The Baby Battle

by Laura Marie Altom

  “Little fellow’s got a sweet smile.” The resort’s proprietor, Eleanor Holden, stepped out from the small office that was behind a pine reception counter. The surface glowed with a decades-old patina. Matching antler lamps with leather shades lit either end. In between were pamphlets on canoeing trips and country music shows. Cave and historic home tours. Casting off welcoming aromas were a bowl of red and green apples and a vanilla-scented candle. “I’m assuming you’re Olivia?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said, placing her purse on the floor so that she could shake the woman’s outstretched hand.

  “The husband and I are flattered that you thought well enough of us to drop by for a repeat stay.”

  “You have a relaxing place,” Olivia said, admiring the high-beamed pine ceiling. “Something about it just makes me feel good.” Safe.

  “We aim to please,” the salt-and-pepper-haired woman said with a wink. She wore jeans and a red sweater that brought out the merry blue in her eyes. “So, per your needs, I’ve got you in Cabin Five. It’s our most private, features a full kitchen, living room and a master bedroom large enough for a hot tub and a portable crib.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Olivia said with her first genuine smile of the day.

  “How long will you be staying?”

  “Let’s start with a week.” Hopefully, that would be enough time for her to figure out her next move. She had a cousin in California. Maybe she could relocate somewhere near Shaun and her family? “But would it be a problem if I wanted to extend my stay?”

  “Not this time of year. Give it another couple months, though, and I’d have to give you the boot.”

  “Fair enough.” Olivia signed all the necessary paperwork and reached for her credit card to swipe, but then realized how traceable that would be and instead handed over cash.

  “We require a credit card for damages.”

  Thinking fast, Olivia said, “I’m, um, really trying to break the credit card habit. Would you mind if I just gave you extra cash?”

  Chewing on that for a moment, Eleanor said, “It’s not our usual way, but I s’pose that’d be fine.”

  Whew. A few minutes more and the check-in process was complete.

  Armed with meal times and an entertainment schedule, Olivia set off for her new home. “You’re going to like it here,” she said to her baby boy. “The food isn’t gourmet, but it’s simple and filling and makes Mommy happy.”

  Flynn yawned, making Olivia laugh.

  Their cabin had a small front porch with the same type of willow seating found at the main lodge. There were also cheerful pots of pansies—pink and purple. Easing the key into the lock, Olivia had a tough time working the mechanism, but it finally gave and the heavy wood door creaked open. The sun was nearly down, making the interior dark.

  She flicked the light switch by the door, illuminating a shabby chic, rustic space with a vaulted pine ceiling, soaring native stone fireplace and log-framed furniture softened with cozy burgundy and cream calico cushions. Wood floors were warmed by colorful rag rugs. On the walls were framed oil paintings of landscapes and fishing scenes. Mounted on the back of the cabin’s front door was a list of antiquated resort rules that included friendly reminders such as fish were not to be cleaned indoors and unmarried couples were not to be in the same cabin without a chaperone past dark.

  A smile playing about her lips, holding Flynn extra close, Olivia mused that the likelihood of her having a man in her cabin was about the same as her changing careers to become an astronaut.

  Flynn whimpered.

  “Bet you’re hungry, huh?” Her breasts ached—usually a telltale sign her son was ready for dinner.

  She tossed her purse to the butcher block counter, then took a seat in a rocker nestled alongside the stone fireplace. Unbuttoning her blouse, she opened her nursing bra’s flap, cradling Flynn against her, helping him latch on. The release of milk acted as a balm, relaxing her, reassuring her that by running she’d done the right thing. By the time she’d switched Flynn to her other breast and he’d eaten his fill, her eyelids were heavy.

  It had been a long drive. For the moment the two of them were safe. But what next? Was she really prepared to abandon her home, career and essentially her whole life?

  Yes.

  Bottom line, Flynn belonged to her. And as long as she had breath in her body, no stranger claiming to be his father or a random judge would take him away.

  A knock sounded on the cabin door.

  Assuming it was Eleanor with extra towels, Olivia fastened the flap on her bra and quickly buttoned her blouse.

  “Wake up, hon,” she said, tweaking the tip of Flynn’s nose. “We have company.”

  She chuckled at his sleepy expression. Setting him in the portable crib that their innkeeper had thoughtfully already made up in the bedroom, she went to greet their guest.

  “Coming!” she called when her visitor knocked again. It took a few seconds to zigzag her way around a coffee table and side chairs.

  Finally she reached the door and tugged it open.

  “Surprise,” Tag O’Malley said, a stony look on his face.

  “H-HOW—” As Tag had hoped, he’d caught his son’s mother off guard. Her hands were trembling over her mouth and her gaze darted wildly. Searching for a fresh route of escape? “Y-you have to leave. I—”

  “Save it,” he said, brushing past her. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, let alone any more of Olivia’s games. “Where’s our son?”

  “He’s mine,” she said, close on his heels. “Please, just go. How did you even find us? What are you? Some kind of deranged stalker?”

  There he was. His son. Asleep in his crib. Ignoring the infant’s mother, Tag froze, taking but a moment to drink in the sight of him. He was so perfect. Tiny. Sweeter than anything Tag had ever seen, with the exception of Maria’s wedding-day smile. On autopilot, he knelt, scooping the baby into his arms.

  A tremor shuddered through him. Raw emotion, stinging and hot, welled his eyes. Cradling his son to his chest, Tag felt his knees turn to rubber, sending him for safety’s sake to sit on the foot of the bed. Sensory overload had him cupping his cheek to the boy’s downy hair. In great, greedy gulps, Tag dragged in his son’s scent. Baby lotion and shampoo and powder. Flynn’s tiny velvety jumper smelled fresh and clean. Gently inserting his pinkie finger into the baby’s clenched fist, Tag wondered at the minuscule perfection. If only Maria could have been here to experience the same joy.

  “You’re amazing…” Tag whispered, his throat too tight to continue.

  “How did you find me?” Olivia asked, hovering in front of him, her fingers splayed in the hair at her temples.

  “Didn’t take a genius to assume you’d run. I followed.”

  She nodded. “I hadn’t planned for that contingency.”

  “Obviously.” Nuzzling his son’s head, he said, “You do know what the judge will think of this stunt?”

  “I know, and yet…” A sharp laugh escaped her. “I’d do it again. You have no idea how much I love this child. I can’t—won’t—share him.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  Her hard eyes softened as she looked at him, truly looked. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

  Unable to find words, he nodded.

  “Which puts us at an impasse.”

  Having regained some of his composure, he asked, “How so?”

  Lifting her chin, she said, “You can follow me for the rest of my life, but I’m never giving you my son.”

  “Brave words, considering one phone call could shut you out of Flynn’s life forever.” He hated playing the tough guy, but facts were facts. Hours in the car had given him too much time to think. While a part of him had had it with this woman’s stunts, there was another part that totally got where she was coming from. Had the tables been turned, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have pulled the same runaway game.

  “Y-you wouldn’t be so cruel?” she asked, words soft and
shaky.

  “What do you think your running off like this was to me? If a gut instinct hadn’t told me to follow you, I might never have had the chance to hold our son. You don’t think that’s cruel?”

  Her silence said it all. That she knew damn well she’d made a huge mistake. The tears streaming down her cheeks also said she hadn’t had another choice. With her back against the wall, she’d chosen to tunnel under.

  “I get it,” he said, stroking his son’s back, “but you have to know I mean you no harm. The last thing I intended was to deprive this baby of his mother. I just want him to also have a father. How can that be such a threat to you?”

  Groaning, hands fisted, she paced.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That I’m confused, all right? For the record, Flynn hates strangers. Whenever old ladies at the grocery store ask to hold him, he screams so hard that his face turns red and splotchy. So why is it that with you holding him, he acts as if you’re long-lost pals?”

  “Think about it,” Tag said, lowering the baby to a cradled position, affording him a better view of Flynn’s little nose and mouth and closed eyes. “Half of him is me. You and I might be strangers, but this little guy and I, by our DNA, are intimately acquainted.”

  In front of a paned window looking out on the darkening forest, she froze. “You have a valid point, but Flynn’s just a baby. I’m still breast-feeding. The logistics alone are—”

  “Complicated,” he interjected. “I get that, but not insurmountable. It’s agreed that as long as you’re still his…primary, um, food supplier, then Flynn should stay with you. But in the meantime, what if you and I spend the next few days at least trying to become friends? That way, when Flynn is old enough to spend time with me, maybe the idea won’t be so abhorrent.”

  “So that’s it?” she asked, turning to face him. “We become besties, and all of a sudden I’m happy turning my son over to you?”

  Sighing, Tag said, “All I’m asking for is a chance to work this out in a civil manner—for Flynn’s sake. Trust me, in a perfect world I’d take our son and never look back. The only reason I haven’t already had you charged with kidnapping is that given the right circumstances, I might’ve run, too.”

  She’d again turned away from him, and though Tag couldn’t be certain from his perch on the end of the bed, judging by her slumped shoulders and slight tremble, she was crying.

  He rose, took two steps to reach her. Trying to come across as a friend rather than enemy, he said, “Give this a chance. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life running any more than I want to spend mine chasing. Think about Flynn’s well-being. How are you planning to educate him if you’re on the lam? How are you going to earn a living? Where will you sleep? Bathe? Eat?”

  “Stop!”

  Olivia’s shrieked command startled Flynn from his light sleep. His show of displeasure began with a fitful cry that, as he opened his eyes to find himself with a stranger, morphed into a full-on screaming fit.

  “Nice move,” Tag said, trying unsuccessfully to calm the infant.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for the baby. “If you’ll just let me have him, I’ll help him calm down.”

  Wary, Tag handed Flynn over and, sure enough, within a minute the infant’s mother had him quietly sucking his tiny fist.

  “Just guessing,” Tag said, arms folded, “but that’s the first time our son has been scared awake by angry words?”

  “Of course. And for the record, the only reason he was this time was because you goaded me into it.”

  Hand clamped to his throbbing forehead, Tag asked, “When are you going to stop playing the victim and see that I’m struggling with this as much as you? Fact—like it or not, you wouldn’t have Flynn if it weren’t for my sperm.”

  “But I didn’t choose you.”

  “Just like I wasn’t even aware I’d become a father. But here’s the beauty of it—instead of this being a lose-lose scenario, if you’d just be civilized, we could turn it into a win-win.”

  “The logical part of me understands that, but…” Cupping the back of Flynn’s head, she said, “I can’t—won’t—share my son.”

  “So the way you see it, there’s no amicable way to work this out?”

  “Guess not.” She lifted her chin higher, her expression unflinching. Gone were her tears. Now she’d taken on the same hard edge she’d had in court. The same one that had swayed the judge to rule in Tag’s favor.

  With a sarcastic laugh and shake of his head, he said, “You don’t strike me as being a fool, so why are you acting like one?”

  “Oh—I’m a fool for not wanting to hand my baby over to a stranger? For all I know, you could be some crazy person who collects kids for a…a—I don’t know. Like a circus, or something.”

  “You don’t for a second really believe that, do you?”

  “No, but…” Her bottom lip quivered. Was she on the verge of crying again? “Awful stuff like that happens all the time. Just watch the news.”

  Softening his tone, he approached her. He wanted to keep what she would hopefully perceive as a safe distance while at the same time conveying the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Suppose for a moment I’m not a maniacal circus freak, and you’re the rational, intelligent woman I suspect you normally are. You know full well from all of the court documents that I have a clear criminal record, make a more than decent living and have never even considered donning a pair of clown tights.”

  At that she laughed through sniffled tears. “You might. You know, like late at night when no one’s watching.”

  Clutching his chest, he teased, “Thank God that secret didn’t get spilled in court.”

  For a few awkward minutes neither spoke.

  What was going through Olivia’s head? Remembering her courtroom persona, he’d bet her tears were the first vulnerability she’d shared with anyone in a while—if ever.

  She turned away from the window. “I’m sorry. You’ve made some valid points, but please don’t expect too much too soon. The whole idea of sharing my son is…” She blanched. “I can’t even find words to explain.”

  “Which is why you don’t have to. Let’s take this slow, okay?”

  Sniffling, she nodded. “Thanks. But for the record, if I see you in tights, I’m bolting.”

  Grinning, thankful beyond words that the woman was at least open to trying to make shared custody work, Tag said, “Agreed.”

  Chapter Five

  “That’s the last of it,” Tag said, setting the laundry tub filled with food on the cabin’s kitchen counter.

  “Thanks for your help.” Though Olivia had suggested they bundle Flynn in blankets and leave him in his carrier while they unloaded the car, Tag had insisted that he do the task. Looking at the pile of stuff, she was in awe of how much she’d managed to squeeze into the sedan.

  “No problem.” Shutting the cabin door behind him, he said, “It’s feeling more like February outside. Want me to build a fire?”

  “That would be nice.” Though everything between them was quite civil on the outside, on the inside she was still reeling. Not just from the realization that by running she very well could have permanently lost Flynn, but from the fact that Tag wasn’t the monster she’d instinctively made him out to be.

  Had their roles been reversed, would she have called the law on him? The moment he’d first held Flynn had been spellbinding. The big tough oilman had vanished, and she’d been witness to silent tears. An unexpected vulnerability. What was she supposed to do with that? Fighting she was familiar with, but dealing with nice guys didn’t compute. “Need help?”

  “Nah. Seeing how the fire’s pretty much laid out save for adding a match, I’m good. I am hungry, though. Any idea what there is to eat? I’m not a big fan of pureed peaches.”

  “Me, neither.” Though she hadn’t planned to, Olivia laughed. Something about Tag’s dry delivery struck her as funny.

  Would Flynn have his f
ather’s sense of humor?

  The thought was as foreign as reading a take-out menu written solely in Chinese. How would she ever come to grips with the knowledge that the safe, predictable life she’d spent years planning had been turned upside down? She’d known all the important details of Donor A-178954. The most important of all was that she and her son would never have to factor the anonymous donor into their lives.

  While Olivia set up a makeshift changing station on a low dresser, Tag lit the fire. In no time the flames filled the room with merry light and crackling. Under different circumstances, the scene would’ve been idyllic.

  Too bad that currently, Olivia’s stomach churned.

  Washing his hands at the kitchen sink, Tag said, “Does this place have a room-service menu?”

  “I think so. But only up until seven or so.”

  He glanced at his watch. “We have ten minutes. Happen to know where the menu is?”

  “No doubt somewhere beneath all of this stuff.” Just looking at the sheer amount of baby gear needing to be sorted brought on a headache. “Want to put the grate in front of the fire and hike over to the restaurant?”

  “I suppose. What do we do with the baby? I mean, judging by all of these essentials the guy travels with, he’s not exactly portable.”

  Again finding herself smiling, Olivia said, “Watch and learn.”

  FIVE MINUTES LATER Flynn, sporting a fresh diaper, hat and sweater, sat in his carrier, gumming a circular teething ring. Olivia had tugged a brush through her hair and grabbed a black cardigan. “We’re ready if you are.”

  “That was fast,” he said, taking Flynn’s carrier in one hand and holding open the door with the other.

  “I’m not the high-maintenance type.”

  “Good to know.”

  Without conversation they crunched down a gravel path that wound past twenty or so cabins, a winterized pool and tennis and shuffleboard courts. The cabins lined a hillside, at the bottom of which was a lake. She imagined glowing citronella candles in the summer. Children playing hide-and-seek and catching fireflies, couples sneaking kisses in rowboats.