by Meg Maxwell
“Wow,” Georgia agreed, tears still stinging her eyes.
Nick moved to the big wall of windows, looking out at the city. “I can’t even imagine how alone he must have felt these past five weeks since Timmy was born, scared to death any minute that someone would come take his child away from him.” He shook his head. “I wish he’d called me.”
“He was scared,” Georgia said. “You’re the law. A good guy who was there for him and his mother before, but the law.”
Nick nodded. “He said he was worried my hands would be tied.” He leaned his head back, then turned around and dropped down in the club chair. “Did you see his eyes light up at the idea of working in the kitchen at Hurley’s?”
Georgia smiled. “We already have something of a recommendation from his manager at the diner, so we know he’s a hard worker and trustworthy. I’m sure Essie will hire him once she hears his story.”
Nick looked relieved. “I have a good feeling about how all this will work out.”
“Me too,” Georgia said. For the Patterson crew, anyway.
“So, about this godfather thing,” Nick said. “I’ve never been one before. What do I do?”
Georgia smiled. “You do what you’ve been doing all week. Care.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Georgia froze, suddenly realizing it was over. Tomorrow Dylan and his great-aunt and Timmy would return with them to Blue Gulch. They’d stay with Nick until Dylan found a new home, Dylan taking Avery’s old room and Aunt Helen in the guest room. Georgia’s old room.
Nick didn’t need her anymore. And Operation Dad hadn’t cracked him. She hadn’t cracked him.
Her heart heavy, she turned away, staring out at the tall buildings of Houston.
She could feel Nick watching her. She wanted to get up and run into the bathroom and shut the door for some privacy, but a gray cloud parked itself over her head and she could barely muster the enthusiasm to move.
“You okay?” he asked.
No, she wanted to scream. No, I’m not. Because I love you and you’re...impenetrable.
But that wasn’t really true. He wasn’t impenetrable. Bits and pieces had gotten through chinks in the armor around him, but just bits, nothing able to blast through.
“I’m okay,” she managed. “Just tired.”
“Why don’t you lie down?” he suggested. He got up and pulled back the quilt, patting the bed.
Her heart crumpling, she lay down, facing away from him so he couldn’t see her cry. But instead of him walking over to the club chair, she felt him stretch his long form beside her.
That was unexpected.
“If it’s all right,” he said.
She turned to face him. He lay staring up the ceiling. She studied the planes of his face, his strong nose, the jaw with its sexy five-o’clock shadow, the long dark lashes. “It’s all right,” she said, turning away from him again. “Stay here with me.” It’s our last night together, she wanted to add, but held her tongue.
He turned and curved against her, his chin resting on top of her head. She felt his hands move onto her shoulders, then up her neck and fist her hair. Then one hand moved lower, slipping around her protectively, possessively. He buried his face in her neck.
She desperately wanted to turn around and rip his clothes off, fuse her mouth to his, feel his hands and mouth everywhere on her body. But in the morning, she’d only be more brokenhearted. It was over. She’d tried, but she’d failed.
At least she’d tried.
“Maybe you should take the chair, after all,” she whispered, her voice catching.
He stiffened. “Okay,” he said, quickly getting up. “I didn’t mean to—” He didn’t finish his sentence.
I didn’t mean to break your heart. I didn’t mean for you to love me.
He’d told her he was going to hurt her. And she’d believed him and jumped in with her whole heart anyway.
Dummy, she told herself.
“I think I’ll take a walk,” Nick said. “You’ll be all right by yourself? I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine.”
And she would be, she reminded herself. She would be fine. That had become her new motto.
But as she heard him leave, the door whooshing shut behind him, the lock clicking into place, the tears stung her eyes all over again.
“It’s just you and me, Timmy,” she whispered to the baby, who was fast asleep. “And it’s our last night together. Thank you for everything. Thank you for letting me learn on the go. It was an honor.”
Timmy’s little bow-shaped mouth quirked and Georgia smiled at him, her hands on her belly. She thought about what Dylan Patterson had done, had risked for his baby son. He hadn’t been willing to give up.
“Neither will I,” she said to Timmy. “Until Nick picks up and moves to Houston, my work here is not done.”
With that she felt much better, changed into her pajamas, got back into bed and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Nick sat on a stool at the hotel bar, taking his time with his scotch and helping himself to a handful of almonds in a glass bowl. It was just past nine o’clock, but the bar wasn’t very crowded. Nick sat at the far end and there were two empty seats next to him, then a youngish couple making out in between tequila shots and licking salt off the sides of their thumbs. Two very attractive single women, dolled up to the nines with cleavage and lots of leg, were along the perpendicular side of the bar, and the redhead was eyeing him. Every time he glanced in that direction, he’d catch her looking at him, her expression a combination of interest and challenge. Try to seduce me out of this bar and into my room, she seemed to be saying to him as she licked her lips, her gaze on him.
He tried to adopt a no, thanks expression, shifting in his chair so that he was looking straight ahead at the rows of top-shelf liquor, a mirrored backdrop behind the bottles. He stared at himself, thinking he didn’t look particularly happy. Or interested in anyone.
Ah, he was the challenge, he realized as the redhead got up and walked toward him, then past him into the ladies’ room, her perfume lingering.
He preferred Georgia’s soapy scent, which was actually a combination of soap, baby wash and hand sanitizer. He smiled, picturing her up in their room right now, singing Timmy a lullaby or reading him a book about a sheep that liked to laugh. She read that one to Timmy a lot. He imagined her lying on the big bed wearing a T-shirt and those sexy yoga pants.
Georgia was Blue Gulch. This bar, the redhead—who he hoped would keep walking past him when she emerged from the restroom—was Houston. This would be his life. Alone. Nursing a scotch. No daily responsibilities to anyone but himself. Once a week he’d drive out to Blue Gulch to see his son, to make sure Georgia had everything she needed.
How could she have everything she needed if the father of her baby lived three hours away?
He hated when these questions popped into his head. The impossibility of doing the right thing by Georgia, by his son, which wouldn’t allow for him to do the right thing for himself.
Which was sitting here in this bar, in this city, a lone wolf. Leaving Blue Gulch for good. Leaving his bad memories there.
Except he’d made new ones. He thought of his sister in her cap and gown, her big smile as she accepted her high school diploma. He thought of young Brian Pullman, hugging Bentley the greyhound with tears streaming down his cheeks. He thought of finding little Henry Grainger. He thought of several other cases that each had restored his faith in humanity just a little bit.
He thought of making love to Georgia on the couch in his living room.
He wanted to rush upstairs, rip off her baby-spit-up-scented T-shirt and very slowly explore every inch of her. Hadn’t he called himself every name for a jerk for having done that twice alr
eady when he couldn’t give her what she really needed? He stayed put.
But when the redhead did come out of the restroom and stopped right next to him, propping a hip on the empty seat beside him and flashing him a very white smile, he told her he had to go, have a nice night, and headed for the elevator.
Upstairs in their room, the lights were out and not a peep could be heard. He looked in on Timmy in the bassinet the hotel had provided them with, then took a quilt from the closet and sat down in the club chair across from the bed, wishing he could slip in beside Georgia and sleep curled around her.
Wake up and invite me in, he willed her, but she didn’t stir and he knew staying in the chair was for the best.
He got up and grabbed the extra blanket from the closet and dropped back down in the club chair, trying to get comfortable. He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew the room was pitch-dark and Timmy was beginning to cry.
“Waah. Waah,” Timmy began, and Nick burst out of the chair before the baby could wake Georgia. He settled Timmy in his arms, then headed over to the kitchenette to make him a bottle. “Look at me, the one-handed wonder,” he whispered to Timmy, who quirked a lip at him.
With Timmy having his bottle, Nick sat back down in the chair, watching Timmy’s little mouth quirking around the nipple. “I’m glad we found your daddy,” he whispered. “You’re in good hands with Dylan. I believe that. And Georgia and I will have your back. No worries, little guy.”
Georgia and I. Interesting. He’d meant that he’d have Timmy’s back. He. Singular. Lone wolf. Georgia would separately have Timmy’s back. Separately.
Timmy finished his bottle and Nick brought him up to his shoulder for a burp. Only took ten seconds. Nick was getting pretty good at this. He stood up and brought Timmy over to the windows, slipping in between the heavy drapes and the filmy white ones, which he pushed aside. Timmy cooed at the lights and action going on outside, even though it was well past midnight. Gently rocking Timmy back and forth in his arms, Nick pointed out the buildings he recognized, then realized the baby’s eyes were closed.
He slipped Timmy back in the bassinet, then sat down in the club chair, pulling the extra blanket up to his chest, no idea if he was ever going to fall asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Timmy’s cries woke Georgia at five o’clock. She sat up in bed and stretched, then hopped out and scooped up Timmy, realizing that she felt great. Really great. As in “she got an entire night of sleep” great. Had Timmy slept through the night? At six weeks?
Georgia glanced over at the club chair. Nick was fast asleep, his long, muscular body sprawled out, his face leaning away from her. On the desk beside the chair was a baby bottle with just a drop left in it. Which meant that Nick had given Timmy his 1:00 a.m. bottle.
That was something, she thought as she laid Timmy on the changing pad and quickly changed his diaper, powdering his adorable bottom. She kissed his sweet belly, then changed him into fresh pajamas. “Your daddy will be here soon,” she whispered. She walked Timmy around the room, careful not to wake Nick.
“They’ll be buddies.”
She whirled around. Nick stood up and stretched his arms behind his back, his T-shirt rising to show his six-pack abs.
“Who’ll be buddies?” she asked.
“Timmy and our baby. They’ll only be several months apart.”
She stared at him, surprise bursting inside her. “I didn’t think of that, but you’re right. They will be buddies.” She smiled, loving the idea.
He seemed to catch himself saying something future-oriented and turned away. “I’ll head down to the corner store and pick us up some breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Herbal tea for you?”
She nodded, her smile fading as he left. One step forward, two steps back. He was running away again, like last night. She hadn’t heard him come in. She must have been exhausted from the whole day, being back in Houston, facing her past in the form of being here at all, stopping in front of her condo, the discovery of Timmy’s father. Realizing that today, she’d be going back to Hurley’s to live. She wished she had woken up when he came in; she wouldn’t have let him sleep in the chair all night. Or at all.
She wondered why he hadn’t slept beside her. Because he didn’t want to? Because he knew he’d be leaving Blue Gulch soon and didn’t want to make her think otherwise? Or because he hadn’t wanted to wake her?
Because she’d stopped his roaming hands earlier, she realized. Or maybe the answer was all of the above.
“Wish I knew for sure,” she told Timmy, taking him into the big bathroom and setting his carrier on the counter while she washed her face and brushed her teeth. A brush through her long hair helped. She glanced at herself and dug around in her toiletry bag for a little concealer and mascara. Then she scooped up Timmy and headed back in the main room, taking him out of his carrier and bringing him over to the window where the morning sun was just beginning to rise over Houston.
The key turned in the door and Nick walked in, Dylan right behind him. “Look who I found pacing in front of the hotel, waiting for it to be six.”
Georgia smiled. “You could have come up anytime. I know how much this morning means to you.”
Beaming, Dylan rushed over to Georgia and she transferred Timmy to his arms. He held him close and spun around. “I’m eighteen. A legal adult. Happy birthday to me,” he said to Timmy. “Best birthday present I’ll ever get is knowing no one can take you from me.”
Georgia smiled and put a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, Dylan.”
“Let’s go pick up your aunt and head home, then,” Nick said.
Georgia knew Nick well enough now to notice he’d stiffened at hearing himself call Blue Gulch home.
Maybe he really was leaving. She could work on him all she wanted. But maybe she’d better accept that in a couple of days, Nick Slater would be gone from her life.
* * *
If someone gave Nick a penny for every time he glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Dylan’s old car was still chugging along behind his on the freeway, Nick would be a zillionaire. The boy swore that the car was safe and had been recently inspected, but Nick would have preferred that Timmy and Helen ride with him and Georgia. But Timmy and Aunt Helen were Dylan’s family, not his, and so they went with Dylan.
“It feels weird, doesn’t it?” Georgia said, peering into the backseat. “I keep expecting to see Timmy’s car seat. I keep expecting to hear him fuss.”
“Me too. I don’t like that Timmy’s in Dylan’s car. Though I have to say, he seems like a careful driver,” he added, peering in the rearview mirror. Dylan stayed in the middle lane, going the speed limit, two car-lengths behind the one in front of him, which was Nick’s.
“So I guess when we get to your house, I’ll pack up my things,” Georgia said.
“Wait, what?” Nick glanced at her. Then he remembered she was only living with him to care for Timmy. “Well, let’s get Dylan and his aunt settled into a new home before we make any big changes.”
Georgia glanced at him. “Since the Pattersons are staying with you until they’re settled, there won’t be room for me. I’ll just move into Hurley’s. I have my pick of second-floor bedrooms.”
He frowned. He didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to “just move into Hurley’s.” He wanted her in his guest bedroom, maybe forever. Close, but not too close, per his motto.
When Nick pulled into his driveway, Dylan was right behind him. After a call to a real estate agent who handled home rentals in town, the group walked over to Hurley’s for lunch, then met the agent at a small, run-down house near the center of town. Dylan had only two requests when it came to a new home in Blue Gulch: it had to be affordable and have a fenced-in yard for the dog he’d always wanted to get, preferably a gentle little mutt from the anim
al shelter.
Dylan stood on the lawn, Timmy in his arms. He looked up at the house, frowning. “It’s not home. I don’t even have to go in to know that. I have enough money saved that I can do a little better for my family.”
The real estate agent nodded and they all piled in their cars to drive five minutes in the opposite direction to a yellow Cape Cod on Orchard Street that had the plus of being sparsely furnished. The moment the big group arrived at the second house with its white shutters and flowers lining the stone walkway, Dylan looked up at the house, said, “Now, this feels like home even from the outside.” He looked at his aunt, who smiled in a way that Nick would only call satisfied. After a short tour, Dylan signed a lease.
“I can’t believe this,” Dylan said. “From totally hopeless to the opposite. Thank you, Detective Slater. For everything.”
“We’re friends. So you call me Nick.”
Dylan beamed, rocking Timmy as they all headed back to their cars. Dylan and his family would stay at Nick’s tonight, and Nick would help the family get settled in the new house tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d wake up and Georgia wouldn’t be there. Tonight, actually, since Aunt Helen would stay in the guest room and Dylan would take Avery’s room. No live-in, round-the-clock nanny required. No...Georgia.
His head hurt. His stomach felt as if he’d eaten something a month old. He needed some sort of plan for how things would work with Georgia now that she’d be moving out. But tonight he’d have guests and tomorrow he’d be busy with the Pattersons and their new home, then finding his sister and talking her out of this foolishness of Nashville and marriage once and for all. He’d happily drive her back to college, where she belonged.
Then he’d figure out if he was moving to Houston, even though he didn’t feel much when he was there. It wasn’t home anymore. Blue Gulch had morphed back into that these past two years.
But Blue Gulch couldn’t be home. Even if it felt like home. Because that didn’t make sense. How could it feel like home?
Because Georgia is here. With your baby about to be born in five months. And she’s going to need you, you jerk.