Hometown Hope: A Small Town Romance Anthology

by Zoe York

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Please hurry, sir. She’s creating quite a scene.”

  “The woman?”

  “No, the baby.”

  He knew what this was—one of the Dogs playing a trick on him. Of his four best friends, which of them would do this? Probably Lance. He had a wicked sense of humor and had recently been chiding him for his lack of support regarding Zane and Honor’s adoption of a six-year-old orphan named Jubie. This was the type of joke Lance would find hilarious. A joke wrapped up in a morality lesson.

  He would have his revenge. This was not funny. They should know better than to mess with him in front of the staff. But still, he had to give it to them. This was good. They knew he was not a family man. If they knew why, they would have more sympathy. But he would never tell his secrets. Not even to the Dogs.

  He went to the window, breathing deeply, purging the darkness. The child outside of the food bank had looked like him. That’s all this was. It had been years since he’d had an episode. He examined his arms. They were pink but not bleeding. He was fine.

  His reflection in the window stared back at him. His muscular frame, expensive haircut, and capped teeth told the story of the new Kyle. When he dressed it would be in the finest clothes money could buy.

  Outside the windows, rain fell in dogged stripes. This October was particularly dreary, even in quaint Cliffside Bay. That’s right. He lived here. The Dogs were his family. He had everything. Wealth, cars, land. Most of all, friends. The Dogs had his back. He didn’t have to be afraid ever again.

  Minutes later, he exited the elevator into the lobby. The sound of a screaming infant reverberated against the marble floors and cathedral ceiling. Even the crystal chandelier seemed to shake. Kyle looked in the direction of the racket. A young woman with a stroller stood by the glass windows. He quickened his pace. His staff shot him worried glances as he passed by the desk. Several patrons wrinkled their foreheads in irritation, clearly annoyed their peaceful afternoons sipping cucumber water had been interrupted by reality.

  The Dogs had gone to a lot of trouble. How had they convinced a woman and a baby to go along with the act? This was the work of Zane and Lance. Jackson and Brody were too mature to think of something like this. Plus, as the town doctor, Jackson had sick people to care for. Brody was currently halfway through the football season. The highest paid quarterback in the AFL did not have time for pranks.

  Having arrived at the source of the racket, he peered into the stroller. He took inventory: pink blanket, and a baby no bigger than the span of his two hands. A girl baby, probably a week or two old. He vaguely recalled holding his baby sister when she first arrived. This baby clenched her fists and kicked at her blanket, her complexion a disconcerting shade of purple. Perhaps she was hungry? Or needed a diaper change? He had no idea. Kyle knew nothing of babies.

  He did, however, know about angry females, and this was one of them, albeit a tiny one. He looked away from the baby to study her companion. Dingy blond hair in need of washing hung in her eyes. Her right tennis shoe had a hole near the big toe area, and her leggings were thin from wear. She smelled of grease and the inside of city bus. Who was she? No one he knew. He never forgot a face or a name. Real Estate development was about people. The secret to people was to be generally interested in them. He could tell you a person’s life story after one afternoon of golf.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “You can say that again.” She glared at him with hostility mixed with triumph. Her features were flat and her complexion gray, like a rock honed by years of rushing water. She reached into the stroller and picked up the baby, who immediately stopped the terrible howling. Why hadn’t she done this earlier? This was a mystery he couldn’t explore now because the woman’s next words eviscerated all coherent thought. “This is Mollie Blue Hicks. Your baby. I have the paperwork to prove it.”

  The gazes of every person in the lobby bored a hole into the back of his head. “Perhaps we could talk in the office?”

  “Whatever.” She thrust the baby toward him. “Take her.”

  He couldn’t think of what else to do but accept the parcel. Kyle Hicks took Mollie Blue into his arms, cradling her close to his chest, then indicated for the sullen young woman to follow him with a nod toward the office. The manager was out this afternoon, so it would be free.

  Zane and Lance were going to pay for this.

  He shut the door of the office with his foot. Still holding the surprisingly warm baby in his arms, he asked the woman if she’d like to sit.

  She plopped into a chair and rolled her eyes like she was disgusted by his suggestion that she sit.

  “Good joke. How did the Dogs convince you to go along with it?” Man, this girl could act. Contempt practically dripped from her.

  “Who are the Dogs?” she asked.

  “My best friends. Apparently, they think they’re comedians.”

  “I’ll cut to the chase. My name’s Paulina Shore. Do you remember Katy Theisen? You had a one-night stand with her about nine months ago.”

  Any moisture in his mouth evaporated. “Sure, yeah. I mean, of course I remember her.” Katy Theisen was a bartender in the town up north where he had spent several months working on a shopping mall deal. About nine months ago.

  “Katy was my best friend. She died last week from complications of childbirth.” For the first time, Pauline’s expression wavered from livid to that of extreme sadness. Her body seemed to sag under the weight of grief as she sank into the armchair.

  “Died? From childbirth?” Kyle perched on the edge of his desk. Mollie Blue shuddered.

  “Yep. That’s what happens when you’re poor.”

  “In America?” He knew poverty. It ran through his veins, like the blood of his family, unseen but there, waiting to remind him of the past he’d escaped from. Generations of poverty was his family legacy. Still, no one he knew had ever died from having a baby.

  “Impoverished women are more likely to die in childbirth. It’s on the rise in rural areas. Look it up. I did when Katy died.”

  He gazed at the baby in his arms. She’d fallen asleep. She’s sweet when she’s not howling. “I’m sorry to hear about Katy, but this isn’t my baby.”

  “Katy wasn’t the type to sleep around. She knew Mollie was yours. Broken condom, dude.” She reached into the stroller and pulled out an envelope. “It’s all in here. The DNA test proves it.”

  “But how?” How would she have had his DNA?

  Pauline answered his silent question with a roll of her eyes. “Think about it. Stained sheets.”

  “Don’t you need permission for that kind of thing?” he asked.

  “Not when they sell DNA tests at Walmart.”

  “Jesus, they do?”

  “A guy like you should probably buy them in bulk,” she said. “Or maybe double up on condoms.”

  The broken condom. He was always careful. Condoms were his friend. Until, like the night with Katy, one of the damn things broke. Water. He needed a glass of water.

  A DNA test was undeniable.

  This was his baby. His daughter.

  He put Mollie back into the stroller. His arms felt light without her.

  Paulina crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you dare judge Katy. You’re the one who couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

  He flinched. “I wasn’t. I’m just in shock here. You could give me a chance to catch up.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What happened—I mean during the birth?”

  “An infection they should’ve caught.” Paulina’s voice wavered again. “Look, it’s obvious you’re rich, so there’s no reason you can’t take care of your kid unless you’re a jerk. If that’s the case, then I suggest we put her into the system, so a nice couple can have her.” She scowled and blew her dirty bangs out of her eyes. “But I know Katy, and she would’ve preferred you take her. There’s nothing like flesh and blood.”

  He laced his hand
s together behind his back. Sweat rolled down his spinal column. What was he supposed to do with a daughter? He could barely take care of himself. Should he give her up? Let someone else raise her? Surely anyone in the world would be better than him. He wasn’t father material. All anyone had to do was look at his past to see that truth.

  He sucked in a deep breath. The air thinned like he’d reached a mountain peak. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, breathing hard.

  An image of his mother pierced his consciousness. Skinny with those dull eyes, she stood by the front door with the tattered blue suitcase in her hand. I’m leaving. You look after your brother and sister.

  His heart pounded harder. He staggered over to the desk and perched on the edge. The room tilted. Black dots danced before his eyes. His recently scrubbed skin burned. I can’t do it. Not this. Anything but this.

  The day his mother left roared to life and played out in front of him.

  Where are you going? Are you coming back?

  He ran after her. The trailer door slammed behind him. Rain dumped from a stormy Oregon sky. Wait. Don’t go. Please, Mama. She pulled the hood of her faded raincoat over her head. A man stood waiting by the car. He grabbed her suitcase and tossed it into the back seat. Kyle slipped in the mud and fell. By the time he rose to his feet, they were gone, tire tracks on the muddy driveway their only legacy.

  Now, he rubbed his eyes and looked over at Paulina. “I have money, but nothing else to offer her.” I’m a single, selfish womanizer with secret panic attacks.

  “That’s better than most.”

  Was it? Money would hire staff to help raise her. Yet, a daughter needed an emotionally healthy father, one who knew how to give and receive love. Not him. Anyone but him.

  “I’m sorry about Katy. Truly. She was a sweet girl.”

  “She was.” Paulina picked at the skin around a fingernail. Her nails were short—not trimmed neatly with clippers, but ragged and uneven, like those of a nail biter.

  “Does Katy have any family?” he asked.

  “No one. And I can’t keep her if that’s what you want to know.”

  He didn’t say anything. No one would expect her to. She was young and probably broke. A baby was the last thing she needed, especially one that wasn’t hers.

  “It hurts too much to look at her,” she said as if he’d asked a follow up question.

  “Why?”

  “Katy was my best friend. I thought this baby would ruin her life. I had no idea how right I was. I’ll just leave it at that.”

  I can’t be like my mother. I must to do the right thing. This is my child.

  Kyle crossed back to the stroller and stared down at the sleeping infant. She was so small and helpless. He was her only family. It had to be him. He picked her up and cradled her close, catching a whiff of her head. “Her head smells good.”

  “Yeah.”

  With the baby in his arms, he went around the desk to sit in the chair before his legs collapsed under him.

  “I know Katy wasn’t the type to go home with some loser she met at the bar,” he said.

  “But she did.”

  “I was having a rough night. She took pity on me.” He stroked the peach fuzz on Mollie’s head. Should she be wearing a hat? He touched the tips of her ears. They were cold. Should they be?

  “That sounds like her.”

  “It wasn’t my finest hour,” he said.

  Paulina stood. “I’d love to stay for a gabfest, but I’ve got to go. There’s some formula and a few diapers in the stroller. You’ll need more. Get ready for some sticker shock.” This last part was muttered under her breath.

  “I don’t know anything about how to take care of a baby.”

  “There’s this thing called the internet,” she said.

  Mollie squirmed in his arms and opened her eyes and looked directly into his. A strange feeling spread through his stomach, like warm soup sliding down the back of his throat and into his stomach on a cold day. He gritted his teeth, almost willing himself to remain distant. Mollie was having none of that. She pursed her mouth and blew a bubble before closing her eyes again.

  At the door, Paulina turned back to him. “Good luck.”

  “Wait, before you leave. Why didn’t she have an abortion?”

  Paulina shrugged. “She wasn’t the type—not a brain in her head when it came to that stuff. She thought it was meant to be—that God wanted her to have this baby. I guess she was wrong.”

  “One more thing.” He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out several hundred dollars from a money clip. “Take this.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. She stared at him like a feral animal, evaluating whether he wanted something in exchange.

  “Please, take it,” he said. “Diapers and formula and everything probably set you back.”

  “It did.” She took the money from the desk. “Katy said you were a good guy. Sad but nice. You’ll do fine with Mollie.” With that, Paulina disappeared.

  Dazed, Kyle pushed the stroller out of the elevator and into the hallway, then used his keycard to enter the penthouse suite. Mollie woke with a whimper that within seconds turned into a howl. Hunger perhaps? Or a wet diaper? He recalled these ailments from movies. There might be a bottle of formula somewhere in the contraption, which now that he took a closer look, seemed like it had been rescued from the town dump. A stroller shouldn’t have rusted parts. He didn’t know much, but that seemed obvious.

  What was the plan? Should he call one of his staff to come up and help him? Surely one of them would know what to do to make the baby stop crying. But no, he had to do this himself. If he let one of the staff see him this out of control, they’d lose all respect for him. He’d have to reason through this without help. The most important thing was to stop this poor mite from hurting herself with all this shrieking and flailing of limbs. He rolled the stroller inside and closed the door.

  Seriously, how can something this little make such a commotion?

  He lifted the squirming, screaming baby into his arms. She arched her back and kicked her arms and legs with surprising ferocity. The blanket fell to the floor. She wore an outfit that looked like a t-shirt with buttons. What was that heinous scent? The offensive odor came from the red-faced Mollie’s bottom. He almost gagged.

  No question. First things first. He would change her diaper. Sure, no problem. He bought and developed real estate up and down the state of California. He could surely change one diaper.

  He held her at arm’s length and made a shushing sound. She howled even louder. Great, he’d made her angrier. He carried her over to the sofa. Should he place her on there or would she fall off? What, with all the kicking and fussing, she might launch herself onto the floor.

  The rug was safer. When he had her settled there, he sprinted back to the stroller. A bag hung from the back. He hadn’t noticed that until now. A diaper bag? Has to be. He unzipped it and found diapers and, hallelujah, a full bottle of what must be formula. There was also a box of cleaning wipes. No doubt these were for wiping the offensive bottom. Sweating, he brought all three items back to the baby.

  You can do this. The little bug can’t sit around in a dirty diaper.

  His hands shook as he unbuttoned the romper. Romper? Where had that word come from? He had no idea what a romper was, let alone if this was one. Whatever it was called, the outfit was cute, with little ducks scattered across the soft material. Mollie’s legs parted like they were attached to springs. Three snaps were in the center of the crotch area. Crotch area? Was that what it was called when referring to a baby? That didn’t seem right, especially for a baby girl. Never mind that. I must focus on the task.

  He tugged at the snaps. Voilà. They loosened with no problem. This was genius, now that he looked at it more carefully. One could change the diaper without taking the entire outfit…or romper…off the baby. He lifted it up and over the diaper, despite her flaying limbs, then gasped. There was a horrific stump where her belly button should be. Pi
nk and painful looking and covered with dried blood, it stared up at him like the head of a snake. “Does it hurt Mollie Blue?”

  She kicked her legs in response.

  He’d take that as a no.

  Next, he lifted the sticky flaps that held the diaper on the baby. The smell was bad. He held his breath as he lifted her legs to slide the diaper from her puckered bottom. That’s when he saw it. A gooey substance the color of burned butternut squash soup stuck to every crevice of the little one’s private area.

  The wipes? Surely this is what they were for. They’d better be superpowered if he was going to coax the goo from this bottom. Breathe through my mouth. He went in, holding her legs in one hand and swiping with the other. This was totally fine. He could do this.

  A few swipes later, she looked clean. Should he use one more to make sure? Yes, he would. He’d heard of diaper rash. Given that goo, it would make sense that a rash could develop if not cleaned properly.

  He reached behind him for another wipe. When he returned, a yellow puddle had stained the brand-new rug of his brand-new penthouse suite. He cursed under his breath and reached frantically for another diaper. His hands shook so badly and were so slick with sweat that it took several attempts to open the stupid plastic potential rug-saver. By the time he’d accomplished that task, Mollie was done urinating all over his rug. For heaven’s sake, what now?

  But wait? What was this? Silence. She’d stopped howling. It must feel better to have the disgusting diaper away from her skin. And, taking a leak when one really had to go was always a happy relief.

  He lifted her from the soaked area of the carpet to a fresh spot. This time he put the unfolded diaper under her bottom before he wiped her. “I’m a quick learner. Always put a diaper under you before turning away. And you’re much more pleasant when you’re not screaming.”

  How many of these wipes would a parent use in one day? He’d already used a dozen. Sticker shock indeed.

  Assured he had her nice and clean now, he fastened the diaper. Was that right? It looked a little crooked. One side had more of a gap—from which nasty fluids could leak. He repositioned the diaper and fastened it tighter and straighter. That should do it.