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This was business—the business of taking care of her baby. It would never be anything more.
Before climbing out of his BMW sedan in front of Esme’s house with Noah’s baby carrier in tow, Ryder switched his phone from vibrate to full-on “do not disturb” mode. He’d made the mistake of glancing at it on the way over. The multiple voice mails he’d received from his brother and the half dozen texts his father had sent demanding that Ryder get his ass to the office sooner than later were a reality check he did not want or need. This latest development in his complicated life would make things even more challenging.
He wasn’t sure when it had become an unquestionable fact within their family that he and Brandon, thirteen months younger than Ryder, would be expected to compete in every aspect of their lives.
Dear old Dad loved a good challenge, never shying away from a chance to battle for a top spot, and Brandon was happy to emulate him. Although he did his best to hide it, Ryder took after their mother in ways that would send his father into an apoplectic fit if he realized the extent of it. He had learned early on to tamp down his sensitive nature, and by the time he was ten, the fleshy part of his palms had deeply worn grooves from where he dug his nails whenever he’d had the urge to cry or show weakness in front of his dad and brother.
Chandler Hayes pitted his sons against one another in everything from backyard games of tag and shooting hoops to grades, girls and football. Ryder had done his best to deflect the expectations without making his father think he was a wimp, which, according to Chandler, was the worst thing a boy could be.
He’d tried just enough in school not to draw attention, avoided dating altogether and opted to play tight end instead of quarterback so he wouldn’t have to compete with Brandon for the marquee spot on their high-school team at the private school they’d attended in one of Houston’s poshest neighborhoods.
It wasn’t that Ryder didn’t believe he deserved a chance to shine or that he couldn’t beat his brother when push came to shove, which it often had in the backyard. He just hadn’t wanted to put his energy into fighting and instead liked to lead a team by example and earn a grade or an award on his own merit, not motivated by some false sense of resentment toward his brother.
But the CEO position his father was vacating at the end of the month was a different story. Ryder had the talent, commitment and vision to lead Hayes Enterprises into the future, and he wanted to create a legacy to leave for his son, only not at the expense of being a father who was present in a meaningful way.
Ryder had dealt with that reality his entire life, and it wasn’t worth the price he or Noah would pay.
He drew in a deep breath as he approached the front porch of the compact brick house painted a cheery yellow. Black shutters framed the front window, and the rocking chair on the porch sported a pillow with a heart embroidered on it that matched the heart-shaped wreath hanging on the door.
Valentine’s Day. The holiday for people who believed in love was fast approaching, not that it would make a difference in Ryder’s solitary life. Maybe he’d order Noah one of those “heartbreaker” onesies he’d seen online.
Esme had mentioned her husband dying in an unexpected accident, which was another thing they had in common. Unlike Ryder and Stephanie, had she and her late husband been blissfully in love?
Although their relationship had been fraught with drama, Ryder’s chest still tightened each time he thought about the fact that his son would grow up without a mother.
When the door opened and Esme stood smiling at him from the other side, the vise that held his chest in its grip loosened considerably. He wished he could explain what it was about his unexpected partner in this dramatic turn of events that had such a calming effect on his nerves.
Esme was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. She had shiny dark-chocolate-colored hair that fell just below her shoulders and the clearest green eyes he’d ever seen. As he stared into them now, he noticed they’d taken on a gray hue, like the waves the wind whipped up across Lake Chatelaine, which he could see from the apartment he’d rented near the LC Club on the other side of town.
As far as Ryder could tell, she wasn’t wearing makeup, and other than tiny gold hoops in her ears, she sported no jewelry. He dated women with more outward flash and pizzazz because they seemed to be the type who didn’t expect more from him than an expensive dinner and a mutually pleasurable roll in the sheets.
Esme was the type of woman a man would bring home to meet his family, although he didn’t consider that an option with his dad and brother. The last girl he’d introduced to his family had been someone he’d brought home over fall break during his sophomore year of college.
He’d liked her quite a bit, but the very next weekend, his brother had taken that same girl to a fraternity formal. Always a competition between the two of them, at least from Brandon’s viewpoint.
Ryder couldn’t put his finger on what had made him suddenly so consumed with ruminating on the past. He typically kept his gaze forward because looking back didn’t do a damn bit of good.
He blinked when he realized Esme was snapping her fingers in front of his face.
“I asked whether you wanted to come in or if you planned to stand on the porch all day?” She scrunched up her nose in a rather adorable way. “I can bring you a glass of water if you’d like.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Sorry. I’d love to come in. It feels like my head is spinning in a million different directions.”
“Mine, too,” she admitted as he walked past her into the cozy living room.
There was an overstuffed couch on one wall with a leather chair and ottoman and a coffee table that looked like it might have been up-cycled from wood pallets. A basic TV sat on an entertainment center with framed photos on either side, including several of Esme’s baby, Chase.
Glancing down at his son, it made him realize that although he’d taken loads of photos of Noah and texted them regularly to his mother back in Houston, he hadn’t thought to have any printed and framed for display. His apartment held none of the homey touches like the colorful throw pillows and the fuzzy blanket draped across the back of the chair that made Esme’s small house feel so warm and inviting.
“Do you sing lullabies to Chase?”
She looked surprised by the random question but nodded. “At some point, he’s going to realize his mother can’t carry a tune, but so far, I haven’t made him cry outright with my singing.”
“I don’t know the words to any kids’ songs.” He placed the infant carrier on the sofa, Noah snuggled inside it and dozing peacefully. Ryder wished he felt any sense of that peace. “It probably seems like a minor detail, but I feel like somebody gave out parenting manuals, and I missed that day of class. I sing Bruce Springsteen songs just like my dad did when I was a baby.”
As if he’d heard his father’s words and wanted to make a request, Noah began to fuss.
“There aren’t any manuals, and I don’t think you can go wrong with The Boss.” Esme bent down to trace a finger over Noah’s soft cheek. “Would it be okay with you if I held him?”
