by Frankie Love
“But then, more than a year goes by. I never think of her again, until a social worker calls telling me Kara died suddenly and she had no family—and I was listed as the father on the birth certificate. She came the next day with Hope. One look at her, and it was clear she was my kid. Same eyes, same nose. Turns out, same fucking DNA.”
Amelia reaches for my hand. I let her take it, maybe because it feels good to have something to hold on to. The truth is, the past three months have been really fucking hard.
“So,” she says, “a baby was literally dropped off at your door.”
“Yeah. And I don’t have family either, never did. I grew up in foster care—fucking sob story if there ever was one, but damn, I wouldn’t let that happen to Hope. Still, it would be easier if I didn’t live out here, on my own.”
“Did you consider moving to a bigger city? And hiring help to care for your daughter?”
I give Amelia a sidelong glance. “I grew up in the system. I don’t want anyone to take care of my daughter besides her parents.”
“That’s admirable, but ....”
“But what?” I’ve thought it through. I know what I am choosing.
“But day care is a great place for kids. It’s safe and nurturing, and I’m not saying that just because my sister and I spent our childhoods in daycare. Our grandma raised us, but she had to work. It seems like going with Monique’s service is kind of a drastic choice, if you’re looking for a babysitter.”
“Not a babysitter. Hope needs a mother. I want more for her than I had.”
“I didn’t have a mother, and I’m fine.”
“I’m not saying you aren’t, but can’t you understand me wanting more for her than I had?”
Amelia purses her lips, looks like she’s thinking. “I do understand that.”
“Good. Because using Monique’s agency was brilliant.”
“You’re modest, too.”
This girl is trouble. “Listen, I told Monique exactly what I needed in a bride. I wasn’t gonna put myself on some dating site to look for a gold digger. I avoided all of that by having her find me the perfect woman.”
“Me? You think I’m your perfect woman?” She shakes her head, pulling her hand back, and she stares at her long, fake fingernails.
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Look, you’re fucking gorgeous—but, honey, in these heels and push-up bra, I do wonder if you can hack it out here in the middle of nowhere. I wonder what Monique was thinking, honestly. Do you even want to have a kid?”
“I mean ... I guess eventually I want to be a mother. But now? I’ve never considered it. I certainly didn’t say anything about it on my application or interview.”
“I don’t want a bride who doesn’t want to raise Hope. That’s why I put the wedding off. I want to make sure whoever I marry is ready to commit to us both.”
“No pressure.” She finishes her champagne. “I don’t know anything about babies.”
“Me either,” I tell her.
“Whatever. You were a natural in there with her.”
“Steep learning curve. But honest, I don’t want to be a stay-at-home dad. I need a woman who’s ready to do this on her own, full-time.”
“What do you do all day?”
I shrug. “Fish, trap, hunt.”
“Basically play all day, every day. And having a kid is cramping your style?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“You are such a dick, Reed,” she says, her face falling. But then she sighs, as if wrapping her mind around the concept, at least.
I feel bad; I do. For some reason, I don’t want to disappoint this stranger, but I also don’t want to get caught up in a guilt trip. That’s why I don’t want a wife. I’m looking for someone for Hope. Not me.
The baby monitor starts screeching. Hope’s up.
Amelia lets out a long sigh and stands, reaching for my hand.
“Come, show me your life, Reed,” she says, surprising me. “Show me what it means to be your baby’s mama, because God knows this is a tough sell.”
Chapter Eight
Amelia
Hope doesn’t stop fussing for the rest of the evening. I follow Reed around in a weird, sort of shadowy way as he feeds her peas and carrots, as he gives her a bath. As he gives her a bottle. We don’t talk, mostly because I’m trying to absorb the shock of everything I’ve just seen and heard.
I mean, it’s pretty intense, all of it.
Eventually, he grabs a pizza from the freezer and throws it in the oven, then takes Hope upstairs to get into pajamas. I excuse myself and go into the bathroom with my cell phone. Magically, I’m actually able to place a call to Delta, but it goes straight to voice mail. Same thing with Everly.
I really wanted their opinion on whether or not I should take the first plane out of here and go move into my sister Francis’s house—in freaking Omaha, Nebraska—and try to make a life for myself in the cramped two-bedroom house that she’s currently residing in, with my Grandma and their combined nine cats.
I’m allergic to cats. Like, badly.
Which is why I haven’t visited in two years. As a college student, the tickets to visit would have cost a fortune I didn’t have, and then I’d have needed to stay in a motel the entire time.
And whenever I mention her coming out to visit me, she says Grandma can’t be left alone—which I get. They’re my family, but none of us are close, so we’ve never made the extra effort to see one another.
This trip to rural Alaska is the biggest adventure I’ve had in my life.
But right now I really wish I had more family—like, any family. And maybe going home to strangers is better than sleeping with them.
I call Francis. Yes, it’s a desperate move, but I’m pretty much at a low point. I’m in the bathroom at a stranger’s house, debating the merits of being his wife.
Francis picks up right away. “Amelia?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Is this a good time?”
“It’s late. After midnight.”
“Oh. Right.” I forgot about the time difference. “I just wanted to call and tell you I landed, and I’m here at Reed’s house … in case you were wondering if someone had kidnapped me upon arrival.”
She doesn’t laugh. “Where are you?”
“I told you last week—that I was moving to Alaska. With my ... fiancé?”
I may have lied and told her we met at college, and he was my boyfriend, and we had gotten engaged. I may have left out the hired-bride part.
“Engaged? Alaska? I don’t remember any of this.”
“Oh, well, you told me you were watching Game of Thrones.”
She laughs. “Then I didn’t listen to what you said. I don’t have DVR, so I can’t pause anything.”
“Oh.” What the hell do I say to this? “Okay, well. I’m safe and—”
“Okay, well, message me on Facebook if you want.”
“Will do.”
She hangs up without goodbye. Really? This is my family? This is what I have on Planet Earth?
I stand outside Hope’s nursery. Well, I call it a nursery, but it mostly looks like someone went shopping on Amazon for the most random baby things, without any thought. There’s a half-assembled stroller, a pile of dirty burp rags, and a changing table with a navy blue sheet on it.
I mean, the crib is put together, so that’s good, but the room is empty except for a few baskets of clothes. A giant box of diapers has been ripped open, and a box of baby wipes sits next to it. It’s not cute or cozy at all. It’s depressing as hell, to be honest. The rest of Reed’s house is divine—all rich woods and leather furniture. This room, though, is sad.
Watching Reed change Hope’s diaper, I feel my ovaries just about explode. Holy cow, he is sexy with this kid. He kisses her belly, sings her a nonsense song, and stretches her arms as she giggles. And, okay, I may not want a kid, but a baby cooing for her father is pretty much adorbs.
“You book a plane out of here?” he asks, his back stil
l to me, as he snaps a sleeper on Hope.
“What?” I didn’t even know he knew I was standing here. “Um. No. I was talking to my sister.”
“You have a sister?” Reed picks Hope up, and she beams up at him like he’s God’s gift to women—which, besides the fact he’s an asshole, he kind of is. “Can you turn on the mobile over her crib?”
I walk into the room and do as he asks, smoothing out the blanket in the crib. “Yeah, her name’s Francis. But she isn’t really ... available.”
He sets Hope down, then pats her belly, turns on the baby monitor, and turns off the overhead light.
We step into the hallway and he softly closes her door.
“That was easy,” I say. “Is it always like that?”
“Oh, she’s great sometimes. Maybe you forgot her meltdown when we got here today?”
“I thought that might have been a one-time thing.”
“Nope, that’s a Hope thing.”
We walk down to the kitchen, and he pulls the pizza out of the oven. It smells like cardboard, but I’m starved.
“Beer?” he asks.
“Sure.” I find the pizza cutter in a drawer, and slice the pizza as he grabs the drinks. Sitting on barstools, we help ourselves to hot slices. “So she sleeps all night, then?”
“Eh,” Reed shrugs unconvincingly. “Some nights. But others ... not so well.”
“And you’ve been doing this all alone, everyday?”
“The social worker came by a few times the first month to make sure everything was cool. And Lottie comes over, because she’s bored and nosy.”
I don’t say that I’m impressed, but I am. For a man who has no experience with babies, all alone, with no support, he’s keeping his shit together pretty well.
Maybe that’s why he seems so tense.
“You’re doing good,” I tell him. “She seems pretty perfect for a nine-month-old.”
“I don’t know how good I’m doing. I bought a whole shit-ton of books on taking care of babies. But every time I go to read one I fall asleep.”
I smile softly, finding his ability to take this whole thing in stride sexy as hell. And even if he’s an ass ... he’s a father, and not shirking that responsibility.
“I bet a lot of it’s about instinct.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “It’s just not what I wanted, you know. Hope’s amazing ... but like, I sometimes wonder how this is my actual life.”
I can’t help but snort. “No shit, Reed.”
He shakes his head sheepishly. “Fuck, I know. You didn’t want this gig either. Still don’t.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’ve seen it in your eyes all night, Amelia. You don’t want to be here. This is more than you bargained for.”
“I think maybe I just need a good night’s sleep, a chance to get my head on straight.”
“Right,” Reed says, wiping his hands with a napkin. “I’ll take your bags to the guest room.”
“The guest room?” My eyebrows raise in surprise. I guess I assumed he’d try to sleep with me again. Not that it would be against my will—I’ve been imagining his hands all over me the entire evening.
“I figure you can stay there until you decide what you want.”
“Right. Of course. That makes sense.” I smile tightly, wondering if he knows how bad I want him, and if this is all a part of his master plan of seducing me to be Hope’s mom. Make me so flipping horny that I’ll agree to anything if it means I can have him again.
How desperate am I, that my first thought revolves around the fact that his plan might actually work?
It doesn’t matter. He carries my bags into the guest room and leaves without another word.
But I swear he gives me a solid once over as he leaves. And I swear even harder that he adjusted his cock as he walked away.
Maybe he’s as horny for me as I am for him.
Chapter Nine
Reed
I wake to Hope screeching through the baby monitor.
Damn it. I tossed and turned for hours, imaging Amelia a few doors down with her perfect tits and perfect ass, wishing she was grinding against me. After I finally went and showered—jacking off in the peace and quiet of the running water like a fucking teenage horn-dog—I fell asleep.
Looking at the clock, I see it’s just after three a.m. Too late—and too early—for anything good.
I walk sleepily down the hall in a pair of sweats and pick up a wailing Hope from her crib. She’s learned to stand, and has started this thing where she just hangs on to the edge and can’t remember how to sit back down.
With her in my arms, still wailing, I get her a bottle, which she refuses. Then I try a pacifier, which she spits out. The swing pisses her off, the lullabies are a no-go, and the biscuit I offer her gets chucked across the room.
Precious.
My eyes burn from exhaustion, and when I realize I’ve been pacing for an hour with a crying baby, I consider getting her in the truck and driving around until she falls asleep.
“Reed?” Amelia whispers my name, and I turn to see the woman who’s here to be my bride. She’s in a see-through tank top and tiny little shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, and her face … she’s gorgeous even in the dead of the night. Her tousled hair and sleepy eyes look sexy as fuck. “Can I hold her?”
I noticed earlier that Amelia didn’t once offer or reach for Hope all night. And I understand, I really do. It’s kind of an awkward spot: me watching her, and maybe she thinks I’ll be judging anything or everything she does right or wrong. But I’m not that guy.
The truth is, maybe I’d be a more judgmental parent if I wasn’t so damn tired of doing this on my own.
Her hands reach for Hope, and she looks at me for affirmation that it’s okay. I nod, my eyes closing as I stand there, leaning against the wall of the hallway. She pats Hope’s back, whispering soft words that soothe me more than my daughter.
“Oh, sweet one,” she coos in a singsong voice. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. It’s gonna be okay. Close your eyes, you’re allowed to go to sleep, baby girl. Shhh, you’re allowed to rest.”
Hope’s crying stops, fades to a whimper. Soon it’s heavy breathing, and I open my eyes, noticing the tight hold Hope has on Amelia’s hair. Her little fist is wrapped tight around a strand, but her eyes are closed, her head resting on Amelia’s shoulder. I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat.
I’m not some fucking romantic, but the sound of Hope no longer crying is fucking glorious. It also makes me want to thank Amelia in a million different ways.
She walks to the nursery and lays a now-sleeping Hope back in her crib.
We tiptoe out, and once the door is closed, I pull Amelia into a hug.
“That was amazing,” I tell her, then kissing her forehead. “Seriously. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She laughs softly, “Reed, you’ve been alone far too long if a woman putting a baby to sleep is the thing that gets you hard.”
“Oh, honey,” I tell her, pulling her closer. “Plenty gets me hard.”
“Show me,” she whispers. “Show me how hard you can get.”
Leading her into my dark bedroom, I feel her body move against mine in the blackness of the night. It’s only dark a few hours a day this time of year in Alaska, and the dark has found us.
“Let’s not talk about what happens next—with you, with Hope, with me,” I tell Amelia, pulling her into my arms at the foot of the bed. I want to fall into the sheets with her, and I want to disappear, and forget, and pretend for just one night that my life is as simple as it was before Hope showed up.
I’m so tired.
“Okay,” she murmurs, her hands running across my chest. Her fingers brush against my skin, waking something that’s bigger than lust and deeper than desire. Her body pressed against mine doesn’t feel like someone is pressing me into a corner. Amelia next to me gives me space to breathe.
And damn, it’s be
en three months since I took a deep breath.
“Let me feel you, Reed. Let me feel you in me.”
“Oh, fuck, woman,” I exhale, lifting her chin with a finger, pressing my mouth on hers. All the air, the air I just found, escapes my lungs. It’s gone in that kiss, because she fucking takes my breath away.
Which is a problem. I don’t have space in my life to start having real feelings for another person. Hope takes all that I have, and it’s hard enough to find the strength to be her father. I can’t imagine carrying the burden of another person, too.
Kissing Amelia, I resolve to enjoy her body, but nothing else. I resolve to take her in my arms, but not in my heart.
And damn, I’ll be taking her in my bed too. Her legs wrap around me as I lift her ass up, wanting to get the tiny shorts off. Her arms wind around my neck, and our kissing leaves us panting and desperate for more. For everything.
“Oh, girl, you are so damn sexy,” I moan, laying her on the bed, tugging those little shorts off, finding her pussy bare and ready. I can’t resist slipping my hand between her legs, letting her wet juice cover my fingers. I run my hand up and down the length of her glorious opening.
She writhes beneath me, and her legs fall, spread apart, telling me she’s ready and willing. I lift her thin shirt over her head, running my hands over her naked body. I palm her tits, but they are so round and big, and for a moment I imagine her breasts full of milk, ready to give to a baby, and I have to shake my head to erase the erotic thought.
And since when did tits full of milk make my cock stiff and ready? Maybe it’s just Amelia: her womanly figure, curvy hips genetically predisposed to bear a child. Maybe it’s her natural way with Hope at bedtime, the way she effortlessly took her from my arms and put her to bed. I don’t know, but everything about this woman underneath me gets my cock hard as rock.
Hard and ready.
“I need you now, Reed. Don’t make me wait.”
“You don’t want me to touch you first?”
“Not now. Now I just need your cock. It’s like....”
“Like what?” I ask, my fingers caressing her pussy folds.
