I've Got You, Babe Read online

  Also by Lynnette Austin

  Magnolia Brides

  The Best Laid Wedding Plans

  Every Bride Has Her Day

  Picture Perfect Wedding

  Must Love Babies

  Must Love Babies

  I’ve Got You, Babe

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2019 by Lynnette Austin

  Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by John Kicksee

  Cover images © teksomolika/fotolia, Pavel Timofeev/fotolia

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Excerpt from The Best Laid Wedding Plans

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Chapter 1

  A cup of hot, black coffee in hand and a well-earned—and desperately needed—weekend fishing trip on his mind, Tucker unlocked the front door of Wylder Rides. The smell of oil and new tires welcomed him like an old friend. He liked the peace and quiet of the early morning, the solitude before his brothers arrived.

  In five short days, a hot-shot Hollywood producer would fly into Savannah to pick up his ’63 Corvette split-window coupe. Since the complete frame-off restoration they’d promised wasn’t quite finished, Tucker took a healthy drink of coffee, then setting it aside, rolled up his sleeves.

  When a breeze drifted in through the open bay door, he thanked the stars the calendar had finally flipped to October. This summer, his first in Misty Bottoms, Georgia, had been hotter than Hades. With the onslaught of autumn, though, temperatures had dipped to less humid mid-seventies.

  Still, even the Georgia low-country summer had been a hell of a sight better than the sweltering heat he’d suffered during his Middle East deployment. There the July temperatures hovered above the hundred-degree mark. Add in the blistering sun, and the place could turn a man’s hide to shoe leather in no time. Don’t even get him started on the never-ending sand that found its way into every crack and crevice on the human body and scoured exposed skin raw.

  A tough place to live. A worse place to die.

  Involuntarily, his hands clenched into fists. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed them. Not today.

  Eyeing the tool wall, he noticed somebody—probably Gaven—had hung several torque wrenches out of order. Impatiently, he rearranged them. With a twist of his wrist, he turned the can of brake fluid label-out.

  Satisfied everything was in order, he dropped to the creeper, slid partially beneath the Vette, and got busy replacing the brake lines.

  Southern rock blasted from his stereo. Over the magic of Charlie Daniels’s fiddle, Tucker heard a car slow, then pull in out front. Its muffler was shot. The engine knocked, coughed, and sputtered, then shut down with a rattle.

  Seconds later, a totally different sound caught his attention—high heels on the garage’s concrete floor. Tucker slid a sidelong glance at the front of the bay and almost swallowed his tongue. Framed in the narrow window between the floor and the car’s bumper were a pair of legs that would have any red-blooded man drooling…and they crossed slowly toward him. Laying the wrench on the floor beside him, he gave a push with his foot and slid the creeper from beneath the car.

  Flat on his back, he let his gaze travel up over a body that matched the legs beat for beat, then on to a face only angels could have created. The heart-shaped face, with its sensuous lips and the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen, sent a shockwave rocketing through him. Long blond hair had been caught back in a ponytail.

  An illusion? Maybe he’d breathed too many gas fumes and was hallucinating?

  Nope. This woman was real and, from the expression on that stunning face, in trouble.

  “My car—” She waved a hand toward the front of the building.

  “Could use some work,” Tucker finished, slowly getting to his feet. Wiping his hands on a grease rag, he moved toward her. “Look, we’re not a repair shop, but I can probably figure out what’s wrong. If it’s minor, I’ll take care of it for you. Otherwise, you’ll need to head into town to Robbie’s Garage, or he can bring his tow truck and pick up you and the car. Robbie’s fair, and he’ll do right by you.”

  She swayed and reached out toward the wall.

  “You okay?” As Tucker spoke, he saw those mind-blowing eyes go blank. Dark lashes fanned her cheeks.

  With a muttered curse, he lunged, barely reaching her before she hit the floor. Heart racing, he held her against him and swore again. Out cold. Her skin was almost translucent. Sleeping Beauty weighed next to nothing and appeared to need a heck of a lot more help than her wreck of a car did.

  “Hey, can you hear me?” He tapped her cheek but got no response. “Wake up.”

  Sweat broke out on his brow. Where were his brothers? They ought to be here by now. What was he supposed to do with an unconscious woman? He leaned his head close to hers, relief flooding through him when her breath whispered against his cheek.

  A high-pitched wail split the air. Panicked, his head whipped up, and he glanced toward the beater parked out front. The driver’s side door hung open; in the back, strapped into a child’s seat, sat a little girl with her mama’s blond hair—a little girl winding up for one hell of a crying jag.

  And the day just go
t better!

  He shook the limp woman gently, noticed the sheen of perspiration on her face. “Come on, sugar. For God’s sake, open those baby blues.”

  She didn’t.

  Spying an old garage blanket they threw over car seats while they worked, he snagged it, one-handed, off the workbench. The baby’s loud blubbering made his head ache, and, wincing, he shot a look at the car again.

  First things first.

  Kneeling and taking the woman down with him, he spread the blanket and laid her carefully on it, straightening the short skirt of her flower-print dress. The problem with small-town Misty Bottoms was exactly that. It was a small town, and that translated to no hospital. No ER or urgent care center, either.

  With his forearm, he swiped the sweat from his brow. “Hey, wake up.”

  She didn’t.

  Okay. Time to tackle the second half of this double-feature horror show.

  Edging toward the used-up Ford Escort and its young occupant in much the same way he’d approach a suspected sniper’s nest, he pulled out his phone and hit 911.

  The sheriff answered on the first ring. “Misty Bottoms Police Department. What can I do ya?”

  “Jimmy Don, it’s Tuck Wylder. I’m out at my shop.” Opening the sedan’s back door, he stared at the young child, at her tear-covered face and runny nose. He’d guess her to be maybe two or three years old. An opened bag of pretzels lay on the seat. Leaning in, he grabbed one and handed it to her. She raised it to her mouth and chewed, her cries dying to quiet whimpers.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  Not great, but better.

  “Tuck? What’s goin’ on?” the sheriff demanded.

  “A woman pulled up in front of our place and, well, she’s passed out.”

  “Been drinkin’?”

  “I don’t think so, but she’s hot.”

  “I don’t care how good-lookin’ she is.”

  “No, Jimmy Don. Not hot hot…hot! As in sweating.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  “I did!” Who’s on first? he thought.

  “Do I hear a kid?”

  Exasperated, Tucker raked fingers through his short hair, his gaze traveling over the woman. She still hadn’t moved. What a friggin’ mess!

  “Yeah, you do. She came with the woman who’s passed out on my garage floor.”

  “She okay?”

  Tucker raised his eyes to the heavens and rubbed at his forehead. “Which one?”

  “The kid.”

  “How would I know? Nothing wrong with her lungs, I can tell you that.” The nagging start of a headache bloomed into a full-fledged whopper.

  “You need an ambulance or you gonna take the gal in to see Doc Hawkins?”

  “What?” Tucker pulled the cell away to stare at it. Bringing it back to his ear, he asked, “Are you serious, Jimmy Don? You want me to pick up an unconscious stranger, toss her in my car, along with a baby, and drive them into town?”

  “So I guess you want me to send the ambulance out there.”

  “Bingo. Tell them to move it. Fast.” He hung up, and the little girl started screaming again. Sticking his head inside the car, Tucker met her tear-filled eyes. “It’s gonna be okay. Be a lot better, though, if you’d quit that carrying on.”

  The toddler threw the now-soggy pretzel and hit him square in the forehead. She let out another wail, then gagged.

  Tucker withdrew quickly. “Don’t you dare throw up. If you do, you’ll have to clean it up, ’cause I’m not gonna.” Even as the words popped out of his mouth, he realized how ridiculous he sounded. Too bad.

  The kid actually went quiet for a blessed few seconds, though.

  Then her lower lip trembled and she started up again.

  After a quick visual, he decided that while she looked unhappy and mad as a wet cat, she seemed healthy and well-cared-for in her little pink-and-white outfit. Her mama, however, looked decidedly unhealthy, and he’d bet a dollar to a donut nobody was taking care of her. From the heft of her, he doubted she’d eaten many meals lately. Leaving the back door open to keep the kid cool, Tucker moved back inside. Reaching for the woman’s fragile wrist, he laid a finger on her pulse. Strong, but way too fast.

  And though her skin was damp, he’d been wrong—Mystery Lady didn’t feel especially hot.

  His phone rang. If that was Sheriff Jimmy Don with more questions…

  “What?”

  “Geez, aren’t you the happy camper this morning.” Gaven, the younger of his brothers, sounded chipper.

  “Where the heck are you, Gav?”

  “Good morning to you, too. No need to bite off my head.”

  “Really? I’ve got an unconscious woman sprawled on the bay floor and a screaming baby in the backseat of a broken-down heap, and I can only pray that knucklehead sheriff has an ambulance on the way.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You didn’t have an accident, did you?” Gaven asked.

  “No. The woman pulled up out front, got out of her car, and fainted.”

  “Good thing you were a Marine. They’re trained to handle anything, aren’t they?”

  Tucker hung up.

  A few seconds later, the phone rang again. This time Brant was on the other end.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You’re late,” Tucker snapped.

  “Understood. We stopped at Dee-Ann’s to pick up breakfast. To go. There’s a veggie egg-white omelet in the bag for you.”

  “And I guess you’ve heard I have a woman out for the count on the floor, and a kid in the backseat of a car screaming her lungs out.”

  “That’s pretty much what Gaven said. We’re on our way.”

  Tucker heard sirens over the phone. “Is that what I’m hoping it is?”

  “Yep. The ambulance just passed us. They’re coming, pal, and so are we.”

  Tucker slid the phone into his pocket and wet a clean rag. He laid it on the woman’s forehead, then grabbed a tissue. After a deep, fortifying breath, he walked outside and knelt beside the car door. “Honey, you need to quit that squallin’. It’s not makin’ anything better.”

  She blinked, hiccupped, then asked, “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tuck.”

  “Tut?”

  “Close enough. Who are you?”

  “Daisy Elizabeth.” A ragged sigh escaped her. “Where’s my mommy?”

  “Right in there.” He pointed toward the bay. “How about I clean you up a little, Daisy Elizabeth?” He held up the tissue like a white flag of surrender.

  “Can I see my mommy?”

  “Yep. Soon as we’re done here.”

  “’Kay.”

  Carefully, he wiped the little girl’s face and nose, then fumbled with the complicated straps on the car seat. Plucking her loose, he set her on his hip and headed back inside.

  “Mommy!” The tiny creature wiggled in his arms, but Tucker held on tight, relieved to see the woman sitting up.

  Woozy-looking and more than slightly befuddled, she held out her hands. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  Tucker shook his head. “Not until the EMTs check you out.”

  The child’s chin trembled, and she wriggled harder. “Mommy!”

  “Give her to me.” The woman’s voice, though thin, was resolute.

  “Nope. I’m not gonna risk you taking another header with this little one. I’d have both of you to catch.”

  Even in her present state, the woman’s brows rose.

  Tucker saw pride there.

  “I’m truly sorry we’ve put you out, Mr.—”

  “Wylder. Tucker Wylder.”

  “Elisa Danvers,” she said.

  Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor. Holding one of the toddler’s hands,
he let her climb into her mother’s lap. He wrapped his other arm around the confused-looking woman to steady her.

  She waved her free hand. “How did I…?”

  “You went out like a light. Fortunately, I caught you in time.”

  She groaned. “I’m sorry…and embarrassed. I—so dizzy.”

  The sirens drew closer, and Tucker issued a very heartfelt prayer of thanks.

  “An ambulance? For me? I can’t—”

  He met those incredible eyes. As troubled as they were, there was something almost magical about them that drew a man in.

  * * *

  Sitting on a concrete floor on a blanket that smelled of grease, leather, gasoline, and who knew what else, Elisa acknowledged she’d hit a new low. It was pure luck she hadn’t fainted while driving.

  She should have pulled off in Savannah and eaten a good sit-down breakfast. Instead, she’d pushed on, wanting to make it to Charleston as soon as possible. Money—or rather the lack of it—was a problem. She simply didn’t have funds for another day on the road. If she watched every penny, she and Daisy could make it to her mother’s empty condo with enough for groceries and gas until she found a job.

  The ambulance, lights flashing, siren blaring, swung into the parking lot. Where would she find the money to cover this?

  Tears welled, and she kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

  As the EMTs began pulling equipment from the back of the ambulance, a monster of a truck pulled in behind it. The door opened and a ball of fur scrambled out, heading straight toward them. Daisy screamed and tried to crawl up Elisa’s torso.

  “Shhh. It’s okay, honey.” As she spoke, Elisa twisted, putting herself between her daughter and the overgrown pup.

  “Brant, call off your mutt!” Tucker shouted. “Go on, Lug Nut. Get out of here.”

  Brant whistled, and the young dog skidded to a halt, looking back over his shoulder.

  “Come here. Now.” Brant pointed at the ground in front of him.

  Head hung low, a raggedy teddy bear in his mouth, Lug Nut trotted back to Brant, who knelt to rub his head. “Good boy. Stay.” Shaking his head, he looked at Elisa. “Sorry about that. I’m working on teaching him some manners, but they’re not taking as well as I’d hoped.”

  “It’s all right. Daisy’s a bit out of sorts right now.”