Babyjacked: A Second Chance Romance

by Sosie Frost

  “Kinda hard to roll when you burned the barn down.”

  He frowned. “It would have been worse if we’d—”

  “You are so damn sure of yourself.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re just as cocky now as you were then.”

  “No. But I’m every bit as irresistible.”

  I poked his chest, pretending not to stare at the hard, beautifully tattooed, monster of muscle. “You slick bastard. You lured me here under the pretense of a sick child.”

  “I’m resourceful too.”

  “There’s a word for men like you.”

  He grinned. “Give me some credit. This wasn’t my plan, but I’m a great opportunist.”

  “You mean, scavenger? A bottom-feeder?”

  “Oh, I’ll eat anything you want me to, Sassy.”

  No way. “You’ll catch that cold easier than you’ll catch me.”

  “But you’re spending the night here, aren’t you?”

  Oh, now I got his game. “If wishes were horses, Remington Marshall, you could buy back every animal we had to sell for Dad’s medical bills.”

  “You think I’m going to let you drive home this late at night?”

  “I just drove over here.”

  Rem gestured to the baby. “Well, that was an emergency.”

  “And maybe it’s imperative that I leave this very moment.”

  “The temptation too much?”

  “I’m drowning in my own lust.”

  He winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth.”

  “My hero.” I stood. “I’m going home and getting back to bed.”

  “No way, Sassy. Your brothers would kill me if I send you out alone this late at night. God only knows what’s lurking out in those deep dark woods.”

  “I’m more worried about who is creeping in the living room.”

  “Beware the evil you know.” His charm was boundless. So was his confidence. “It’s late. Come on. Stay the night. Hell, stay longer. I need your help with the kids. It’d be great.”

  It would have been great…long, long ago. Now, I was smarter, wiser, and more vulnerable than ever. That old wound was held together with a band-aid and a couple inspirational clippings from Cosmo. Last thing I needed was a new scar to show how stupid I was.

  “I’m not the little naïve girl you left behind,” I said. “I won’t fall for your tricks.”

  Rem snickered. “What tricks? Offering you good money and benefits to watch the kids? I’m such a monster.”

  “Slick son of a bitch.”

  He took my hand. I pointed to his intruding fingers, so easily encompassing my palm.

  “You know exactly what you’re doing, Remington Marshall.”

  He grinned. That cocky, self-assured smile, framed by the dark scruff of a beard. If a tree fell in the forest, he had probably knocked it over with that smile. How was I supposed to defend myself? If I fell head-over-heels for him, I didn’t want to imagine the sound I’d make.

  “I might be trying to keep you here.” His hand brushed my cheek. I should have pushed him away, but his touch rendered me quiet and lost in the best, most hopelessly fuzzy way. “Five years ago, I thought leaving you would be the hardest thing I ever had to do. I was wrong.” His thumb stroked my bottom lip. “Letting you out that door tonight will finally kill me.”

  I’d go first—my heart had stopped with his touch. “We can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Rem’s lips barely grazed mine. “This?”

  Another kiss. Another tremble.

  Another huge mistake.

  I leaned into his kiss, savoring that commanding and teasing way his tongue swept over mine. A fierce shiver surrendered my body. The warmth spread, binding me in a furious demand that nearly allowed him to push me onto the couch.

  Had I learned nothing these past few years?

  Rem’s words lowered, a dark and husky tease. “Cas, I’m not trying to ask your forgiveness. I know you can’t give it. And I don’t blame you. But now…I need a friendly favor.”

  Another kiss. Deeper. Hotter. My chest ached, and I sucked in a quiet gasp that did nothing to quench the desire burning through me.

  I escaped the kiss with a wavering sigh. “This isn’t a friendly favor. This feels like a seduction.”

  Rem grinned and licked his lips as if to taste me once more. “Oh, Sassy. Believe me. You’ll know when I’m seducing you.”

  Hopefully he’d let me know so I could build a better defense. Right now, the most I had around my castle was a moat of wetness sticking my pajamas to my legs. A girl needed some cannons or drawbridges or a glass of red wine for this sort of invasion.

  A cool rush of air separated our bodies. I froze in the unwanted freedom.

  “Favor first,” Rem said. “Seduction second.”

  “So I get to reject you twice?” My voice wobbled as much as my legs. “Sounds like fun.”

  “I won’t put the moves on you if you stay the night.”

  “Pretty sure there’s an Aesop’s Fable that would warn me otherwise.”

  “The bed is big enough for both of us.”

  He quieted as Tabby fussed in the crib. The charm faded, and the worry returned. The exhaustion plagued us both. It was a long ride to the farm. And that baby wasn’t likely to sleep much at all. She needed someone to comfort her. So would Rem.

  “Fine.” I gave up. “I’ll stay the night.”

  He winked. “I knew you would.”

  “I’ll even sleep in your bed.”

  “Now it’s a party.”

  “Gotta warn you…” I arched an eyebrow. “I sleep in the nude.”

  “What a coincidence. Me too.”

  I unwrapped the blanket from the back of the sofa and made an impromptu bed on the couch, complete with swiped pillow from the bedroom.

  “You’re such a gentleman for giving me the bed. Sleep tight, Rem.”

  I waved and shut the door tight, savoring his groan.

  6

  Cassi

  I’d planned to put a good fifty miles between me and my shame—aka Remington Marshall.

  Now I wasn’t sure I’d make it fifty feet.

  I’d escaped the cabin at five-thirty in the morning. Just early enough to sneak back to the farm and crash in my own bed for, hopefully, the last time.

  This was it. After that kiss, I couldn’t afford to stay in Butterpond. I’d spent five years getting over Rem. All he’d needed was five minutes to almost get me under him.

  Tabby’s cold wasn’t reason enough to delay my trip, and I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to let Rem’s lips touch anywhere but my tush on the way out the door.

  I would not allow myself to wonder what if, not even for the teeniest, tiniest fraction of a second.

  Just like I wouldn’t lose myself in those chestnut eyes. I’d ignore that melted chocolate voice and forget the sweet kisses, the heat of his hands, the tickle of his beard…

  Rem texted me at seven. You didn’t stay for breakfast.

  The accompanying picture of a spilled bowl of cereal and half-bitten ham sandwich wasn’t the gourmet meal featured on the brochure.

  I shouldn’t have replied. Watching my figure. All those Gerber Graduates go right to my thighs.

  Rem wasn’t cutting me a break. You got plenty of exercise running away this morning.

  He was one to talk. Imagine how toned I’ll be once I’m in Ironfield.

  Won’t need to imagine if you send me a couple pics. Or if you stay here.

  Not happening.

  Tell me what I can do to keep you here.

  Oh, it was a dangerous, terrible question. Forget the palm fronds, swinging hammock, and Mai Tai. The only thing I needed from Rem were the three little words we’d had the foresight to never admit. Even Superman knew to avoid his Kryptonite.

  I smirked. I’m immune to your charms.

  It was a lie, but if it convinced me long enough to pack my last bag and head to the car, I’d spin a couple other yarns.

&n
bsp; No, I haven’t gained five pounds since Easter. Go head and splurge on the new purse—what’s fifty bucks to your infinite wallet? Your brothers will be fine without you. There’s no way they’ll murder each other in cold blood over the last Pop Tart in the pantry.

  Quint’s profanity echoed from the stairs. “Son of a bitch, Jules! Get your own goddamned breakfast!”

  The epic battle between Toaster Strudel and Cheese Danish would occupy most of Jules and Quint’s morning. That meant I had only one brother to worry about.

  The squeaking floorboards didn’t fool me. I dove for the towel on the back of my door, burst into the hall, and yelled as Tidus slammed the bathroom door in my face.

  “Are we teenagers again?” I pounded against the door. “I’m leaving today. I need to shower.”

  Life as the youngest of six—and the only girl in a herd of slobbering men—meant I lived on the bottom of the food chain. Scraping together the heels of the bread for sandwiches, growing up to wear Ninja Turtle handmedowns, and waking at all hours to secure a bathroom to myself.

  I pounded again. Tidus spoke over the hum of an electric razor.

  “Figured you’d use Rem’s bathroom this morning.”

  He thought he was so damn cute. But if I had shared some suds with Rem, he’d be the first at the cabin with a loaded shotgun.

  “Tidus, I’m serious. Can I please shower first?”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about Rem?” he asked.

  “What about him?”

  Tidus snorted. “You aren’t going to help him?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  Because life didn’t run on hormones and rainbows. “There’s too much history.”

  “So?”

  “He singlehandedly torched the barn. The stress sent Mom into an early grave, Dad into a depression, and scattered all of you guys to the far corners of the world. I think I ought to be on my guard with him. Now let me in the shower!”

  On cue, the pipes squeaked. His ass wasn’t in the water, but he shouted anyway. “Sorry, Sassy. Can’t hear you! Get in the downstairs shower before Varius.”

  Damn it. I pushed off the door and pummeled my way down the stairs. The old wood creaked, and the railing wobbled and cracked—too many years of too many stampeding boys careening down the steps. I crashed through the kitchen. Jules slapped Quint’s finger out of his face.

  “Stay out of my shit,” Quint said. “You know that shelf is mine.”

  Jules wasn’t in a good mood, and he shared that fact with anyone who happened to be near. “Got your name on it?”

  Quint slammed the pantry door against the wall and ripped the shelf out of the wall.

  Cereals, oatmeals, and breakfast pastries scattered across the kitchen. A jar of pickles crashed to the floor. Good. My shower this morning would include scrubbing the scent of dill and mustard seed off my body.

  Quint slapped the hunk of wood in his hand. “Look, asshole. My name’s been there since 2002.”

  Jules kicked a jar of anchovies out of his path. The glass exploded into fragmented shards, and the fish mingled with the pickle juice. Fortunately, the tub of oats had cracked open. At least it helped to sop up the mess. Couldn’t say the same for the spilled bottle of whiskey, precariously teetering on the edge of the counter. Varius’s breakfast of choice. So much for the floor. And his liver.

  “You’re twenty-five fucking years old.” Jules grabbed the shelf and unsuccessfully attempted to wedge it into the pantry. It immediately collapsed onto the shelf beneath, tore a hole into two bags of chips, then clattered to the floor, dragging with it a bag of opened flour and ripped sugar. They stared at the mess, grunted, then returned to the fight. “Get your head out of your ass. We’re stuck here together.”

  Quint tripped over a wayward can of tomato soup but caught himself before his chin collided with Jules’ fist. “And who’s fault is that? What the hell do you really expect to happen here? All five of us under a single roof. Just wait until Marius’s tour is done. Once he’s stateside again, we’ll have a real war in this house.”

  “That’s the way Dad wanted it,” Jules said. “So get used to it.”

  “Dad’s dead!” Quint flinched as his voice carried, but he didn’t back down. For the first time, the youngest of my brothers must have felt a bit confident in confronting my father. Too bad Dad wasn’t here to defend himself.

  “Dad’s dead,” Quint said. “But we’re the ones buried under this fucking farm. We’ve got no income. No equipment. No goddamned clue how to do it on our own. And you—” He pointed at Jules. “You’re just as stubborn as he was. You don’t know a pitchfork from your prick, and you think we can just start a farm?”

  The same fight every morning. I could practically quote Jules now.

  I sighed. “We have a chicken.”

  “Yes, we have a chicken!” Jules gestured through the kitchen window to the chicken coop rated for forty. Currently, it housed only a single guest—Helena.

  Quint laughed. “That chicken hasn’t laid an egg in a year.”

  “She’s working on it!”

  “What came first? Bankruptcy or the egg?”

  “Would you guys stop it?” I said.

  I shooed them out of my way and began the cleanup. I reached for the bag of sugar, not realizing the corner was tucked snuggly under Quint’s foot. The bag exploded. Granules of white plumed over the kitchen. Jules sneezed. Quint would probably go into diabetic shock. Fantastic.

  “I am not going back to the store for you animals before I leave. You’re on your own.”

  Jules furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, before you leave?”

  “I’m getting a shower. Packing my bags. And I’m leaving for Ironfield.”

  Only I had the ability to unify my brothers. Unfortunately, they ganged up against me. Quint crossed his arms. His eyes had a brighter quality—a playful sea foam that stirred itself dark when he wanted to get in someone’s face. Like now. Big mistake.

  “She gets to leave?” He turned to Jules. “You’re letting her leave?”

  “She’s not going anywhere.” Jules didn’t bother to fight. He grabbed a handful of soup cans and a bag of chips and tossed them onto the wrong shelf. The rest he kicked into the pantry, wrestling with the accordion doors which refused to shut on the bag of crumbling tortilla chips. “She’ll never make it out of Butterpond.”

  “I’m leaving today,” I said.

  “I got a fifty with your name on it if you can cross the county line.”

  “I’ll drive over it twice, make it an even hundred.”

  Quint held his arms out, gesturing to the mess. “What about us?”

  “You guys don’t need me—you need a feeding trough. You’re better suited for the barn.”

  “Don’t worry about her,” Jules said. “She wants Triumph Farm to recover as much as we do.”

  Quint pointed at him. “You. You want this goddamned farm. Not me. Not Marius. Not Tidus. Not Varius. Hell, I’m not even sure Cas wants it.”

  “Don’t put me in the middle of this,” I said. “This has been my home the past five years. I’m the one who watched Dad sell equipment to pay for the bills. I’m the one who helped load the last two cows onto the trailer for sale. I’m the one who juggled the water and electric bills while Dad was sick. I did what I had to do, and now I have to get away from you all before you drive me insane.”

  Jules tore his Pop Tart in half and offered a piece to Quint. “See. She’s not leaving.”

  My phone buzzed. I checked the text.

  I’ll pay you more.

  Not for a million freaking dollars.

  I pointed at Quint. “You better get your butt to the grocery store once in a while before you claim a shelf.” Then I faced Jules. “And you can mail me my fifty bucks.”

  “Just set my check on Dad’s desk.” He laughed. “I know you, Cassi. You can’t leave. This farm means more to you tha
n anyone.”

  That didn’t make it right to stay.

  I had places to go. A life to live. And brothers to get out of showers.

  Fortunately, I knew where to find the hot water heater. Varius and Tidus could do their soul-searching in the backyard pond. I rushed to the basement, fiddled with the controls, and counted the minutes until the profanity rained from upstairs.

  Rem’s text buzzed in my hand. What’s Ironfield got that I can’t give you?

  I helped myself to the upstairs bathroom, ignoring a grumbling Tidus, and locked the door behind me.

  I texted back with a smirk. Peace of mind.

  Nothing more peaceful than the mountains.

  Not during mating season.

  I’m nothing if not purely professional.

  Right. Sure, you couldn’t wait to seal this deal.

  Nothing would deter this man. He immediately replied. Name the price, Sassy.

  More than you can afford.

  What if I promise you a priceless experience?

  Then you’d morally bankrupt me.

  I could imagine Rem’s grin. All the more reason to put the phone away…wherever I could find room.

  Colognes, razors, electric trimmers, toothpastes, and boxer briefs of every color cluttered a bathroom that had been mine for years. I fished a used q-tip from my peppermint scented candle and cleared a spot for my towel. What had been organized was now destroyed and manhandled. The shelf behind the toilet clung to a single screw with a hope, prayer, and the good fortune of the old farm house. My trinkets—candles, a potted plant, a mirror—were abandoned under the toilet bowl.

  Seat up, of course.

  Gross. I’d leave them there.

  I stripped and sat down to do my business, careful to rest my feet only on the driest portions of the bathmat. Tidus hadn’t left me many options, and I prayed the moisture was from him leaping out of an icy shower.

  At last, I had a moment to take a breath, clear my head, and relax.

  Crack.

  The shelf behind me creaked and smashed downwards, clocking me in the back of the head. I lurched, crashing onto the floor.

  Punched while peeing. I rubbed the concussion away and sighed. Never thought I’d need a Life-Alert necklace just to use the bathroom. Help, I’ve fallen, and I haven’t mopped the floor in two weeks.