Must Love Babies

by Lynnette Austin

  “Kemper Dobson in Misty Bottoms is a great lawyer if you need, you know, legal help.”

  “I’ll keep him in mind. Thanks.”

  “Even though I’ve never met Lainey, I’m so sorry for her. She’s way too young to have so much history.”

  “You’re a nice person, Molly.”

  “I have my moments.” She twisted a small gold ring on her pinky. “What was she doing here, in Georgia? Your home’s in Tennessee, right?”

  “Yep. Lake Delores, just south of Nashville.” He switched lanes, passed a car, and considered telling her about his possible plan to move to Misty Bottoms. Not yet. Still too many ifs. “I don’t have a clue why Lainey’s here. That’s one of the things we need to talk about.”

  Molly glanced into the back. Spying Jax’s limp arm dangling over the side of his car seat, she assumed he was still asleep. No matter what kind of tantrum he threw, her instincts told her she’d be far better off with him than in the room with Brant and his sister.

  Chapter 7

  “Lainey?” Brant stuck his head into his sister’s room, telling himself this first visit would be the hardest, that it would get easier.

  “Brant!” Her voice sounded weak, her words slurred. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you, sugar.” His fingers tightened on the doorjamb.

  Two black eyes marred his sister’s face, and her right cheek was swollen and discolored. Her chin sported a Steri-Strip over stitches, a cast protected her left arm, and he could only guess what the sheets hid.

  Machines beside her bed beeped.

  “Oh, honey.” Stepping inside, he wrapped his hands around the bed rails, afraid to touch her, afraid he might hurt her. An IV ran into her right hand.

  “Is Jax okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Tears dripped from her eyes and ran down her bruised cheeks. “I miss him.”

  “Sure you do, but please don’t cry. I…” He spread his hands, then grabbed a tissue from the box on her nightstand and gently dabbed at her tears.

  She sniffled and, refusing to meet his eyes, turned her head to stare at the wall. “I screwed up. Again.”

  “Look at me, Lain. Whatever happened, whatever’s wrong, we can fix it.”

  “No! No, you can’t!” Her gaze, angry now, clashed with his. “You can’t fix it, Brant. Don’t you understand? You can’t fix everything!”

  Her words stung, and he stepped back.

  “You think you, and you alone, are responsible for the whole family. After Tucker left for the Marines, you shouldered it all. You’re not God, Brant! It’s not your job to look after us.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Yes, you do. And what’s worse is, we let you. You make it so easy for all of us to sit back while you take care of us.”

  “I won’t apologize for that.”

  “No. You wouldn’t.”

  Molly’s words from that morning in the grocery store rushed back to him. This is the hand of a man who protects, who fixes. She’d nailed him right from the get-go.

  Lainey studied him. “You look tired.”

  He shrugged.

  “Did you get any sleep?”

  “Enough.”

  “Bull. One of the nurses said you stayed all night, waiting till I was out of surgery. You and Jax.”

  “I napped. So did Jax. Then we caught another hour or so at the inn.”

  She averted her eyes again, and Brant said nothing, simply waited. Outside her room, carts rattled past, nurses and visitors chatted, and a call button in the next room beeped. Someone in the room across the hall was watching an old I Love Lucy rerun.

  “How’s it going with Jax?”

  He groaned. “That baby’s a heck of a lot of work.”

  She nodded.

  “That first messy diaper?” Brant made a gagging sound and got a hint of a smile for his trouble.

  “Where is he now?”

  “In the waiting room with—a friend.”

  That set off the waterworks again.

  Brant felt useless. Since he didn’t have a clue what else to do, he handed her another tissue and walked to the window. Hands jammed in his pockets, he watched people scurry along the sidewalk below and wished Molly were with him. She’d know what to say.

  Then he remembered Molly’s mile-wide grin, when Jax had crawled his first couple of inches.

  “I have something to show you.” As if it were a lifeline, he slid the phone from his shirt pocket. “Come on, Lainey, dry those tears so you can watch.”

  He pulled up the video and leaned down, holding the phone close to her. As the clip played, his sister smiled and patted at her tears.

  “He’s never done that before!”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “And I missed it.” She started to cry again.

  Oh boy! He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m a terrible mother!”

  “No, I don’t buy that. Jax is too perfect, too healthy, too happy. You’re doing a great job, Sis.”

  She wiped her eyes and nose. “I have no right, but can I ask a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Could you bring me a phone? I’d like to be able to call out. Long distance.”

  “I’ll have one for you tomorrow.”

  “One more thing?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you load that video of Jax on it?”

  His throat tightened again, and he battled his own damp eyes. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll take a picture of him in his new hat, too. NASCAR.”

  She rolled her eyes, and he breathed easier.

  “Hey, cars are the family business. A boy’s never too young to start.” He rounded back to their earlier conversation. “If you resented my help and didn’t want me poking in your business, why’d you let me?”

  “Because then I could blame you for my screwups. I didn’t have to accept ownership when things went wrong.” She studied the cast on her arm.

  “Has it helped?” he asked quietly.

  “No,” she whispered.

  After a century-long minute, Brant cleared his throat. “Dad and Mom want to be here, but…” He trailed off.

  “Mom can’t come, and Dad won’t leave her.”

  He nodded. “Tucker and Gaven flew to Texas last night to pick up a ’53 Vette. They’ll trailer it back to Tennessee.”

  “I know. They called a little while ago.”

  “They did?”

  “They told me they loved me…and that you’d take care of me.” Lainey picked at a loose thread on her sheet. “Once again, you’re left holding the bag.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Her gaze met his, unwavering this time. “I would.”

  Spotting a chair in the corner, Brant pulled it alongside the bed and dropped into it. “So let’s talk about you. How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty sucky.” She sent him a sidelong glance. “How mad are you?”

  He hesitated, but decided to give it to her straight. “I’ve gotta be honest, Lain. I’m pretty pissed.”

  “I don’t remember the accident.”

  “Because you were drunk.”

  She nodded.

  “And that makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” She sank into her pillow and closed her eyes. “They told me nobody else was involved.”

  “You were lucky. Someone else could be in here fighting for his or her life—or worse.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  Oh, he hated this, hated everything about it. She looked so young, so hurt. So sorry. He wanted to bundle her up and hide her away from the world, but that wouldn’t help. During the family part of her therapy last time, they’d stressed her need to confront her actions.

  “Why are you in Savannah?” His voice sounded raw even to his own ears. “It’s okay, I guess, if you don’t want to tell me, but…�
��

  “A friend of Jason’s told me he’d moved here.”

  “Jason? You were chasing Jason?”

  She swiped at her nose again. “I wanted him to see our son, Brant, to understand what a beautiful child we’d made. He had a job tending bar on River Street, near the Cotton Exchange, but I was too late.” Her gaze lowered to her clenched hands. “He’d already quit his job and left with one of the waitresses.”

  Brant swore a blue streak. “I swear, I’ll kill the SOB, if I ever get my hands on him.”

  “He’s Jax’s father.”

  “I don’t care. That doesn’t change the fact he’s a miserable excuse for a human being. Your son has three uncles who adore him. He’s better off without Jason in the picture.”

  Then he caught the expression on his sister’s face, and his brow furrowed. “Tell me you don’t still love him.”

  “I don’t know.” She winced and moved restlessly in bed.

  “You hurting?”

  “Only every inch.”

  “You need a nurse? Something to take the edge off the pain?”

  “In a bit.” She plucked at her sheet. “The bartender told me about Jason and his new girlfriend. That’s when I had the first drink. I had Jax with me, so Ralph refused to serve me a second.”

  “Good for him.”

  Her face fell. “I miss Jason.”

  “Forget him, Lainey. He’s not worth your tears.”

  “I tell myself that, and most of the time I even believe it.”

  Was he asking the impossible? Could his sister ever forget the man who’d fathered her child? The man she’d loved? He thought about Molly, out in the waiting room. If he fell in love with her and she left, would it be so easy to put her out of his mind? To set aside that smile, the joy that spilled from her?

  Don’t even go there. Not the same as Lainey’s situation. He’d known Molly for less than two days, and they had no history.

  “When I took Jax to Trisha’s and asked her to watch him for a few hours, I didn’t have any plan. I stopped at a convenience store for gas, saw the beer display, and bought a six-pack.” She pulled the sheet over her head. “Dumb, dumb, dumb.”

  He laid a hand over hers. “We all make mistakes, Sis.”

  “Not that kind. It’s not like I forgot to turn in my library book or added too much creamer to my coffee. Those are mistakes. Driving drunk? That’s criminal, and I could have killed someone.”

  “Yeah, you could have. I’m not gonna lie, nor am I ready to bury you.”

  She gasped.

  “I’m telling it like it is, Sis. No do-overs and no soft-pedaling this time.” With a single finger, he drew down the sheet and carefully tipped her chin up so their eyes met. “I’m also telling you, though, that we’ll get through this. Together.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being the adult?”

  He sighed, thought of Jax in the waiting room with Molly…and didn’t answer.

  For a few minutes, quiet crept into the room as both thought their own thoughts, danced with their own devils.

  “Sis, I hate to do this, but I have one more question.”

  “I’m tired. I don’t want to talk anymore.” Her voice sounded small and unsteady.

  He breathed in deeply, let it out. “The drink at Jason’s workplace. Was that your first since rehab?”

  No answer.

  “I need to know, Lain. Are you drinking again?”

  Her quiet tears answered his question.

  *

  When Brant stepped out of her room, he took a few minutes. Drained, he leaned against the wall, head back, eyes closed. A dull ache lurked behind his eyes, and he swore somebody had tightened a tourniquet around his forehead. Even his neck and shoulders felt tight. Stress. He needed aspirin, but that would have to wait. Figuring he’d put Molly through enough hell, he went to rescue her from Jax.

  He needn’t have worried. The second he turned the corner, he heard her talking to the baby in that soft, slow Georgia drawl that ensured every word had at least three syllables.

  It reminded him of his mom, before her stroke. She’d grown up right here in Savannah. His mother’s drawl was soothing, but Molly’s churned up entirely different feelings in his gut, in his lower regions. And he’d better keep that under control. This wasn’t the time for sexual fantasies.

  “Ready to break out of this joint?”

  Molly looked up from the baby, her eyes assessing. “How is she?”

  He huffed out a sigh. “A mess. Physically and emotionally.”

  “But she’ll be okay?”

  “Yeah.” He knelt beside her and started collecting the baby’s things, stuffing them randomly in the diaper bag.

  “Here.” She handed him an aspirin bottle and the rest of her lukewarm soda. “You look like you could use these.”

  “Saint Molly.”

  *

  Outside, the early January afternoon held a real nip, and Molly pulled Jax’s blanket a little higher.

  Brant’s gaze traveled over her, in her sweater and jeans. Formal or casual, she made his heart beat just that little bit faster. Time to think about something else. He patted his stomach. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

  “Starving.”

  “Does that favorite restaurant of yours sell any real food?”

  “They do. It’s the perfect spot for an easy—” She glanced at the baby who, happy two minutes ago, had started to whimper. “Easy and informal meal.”

  Brant scrounged in the diaper bag for the pacifier, and Jax sucked away, happy again for the moment.

  As they crossed the hospital parking lot, Brant held up a finger and veered in the opposite direction. Molly followed.

  He stopped in front of a restored ’56 Chevy Bel Air and ran his eye over its fender and along its curves the way most men would over a woman. Tenting his hands over his eyes, he peeked inside.

  “Nice,” Molly said from behind him.

  “Yeah, it is. Too bad they used the wrong paint.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This is a ’56. It would have been Matador Red. Paint code 697.” He shook his head. “Somebody used Rio Red, a ’58 Chevy color.”

  “Does it matter?”

  Mouth open, he rounded on her. “Does it matter?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe they liked Rio Red better. Is it that big a deal?”

  Rolling his eyes, he said, “Yes. Believe me, honey, it is.” He reached for the baby. “I’ll carry him. He’s heavy.” His nose wrinkled. “Take a look at that face. I think I know why he’s fussing.”

  “Messing his diaper?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll run him back inside. The men’s rooms actually have changing stations.”

  “I’ll let you, since I changed the last one.”

  He grimaced, then jerked a thumb at the Chevy. “When you’re restoring a car like this, every detail matters. That attention to the small things is what separates Wylder Rides, the business my brothers and I own, from the rest. It’s the reason we’re so busy.”

  As they crossed back to the hospital, she asked, “What’s happening with your business while you’re here and your brothers are in Texas?”

  “We’ve got four great guys who work for us. The shop’s closed today, but I gave Rudy a call this morning and explained the situation. He’ll open tomorrow, and they’ll work on the projects we’ve got underway. They’ll do fine till Gaven and Tucker get back.”

  *

  Jax decided it was playtime the second Brant laid him on the changing table. He wanted to show off his crawling technique and flipped onto his stomach, then rose to his hands and knees.

  “Not a good move, when you’re three feet in the air.” Brant grabbed him around the waist. “You have no fear, do you?”

  “Ga-ga-ga-ga.”

  “Time to toss the diaper, big guy. We can’t take a lady to lunch in this one.”

  It was touch and go for a bit, but eventually the job was completed, and he and a much sweeter-sm
elling Jax joined Molly in the waiting room.

  They stepped into the cool air a second time and strolled to Brant’s car.

  “So where’s this lunch mecca of yours?” he asked.

  “Leopold’s Ice Cream on East Broughton Street. You’ll love it.”

  “Good. I’m starved.”

  She gave him directions to Abercorn Street and around Oglethorpe Square to East Broughton.

  “Leopold’s is one of a kind. The original store opened in 1919, right after the First World War. When it closed, his son had the good sense to store some of the furnishings, including a black marble fountain and an old wooden phone booth. He went to Hollywood and did some directing, I think. When he decided to reopen the store, one of the Hollywood set designers recreated his dad’s shop. Walking into Leopold’s is like stepping back in time.”

  “You’re sure the baby won’t be a problem?”

  “Not even.”

  *

  Half an hour later, Brant’s headache was gone. He scanned the old-fashioned ice cream parlor and admitted that Molly had nailed the late-lunch choice perfectly. She’d made the entire day easier.

  When he’d first laid eyes on her, his initial reaction had been purely physical. The more time he spent with her, though, the more he liked her, really liked her. He could let that be a problem, or he could choose simply to enjoy their time together. For now, he’d go with the latter.

  When their waiter showed up, Molly greeted him. “Hey, Dan, how’s everything today?”

  “Pretty good, Mol. Haven’t seen you around for a while.” His eyes moved to Brant, then to the baby playing pat-a-cake with the table top. “Somethin’ I should know? You been keepin’ secrets?”

  “No.” She grinned. “Dan, this is Brant Wylder and his nephew Jax. We’ve been visiting a relative of his at the hospital.”

  Dan’s forehead creased. “Aren’t you the dude that fixes up old cars and motorcycles?”

  “I am,” Brant admitted.

  “Thought so. I’ve caught you on TV a few times.” He shook his head regretfully. “Sure wish I could afford a ’31 Indian Scout 101 like the one you restored for that rapper.”