Page 14 of Single Pucking Orc

She turned off the overhead light, then the lamp beside the window. The only illumination left came from the small light over the stove through the kitchen doorway, washing the room in a faint gold glow.

He watched her. “What are you doing?”

“When did she get to you?”

“Two o’clock.”

“And where was she before that?”

“The attorney’s office. The social worker had her before that. Somebody at the county before that.”

“And a store,” she said. “You took her to a store, didn’t you?”

“For two hours.”

“With the lights and the music and the—Rognar, honestly.”

“There was nothing in my house,” he said. “There was literally nothing. She didn’t have a bed.”

“I know. I’m not telling you off.” She sat down on the ottoman across from him, close enough to talk quietly. “Has she slept?”

“In the truck, for about twenty minutes.”

“What happened after you brought her home?”

“I built the crib.”

“You built the crib?”

“Yes.” A flicker of his usual expression appeared. “All the bolts are accounted for. I thought you’d want to know.”

She did, annoyingly.

“And after that?”

“Bottle. Diaper. Walking. Rocking. Crib. More walking. More rocking. Different room. Back to the first room. Internet. Team chat. Bottle again.” He looked down at Charlie. “I’ve been trying everything.”

She looked at the frantic movement of his hand against Charlie’s back and the rigid set of his shoulders. At the baby whose face had gone blotchy with exhaustion.

“I think that might be the problem.”

His head came up. “Trying everything?”

“She’s six months old. She got handed to you today by people she barely knows after being handed around between several other people. Then she went to a store, then a new house, then a new room, and you’ve spent the last few hours trying a different solution every time she cries. She’s exhausted and overstimulated.”

His face changed.

“Brogan said that too.”

“Brogan was right.”

“I’m never telling him.”

Despite herself, she almost smiled. “That would be my guess. I’m not a baby expert. I want to be very clear about that. If she has a fever or seems sick or you think something is actually wrong, you call a doctor, not your accountant neighbor.”

“She doesn’t have a fever.”

“Then stop doing things.” He stared at her. “Bring her down into your arms so she isn’t looking over your shoulder at the entire room. Hold her against your heart and put your hand on her back.”