Doorstep Daddy. Shirley Jump
needed someone to help her out—and it wouldn’t kill him to be a nice guy for twenty-four hours. Would it?
Ellie shifted the baby to the other hip. The kid protested the move with a series of cries. Ellie rubbed her back, peppered kisses across her forehead, and Sabrina quieted. She laid her head on Ellie’s shoulder, her eyes beginning to shut. A surge of something Dalton refused to name rose in his chest—a feeling from long ago, one he’d pushed away.
At the same time, Ellie’s cell phone began to ring. She dug it out of her pocket, let out a gust, muted the phone, then stuffed it back. As soon as she did, it started ringing again, which made the baby give up on the sleeping thing. Ellie brushed her bangs out of her face, then fished the phone out one more time and answered it. “Hi, Lincoln,” she said, continuing to rub the kid’s back with the other hand—making the whole balancing act look way too complicated to Dalton. The baby started to whine, so Ellie tried a pacifier that was attached to the kid by a clip and a ribbon, but the kid spat it back. Ellie returned to the back rub, but this time, the circular motion’s magic failed. “Yes, I’m on my way. Of course I have available child care. I just had to stop by for a—” She paused. “I know, I know this meeting’s important. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be—” An embarrassed smile took over her face. “He hung up. He’s a little tense.”
Lincoln. A boyfriend? Boss?
Husband?
The kid voiced a protest, as if she understood what the cell phone’s ring meant.
Ellie held out the baby toward Dalton. “I have to go. Thank you again.”
“You’re leaving? Already?” Now that the moment was here, panic gripped him. She was leaving him with the kid? Now? Why had he made this offer? What had he been thinking?
“Is that a problem? I thought you just said you could watch Sabrina.”
“Yeah, well I hadn’t expected you to be leaving so soon.” He glanced at the clock. Only eleven in the morning. Six o’clock seemed like eons away.
“Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to leave,” she said, bringing the baby back to her chest and holding her tight again. “If I could take Bri with me, or find a different way to work and still be with her…” Her voice trailed off and she let out a sigh. “But I can’t.” Ellie gave the kid another bunch of kisses, and this time whispered something nonsensical against her skin.
Dalton swallowed hard. “You should go,” he said, even though he wanted her to stay. He simply couldn’t watch that look on her face for one more second.
It opened up way too many doors he’d thought he’d firmly shut a long time ago.
“You’re right, I need to go. One more thing. If anything happens to Sabrina,” she said quietly, a mother bear growl deep in her voice, “I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth, and throw you into jail until you’re a hundred and ten.”
“I thought you trusted me.”
She looked up from her kid’s head. “I need you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone. Sabrina is all I’ve got and—” Her phone started up again. Ellie rolled her eyes, then flipped it open. “On my way, I swear.” The phone went back in her pocket, and was exchanged for a business card. “My cell phone number is on there, as is my office phone. Call me every half hour and give me an update.”
“Update on what? If she burped?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding me. Kids do nothing all day. They eat, they poop, they sleep. There. That’s your update.”
Her jaw dropped in horror. He expected her to tell him off, but instead she turned away. A second later her shoulders were heaving and then, she was doing it again—
Crying.
Well, not exactly crying, more, holding her kid and looking like she might let loose with the waterworks at any second. Damn. He hadn’t been around this much estrogen since he lived at home.
He stood behind Ellie, his hands at his sides, useless and awkward. His chest constricted, lungs caught. A part of him said to reach out and hug her.
The other part said not to get involved. He listened to that part, deciding it was the side with more sense.
She nuzzled at the kid’s head, as if she was breathing in her hair. Dalton focused his gaze on the name branded across his refrigerator and avoided the private moment as best he could. Except it was right there in his kitchen. Inescapable.
“I hate leaving you. I hate it,” she said, more to herself than the baby, her voice nearly a whisper.
“Then quit,” Dalton suggested. Ever Mr. Helpful.
“I can’t. I have to pay the bills.”
“Then quit complaining.”
She wheeled around. “You are the most unsympathetic man—”
“I’m not unsympathetic. I’m matter-of-fact. The way I see it, you have two choices. Quit, or buck up.” Half of him said he should reach out, swipe away the tears on her face, and a small part of him ached to do just that. But he didn’t know her and she’d probably deck him if he touched her. “Moaning about it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“I just had a baby. I’m…hormonal. You could be a little understanding.”
“I’m being logical.”
“You probably think I’m a basket case. All I’ve done is cry today. It’s just…” She drew in a breath, let it out again. “I’ve got a lot going on personally and I’ve had a really bad day at work, and then, with this whole Mrs. Winterberry thing and seeing you with her, it brought up every emotion I try to keep bottled up.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything.
“Every time I’m at work, I miss Sabrina like crazy. I’m like any new mom, I guess. You practically have to pry her out of my arms.” Her face softened, nearly melting with love and the kind of heartbreak that told him a part of her gut wrenched in half when she left her kid behind every morning.
Dalton might not be the nicest guy in Boston, but even he could see this was hard on her. Where was her husband? And why wasn’t he stepping up to share the burden? Either way, it wasn’t Dalton’s place to get involved, at least not beyond this temporary babysitting thing.
“I do have a crowbar in the garage, and I’m not afraid to use it,” he teased, tossing Ellie a grin, waiting until she echoed the smile, and when she did, it was as if a ray of sunshine had burst right there in his living room.
It hit him in the gut. Hard. Before he could think about how that felt, he stepped forward, figuring he better take the lead or she’d be working her way through another box of tissues on him. He took the kid out of her arms, holding the baby gingerly, like she was a sack of C-4 explosives, keeping her from too much direct contact.
“Now get to work,” he said to Ellie, his tone gentler than he’d ever heard it, surprising even him. “And hurry back.” He gestured toward the door. “Because I don’t do overtime.”
Ellie’s mind should have been on the guest sitting across from her. A three-time soccer champ, lauded the world over, not for his skills, but for his ability to woo women and rugged good looks that had propelled him—and his soccer ball— into the realm of teenage girl fantasies, splashing his mug across every under-eighteen-year-old’s wall around the country.
But Ellie couldn’t concentrate on the young athlete. Instead, she kept thinking about a certain irascible dark-haired, blue-eyed writer. She couldn’t imagine him cooing to and spoiling Sabrina the way Mrs. Winterberry did, but she didn’t think he’d neglect her or anything. He’d be efficient. As he called it, matter-of-fact. And for some reason, Sabrina seemed to take to him.
Find