured, “You don’t have to be involved in any of this. I’m taking great care of her. That can continue.”
“I can see that.”
“Caring for a baby with these kinds of health issues is a lot to dump on anyone. Much less a guy like you.”
He bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not an insult.” She backtracked, realizing too late she’d said the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were incapable of taking care of your child. I’m just saying I’m here to lighten your burden. There is no shame in allowing me to adopt your daughter. In fact, some might say it is the more noble thing to do.”
He looked conflicted, his gaze going from Julie to his phone screen to Tara.
She gave him a practiced, perfect C-shaped smile. “No shame at all.”
“You want me to sign my daughter over to you? Just like that?” He leaned forward with the baby in his lap. He wasn’t holding her nearly secure enough to suit Tara. It was all she could do not to correct him.
Easy does it. Tread lightly.
“Allowing me to adopt her doesn’t mean you won’t get to see her,” Tara said, talking desperately fast. “You could come see her any time your busy schedule allowed. But you wouldn’t have to deal with the daily grind of child care. And who better to adopt Julie than a relative? You’ll have the best of both worlds.”
She could see the tug-of-war playing out on his face. His lofty goals and devil-may-care values on one side; the sweet little baby, with her hand wrapped around his finger, on the other.
“I know it’s complicated,” she said. “You have a lot to think about. I’m sure you’ll want to discuss this with the family and your lawyer.”
He ran a finger around his collar. “What if I want her?”
“You’re willing to quit the rodeo circuit?”
He puffed out his cheeks. “I could still ride.”
“How?” she said. “Who would care for Julie while you’re focused on besting bulls?”
“I could hire a nanny?” His voice wobbled, uncertainty turning the statement into a question.
“To live in your tiny horse trailer while you’re on the road?”
“Well, no . . .” He plowed his free hand through his hair.
“Oh, so you would have the nanny live at the Silver Feather with Julie while you are on the road for weeks at a time?”
Rhett blew out his breath in two forceful huffs. “Okay, okay, I haven’t really thought this through.”
“Clearly.”
He looked as if he’d been double-barrel gut-kicked by a mule. “I just came to see her.”
“And so you have.”
“I didn’t expect to . . .” He peered down at the baby, smiled like he had a secret crush. “Want her.”
Tara clamped her knees and her teeth together. “Are you planning on filing for custody?”
“I don’t know.”
Argh! What kind of answer was that? She needed something solid, something she could count on. “One thing is for sure, if you get custody, you’re going to have to quit the rodeo. You can’t keep flinging yourself on the backs of bulls if you’re a single parent. Not if you want to be a good parent. She deserves a good parent.”
“Yeah.” His voice was thin as an old T-shirt.
“How will you make a living?” she asked, heaping it on. “You don’t know how to do anything else but hold on to the back of a bull for eight seconds.”
His mouth flattened out as if he’d taken a bite of something bitter. Outside on the patio the wind chimes rang merrily, as if all was well with the world.
“Face facts, Lockhart. You’re ill-equipped for parenthood.”
“If I do decide to file, I’ll figure it out.”
Tara’s heart jumped. He sounded more and more like he might file for custody. “At Julie’s expense?”
“Isn’t that how all parents do it?” he asked.
“Not me. I’m already a trained nurse.”
“With no children of your own.”
Ouch. The hard edge of his statement sliced her on a subterranean level. She wasn’t childless by choice.
“Rhett,” she murmured, battling the tightening of her throat. She felt breathless and helpless, and she hated feeling helpless. “You’d make a terrible father. You’d be worse than Duke.”
Silence settled over the room.
“Low blow.” Glowering, Rhett jumped to his feet. In his quick shift of position, he startled the baby awake. Julie’s little face scrunched, and she let out a wail.
“Look what you did,” Tara scolded, leaping up from the couch.
Rhett shifted the baby in his arms, ineptly. The blanket Tara had bundled around her came loose and drifted to the floor. Julie’s tiny butt was cupped in his palm, her head balanced on his fingertips, and her legs dangled from eithe
r side of his hand as if he were holding a football.
“Give her to me.” Tara held out her arms.
“She’s fine.” He brought Julie to his shoulder, supporting her bottom with one hand, the back of her neck with the other.
“She’s not fine. She’s crying.”
“It doesn’t hurt for a baby to cry.”
“Oh yes, like you know so much about babies.”
“Excuse me,” Ms. Bean said. “Civility, please.”
“No problem.” Tara stabbed her fingernails into her palms. It was all she could do not to snatch Julie from Rhett’s arms. “None at all.”
“Mr. Lockhart?” Ms. Bean’s voice turned to steel. “Do you have a problem with Ms. Alzate?”
“No problems here.” He kept his gaze locked on Tara.
Ms. Bean pushed her open palms toward the ground, twice. “Sit back down. Both of you.”
Tara eased back against the couch.
“Mr. Lockhart.” Ms. Bean indicated the spot beside Tara. “Please join us.”
Julie was still whimpering.
“I can quiet her,” Tara whispered, reaching for the baby.
“So can I.” Rhett sat down beside Tara, but he had eyes only for his daughter. “Hey, baby girl. Shh.” He began humming, then slipped into song. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”
Julie stopped crying at once, grinned, and flailed her tiny arms at him.
Rhett shot Tara a triumphant look. “You can just call me the baby whisperer.”
Yeah, well, one time did not a baby whisperer make. “Here’s a revolutionary idea,” she snapped. “Let’s not.”
Loudly, Ms. Bean cleared her throat.
They both turned to the social worker.
“Mr. Lockhart, I know you just recently learned of Julie’s existence and that your emotions are running high. But Tara is right. Julie has unique health care needs. That said, I’m aware you have the resources to hire someone to care for her if you choose to do so.”
“Damn right I do.”
“Language.” Tara inclined her head toward the baby.
“What if I did decide to file for custody?” Rhett asked Ms. Bean. “What would be my first steps?”
“First think it over. Talk to your family. Consult a lawyer. And a counselor.”
Rhett nodded. “Will do.”
“Just to let you know, if you did decide to file for custody, it’s not as easy as waltzing in and staking your claim. Because she was abandoned by her mother, Julie is currently under the auspices of Child Protective Services. In order to get custody, there has to be a court hearing. You have to prove you’re worthy of raising a child.”
“That’s not fair,” Rhett protested. “Why do I have to prove I have a right to my own child?”
“For Julie’s protection. It’s the law.”
“If Rhona had given her to me directly then none of this would be necessary, right?”
“Alas, Rhona did not. In fact, Miss White couldn’t even say for sure which man had fathered her baby. In the future, Mr. Lockhart, might I suggest you use more discretion when choosing a bed partner?”
Tara bit back a laugh, but it came out like a snort. Zing. She wanted to high-five Ms. Bean.
Rhett shot her a look dirty enough to singe her hair off.
“Sorry,” Tara said. “But Ms. Bean makes a solid point. If you were more selective about where you spread your seed . . .”
“Hey!” Rhett said sharply. “My love life is none of your damn business.”
“Ah,” Tara said, “but it is. I’m the one raising your daughter.”
“Not if I file for custody.” He shifted to Ms. Bean. “What would be my next step if I decide to go for it?”
“For starters?” Ms. Bean’s eyebrows flattened out. “You need a permanent residence.”
“Done. I already own a house in Cupid.”
Ms. Bean took out a stack of papers from her tote, leafed through them. “Which you haven’t lived in since you built it seven years ago.”
“How do you know that?”
“I do my research, Mr. Lockhart.” Ms. Bean leveled him a stern look. “It’s my job.”
Tara so wanted to high-five her.
“Noted,” he said. “What else?”
“Are you truly serious about filing?” Ms. Bean asked.
“Just information gathering for now. I need to know what I’m up against.”
Ms. Bean gestured at his black eye and battered face. “I advise you stop doing whatever caused that.”
“This?” Rhett touched his face. “Rare occurrence. Won’t happen again.”
Ms. Bean sent him a skeptical look. Tara really, really liked the woman. “Take parenting classes.”
“Parenting classes?”
“Parenting classes,” Ms. Bean confirmed. “There are several kinds, and some of them will be court mandated. But the more you take, the better it will look to the court. You’ll learn about child development, how to discipline your child, how to recognize your strengths and weaknesses as a parent . . .”
Rhett’s face paled beneath his tan. “Um, how does that work?”
“You can take the classes online, but because Julie is an infant and she has special needs, I suggest you take the infant parenting classes in person. You’ll learn how to properly care for your baby with hands-on demonstrations.”
He blew out his breath, looked longingly at the door as if he ached to bolt. “That’s a lot.”
“Yes. That’s why you need to take your time before deciding that assuming custody of Julie is the right step for you.”
“Still, it won’t hurt to have a parenting class under my belt, right?”
“Tara, what do you think?” Ms. Bean asked her, and to Rhett she said, “Tara teaches an infant parenting class one weekend a month at El Paso Children’s Hospital.”
“No need to take parenting classes until you’re ready to be a parent,” Tara said. Then again, maybe she should encourage him to take a class. That ought to send him running for the hills. “But I do have an opening in the class.”
“Great,” he said. “I’ll sign up.”
“Won’t you be on the road?” Tara knitted her fingers together in her lap. Holding herself in.
“I will, but I can ride on Friday and fly home that same night. I’d only have to miss Saturday’s event. When’s the next class?”
“The eighteenth,” Tara said. “But there really is no rush. You could take the course in June or July—”
“Sooner would be better. Right, Ms. Bean?” Rhett asked the caseworker.
Ms. Bean toyed with her peace sign necklace. The cell phone in her lap buzzed with the ringtone of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Was I Right or Wrong.” What was with the young woman’s love affair with the 1970s?
Ms. Bean held up an index finger. “I need to take this. Will you excuse me for a minute?” Pressing the cell phone to her ear, she hurried into the nursery and shut the door behind her.
Leaving Tara alone with Rhett and the baby.
“Why are you doing this?” she hissed.
“Doing what?”
“Pretending you are going to take parenting classes.”
“I might take parenting classes; if I decide to file for custody I’d have to take them anyway.”
“You don’t want a baby. You just want to gig me.”
“Get over yourself, woman. Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t want?”
“I know you, Rhett Lockhart. The last thing you need is a baby.”
“No,” he corrected. “You know the kid I used to be. Stop judging me by my seventeen-year-old self. I’ve changed.”
“Riight. Changed into a guy who has slept with almost all the eligible women in Cupid, including my sister.”
“Jealous?” He smirked.
A gust of wind blew desert dirt at the windowpane, rasping grit against the glass. Irritation gripped Tara. “Of you? Why in heaven’s name would I be
jealous of you?”
His gaze drifted over her body, lingering at the swell of her breasts, interest sparking in his eyes. Who was the man trying to kid? He hadn’t changed a bit. “Maybe because it’s been a long time since you’ve had sex.”
“Excuse me? That is absolutely none of your business.”
“It kind of is. You’re in charge of my child. A sexually satisfied foster mom is a happy foster mom. I could help with that, you know.”
“What?” she screeched. “You . . . you . . . you . . .” She put as much loathing into her voice as she could gather. “You . . . Lothario.”
“Lothario?”
If she could have turned him to stone with her glare, she would have. Tara crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her breasts from his cocklebur gaze. “God! You are hopeless.”
“Wait, did you think I was offering my sexual services?” He placed his free palm to his chest. “Oh no, no, no. I was just thinking of buying you a vibrator.” He met her stare, not backing down. A twinkle of mischief sparking his brown eyes. He gave her a leisurely wink that said, Gotcha.
“Grr.” She literally growled at him and bared her teeth. “It’s time for you to give me the baby and go.” She pointed at the front door. “Now!”
Chapter 6
Freight trained: What happens to a rodeo contestant who gets run over by a bull traveling at top speed.
Rhett was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his sister-in-law was Julie’s foster mother, and she wanted to adopt his baby.
He sat in a bar in downtown El Paso, an hour after he left Tara’s place, nursing a beer and staring at a basketball game that he wasn’t really watching. The waitress had recognized him and made several unsuccessful attempts at flirting. Rhett simply wasn’t in the mood.
His mind was ablaze.
A kid.
A baby.
A daughter.
His.
He circled the rim of his beer mug with an index finger, watched the bubbles dissipate. Reality sank in like a stone. He felt a million different things. Guilt. Shame. Worry. Doubt. But at the bottom of the mix was one emotion, unmoving as granite.
Love.
