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“I know it well. I usually hit one in the morning on my way to work.”
“It’s a really good job. They’re a large organization, so they pay well and offer big company benefits, like maternity leave and special, negotiated rates for child care. I worked at a store downtown, but when I told my manager about the break-in and my ex, she transferred me to a new store at the GWCCA campus. I was supposed to start New Year’s Day. I figured if I stayed at a cheap hotel and saved up my tips and next paycheck, I’d be able to rent an apartment just in time for the baby’s arrival. But now…” She closed her eyes and rubbed the center of her forehead.
“Now what?”
“The company does everything by the book.” A frustrated groan punctuated the statement. “I can’t return from leave until I get a note from my doctor stating I’m fit to resume work, and she wants me to give it six weeks.”
At a minimum. But he kept the comment to himself.
She let her hand drop to her lap. “Even if I could talk my doctor into fast tracking my return to work—and after what happened yesterday, I can’t—I’d still have a problem because the child care facility closest to work doesn’t accept infants younger than six weeks.”
And the come-to-Jesus ended here. He’d known as much yesterday. Now they both knew. “Good news. I’ve got a vacancy at 614 Sunrise Drive. Room, board, parking, and laundry facilities included.”
“Hunter, I can’t just move in.”
Correction. One of them knew. One of them was still in denial. “Sure you can. It’s easy. We walk out to your car, pop the trunk, and carry a few more bags inside. Boom. You’re moved in.”
What about the move out? When does it happen? Four weeks? Six? Not so easy to pin that part down, is it? Do not fuck up your second chance. Remember trying to explain to a professor why you missed a lecture because Natalie felt lightheaded, or when you failed a test because you’d spent all night in the emergency room while a doctor diagnosed her “premature labor” as an anxiety attack?
She sent him a sharp look. “Don’t joke.”
“Okay, fine.” He didn’t feel much like joking, either, but he also didn’t see any alternatives. “Let’s be serious. What other option do you have?”
“I don’t know, but it’s not your problem. We’re not your problem.”
She’s not your problem to solve.
He shook the echo of Beau’s warning out of his head. He was helping, that’s all. There was plenty of time to provide Madison with a safety net, let her get back on her feet, and then get on with his plans. “You and Joy staying here is not a problem. The only problem I have is when you suggest I should wave good-bye and wish you luck when I know damn well you have nowhere to go, no money to get there, and you’ve already pushed yourself to the breaking point once by trying to do everything on your own.” The temper was coming back, and he tried his best to bank it.
Slashes of red rode high on her cheekbones, giving her otherwise pale face a feverish look. “This isn’t who I am. My grandmother raised me to work hard and take care of what’s mine, not to expect handouts or—”
“I know she did.” He quieted his voice. “And I know you’re rusty with trust right now. But I’m not trying to back you into a corner or take advantage of you. I’m trying to help. When my plans fell through, I was lucky. I had
a safety net, thanks to my sister. For whatever reason, fate put you and Joy in front of me and offered me the chance to do the same. Let me be your safety net.” He stood and held out his hand for her car keys.
She stared at him for a long, indecisive moment and then got up, went to her purse, and dug for her keys. “Thank you,” she murmured as she handed them over. In the process, she accidentally knocked the diaper bag off the table.
“You’re welcome.”
When she turned away and bent down to retrieve the bag, her oversize chambray shirt rode up, and he got an eyeful of her heart-stopping backside in tight black leggings. Some less noble parts of him stood up and took notice. Want to win her trust? How ’bout you get your eyes off her ass? He jerked his gaze away and strode to the hall. Her voice followed, and he paused at the door.
“I promise we’ll be quiet and tidy, Hunter. You’ll barely know we’re here.”
…
“Shhh.” Madison gently bounced her crying baby in her arms and did another lap around the living room. Her two hundredth? Three hundredth? She’d lost count. Watery moonbeams filtered through the big windows, lighting her way. “C’mon baby girl, quiet down.” Hunter was one day into a 4x12 shift and had to wake up early tomorrow morning—she glanced at the clock on the cable box and winced at the numbers glowing back at her. Correction. He had to wake up in less than three hours. Joy, on the other hand, was four nights into a sleep boycott. She snoozed after her 9:00 p.m. feeding, like clockwork. The midnight feeding went off without a hitch. But for some reason, the 3:00 a.m. feeding kept spiraling into misery. Luckily, she’d been able to keep Joy quiet enough that they hadn’t disturbed Hunter, but…
The pop of a door opening notified her their luck just ran out. Seconds later, Hunter appeared on the other side of the living room. She almost tripped over her feet. He stood there, all rumpled and shirtless, with a pair of navy sweats riding low on his hips in the haphazard way of a half-awake guy who realized at the last minute he needed to pull something on to avoid stalking naked through his own house.
The shirtless part alone had her toes curling into the rug. His shoulders filled the archway between the living room and the hall. Moonlight caressed smooth skin stretched over hills of muscle, and shadows filled the valleys between. A light line of hair arrowed down from his navel and disappeared under the waistband of the sweats. She closed her eyes against a vision of running her tongue along the path. She could almost feel the silky tickle against her lips.
“Can I help?”
His sleepy question lit a fuse under her hormones and set off a fireworks display of “YES” in her mind, but some last shred of her sanity doused the sparks and reminded her that his offer pertained not to her inappropriate cravings, but to the sleep-disrupting infant in her arms. The one she couldn’t seem to calm, despite being the mommy.
“I don’t think so. She’s fed, burped, and changed. I’m at my wit’s end as to why she’s fussy. I’m sorry we disturbed you.”
“I can spare a little sleep. You’re going on four nights with practically none.” He walked over to the sofa and sat down. “Have you had something to eat?”
