by Shirley Jump
“My name is Nick,” he said. “Nick Jackson. There. Now I’m not a stranger.”
The joke made her smile a tiny bit. Inside, her confidence shook like a sapling in the wind. How was she going to handle Ellie and work? And how would she know what to do if Ellie cried or needed something? Vivian knew her way around a courtroom, but not around an infant.
“I’m Vivian Winthrop. I’m a civil litigator, and Sammie is my irresponsible sort-of-sister who abandoned her baby here. I invited her to the inn for a weekend away and to spend some time with her. Sammie showed up with a baby I didn’t know she even had, and then disappeared. Which is typical for her. She’s been doing it since she and I were in foster care together.”
“Foster care?” He arched a brow. Clearly, those words had put her back in the reluctant to trust her column.
“Sammie and I had a...difficult childhood with a mother who was...unreliable at best. It’s just been the two of us most of our lives.” Vivian fiddled with the handle on her coffee cup, avoiding Nick’s gaze. That was about all she wanted to say about that. The less she thought about her childhood, the better. “Anyway, didn’t you say something about dinner?”
He grinned. “So you’re staying now? I take it you trust me now a little?”
“Well, I’m kind of hungry.” She returned his smile and realized it had been a long time since she’d smiled. Her entire career was about being serious, a determined and stubborn bobcat in the courtroom and a moneymaker for the office. She’d risen quickly at Veritas Law based on that reputation, and had won several multimillion-dollar judgments and settlements against major corporations.
Her latest case, though, was more personal. A chance meeting with a man who was working nights as a janitor in the building revealed an injury that had nearly cost him everything. Jerry Higgins used to be a machine operator in a cannery, until a new piece of equipment with a faulty release switch had crushed his arm. The equipment manufacturer refused to cover Jerry’s medical bills after the cannery’s insurance company decided the equipment was at fault, not the cannery, which had left Jerry bankrupt. It was a step outside the usual lawsuits she worked, where one behemoth sued another, but it was also the first case she’d had in a long time that made her feel good.
Ever since she’d met Jerry, Vivian had slept, ate and lived that lawsuit. Even now, she could feel the need to get back to work. To finish that brief she needed to file, and schedule the next few depositions. Jerry, his wife and his children were counting on her to make it right.
Then she glanced over at Ellie, so innocent, so helpless in that wicker basket, and knew she couldn’t go anywhere, at least not until she figured something out for her niece. Vivian might not be mommy material, but she was going to make sure Ellie was cared for. She’d need to call the office day care program and figure out a way to live amid the current chaos of her apartment before she tracked Sammie down. Right now, on top of her already unwieldy and bloated to-do list, “calling the day care” seemed like a Herculean task.
And besides, it was Sunday. She had only a few hours before the clock ticked over to Monday and her life got crazy again. But first, there was dinner with this man who seemed calm and strong, two things Viv wasn’t feeling at all. Surely she had enough time to eat.
“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in...forever,” Vivian said. “My apartment is under construction right now, not that I ever get in the kitchen and cook. So whatever you were making sounds good to me.”
“Well then let me show you what you’ve been missing.” Nick got to his feet and started pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator and a paper bag on the counter. Just then, Ellie started to cry, her fists rising above the blanket and waving in the air. The cries pierced the quiet of the kitchen, demanding, insistent.
Vivian rose and paced the small kitchen. Ellie kept on crying. “Uh, what’s wrong with her?”
Nick looked as clueless as Vivian felt. “I don’t know. She probably needs a diaper change or some food or something,” he said. “Do you have any of that?”
Vivian gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “Yeah. I have all of that in my briefcase in the car. Of course I don’t have any of that stuff. I’m not a mom, and Sammie didn’t send me a grocery list when she texted me. She just said Ellie was here and she had left.”
And Vivian had come running, as always. Bailing Sammie out. Again.
“Didn’t she have one of those bag things?”
Vivian brightened. “She did have a shopping bag with some formula and a couple diapers. Let me see what she left behind.” She ran upstairs and returned a moment later with the nearly empty bag. “One diaper and a mostly empty can of formula. I’m no expert, but that doesn’t seem like enough.” She sighed. Once again, Sammie had left her older sister to pick up the pieces.
“I know someone who might have some extra baby stuff.” Nick picked up his cell and dialed a number. He tucked the phone against his shoulder, started chopping some onions and gestured to Vivian to pick up the baby, whose cry had turned into a wail. “Hey, Mac, it’s Nick Jackson. I was wondering if you had some diapers and what do you call it...?”
Damned if Vivian knew. She stood beside the table, hesitant, while Ellie kept on crying. Pick up the baby? What if she did it wrong? What if that only made the crying—which was reaching police siren levels—worse?
Vivian tried tucking the blanket tighter—wasn’t there something about burritoing a baby that soothed them?—and it didn’t work. She tried sh-sh-shushing Ellie, and the cries only got louder and stronger.
Nick put a finger in one ear. “Yeah, formula. Bottles. Whatever a...” He turned and raised a questioning eyebrow in Vivian’s direction.
“Three-month-old,” she reminded him. That answer she had, but not much else. Ask her stats—born at three twenty in the morning, six pounds, three ounces, twenty inches long—and she could fill in the blanks. But quiz her on what age a baby started real food or how to change a diaper, and she’d fail in an instant.
The closest she’d gotten to Ellie before this minute was admiring her as Sammie held her. And that was as close as Vivian had intended to get. Until Sammie screwed up again.
“...a three-month-old baby. No, not mine, Mac. It’s a long story.” Nick paused a minute, then gave Vivian another pick-up-the-baby nod. “Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.” He hung up and tucked the phone in his pocket. “Mac will be by in a little while.”
“Mac?” Ellie kept on crying. Vivian kept on standing there, hesitating.
What was wrong with her? If this had been a court case, she wouldn’t have paused for a breath. But then, in a courtroom, she always knew exactly what to do. In those wooden rooms, Vivian was at home. While Nick’s comfort zone was the kitchen, hers was in that space between the judge’s bench and the plaintiff’s table. She could deliver a one-hour closing summary to a jury of twelve strangers, but when it came to a single three-month-old...
Well, that was different.
“Della Barlow’s son. Della’s the co-owner of this place, along with Mavis—you haven’t met Della because she’s on vacation right now.” Nick walked past her, picked up Ellie and swung her against his chest, as if he did this every day. A second later, Ellie plopped her thumb in her mouth and her cries dropped to whimpers.
Vivian decided to act as if a strange man calming her niece was not at all unusual. Except a part of Viv felt like a failure. Weren’t aunts supposed to be able to handle this kind of thing?
“The Barlows are a great family, in case you’re worried. I’ve been the chef at the inn for about a month now, and I’ve met all of them.” Nick had started swaying, a movement that seemed unconscious, and Ellie’s eyes began to shut.
“Really?” Vivian felt a little jealous of her niece. Right now, Vivian was in that odd place between uncomfortable and unconfident, and could sure use someone else to soothe her own worries.
&
nbsp; “You’re so good with her,” Vivian said.
“This is about the extent of my parenting abilities. So don’t ask me to change a diaper or make a bottle.” He chuckled.
If he asked her how to do either of those things, she wouldn’t have an answer either. So she changed the subject. “So what are you making me for dinner, Chef Nick?”
“Braised chicken with cherry tomatoes and artichokes.” He kept on swaying with Ellie.
“That sounds amazing. You made the eggs benedict we had this morning, right? Those were incredible. Most of the time I’m eating popcorn or a sandwich grabbed on the run.”
“That’s no way to live. I think food is one of the greatest pleasures in life.”
The way he said that made her a little weak in the knees. Which was insane. Vivian was a practical woman, not one of those who swooned or got caught up in romantic notions. No, that was Sammie, who was the believer in fairy tales and Prince Charmings, no matter how many times she got burned by guys who were more frog than prince—unemployed scam artists who wanted a free ride and a few bedroom benefits.
“Oh my God. Ellie’s asleep,” Vivian whispered. “How did you do that so easily?”
“I don’t know. I just went with my instincts.”
Maybe Vivian was lacking the necessary strands of DNA because she had no instincts for babies. Not so much as a blip of an idea when it came to making Ellie happy. Late last night, after Sammie and Ellie had fallen asleep, Vivian had stayed up ordering from some baby website, shipping everything from the “new mom gift suggestions” list she’d found there straight to Sammie’s apartment. Baby outfits, blankets and a stroller that cost more than a small bus—because buying things was the only way Vivian could handle being an aunt.
Nick headed toward the kitchen table. Ellie stirred and let out a whimper. “Damn. I have to put her down to cook, but I’m afraid of waking her up.”
“We can put the basket in the living room, so the noise from cooking doesn’t bother her. She’ll sleep better there.”
“I don’t know if we should leave her alone, though.” Nick kept on swaying. He glanced at the chicken on the counter, then the basket, then his gaze swiveled back to Vivian. Damn, he had nice eyes. And a nice smile. “I’m good with having her in the living room, but I think you should stay with her. Just in case.”
That would give Vivian some time to check her phone, go over some emails and maybe kick off her shoes for a second. Then, after dinner, she could call a car seat–equipped Uber, get on the road with Ellie, and come up with a plan.
Because standing in this handsome man’s kitchen, mesmerized by the way he calmed a baby to sleep, was sending her mind down an entirely wrong path.
Chapter Three
Nick was not a softie. Nope. Not one bit. And the sight of Vivian curled against a pillow, asleep, did not affect him one bit.
She was a beautiful woman, with dark hair that had partly escaped the tight, complicated knot at the base of her neck, big blue eyes that reminded him of the Atlantic Ocean a few miles away, and legs that went on for days. Her black heels sat on the floor, twin soldiers nestled against each other. The basket with the baby was on the carpet below where Vivian’s head rested, Ellie snoring lightly in the dim room, and one of Vivian’s hands resting protectively on the top of the basket.
If the circumstances had been different, this would have been his image of a perfect family. Mom asleep on the sofa, baby nearby, dinner simmering on the stove. But all of this was an illusion—a very temporary one at that. They weren’t his family. They weren’t his anything. After the meal, she’d be gone, and so would the baby.
He wasn’t going to lie. The thought disappointed him a little. Maybe it was all those years of growing up in a house as sterile and emotionless as a roll of paper towels. Or maybe it was the holiday season nipping at his emotions, with the added bit of sentimentality being back in Stone Gap with his grandmother’s house and all its memories a couple miles away. But a part of him wanted this moment to last.
Vivian stirred, blinked, then jerked upright. A detailed list and pile of neatly labeled folders slid from her lap. He could see a planner open and marked with a dozen checkmarks and color-coded tasks. Earlier, he’d heard her making calls, each one devoid of small talk and focused only on whatever document or information she was requesting. It was only when she’d fallen asleep that he’d seen the vulnerable, soft side of the driven attorney. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s no big deal. You had a hell of a day. All three of us did.” The kid was still asleep, tiny and angelic in the white basket. As far as kids went, he kind of liked this one. She was easy to hold, easy to care for and easy to fall for. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Mac’s going to be here in a minute.”
“Oh, yes, good.” She got to her feet, smoothed her skirt, then pressed a hand to her hair.
“That bun thing is pretty much done.” Nick grinned. “Beyond repair.”
Vivian pulled out the pins that held the remains of the complicated-looking knot in place, sending her hair tumbling past her shoulders. Holy hell. Letting her hair down gave Vivian an unfettered quality.
Sexy. Tempting.
She twisted the hair, then tucked it back into the bun and pinned it in place again. Nick tried not to let his disappointment show.
This woman had efficiency down to a science. He suspected if he told her you can’t do that, she’d say hold my martini and watch me. If she even let loose enough to drink a martini. She was as locked up—literally—as a summer cottage in the winter.
Vivian had said she was a corporate lawyer. He should have guessed that, from the severe suit and the practical heels and the references to a briefcase. If there was any kind of woman he didn’t want in his life, it was a lawyer. Didn’t matter what she looked like with her hair down.
His parents thought their law degrees gave them license to argue everything to death, put their careers ahead of their children time and time again. They had been there for their firm more than for anyone who’d ever needed them. Their marriage had been strained, and even at its best, they’d acted more like roommates than lovers. If that was life with a lawyer, he didn’t want any part of it.
A soft knock sounded on the door. Nick hesitated for a second, still caught in the thoughts of Vivian with her hair down, then jerked himself back to the present and opened the door. Mac stepped inside, followed by Savannah. Their baby was nestled in a thing that looked like a backpack, affixed to Savannah’s chest.
Mac and Savannah had been married for a couple of years, but they were the kind of couple that still held hands in public and gave each other secret smiles. Nick had to admit that their tendency for PDA had grown on him.
“Oh my. Is that her? I just want a peek at your cutie, Nick,” Savannah said as she hurried past him and beelined to the kid.
He raised his hands and backed up. “Her name’s Ellie. And she’s not my baby.”
Savannah had already reached Ellie. She smiled at the sleeping baby, then looked at Nick, then Vivian. “Your daughter is lovely.”
“Oh, she’s not mine either,” Vivian said.
Mac chuckled. “Don’t tell me you stole a baby, Nick.”
“It’s complicated,” he said. Explaining it would sound crazy, for sure. Woman leaves baby on kitchen table, her irate sister shows up and stays for dinner. “Did you bring the stuff?”
God, it sounded like he was making a drug deal, not a baby supplies pickup.
“Yep.” Mac swung a padded bag off his shoulder and left it on the hall table. Bright yellow giraffes and zebras cavorted on the outside of the vinyl bag. “Savannah and I got an extra diaper bag thing at her shower, so we filled it up with stuff you might need. Diapers, wipes, rash cream, formula, bottles—”
“Whoa, whoa. We’re not invading Normandy here. I just have the kid f
or a few hours.”
Savannah shot her husband a confused look. “Are you babysitting? Why don’t you have any stuff?”
“It’s a long story,” Vivian and Nick said at the same time.
“Okaaaayyy,” Mac said. “Well, we have a Mommy and Me thing to get to. And yes, I have become that dad.” Mac glanced at his wife, then his baby, with such obvious love it almost hurt Nick to see the emotion. “Let us know if you need anything else.”
Mac and Savannah said goodbye, then headed back out the door. Nick supposed he should have invited them to stay for dinner, but considering his dinner for one had already morphed into dinner for two, he wasn’t sure he had enough food.
Though there was something to be said for having a full house. Nick had been in a decidedly deep self-pity slump ever since the thing with his ex-girlfriend, and having people here—not just inn guests that he dodged, but people he actually interacted with—was...nice. Nicer than he’d expected.
Maybe he should do what his grandmother asked and go see his father. Bring him that box that Ida Mae had left for her son. It’ll do you good to work things out with your father, his grandmother had written. And for him to realize what’s important before it’s too late.
Nick hadn’t even gone to the house to find the box, never mind picked up the phone. His father had made a fast, almost silent appearance at the funeral, exchanging maybe a dozen words with Nick’s brothers, and none with Nick. Which was par for the course for the last ten years. Ever since the day he realized Nick had blown half his law school tuition on cooking school. He could still see his father walking away in disgust. Why you would try to make a living out of something as foolish as cooking, I’ll never know. You’re a disappointment to me.
