Must Love Babies

by Lynnette Austin

  Standing in the middle of the living room, he scrutinized the area. What did he need to place higher, out of reach of Jax’s curiosity? Were the floors okay for a crawler?

  Leaving Jax strapped in his seat, Brant went in search of a broom and mop. Even though Lem’s wife had cleaned, he intended to give the floors a quick going-over before turning the baby loose on them.

  By the time he finished, he was sweaty and Jax was angry. He wanted out of his seat, wanted to explore and burn off some energy. Between his bout of housework and tramping around in the dirt and grass earlier, a shower was at the top of Brant’s priority list. Fat chance he’d get lucky tonight, but stranger things had happened. Besides, his mother would smack him upside the head if she found out he’d been invited to dinner and hadn’t taken the time to wash up.

  He shook out his last clean outfit, picked up Jax and the ever-present baby seat, and headed for the shower, praying the plumbing worked.

  He plopped a pacifier in Jax’s mouth and stuck a rattle in his hand, then stripped and stepped under the water, grimacing at the tepid spray. As soon as he finished, he’d crank up the heater and hopefully score some hotter water.

  Speaking of scoring, he’d spotted a washer and dryer in the hallway closet. On his way home from Molly’s, he’d pick up laundry detergent, cereal and milk, and more formula. The kid plowed through the stuff like a pig through slop. If he continued to eat at this rate, he’d be a standin for the Pillsbury Doughboy by the time he turned one. Maybe Brant should consider investing in a baby-formula company.

  Eyes closed, lukewarm water drizzling down on him, he got real with himself. He might not want marriage or a family, but he did want Molly. Thoughts of her stalked him day and night.

  His chances of having her?

  About zilch, and that sucked. Totally.

  *

  Molly hadn’t planned to fuss. A simple dinner offered to a man with no family to help him. That’s all tonight was.

  Baloney.

  She might feed that to someone else, but she knew better. She’d invited Brant to dinner because she wanted to spend more time with him and that beautiful little boy—which was exactly what she’d promised she wouldn’t do!

  As she stirred the stew, she chastised herself. Hadn’t she warned herself over and over that Brant was dangerous to her plans? That it wouldn’t take much for him to derail her? Hand curled around her old wooden spoon, Molly replayed the afternoon, saw again the delight on Brant’s face as he poked around the outside of that old service station. He looked a whole lot like a kid with an exciting new toy.

  What if he actually bought it? Mixed emotions ran through her. Would he stay in Misty Bottoms? Live here? She let out a long breath. She’d prepared herself to resist the temporary temptation that was Brant Wylder. Could she handle permanent?

  And Jax. That baby turned her inside out.

  Brant had pulled the rug out from under her today, and she supposed she should be angry with him. But it was business, and she understood that. He needed to do what worked for him and his brothers. This sure changed the playing field, though.

  She transferred the soft, still-warm rolls she’d picked up at Tansy’s into a basket. Maybe she’d manage to get through the evening without touching Brant, without picking up Jax or inhaling that sweet baby scent. Without kissing those chubby cheeks or his uncle’s stubbled chin.

  If she could do that, she wouldn’t ache for a baby of her own to cuddle, for a man who’d love her, only her. A man who would stay with her forever, who wouldn’t pack up and leave with no warning.

  A man she could trust.

  At the core of her problem, at the heart of her list, lay the need for that trust. The stability it would provide. She needed the constancy her mother had lost when Dad left, and she couldn’t imagine having that with Brant. He was as married to his business as she was to hers. And he hadn’t trusted her with his plans. Had instead kept them from her. Would he have fessed up if she hadn’t run into them at the station?

  Still, he loved and fretted over his family…but would he always? Hadn’t her dad loved her and her mother, worried about them?

  Right up until he left.

  And wasn’t she a mass of conflict and contradictions?

  She was cutting lemons for their water when the doorbell rang.

  Trouble had come to her home—at her invitation.

  Chapter 11

  Brant arrived right on time, one hand wrapped around a baby-seat handle and the other holding white gerbera daisies. A diaper bag hung off one shoulder. Never had he, in his wildest imagination, considered showing up at a woman’s house for a dinner date quite like this. But then, it wasn’t a date. It was simply dinner, a dinner Molly was good enough to share with him and Jax.

  When she opened the door, all thoughts of food abandoned him. Glad he’d changed into a button-down shirt and khakis instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt, he still wore his kick-around tennis shoes. It was them or those darned pinch-your-toes dress shoes, and he’d sworn they’d never go on his feet again. He’d donate them to the Humane Society and let somebody else spend a miserable evening in them—although that didn’t sound very humane.

  Molly? She’d scooped all that phenomenal hair into a sexy, curly mass on top of her head and wore a soft gray skirt that stopped midway between her knees and ankles. A black-and-white patterned scarf set off the layered white tank and gray sweater. Short black boots and black tights finished the look. He liked it. Casual and easy, with a touch of sass.

  He held out the flowers.

  “For me?” Her eyes twinkled.

  “From the new guy in town and his nephew.” He tipped his head toward the baby. “Jax lobbied for a dozen red roses, but I told him it was too soon for that.”

  She grinned and opened the door wider. “Good call. I love daisies. Come on in. Everything’s ready, so I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Famished would be more accurate.” He breathed deeply. “If it tastes even half as good as it smells, I might have to marry you.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  He caught sight of the fluffy white cat peeking around the banister at the top of the stairs.

  Bubbles took one look at him and the wiggling baby and made a mad dash for the bedroom, slipping and sliding around the corner.

  “Will our visits cause permanent mental damage to that cat?”

  “No, she’ll be fine.” Molly led him into the kitchen, where he dumped the diaper bag on a chair.

  She laid the flowers on the counter. Hands on her hips, she said, “You’ll need to help me with this. I borrowed it from Darlene at Quilty Pleasures.” She grabbed a wooden contraption from the corner.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a doggy gate. She uses it to keep Moonshine and Mint Julep out of her kitchen.” She tipped her chin toward the top of the stairs. “With Jax crawling, I thought we should block the stairs.”

  “Molly, you’re brilliant. I never even considered that.” Understanding he was taking advantage, he dropped a light, easy kiss on her lips. “Thank you.”

  “Mmm. You’re very welcome.”

  The two of them managed to secure the gate. Brant wiggled it and was satisfied it would stay in place if an energetic baby rattled against it. Freeing Jax, he watched the baby scoot off to check things out.

  “You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  When she moved into the kitchen, Brant stood halfway between it and the living room so he could talk to her but keep an eye on Jax.

  “I’m afraid I have no appetizers and no wine. Although since you’re driving, you probably don’t want a drink, do you?”

  He shook his head, then sprinted into the living room. “No, Jax.”

  Molly headed in behind him. Jax was busily pulling books off her shelves.

  “He’s a human wrecking machine. At Annabelle’s, I tried babyproofing our room, but I swear, if there’s anything
he shouldn’t get into, he sniffs it out. I’m exhausted just trying to keep him alive. I honestly think I’m too tired for sex.”

  Molly leaned in, fisted her hands in his shirt, and kissed him.

  He kissed her back. “I was wrong. I’m not too tired.”

  He felt a tug on his pants and looked down to see Jax scaling his leg.

  “Why don’t we eat?”

  “First things first.” He picked up Jax and rested him on a hip. “One more taste.” He took the kiss deep, with Jax jabbering away. When he pulled back, he suggested they move any breakables up higher.

  Within minutes, the surfaces in the room were nearly bare, and the top shelves of her bookcase bulged.

  “I’ll help you put it back before we go.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  While Brant fed Jax, Molly slid open the door to the patio. “It’s a little chilly tonight. Otherwise we could eat out here.”

  “Why don’t we give it a try?” he suggested. “If we get cold, we’ll cuddle or come back in.”

  “What about Jax?”

  “He’s fed, and he’s changed. My guess? He’ll take a nap now so he won’t be ready for bed when I am.”

  “Tough, huh?”

  “You have no idea.” He set the baby and his car seat in the kitchen and tucked a blanket around him. Spotting a small counter television, he asked, “Do you mind if I turn this on?”

  “My TV?”

  “Yeah. Jax likes to watch the Barrett-Jackson auction.”

  A laugh bubbled out of her. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. Before we left the house, he was checking out a ’59 Studebaker Scotsman pickup. Pretty green-and-white thing.”

  “I have no idea what that is, but you do remember Jax is only a baby, right?”

  “Doesn’t matter. The kid’s a Wylder. We already have a handshake agreement that he’s gonna work with us when he’s older.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” Brant grinned. “And just so you know, the Scotsman’s a stripped-down model. It came stock with only one taillight, one wiper, and one visor. No armrests. Scottish frugality.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “I doubt it would fly today, but then?” He shrugged. “Guess so.”

  She watched the baby, now totally engrossed in the cars and the fast-paced auctioneer.

  “Told you.”

  When she stepped outside, he followed her onto the deck. “He’ll be good for a few minutes.”

  When she moved to the rail, he slid behind her, crowding her a little, enjoying the feel of her body against his. The town sprawled below them, the street lights marching in their sentry-straight rows.

  He rested a hand on either side of her. “You smell good, Mol.”

  “I might say the same about you.”

  They were so close, he felt her deep breath.

  She pointed to her right. “See the little park over there? The area with all the lights? It might be a good place to take Jax. I think he’d like the baby swings.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  She turned, and her lips were inches from his.

  “Brant?”

  “Molly?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m thinking how much I’d like to kiss you again.”

  “That’s probably—”

  The kiss gave him a kick in the belly like none ever had. He sent up a small prayer of thanks when, instead of pulling away, she leaned into him and deepened the kiss.

  When he finally gathered enough sense to draw away, she sighed. “Brant, I—”

  Over the auctioneer, music from her stereo drifted to them, and Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight” played. “Dance with me.”

  “Here?”

  “Right here, under the stars.”

  Bubbles slinked out onto the deck and curled up in a chair. Her tail flicked as her unblinking eyes stayed on Brant.

  “Does she bite?”

  “No, you’re safe.”

  He glanced over her shoulder at Jax, who was totally wrapped up in the TV show, then took Molly’s hand and drew her to him. They moved together, and the rest of the world disappeared. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes. She felt so small. So delicate. So powerful.

  “Listen to the words,” he whispered. “They say it all.”

  She nodded. “They do.”

  When the song ended, he spun her out, then back in. “Thank you.”

  She laid a hand on the side of his face. “You’re dangerous, Brant, and I should have my head examined for admitting that.”

  He cocked a brow. “You’re right. Don’t give me so much as an inch, Molly, ’cause, believe me, I will take that mile.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned. Come on.” She took his hand. “Dinnertime.”

  At the door they both stopped. While they danced, Bubbles had sneaked back inside and was curled beside Jax’s car seat, sound asleep with one leg stretched out, her paw resting on the baby’s leg.

  “It looks like Jax has a new friend.”

  Molly nodded. “Bubbles doesn’t seem quite as enthralled by the auction, though.”

  After she arranged the daisies in an antique milk bottle, she gave them center stage, surrounded by three fat candles. They ate at her old farmhouse table with its mix of blue-and-white-striped chairs and high-backed white ones with their blue-and-white-plaid cushions. Jax, still in his carrier, sat on one of the chairs, playing with a whirling toy Brant had hung off the handle. The cozy room smelled of good food, cinnamon candles, and Molly.

  It had been a long time since he felt this content.

  After dinner, Molly put on some coffee. While it brewed, he changed Jax, then fed him a bottle. Halfway through, the baby’s eyes drooped, and he fell asleep.

  “Since he didn’t sleep through his TV show, I figured this would happen.”

  “Does this mean he won’t sleep tonight?” Molly stood in the doorway, holding two slices of apple pie à la mode.

  “Who knows? There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to that.”

  They ate in companionable silence.

  Finally, Molly set her empty plate on the table and picked up her cup. “We talked earlier about the fact that neither of us wanted or was looking for anything from—” She hesitated, at a loss for words.

  “From us? This thing between us?” he supplied.

  “Yes.” Her eyes darkened.

  “But?” He encouraged her, almost afraid of what he might hear. Right now, some shared kisses, a dinner, and a dance or two were all good. But more than that? He didn’t think he had it in him.

  Still, the second she finished outlining the reasons she couldn’t give him more, he wanted it. Human nature could be sadistic.

  “Today’s bombshell changed things, but regardless, the timing’s off for anything serious.” Her hand flew up. “Not that I’m saying I feel, you know, serious about you. I—”

  “Molly, it’s okay. I’m a big boy. I understand. Do I want you? Like my next breath. But that doesn’t mean I expect it’s gonna happen.”

  “Oh.” She started to stand. “More coffee?”

  “No. Sit.”

  Playing with a fold in her skirt, she said, “A long time ago, my life took an unexpected detour. I won’t go into all that right now, but because of it, I set down a plan for myself. A very specific one. I’m on track, and I mean to stay there.”

  “I can appreciate that. I have a plan, too. Mine’s probably not as rigid as yours, but my family and business, in that order, are top priorities. Things do crop up.” Brant nodded toward Jax. “Case in point.”

  He stood and picked up his empty coffee cup. “Done?”

  She nodded, and he carried their cups into the kitchen.

  When he returned, he leaned against the doorjamb. “What you’re saying is that you’re not interested in starting anything with me.”

  “Or with anyone else right now.”

  “Right no
w,” he repeated. “When will you be?”

  “When I’m thirty.”

  “You have an actual timetable?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” he repeated. “Because, honey, love is something that happens when it happens. It doesn’t check the calendar or count birthday candles.”

  She shrugged. “Real goals need deadlines.”

  “There’s a difference between a deadline and a timetable.”

  “I think—”

  Jax picked that moment to wake from his catnap.

  Pushing away from the door, Brant said, “Time I get this guy home.” He leaned down and kissed Molly’s cheek. “Thanks for dinner. You have no idea how great a home-cooked meal tasted.”

  “I’m glad you came.” She stood when he picked up the diaper bag.

  “Maybe once I get settled, you can have dinner with Jax and me. If it fits your timeline.”

  She blushed, and he held up a hand. “That was a joke. A bad one. Truth is, I’d like to invite you to dinner. Or maybe to a movie night.”

  “Invite me, and I’ll come.” She bent and kissed Jax. “You be good tonight. Uncle Brant’s had a long day.”

  “Dadada!”

  “Yeah.” Hiking the diaper bag onto his shoulder, Brant grabbed the baby and his seat, settled for another peck on Molly’s cheek, and navigated the stairs.

  Molly followed, watching as he loaded up and drove away. Then she turned the dead bolt and walked upstairs and out the back door.

  On her deck, arms wrapped tightly around herself, she stared into the ebony sky. Thousands of stars twinkled, and a wide crescent moon danced in and out of the few clouds overhead. The night was romantic. Made for sharing. For dancing.

  Yet she’d sent Brant home.

  Because she wanted too much.

  Because he made her heart race with only a look, a touch.

  Because her dad had told her he loved her, right before he left.

  She’d never heard him and her mom argue, never had reason to believe he hadn’t told the truth when he said he loved them.

  Yet one morning, she woke to find his bags packed and waiting beside the front door. Panicked, she’d run to the sofa where he sat with his coffee. Snuggling up beside him, she asked, “Do you have a business trip, Daddy?”