by Bella Andre
Meanwhile, Ruby sat quietly in the dirty stroller and watched him with eyes that, thankfully, were still full of innocence.
He stared back, not knowing how to talk to a child, never mind a baby. Silently, he reminded himself that he wrote dialogue for fictional characters all day long. After all, Flynn Stewart was the first character he’d ever created, a guy with such a faultless, by-the-book, squeaky-clean past that no one had ever delved deeper to see if any of it was actually true. Surely he could figure out what to say to his niece.
“Hi, Ruby. I’m your Uncle Flynn,” he said softly. “I’m going to take care of you now.”
She stared at him for long enough that he half wondered if she could understand what was happening. Was there any way she could realize that she’d lost her mother forever and was now about to head halfway across the country with a total stranger?
Then the most miraculous thing happened—she smiled a big, gummy smile and reached for him.
Flynn’s chest finally unclenched as he unbuckled her, lifted her out of the stroller, and pulled her close. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you,” he promised her. “You’ll always be safe with me. Always.”
The moment they returned to Los Angeles, he began the adoption process, pulling every string possible to get the paperwork through in record time. Though he had never planned to have kids—his family life had been so horrible that he couldn’t imagine building a good, normal one himself—he already had to live with the guilt of knowing he hadn’t done enough for his sister.
Whatever he had to change in his life for Ruby, he’d change. From this moment forward, Ruby and her stuffed toys and desire to be held every second of the day were the center of Flynn’s world.
No more going out to splashy Hollywood parties to network with all the “right people.” No more model girlfriend, either.
Anja had made it abundantly clear from the start that she wasn’t the maternal type, which had been just fine with him back when he thought he’d never have children. When he’d told her Ruby was the daughter of a long-lost relative, Anja had been so uninterested in trying to make things work with him and a child that she hadn’t asked questions. She’d simply packed up the things she kept in his loft for overnights, then left. And the truth was that once she had gone, what he mostly felt was relief at being off the hook for the endless string of parties and premieres she’d loved to attend.
Flynn had never been comfortable in the limelight, not when it meant people might look too closely at him and his past. After he’d been nominated for—and won—the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, however, he’d inevitably ended up in the media more and more.
He could easily withstand stepping back from the spotlight. But he hadn’t expected his writing mojo to up and leave too, as though he’d never been able to string together a coherent sentence before.
As he isolated himself with Ruby in those first weeks, the words drying up was far more brutal than losing his girlfriend or his social circle. All his adult life, he’d depended on making up stories to move him forward and keep him above water.
What would he do if that ability was gone forever?
Hoping the issue was simply that Ruby didn’t sleep or eat on any kind of predictable schedule, which meant he didn’t either, he hired a part-time nanny so that he would have a set time to write every day. The woman’s qualifications looked good on paper, and though Ruby wasn’t exactly a bundle of joy around her, at least if Flynn was within his niece’s sight while he hunkered down over his computer and stared at the blinking cursor, she would tolerate the nanny changing and feeding her.
Every Monday through Friday mornings for two weeks, while the nanny tried and failed to coax a smile out of Ruby for three hours, Flynn tried and failed to coax a good scene out of his brain.
The day Smith’s call came, Ruby had just gone down for a nap, and the nanny was sitting next to the crib reading something on her phone.
“How are you, Flynn?” Smith asked. “How’s Ruby?”
Apart from Flynn’s agent, his manager, and his ex, Smith Sullivan and his wife, Valentina, were the only other people Flynn had called after bringing Ruby home. Since Smith and Valentina were his bosses at present, waiting for him to send over his newest thriller script for their film and TV production company, he’d felt compelled to tell them at least the bare bones of the situation.
After giving them the same explanation he’d given Anja—that Ruby was the child of one of his long-lost relatives—he had insisted his changed family circumstances wouldn’t affect the due date for his screenplay. Smith and Valentina had not only said it wouldn’t be a problem if he needed a few additional weeks, they’d also been hugely helpful with getting Flynn set up with baby gear, sourced from Smith’s large family.
Flynn waited to reply to Smith’s question until he had moved into the back section of his house so that he wouldn’t wake Ruby. “Ruby’s good. And now that I’ve got a nanny to watch her for a few hours a day, I’m hoping to make some good progress on the screenplay.”
“I’m not worried about the screenplay.” But Smith did sound worried about something. “I’m calling because I just heard from a press contact that someone is trying to sell a story about you and Ruby to the media.”
Flynn’s heart stopped cold in his chest. He’d vowed to keep Ruby safe…and he was already screwing that up.
Could it be his sister’s friend? Could she have figured out who he was after he’d left? Had the five grand not been enough for her? Or, could it be Anja? Although that didn’t make much sense. She not only had plenty of money of her own, but she also wouldn’t want to alienate him and his industry contacts by turning on him this way.
Then again, odds were Smith already knew the answer. Few people were more connected in the industry. “Do you know who’s selling it?”
“It’s your nanny, Flynn.”
A split second later, he had dropped the phone and was running back to Ruby’s crib, where the baby was still sleeping peacefully, thank God.
“Get the hell out of my house.” He ground out the words to the nanny in a low voice, still intent on not waking Ruby, even though he was as furious as he’d ever been.
The woman’s eyes were big as she looked at him. “Mr. Stewart, I don’t know what you’re—”
“I said get the hell out.”
Ruby’s eyes opened then. All it took was one look at his face for her to start wailing. He picked her up, cradling her tightly against him.
“I won’t tell anyone anything,” the woman said in the short breaks between Ruby’s cries. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
Flynn had been an idiot not to see the dollar signs in her eyes. “How much do you want?”
Her smile came slow. Satisfied. “Twenty grand.”
Her satisfaction was short-lived, however. He picked up her bag, walked to the front door, and tossed it out on the street. He’d never had any intention of paying her a dime. He’d simply asked the question to confirm her mercenary intentions.
“You’re going to regret this,” she spat before slamming the door behind her, the harsh noise making Ruby cry even harder.
Flynn soothed her, rocking her, pressing kisses to her cheeks. Once she calmed down, he made her a bottle. She wasn’t hungry, but chewed on the nib until she fell asleep again. Which was when Flynn finally remembered he’d left Smith hanging on the phone.
After gently laying Ruby down in her crib and covering her with a pink blanket, Flynn picked his cell phone up from the floor and found a text message waiting from Smith: Don’t worry, I’ve killed the story with every potential media outlet. Your nanny won’t be able to sell it anywhere. Btw, my cousin has a cabin in the Maine woods. No one would bother you and Ruby there.
* * *
Present day…
With one last, longing look at the bed, Flynn carried Ruby out to the open-plan kitchen and living room. She had been fussy all day—not that he could blame her. Two four-hour flig
hts, plus a long and winding drive through the Maine woods in a musty-smelling rental car, weren’t for the fainthearted. Add in a bunch of dirty diapers, bottles of formula that weren’t exactly the right temperature, and a damned useless uncle, and you were in for a bumpy trip.
The cabin wasn’t a dump, at least. Not that Flynn had thought it would be, given that Smith and Valentina had honeymooned here. But after having everything in his life go topsy-turvy, Flynn’s expectations were low across the board.
It was the same lesson he’d learned over and over again as a little kid—knowing better than to expect anything good with two of the worst parents on the planet. It wasn’t until he’d left Centertown for Hollywood, changed his name and backstory, then had a couple of hit screenplays under his belt, that things had begun to look up. In a big way, with gorgeous women throwing themselves at him and large sums of money landing in his bank account.
Ruby began to squirm in his arms, so he set her on the rug by a brightly colored stuffed elephant she seemed to want to play with. She wasn’t yet crawling, but even if he hadn’t already read every baby book on the market and learned that most babies crawled between six and ten months, he figured it was going to happen soon, simply because she was so intent on getting where she was going.
Though his bones felt like they were creaking from lack of sleep, he folded himself into a sitting position on the floor beside Ruby. If he walked away, she would cry. If he even sat on the couch five feet away, she would cry.
Again, he didn’t blame her. Her life hadn’t been easy so far. It was yet another thing they had in common—both of them had been born of adversity.
For Ruby, however, he vowed that she would climb out of it long before he had. No matter what he had to do to make it happen, she would know more triumph than failure, more joy than pain.
With Ruby happily playing with the stuffed elephant, he finally looked around their new temporary home. There was a vase of brightly colored wildflowers on the dining room table, a bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen counter, and a cheerful mug with pens and pencils in it near the old-fashioned phone on the wall. The rugs were soft, the couches plush, and the kitchen table and chairs looked hand-built.
Flynn’s place in Los Angeles was all sharp lines of glass and steel and polished concrete. This cabin, on the other hand, seemed to be made entirely of old wood and rock. Something stirred in Flynn, an innate feeling of comfort in this small cabin.
It wasn’t something he’d thought he could ever feel in a cabin in the woods. Not when he’d done everything he could to get away from the one in which he’d grown up. The bright, perpetual sunlight of LA, the endless pavement and concrete of downtown, the relentless heat—all of those things had saved him and would surely continue to do so once he got over this bump in the road. A few weeks away would surely be long enough for the dust to settle and for the media to move on.
At least, he hoped so.
He’d been rude to Smith’s cousin Cassie. Not nearly as grateful as he should have been. Sorrow, guilt, and exhaustion were dark bedfellows. There was no question that he needed to apologize to her.
It wasn’t just the riot of emotions he’d been dealing with for the past three weeks that had knocked him sideways when she’d opened the door. Cassie’s face had lit up when she saw Ruby—and the glow that radiated from her had stunned Flynn speechless.
Cassie Sullivan wasn’t built like a supermodel. She didn’t have endless legs, hollow cheekbones, or cynical eyes that had seen it all.
She seemed the polar opposite, in fact. Her skin had been devoid of makeup. Her big eyes had been full of wonder, her mouth perpetually smiling. And she had curves too—lush curves that had stolen the words from his mouth and the thoughts from his head.
Damn it, Smith hadn’t sent Flynn to this cabin in the Maine woods to hit on his cousin. To take her innocence and debauch her in every sinfully sexy way he could think of.
In any case, his days of thinking only of how to please himself were done. Ruby was the most important thing in his life from now on—not Flynn’s instant attraction to a beautiful woman.
As though to drive the thought home, Ruby crawled onto his lap with a whimper, giving him a good whiff of her diaper. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then see if you’re in the mood to try some peas or carrots tonight.”
Thus far, she’d wanted only a bottle. All day, however, she’d been gnawing on it more than drinking. Perhaps that meant she was ready for some solid food?
A few minutes later, though her diaper was clean and dry, she wasn’t any happier. Not with creamed corn. Not with her bottle. Not with any of the baby toys in his bag, or the new ones Cassie had left in the cabin for her. Ruby even screamed in the bath, which she normally loved, her face getting redder and redder, her hands tightening into fists, her chest rising and falling with sad little gasps.
He tried everything he could think of. Walking with her, singing to her, even swaddling her, though she was clearly too big—and mad—to be happy wrapped up in a blanket. The sun set and the evening hours ticked by in a symphony of wailing and whimpering. And now, not just from Ruby.
Flynn was desperate for sleep. Far more than that, he was desperate for someone to help him help Ruby.
Was she sick? Had she picked up something on the trip? All he knew for sure was that he was screwing everything up…and that he couldn’t do this alone.
He knew only one person in Maine. Smith’s cousin Cassie. The woman he’d told, only hours before, that he wouldn’t need anything else.
Served him right for being a grumpy jerk. He would grovel like no one had ever groveled before, if only Cassie could help him figure out how to make Ruby smile again.
Bouncing his miserable baby in one arm, he grabbed his phone with his free hand and dialed the number Cassie had left lying on the counter.
CHAPTER THREE
Four o’clock in the morning…
Cassie rolled over in bed, hoping the ringing phone was just part of a bad dream.
She’d had a hard time falling asleep. Her insides had felt all jumbled up after meeting Flynn and Ruby. She couldn’t forget the way they had clung to each other, like the only survivors of a shipwreck.
When the phone kept ringing, she finally accepted that she wasn’t dreaming. She dragged on a robe over her pajamas, then headed into the kitchen, where she kept her phone charging at night.
The number wasn’t one she recognized, but she knew the 213 area code from having shipped boxes of candy to customers in Los Angeles. Her heart seized with concern when she realized it must be Flynn.
“Flynn, is something wrong?” Why else would he be calling in the middle of the night?
“Ruby won’t stop crying. She’s been wailing for hours. Ever since you left.” He sounded on the verge of tears himself. “I don’t know what to do or who to call other than you.”
“Does she have a fever? Or a rash?”
“No and no. She’s barely been out of my arms for the past ten hours, and her temperature is normal. I’ve changed her and fed her and bathed her. She shouldn’t have any reason to cry. But what the hell do I know?” The disgust in his voice at his own presumed incompetence was crystal clear.
“I’m sure you’ve done everything right, but I can come over now if you think that would help. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Hurry.” Ruby wailing in the background was the last thing Cassie heard before the line went dead.
She didn’t bother changing out of her flannel pajamas and robe, simply shoved her feet into a pair of mud boots by the door, grabbed her purse and keys, and ran out to her car.
Fifteen minutes had never seemed so long. Until she could see for herself that the baby was okay, she wouldn’t be able to relax. Hopefully, Ruby was just tired and cranky from her long trip. If it seemed more serious than that, Cassie would call her mother for help. After raising seven children, Beth Sullivan was a bona fide baby whisperer.
Gravel spat from beneath
Cassie’s tires as she turned off the two-lane forest road to her cabin and raced up the long driveway. After throwing the car into Park, she ran up the brick path, able to hear Ruby’s wails even from outside.
When Flynn opened the door, he looked nearly as red in the face as Ruby, whose cheeks were flushed dark pink and covered with tears.
“Oh, you poor baby.” She nearly reached for the little girl again, but this time she knew to ask first. “Could I hold her for a moment?”
She thought he might say no. Until, with great reluctance, he let her take Ruby from him, the baby’s body rigid as she kicked and screamed.
Cassie worked to stay calm as she assessed the situation. Ruby’s diaper was new and dry, and her skin was surprisingly cool despite her crying. “Did you feed her anything new tonight?”
“She wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t even drink her bottle.”
“Has this happened before?”
“I’ve only been taking care of her for three weeks, but when she cries, there’s always a reason. I thought maybe it was because of the flights and staying in a new place, but she’s never cried for eight hours straight.”
Ruby opened her mouth wide to let out another yell, and that was when Cassie saw it. A little flash of white in otherwise swollen gums.
“I think I might know what’s wrong. She has a tooth poking through.”
“Let me see.” Flynn craned his neck to look into Ruby’s mouth, which was right when Ruby decided to clamp it firmly shut.
“Has she been gnawing on things lately?” Cassie asked.
“Now that you mention it, I’ve had to replace the nib on her bottle twice today.” He ran a hand over his face, looking ragged…but totally gorgeous nonetheless. “I’ve read every baby book out there, but my brain is so fried right now I’m blanking on what they said would help with teething.”
“When my sister’s son went through this, Ashley refrigerated twisted-up washcloths for him to chew on. She said it was a lifesaver.” Cassie opened the fridge. “It would be nice if we could find something right now to give her immediate relief, though, so that we don’t have to wait for some cloths to chill.”
