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“But—”
“She’s fine. I promise. My mom and Clementine are here because they couldn’t wait to meet Robin.”
Her eyes narrow in disbelief. “They came to meet her when I wasn’t home?”
“We didn’t realize you went back to work today,” Mom lies.
Harmony snorts. “Am I supposed to believe this?”
Clementine bats her eyelashes. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe because I contacted everyone over the age of eleven in town this morning to find a babysitter for Robin.”
Mom frowns. “No one contacted me.”
Clementine crosses her arms over her chest. “Me either.”
“Whatever,” Harmony mutters before yanking out of my hold. “Why are you shirtless?”
Her gaze focuses on my abs and I suck in a breath. Her eyes flare. If my mom wasn’t here now, I’d drag her off to the bedroom.
Robin squeals as she notices Harmony’s arrival.
Thanks for the reminder, baby girl. There will be no carrying off of Harmony. Not since she’s now the guardian of a baby.
“I had a little accident and washed my t-shirt and now it’s pink.”
Harmony’s nose wrinkles. “Why is your t-shirt pink?”
“I think the question is why did you abandon your red panties in the washing machine.”
“Abandon my red panties in the washing machine? What are you talking about?” Before I get a chance to answer, she clears her throat. “Never mind.”
She holds out her hands for the baby. Mom sighs but hands Robin to her.
“Did you miss me?” she coos as she kisses Robin’s cheeks.
The relief at having Robin back in her arms is clear to see on Harmony’s face. Which sucks.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy Robin has someone to care for her and won’t be thrown into the foster system. But it’s obvious Harmony will never let Robin be taken from her. Since I’m not parental material, any chance of Harmony and I ever being more than friends just went down in a blaze of glory.
Chapter 11
‘I have an idea’ are words no one wants to hear Elder utter. ~ Text from Brody to the Bragg brothers
The phone rings and I rush to answer it before the sound wakes Robin. After the hour I spent rocking her to sleep, I’m not risking waking her.
“Hello,” I whisper into the phone as I creep backwards out of the nursery. Black Ops rushes into the room to lay next to Robin’s crib.
“Ms. Kingsley?”
Something about the way he says my name has me on high alert. “Yes?”
“This is Mr. Craven, the executor of Amy Kingsley’s estate.”
Fear grabs hold of my heart and squeezes.
“How can I help you?”
