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Isuccessfully manage to avoid Eli for a while.
In fact, I managed to survive my period no showing in April. That freaked me the fuck out. I’m chalking it up to stress and sadness. Between the trauma of losing mom, the grief that never abates, and the mindfuck that is Elias Finchley, shark week ghosted me. That in itself created another layer of anxiety and worry.
Yeah, we used a condom, but that two percent chance was all I could focus on. That and knowing how damn good it was.
And how I fucked it up.
Again.
By May, the ship had righted and, like clockwork, at the most inopportune time, that particular stress lifted.
I’ve avoided Elias. No good can come from seeing him. I survived him popping by and only had an occasional sighting here and there.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday I basically got sucker punched. And it was a one-two shot. One to the gut; the second to the heart.
Pop called and asked me to rush to Braxton’s. I dropped everything and did. Only to learn that my oldest brother had what amounts to a pregnancy scare of his own. Tragically, the baby’s mother died, and the son that Braxton never knew about is coming home to our ranch.
Elias, as Brax’s attorney, is walking him through it. Yesterday was paperwork and homecoming prep. Today, it’s welcoming Colt Emerick Ranger to his new life and his new family.
Me being a part of this is incredible. Mom not being here, though, is brutal.
Seeing Eli yesterday was a surprise and not in a good way. Seeing him today is more than I can handle. At least today I was prepared and had time to get my guard up.
Besides, the mere idea I have a nephew overwhelms Eli’s presence.
Colt sleeps in my arms. He’s all kinds of Braxton. In fact, I have to wonder about his mom. I don’t see her in him, not that I would know what to look for.
He’s got a shock of dark hair and the Ranger’s Italian nose. His lips have a perfect Cupid’s bow, and his little eyebrows are so delicate, they look painted on hair by hair.
I’ve stared at him. I’ve snuggled him. I’d be lying to say I haven’t sniffed him too. Diaper funk aside, babies smell sweet, and not cloyingly so. Just the clean sweet that doesn’t exist anywhere else.
Eli doesn’t try to engage me. There’s work to do. Besides Brax and Pop are here. He won’t try anything. Please, God, don’t let him try anything.
He leaves with only one long glance, and I close my eyes, pulling Colt just a little tighter into my chest.
A lone tear forms.
I hate being a fuckup. I hate it.
The bitchy social worker leaves too. It’s just we Rangers—three generations of men.
And me.
A second tear tries to form, but I whisk it away. Not today.
I’d stay, but I can feel the melancholia setting in. Besides, someone around here has to work.
“Congratulations, Brax. He’s perfect.”
The awe on Braxton’s face as he takes in Colt might as well be sunshine. I let myself out, Braxton completely mesmerized by the little bundle that just changed his whole world.
I walk toward the stables with the warm and fuzzy feeling I got from watching my brother’s joy at holding his son, mixed with the weight of the last three months. Colt is perfect, and I could spend a week just snuggling him and looking at him.
No doubt Brax needs all the help he can get, and I’ll get my fill of that sweet boy. His shock of brown hair and bright eyes could melt even the hardest person. The single dimple? Well, he’ll get away with murder just having it wink at us.
I can teach him to ride. Or shoot. I’ll definitely be singing to him.
