by Lex Martin
I cradle the baby in my arms and smooth down her hair, which probably comforts me more than her, but after that conversation, I need to regroup. After a while, my eyes lift to her uncle.
To say that Brady and Cal are complete opposites is an understatement. Despite his penchant for spreadsheets, Cal was a fair-haired hipster with a carefree laugh. He may have been an accountant, but he acted like a SoCal surfer.
Which is nothing like his brother.
Because Brady’s a brewing storm of intensity.
Jet black hair. Piercing green eyes. A few day’s worth of stubble covering his strong jaw. And muscular, filling out his leather jacket with broad shoulders that cut a dark swath through my vision.
It’s hard not to stare.
He’s sitting with his elbows pressed against his wide-spread knees, glaring out the window, looking like a Sons of Anarchy character about to kick someone’s ass.
He towered over me when he walked in, looking at me like I was some kid he caught trespassing. Yeah, he’s intimidating.
And ridiculously hot.
I glance down at my t-shirt, wishing I had put myself together more before he arrived. Closing my hoodie to hide my stupid t-shirt, I suddenly feel self-conscious.
He hasn’t said much, but based on his expression a few minutes ago, I know I’ve just rocked his world. I find myself wanting to comfort him. If we were friends, if I’d known him longer than the ten minutes he’s been sitting on the couch, I’d hug him. But obviously, that’s weird.
I can’t believe he thought Isabella was gone. The thought sends chills through me.
As though she can sense my unease, she snuggles closer. I need to feed her, but it feels wrong to leave Brady right now.
After three shots of Jim Beam, he puts down the glass and sighs, running his hands through his messy hair. How is it that men always look better after doing that?
He looks up and clears his throat. “Let’s try this again.” He holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Brady. Sorry it took me so long to get down here. That nor’easter really screwed up my flight.”
His accent slides over me and holds me captive. It’s intense like the rest of him. Cal had a New England accent too, but for some reason, coming from him, it made me laugh. Brady’s sends goose bumps down my arms.
Nothing funny there.
Realizing the man is waiting for me to return the gesture, I extend my hand. “Katherine Duran, family friend and glorified babysitter.”
His big paw shakes mine. His skin is calloused and rough, a little like his exterior. But when those green eyes stare back, butterflies riot in my stomach.
When I let go, I feel a little light-headed. What the heck is that about?
“So you’re… you’re Cal’s younger brother? You’re bigger than Cal.” Like way bigger. He has to be well over six feet tall.
He chuckles. “Yeah, he hated that I was taller. We’re only nine months apart, though. I’m actually older. The bastard likes to tell people he’s older.”
Just as quickly as it came, that smile fades, and he stares off again. I can tell he’s realized his mistake, talking about Cal in the present tense.
The pain in his expression makes my chest constrict. Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. Picking up the baby, I scoot over to the couch and place my hand on his broad shoulder. My mind fumbles through a number of things I could say to comfort him, but I’m momentarily distracted by how intimate this seems. By how close we are. By how I can smell his aftershave or shampoo or whatever it is that reminds me of the woods after a thunderstorm.
I’m tempted to yank my hand back, but I’ve already committed, so I take a deep breath. “Brady, it is an honor to meet you. I loved Cal and Mel like they were my very own brother and sister, and I want you to know I’m here to help however I can.”
A little gurgle has us both turning to the baby in my lap who is grinning up at him. Preciosa.
I nudge him with my elbow. “Aww, she likes you, and if Isabella likes you, I know you must be a great guy because she is a really good judge of character. She hates Mr. Roosevelt, who cheated on his wife, loves Mrs. MacIntyre, who bakes us the best apple pies, and she’s suspicious of Ted Mayfield, which I thought was weird until we found out about his great affection for his sheep.”
Brady lets out a choking laugh, and I find myself smiling too. I must be nervous because that was some major word vomit. Really, Katherine? You’ve met almost every politician in the state of Texas and this biker boy has your panties in a twist?
I motion toward him. “Why, uh, why don’t you clean up in the kitchen, and then I’ll let you hold her. Would… would you like that?”
His eyes well with tears, and damn it, mine do too. He swallows and blinks back the emotion. “Yeah, I would. Thanks.”
The fleet of butterflies somersaults in my stomach again as Brady and I stare at each other. Ignore the crazy, Katherine. Get your act together.
Right now, that means helping the hot biker dude hold his baby niece.
I extend my arms as Isabella squirms between us, and his eyes widen. A laugh escapes me. “Brady Shepherd, this isn’t rocket science.”
“I’ve never held a baby before.” His voice is deep and scratchy, and for some reason, I wonder what it would sound like whispering in my ear.
I clear my throat. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
A small laugh escapes me. “How is that possible?”
Brady runs his hands through his hair and shrugs. Good heaven almighty, he’s a sight all flustered like this. Here’s this big, strong man intimidated by holding a baby.
He’s taken off his leather jacket, so he’s just wearing a Boston Red Sox t-shirt that stretches across his muscular chest and tapers snugly at his biceps where tattoos blaze down his arms. If he weren’t Cal’s brother, there is no way I would be handing Isabella over to this guy. I mean, he seems harmless enough, but his exterior is just so dang intimidating.
I bounce the baby on my lap while he watches with rapt attention. “You’re so good with her,” he says. “I don’t know how she’ll ever take to me like she does you.”
“I have a younger sister and ten-thousand little cousins, and while most little girls were out playing with dolls, I was changing diapers and getting spit up on. So don’t feel bad. I’ve had a lifetime of being around kids. You’ll get the hang of this.”
He looks worried, and my heart melts a little. Without thinking, I grab his shoulder to nudge him farther back on the couch, but the contact sends a jolt through me, and I jerk back.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice my bizarre reaction. Ignoring the pounding of my heart, I motion toward him. “Can you... can you scoot back?” I mumble, placing Isabella in his lap once he’s in a better position.
His enormous hands immediately wrap around her pudgy waist.
Ignoring my flustered state, I smile. “Brady, I’d like to introduce you to your niece, Isabella.”
Bella stares up at him and grins, showing off her shiny new teeth a second before she grabs his face. He laughs. “Hey, little lady. I’m your Uncle Brady.”
She giggles, and I swear to God, her cheeks turn pink.
“Aww. She’s totally smitten with you.” He tickles Isabella, and she giggles again. I should stop right there, but my mouth can’t seem to help itself. “Looks like your uncle is a ladies’ man.” What did I just say? “I mean, you have her in the palm of your hand. Like you’re good with women.”
I glance at his face, and he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Great. Way to welcome the guy. Make him think you’re hitting on him.
“I’m just gonna go make her dinner.” I motion toward the kitchen as I get up and try to get away without making a complete fool of myself. “Holler if you guys need anything.”
I’m almost out of the room when he calls out, “Katherine.” Hearing him say my name in that deep, rumbly voice sends goose bumps down my arms.
I turn back, hoping to God he doesn�
�t think I’m some weirdo. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything. I’m sure I don’t even know how much you’ve helped my family.”
My stomach twists. If only he knew. “You don’t have to thank me. Really.” And then I scurry into the kitchen.
5
Brady
Isabella’s sky-blue eyes stare up at me as she smiles a toothless grin. Hold up. She has two teeth. I run my hand along the curly patch of hair on her head, mesmerized at how soft it is. And she smells… good. Like baby powder and something floral. I don’t know why I thought she’d smell like cheese. I guess I always thought kids were kind of stinky.
She keeps patting my face and smiling, which makes it almost impossible to not grin back.
“Hey, baby.” Why am I speaking in a little voice? Honestly, I’m not sure, but it feels right so I’m running with it. “I’m sorry it took so long to get down here, but it looks like you were in good hands with your Aunt Katherine.”
And when did Katherine become the baby’s aunt? No fucking clue, but the baby doesn’t seem to care that I’m talking out my ass. She giggles and coos and squishes my cheeks.
“So, Isabella. Is that what everyone calls you? That’s kind of a long name for such a little girl. Do you mind if I call you Izzy?”
She claps and giggles some more, so I take that as a sign. “Great. Izzy it is. Can you say my name? Can you say Bray-dee? Bray-dee.”
“Bway-Bway! Bway-Bway!”
Something about her saying my name expands my chest. Holy shit. That’s amazing.
I’m immediately overwhelmed by the love I have for Izzy. I’ve never believed in love at first sight, but that’s the only way to describe it. Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect my niece.
The thought gives me pause. Confounds me, really. Because, in a way, isn’t this the very thing I mocked my brother for experiencing? Mocked him for having inexplicable emotions for someone he just met?
I’ve been a fool.
Izzy calls my name again.
“Atta girl.” Holding her up, I blow a raspberry on her tummy and enjoy her bubbly peals of laughter before pulling her in for a hug. She squirms in my lap, kicking her chubby legs as though she’s trying to stand. I lean back on the couch and hold her arms while she tries to balance on my lap.
Izzy tilts to the left, and I pretend she’s going to fall, saying, “Whoa!” dramatically, before scooping her into my arms. She laughs so hard that her nose scrunches up.
She’s wearing sweatpants and a pint-sized Spurs t-shirt. I point at her belly and shake my head. “I need to introduce you to a team called the Celtics, and while we’re at it”—I motion to the Red Sox logo emblazoned on my chest—“we need to talk baseball. Every girl needs to know about baseball. And don’t let some boy tell you a girl can’t play because that’s BS.”
Izzy nods like she understands and then scoots off my lap. I take her hand and hover over her as she waddles toward the kitchen. Her thick socks slide on the hard wood, so I grip her forearms snugly enough she doesn’t take a tumble.
When we enter the kitchen, Katherine is standing at the sink, leaning one arm on the counter. I’m about to say something when she sniffles.
I’m debating whether to ask if she’s okay or give her a few minutes of privacy when Izzy babbles something incoherent. Katherine wipes her eyes and spins around, forcing a smile.
“Perfect timing. I have her dinner ready.” Her voice is thick with emotion.
I scoop up the baby and hold her on my hip the way Katherine did earlier.
“You okay?” I ask softly, like she’s a wounded animal I’m trying not to frighten. She bites her lip and nods, but her eyes are shiny and her face is splotchy. Before I think better of it, I’ve wrapped her in a hug with my one free arm, and she starts sobbing into my chest. Oh, shit. A crying woman is my kryptonite.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” I gently rub her shoulder, hating that she’s this upset.
I try not to notice the way she fits against my side, how delicate she feels beneath my hand, but I can’t help it. She shifts, and I catch her light floral scent that somehow reminds me of spring.
Izzy squirms in my other arm, and whatever words of comfort I think to say to Katherine escape me when the baby leans into my neck for her own embrace.
This. I’m not prepared for this.
I let Katherine cry for a few minutes until it sounds like she’s done. “So you and Mel were close, huh?”
She nods against me and sniffles.
Izzy jerks in my arms, like she’s dying to go to Katherine. “Hey, your number one fan wants you to hold her.”
Katherine looks up at me, and even though her face is a little puffy and red, her gorgeous hazel eyes are downright captivating.
Clearing my throat, I step back after she takes the baby, who plants a big, wet kiss on her cheek.
“That’s sweet, Izzy. Kisses for Aunt Katherine will make her feel better.”
Katherine’s eyes dart up to mine, like I’ve surprised her.
“What?” I rub the back of my neck.
She shakes her head and sniffles again, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re a natural with her. I knew you had nothing to worry about.”
But as I watch Katherine with Izzy and how gently she holds her and talks to her, I know she’s the natural. Thank God because I’m fucking clueless.
When Katherine returns to the kitchen, she turns on a little machine, and the sounds of Izzy babbling in her crib fill the room.
“Baby monitor.” She points to the speaker. “We have four or five of these. They reach all the way to the barn and into the adjacent field, which is great because then I can feed the animals while she sleeps in the morning. Well, when she sleeps in.”
Katherine looks exhausted, like she hasn’t slept in days. I’m about to tell her that she should go to bed and we can talk in the morning when I realize what she just said.
“Animals? How many are we talking about?” I knew Cal lived on a farm, but until this moment, I hadn’t really thought about what that meant.
“Not that many. This isn’t a farm farm.” Something about that statement starts to put me at ease until she shrugs. “We have about a dozen chickens, a horse named Sampson, and two pygmy goats, Stella and Stanley.” Then she mumbles a few more words I can’t quite make out.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I said we also have a baby raccoon named Bandit and a box of kittens.”
“And why do we have a box of kittens, a baby raccoon, and”—I tilt my head—“two goats named after characters in A Streetcar Named Desire?”
A breathtaking smile spreads on her face.
“Because Mel took in strays. She could never turn away someone in need.” Katherine pulls at a loose thread on her t-shirt. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Which might explain why I’ve been living here since the end of May.”
“Oh. I don’t know why I thought you were a neighbor. Do you work for Mel and Cal?”
“Kind of? I guess you could say I’m their live-in nanny. But I also helped them harvest the crops in August and prune their fields this fall.”
“The fields?”
“You really have no idea, do you?” She laughs. “Mel owns one of the largest lavender farms in the Texas Hill Country.” Her eyes tighten around the corners. “Well, I guess you own one of the largest lavender farms.”
I run my hand through my hair for the hundredth time today. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. I still need to talk to their attorney and find out if there’s a will. I’m here to plan… all of the arrangements this week.” The thought turns my stomach sour. “My mom thought the farm should go to someone in Mel’s family.”
“Their attorney called this afternoon. Said he’s in court tomorrow but he’s gonna try to call you afterward. As far as family goes, Mel’s dad died a few years ago. She didn’t have anyone else.”
Why does that
make me feel worse? I press the palms of my hands into my eyes.
Her soft voice interrupts my impending panic attack. “I’m sorry I cried all over you earlier.” I drop my arms and look over at Katherine, who shifts awkwardly before she twists her long hair into one of those messy bun things girls do. Before I can respond, she darts across the kitchen. “I don’t know where my manners are. You traveled all day. You must be starving.”
A moment later, she has her head in the fridge, and I’m treated to a full-on view of her tight, round ass. Damn. This girl should never wear anything but yoga pants.
“I could make us migas.” Her head pops out of the refrigerator, and she looks at me expectantly.
My eyes dart up. Hopefully, she doesn’t think I’m checking her out.
“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account. Wait. What are migas?”
Her eyes widen and she starts waving her hands as she explains. “They’re eggs scrambled with fried corn tortillas. I also like to toss in some jalepeños, onion and cilantro. Does that sound good?”
“Jesus, yes. That sounds amazing.” I laugh, a little in love with her accent and the way she rolls her R’s. Now that I look at her, I realize there’s something exotic about the shape of her eyes and her golden-caramel skin.
“I love to cook, so it’s no trouble at all. The eggs are really fresh. They’re from our chicken coop. But I could make you whatever you’d like.”
The earnestness in her expression as she waits for me to tell her what I want for dinner is too sweet. Too tender.
I clear my throat. “Can I ask a question? I know it’s rude to ask a woman’s age, but you look really young, and...”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m twenty-three.”
Those big hazel eyes turn down, and I feel like a jerk for embarrassing her.
“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that if you’re staying here, that’s probably something I should know.”
“Of course. I understand. I’m not offended.” She shifts uncomfortably, and I can tell that might be a little white lie, but then she shrugs. “So... migas?”