by Meg Maxwell
“Oh, him?” Georgia had said to the boyfriend, tossing a glance at Nick in the bright April sunshine in front of her Houston condo. She and Nick were standing on the sidewalk, making a plan for where to have breakfast, when the boyfriend had shown up. The boyfriend Nick hadn’t known about. “Just an acquaintance I ran into. Ready, darling?” she’d added, linking her arm with the Suit and heading down the street. She hadn’t looked back.
It took a lot to shock Nick. He’s been through hell and back as a kid. He’d gotten through raising his teenage sister, the two of them both in one piece. He’d seen the worst of humanity in his first five years as a cop on the force in Houston. Nothing surprised him. Nothing got to him.
But Georgia did. His head, his heart, everything in him exploded like an earthquake in those minutes on that Houston sidewalk, and trying to make sense of it as he drove back home to Blue Gulch had given him a bigger headache.
She’d used him for the night—why, he didn’t know. He hadn’t been able to figure that out either. What was the point for her? What had she gotten out of it? Hot sex? When she had some six-foot, four-inch, rich boyfriend? Whatever her reason, whatever motivated her, she’d discarded Nick with a lie and walked away. He’d never heard from her again. He’d gone back to Blue Gulch, let her sister Annabel know that Georgia was absolutely fine—without adding that Georgia was a selfish, lying, cheating witch—and gotten back to his life.
Now here she was, walking into his police station. And this wasn’t exactly a good time, he thought, glancing down at Timmy in his arms.
He braced himself for her to walk through the door. But no one came in. He glanced out the window and saw her standing in front of the weeping willow and taking a deep breath. Then another.
And from this angle it was pretty clear her stomach wasn’t flat, after all. In fact, Nick would say Georgia Hurley was four or five months pregnant.
Chapter Two
For a moment, Georgia Hurley was so dumbstruck with joy at the sight of Nick Slater, even a hundred feet away through a police station window, that she almost missed that there was a baby in his arms. The infant was nestled against his forearm as he held a small bottle to the tiny mouth.
Confused, she stopped in her tracks, eyed him through the leaves of the weeping willow and sat down on the bench by the steps. Based on everything Nick had told her the night they spent together, he wasn’t a father. He’d made it crystal clear that he had no interest in marriage or parenthood. That the bachelor life was for him. Clearly, this baby wasn’t his. She didn’t believe for one second that he’d lied to her, that he was someone’s husband, someone’s father. Georgia might get people wrong sometimes—oh boy, did she—but what had drawn her to Nick was the integrity, the honesty that had enveloped him the night they met. She’d felt it in her bones, seen it in his face, in his eyes as he’d held her, as he’d made love to her.
As she’d betrayed him the next morning.
Despite the warm August air, a chill snaked up her spine at the memory. Georgia closed her eyes, her heart clenching as she remembered the look of utter disbelief on his handsome face, her own powerlessness. He probably hates me, she thought—for the hundredth time. How could he not?
She sucked in a breath and glanced at him again, but his back was to the window.
Go on in, she ordered herself. It was time to right a wrong. Best she could, anyway.
He shifted to the side and she could see he was still holding the baby, a half-finished bottle in his hand. He was very likely watching the baby for someone, a coworker, probably. That he was holding a baby, feeding a baby, was a good sign, she reminded herself, given what she was about to tell him.
A bit more confident, Georgia started toward the steps, but her belly fluttered, and she sat back down on the bench.
That was only the second time she’d felt the baby move and she brought her hand to her stomach, a feeling of utter wonder spreading through her. The first time happened during the long drive from Houston to Blue Gulch, as if the baby were reminding her of what she had to do upon arrival: tell Nick Slater that he was going to be a father.
Just a few minutes ago, the three-hour drive finally over, she’d stopped for a red light on Blue Gulch Street and had been able to see the steeply pitched roof of the apricot Victorian that housed Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. Home. She hadn’t seen her grandmother, her sisters, since Christmas. Tears had stung the backs of her eyes. More than anything she’d wanted to speed over and tell them everything, finally explain herself. But instead of turning left for the Victorian, for her family, she’d made a right for the police station, knowing she should tell Nick first, that she should let go of the secrets she’d been keeping all these months. Including the awful one.
Georgia stood up. Okay, get in there. Tell him.
Hello again, Detective Slater. Nick. You may not remember me, but we met in April in Houston, and without even knowing it, you gave me hope, made me dream again. But the next morning I did something terrible and I can finally explain why.
Yes, she would start with that and then tell him about the baby. Or should she start with the news of her pregnancy first? Anyone can see you’re pregnant, she reminded herself.
Georgia bit her lower lip and sat back down on the bench. She didn’t know Nick Slater well. At all, really. But she did know that after hearing the news, he wasn’t going to pull her into a hug and swing her in an excited circle and pass out cigars the way impending fathers used to do in old movies. In the few beautiful hours they’d shared, he told her he’d had a rough childhood and then had barely survived the past two years as sole guardian of his now eighteen-year-old kid sister. All he wanted, Nick had told her, was to do his job, catch the bad guys and keep Blue Gulch a safe place to live. He didn’t even want responsibility for the cat his sister had taken in against his wishes—and would stick him with when she left for college in Dallas in mid-August.
It was now August 21. Georgia vaguely wondered how Nick was doing with the cat. Maybe the purring bundle of fur had worked its way into his heart and changed his mind about taking care of living, breathing things. But probably not.
Georgia didn’t love this new cynical side of herself. She used to be so motivated by possibility, by you never know, by the idea that anything could happen. But these days, that was what scared her the most: that anything could happen. Now Georgia only wanted assurances and security—nice words that she was afraid had no meaning anymore.
She stood and dusted off her sundress, smoothed her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and walked up the steps. She took a final deep breath and pulled open the door.
Nick stood there, the baby cradled in the crook of his arm. He was staring at Georgia, his expression stony.
“This is a surprise,” he said.
She took in the sight of him, six feet two, the broad shoulders, his intense dark brown eyes, the thick dark hair, his fair skin, a groove in each cheek the only softening of the otherwise hardened countenance of a police detective.
“Me or the baby you’re holding?” she asked, not daring to step farther in.
He glanced down at the infant. “Both. I didn’t expect to come back from picking up my lunch to find a baby on my desk. And I definitely didn’t expect to see you of all people walking through the door.”
Wait—what? “You found the baby on your desk?”
He shifted the bottle in his hand. “With an anonymous note saying his mother would be back in a week, that she wasn’t abandoning him and could trust me.”
She froze. “Could you be the father?”
He stared at her as though that was preposterous. It most definitely wasn’t. “No. No chance.”
She looked at the beautiful baby in his arms. So sweet and innocent. What it must have taken for this child’s mother to leave him and walk away. Georgia could only imagine what the
baby’s mother was going through. “What are you going to do?”
Nick stared down at the infant. “Give her another half hour before I call Social Services.”
“No, you can’t do that,” she said. “The mother entrusted this baby to you. Something terrible must be happening and she’s in no position to care for her child this week.”
Nick stared at her. “And you know this because?”
Because I know what it’s like to be in trouble. To be threatened. To feel trapped and cornered and have no one to talk to, nowhere to go. God, if Georgia had had a child—a baby—the past several months? She would have had no choice but to have sought a safe haven for the baby.
“I can imagine,” she said, aware of his dark eyes on her, assessing her.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” he asked. The baby began fussing and Nick took the bottle from his lips, setting it down on the reception desk.
Now was hardly the right time to tell Nick he was going to be a father. He had his hands full—literally.
“Yes, but perhaps I should come back a bit later? Or I could stay and help,” she said, her gaze on the squirming infant. Not that she knew more than he did about babies.
He stared at her, the expression stonier than before. “Should you be holding a baby in your condition?”
Her hand flew to her belly. She wasn’t sure he’d noticed. Then again, he was a detective. Of course he’d noticed. “I can handle him. Pregnant mothers have been balancing toddlers on their hips since time began.”
“I guess,” he said. “Oh, and congratulations.”
He was glaring at her, she realized.
Oh God. Because he thought the baby was someone else’s.
“Nick, I need to explain to you about the morning after—”
“I don’t need to hear it,” he said. “In fact, I’m pretty busy right now and would appreciate it if you left. I need to call Social Services.”
Social Services. Back in Houston, Georgia had an acquaintance who worked for Child Protective Services. She knew the good work they did, how devoted her friend was. And she also knew how babies and children could slip through the cracks. “Do you?” she asked. “Doesn’t the note say that she’s leaving the baby with you—for a week? That she isn’t abandoning him? That she can trust you? Sounds like someone you know. And she’s very specific in the note.”
As the baby fussed, Nick began pacing back and forth, trying to comfort the little guy. “Someone who didn’t sign her name. I have no idea whose baby this is. I can’t think of anyone who had a baby boy recently and named him Timothy—Timmy. Anyway, I can’t take responsibility for him—I have active cases.”
Georgia’s heart sank. She wanted the police to be superheroes. But they were flesh-and-blood men and women restricted by the law, by regulations. That she knew all too well.
“If you could hold him and get him to stop fussing while I make that call, I’d appreciate it,” Nick said.
“Of course,” she said, reaching out her arms.
He transferred the baby to her, and the sweet weight of him almost made her knees buckle. How heavenly he felt. And a bit scary. Would she know what to do?
The baby squirmed and cried a bit, so she gently rocked him, and he quirked his mouth, then settled down.
Huh. Maybe she could learn on the go. In the field. She could take care of this baby for Nick for the week.
He stood watching her, his phone against his ear. She listened to him report the baby being left on his desk, about the note. “The mother left the baby in my care, so that means I’m his temporary guardian, right?”
Georgia’s heart lifted. He wasn’t asking Social Services to take the baby and give him to foster care. He was following protocol, but planning to take responsibility for the infant.
“Yes, if she’s not back after a week I will call you back,” he said, then clicked off the phone. “Good God. I’ve got exactly a week to track down the baby’s mother or Social Services will take him into custody and arrange for foster placement if the mother doesn’t return for him by noon next Saturday. And depending on the circumstances of why the mother left the baby with me, the safe haven law won’t apply because even though the baby appears to be under sixty days old, he wasn’t left at a hospital, an EMS or a child-welfare agency.”
Georgia bit her lip. The baby could be taken away from his mother, who was only trying to protect him from someone—something. Her youngest sister, Clementine, had been a foster child, adopted by the Hurleys when she was eight years old. Georgia knew there were wonderful foster families—like her parents. But there were also bad ones. She couldn’t bear the thought of this baby in her arms being placed with strangers.
“How am I going to take care of a baby, do my job and find Timmy’s mother all at the same time?” Nick said, and Georgia realized he was more thinking out loud than asking a question.
“I’ll care for him for the week,” Georgia blurted out. “I’m back now. Home for good in Blue Gulch. And unemployed.” And without a cent to my name. Not that she planned to get into all that right now. “And I could use the on-the-job training,” she added, touching a hand to her stomach.
He was staring at her belly. “How far along are you?”
“I conceived in April. April twentieth to be exact.” The night you changed my life, made me believe in possibilities again, made me determined to find a way out. She held his gaze and saw the flicker of mistrust in his eyes when he understood what she was saying.
His lower lip dropped slightly. “And yet on April twenty-first, when your rich boyfriend showed up, you acted like we’d just run into each other outside your condo. How are you so sure when you conceived? Or that I’m the father?”
She owed him an explanation. She’d come here to tell him everything. And though the thought of rehashing it, reliving it for the telling made her feel sick to her stomach, she had to do it.
She could still remember the first time she’d seen Nick, her surprise that someone from Blue Gulch was standing on the porch of her condo in Houston, the immediate pull of attraction to him on all levels, the inability to look away from his face.
Oh, how the sight of him had comforted her. He was from home. He was the police. But she’d been too afraid to tell him anything—about why her sister Annabel had clearly felt the need to have a policeman check up on her. Why Georgia hadn’t come home to Blue Gulch when her gram fell ill and Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen was failing. Why the “fancy city businesswoman” had let down her family and stayed put in Houston. Why she hadn’t simply sent home a check to pull Hurley’s from the brink of bankruptcy.
She’d invited Nick in and they’d talked about Blue Gulch. They’d talked a little about their families—but Georgia realized she’d done most of the talking, needing to feel connected to the Hurleys even if she couldn’t be with them. And a glass of wine had led to another, and a kiss had led to Georgia allowing herself the evening with this man. Knowing there wouldn’t be a next day or a next time. She’d given herself to the fantasy of it, of him, of what her life might be like if only—
She pushed the thought away. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think of the past anymore. It was over, finally over. She was safe. She was free. And she was finally home. She’d bring it up only to explain herself to Nick and her grandmother and her sisters. Then she’d lock it up tight. She was going to be a mother and had to focus on that. Not on mistakes, on regrets, on what had been out of her control.
Easier said than done, but Georgia was going to try.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I’m pregnant with your child, Nick. Listen, I—”
“I need to get some air,” he interrupted, taking the baby back from her.
She nodded. He’d been streamrolled twice in the same half hour.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then started pac
ing, the baby seeming to like the quick movements. “I need to get some things for Timmy. I’ll be taking the rest of the day off.”
“Did you hear what I said?” she whispered.
“I heard you. I’ll be in touch.”
Dismissed, she thought.
She watched him settle Timothy into the baby carrier, taking a frustrated few moments to figure out the five-point harness straps. Then he picked up the carrier and walked out of the station and down the steps without looking back.
Chapter Three
Timmy was fast asleep in the little bassinet Nick had bought at Baby Center. Nick watched the baby’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, and then he tiptoed out of his bedroom, keeping the door just ajar. Timmy had been sleeping for a good forty-five minutes now. Nick had looked in on him eleven times. Still breathing: check.
There at all and not a figment of his imagination or some crazy dream: check.
Keeping him too occupied to fully process that Georgia was pregnant with his child: check.
The moment he stepped back into the living room, the uneasy feeling hit him in the chest, in his throat, in his head. Again. There was a baby in his bedroom, a tiny human he was responsible for. Every time he sat down and tried to focus on how to go about finding Timmy’s mother, he would hear a cry or a sound and leap up like a lunatic and rush into the bedroom and find Timmy exactly as he’d been four minutes ago and four minutes before that: sleeping peacefully.
Everything inside him was on red alert for the baby to start crying or fussing. According to the salesclerk at Baby Center, if Timmy cried, Nick should eye or feel the diaper. Check for diaper rash. Calculate last feeding time and decide if the baby is hungry. If the baby is fed, changed, rash-free and still fussing, pick him up for a burp. If he’s still fussy, cradle him upright against you and hum softly.
