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  Brant thanked Little Miss Sunshine, then set off down the hall, two diaper bags slung over one shoulder and a baby dangling in a seat from his other hand.

  A few minutes later, as he stared at all the belts and buckles, he cursed the inventor of the contraption Jax slouched in. Sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head, he leaned in for another go at it. And Jax? He was getting a kick out of the whole thing, bopping Brant on the head with his rattle every time he leaned close.

  How had his life taken such a huge detour? And with no warning.

  If Lainey did go into rehab…

  Oh boy. He was in for it.

  Chapter 5

  Weary and more than a little desperate, Brant pulled into the B and B where he and his brothers had stayed. He’d planned to check out this morning, take a closer look at the two properties they were considering for their new shop, then head back to Tennessee.

  Those plans had been flushed down the toilet. He couldn’t head home and leave Lainey to face this alone—which meant he wouldn’t be checking out. If Annabelle had a vacancy for the next few days.

  Brant emptied the contents of the hospital’s tote into Lainey’s diaper bag. He draped his rumpled tux jacket over the bag, then slung it over his shoulder and eyed his nephew. “Ready for this, Jax?”

  The baby grinned and gurgled.

  “You like Uncle Brant’s Camaro, don’t you?”

  Jax bounced up and down in his seat.

  “You’ve got good taste, buddy. In a few years, we’ll put you to work at Wylder Rides. Maybe make you a partner.” He huffed out a breath. “In the meantime, we have to persuade Ms. Annabelle to let us hang around another night or two. Or three. We’ll stay close in case your mama needs something.”

  He pointed a finger at the baby. “You, young man, need to be on your best behavior, you hear? No crying.” Studying the baby, he winced. “And try to keep that drool down a little. We don’t want to flood the place.”

  After a few minutes of fussing with all the harnesses and belts, he managed to free both baby and seat. Pleased with himself, Brant started up the walk, shocked again at how heavy the carrier was. Yet women lugged the darned things all over the place. Well, he never had considered them the weaker sex.

  They sure were the prettier sex, though. He thought about Molly Stiles and sighed for last night’s lost opportunity. Then he tucked it away to concentrate on his more immediate problem. Fingers crossed that he’d catch Annabelle’s niece working the front desk rather than the owner, Brant swung through the old oak door with its leaded crystal window.

  “Mr. Wylder.” Annabelle greeted him, wearing an orange-and-blue housedress that had to be a survivor of the fifties, dashing his hopes for an easy go of extending his stay.

  “How are you this morning, Ms. Annabelle?” Holding Jax and the seat low at his side, he let the diaper bag slip from his shoulder and placed it on the floor.

  The innkeeper sniffed. “Better than you, I’d imagine, since you never made it back after last night’s wedding.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look like yesterday’s rubbish.”

  Brant grimaced. Wrinkled clothes, disheveled hair, and bloodshot eyes. He ran a hand over his chin. Yep, he needed a shave, too. “Can’t argue about that, ma’am. I could definitely use a shower and some fresh clothes.”

  “That would be a start. Your brothers left after the wedding?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I assume you found somewhere more to your liking to spend the night.”

  “Actually, no, I didn’t.”

  Jax chose that moment to let out a stream of babble.

  Annabelle slid the glasses she wore on a chain into place and peered over the antique desk. “What do you have there?”

  “A baby.”

  “I can tell he’s a baby, you young fool.”

  “This is Jax. Jax, I’d like you to meet Ms. Annabelle.”

  The baby gurgled and waved his chubby arms.

  Stepping closer to the desk, he set Jax’s seat on the beautifully refinished pine floor. “I’d intended to leave town later today, but my plans have changed. It looks like I’ll be in Misty Bottoms a little longer than originally expected.”

  “Have anything to do with that?” She pointed at Jax.

  “In a roundabout way, yeah.”

  “You the baby’s daddy?”

  “What? No. Jax is my nephew.”

  “Where’s his mother?”

  Brant rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She—” Lack of sleep amped his emotions, and his voice cracked. “My sister was in a car accident last night. Lainey’s in Savannah. In the hospital.”

  Annabelle’s expression changed to concern. “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Wylder. Will she be all right?”

  He expelled a long breath. “She spent most of the night in surgery, but when I left, she was in recovery. Her surgeon assured me, given time, she’ll be fine. I should be able to see her later today.”

  “Was that poor little thing with her?”

  “No. Thankfully, he was with a friend.”

  “There’s a blessing.”

  “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, though. I’m gonna need a room for a few more days.”

  Sympathy forgotten, the finicky innkeeper came roaring back. “We don’t generally have babies here.”

  “Then we have something in common, because I don’t usually travel with a baby.”

  “Actually, I misspoke.” She drew her ninety-pound self up to her full five feet. “What I should have said was that we don’t allow children here. Our rooms are full of antiques, and I cannot take a chance that—”

  “Ma’am, with all due respect, Jax isn’t likely to break anything. He can’t walk. He can’t even crawl.” Brant held out his hands, palms up. “What’s he going to do? Gum a piece of Limoges? I promise I’ll keep all the good bric-a-brac away from him. We’ll play catch with his Nerf ball instead of the Fabergé eggs.”

  “Got a smart mouth, don’t you?”

  He scowled. “My mother’s hinted at that a time or two.”

  “He’ll keep the other guests awake with his crying.”

  “Seriously?” He waved a hand toward Jax. The baby’s arms and legs moved a mile a minute as he smiled and gurgled. “This happy baby? He hardly ever cries.” Brant glanced toward the window and waited for the lightning that would strike him down for lying. He held his breath, but outside the wavy, original glass, the sun continued to shine. No rumbles of thunder. No bolts of lightning.

  Still, he stayed on guard.

  “Well, you are at the back of the house.” Annabelle sniffed. “I suppose it’s far enough from the other rooms that we can give it a try. For tonight. If there are any complaints, any whatsoever, you’ll have to find somewhere else tomorrow.”

  “Fair enough.” And he supposed it was. Right now, he was so tired, he could barely think. He needed sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

  “Heaven help me, I’ll probably regret this.”

  “You won’t. Thank you. Thank you very much.” He leaned across the desk and kissed her leathery cheek.

  She blushed like a schoolgirl and waved a hand at him dismissively. “Get out of here.” Her gaze dropped to the baby. “Both of you.”

  He scooped up Jax, thankful they hadn’t been dumped, homeless, onto the street.

  “I need to get a couple things from my car. Can I leave the baby here for a sec?”

  “If you promise to come back for him.”

  He smiled and sent her a sharp salute.

  Jogging back to the house, he heard Jax giggling. Annabelle sat on a chair with the baby at her feet. Leaning over, she talked to him and tickled his belly.

  Hearing the door squeak, she looked up, turning beet red, while the little traitor at her feet grinned at Brant.

  Tucking his surprise in his back pocket, Brant asked, “Cute, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “You never had children?”

  Melancholy
clouded the older woman’s eyes. “My husband died in an industrial accident six months after we married. I never remarried. My choice.” She glared at him as if defying him to challenge her. “But I had my niece, Willow.”

  Brant saw the innkeeper through fresh eyes. Those few sentences explained a lot.

  She stood. “You’d better get that child upstairs. Both of you could stand some cleaning up.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. Again.” Brant grabbed the carrier’s handle and headed for the stairs.

  One battle won, but the war had only begun.

  Halfway to the back stairs, Willow stepped out of a side room. She leaned against the doorjamb, her shoulder-length blond hair curling around her face.

  Brant figured her for eighteen, nineteen max. Breathtakingly beautiful, she was bound to give the Misty Bottoms boys a real run for their money.

  “I heard you talking to Aunt Annabelle. I’m sorry about your sister. Want some breakfast?”

  He looked at the baby. So far, so good, but he didn’t know how long that would last. If he was lucky, he’d make it to the room before all hell broke loose again. Hanging with Jax was like carrying a live grenade in his pocket.

  “Nah. I think I’ll head up to my room. I need to get cleaned up and catch some sleep.”

  “How about I deliver a tray to you?”

  He was famished—and too tired to do anything about it himself. The kid had eaten all night, while he’d survived on god-awful hospital coffee and a quick burger.

  Willow tipped her head. “Yes?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  “You bet.”

  Once in his room, he placed the car seat on the floor and fell onto the bed.

  Jax whimpered, and Brant sat up quickly. “What’s wrong?”

  The instant the baby saw him, he grinned.

  “Ah, you couldn’t see me, so you thought I’d left. Though why you’d find me comforting, I haven’t a clue. You do understand I don’t have the faintest idea what to do with you?” He reached down and hauled the seat up beside him. “You did good, kid. Way to keep it together in front of the dragon lady.”

  He raised the baby’s arms in a cheer.

  Jax kicked his feet in glee, and Brant pulled off his tiny socks. “How’s that feel? Bare feet.” Then he toed off his own shiny black dress shoes. “If I ever see those things again, it’ll be too soon.”

  He tossed them in the direction of his suitcase as a knock sounded on the door.

  Opening it, he grinned. Willow stood there, tray in hand. The mouth-watering smells of bacon and maple syrup drifted to him.

  “If that tastes even half as good as it smells, I’m in your debt forever.” He took several steps back as she entered.

  She set the tray on a small table by the window. With a dramatic flair, she removed the cover from the plate. “French toast with a pitcher of real New Hampshire maple syrup. My aunt’s cousin sends it every year. I added an extra serving of bacon, some fresh-sliced Georgia peaches, and a pot of coffee. Strong and black, exactly the way you like it.”

  “Sweetheart, you are a life saver.”

  “Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Nope, I’m good here.” He waved a hand toward Jax. “We’re both good. Thanks again. I’ll carry the tray down to the kitchen when I’m finished.”

  “That’s okay. Just set it in the hallway.” She pulled the door shut behind her without another word.

  Brant pointed his fork at Jax, but before he could say anything, there was another knock on the door. He opened it.

  Annabelle stood there, a small bowl and spoon in hand. “Seems only right Jax should eat, too.” She set a small bowl of porridge beside his tray, then laid the spoon next to it.

  “That was my baby spoon.” She caught his gaze. “Yes, that makes it a true antique.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Didn’t have to.”

  “But—”

  “It’s a gift. Time to pass it on.” She moved to the bed and ran a finger down the baby’s cheek. “Tell your uncle to stop being a grump.”

  Brant’s eyebrows shot nearly to the ceiling.

  Then the real Annabelle returned. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kick you out if the baby bothers the rest of my guests.” She gave Jax a quick peck on the cheek and shuffled out, closing the door behind her.

  “What just happened, Jax?” Brant scratched his head.

  The baby explained everything, babbling a mile a minute.

  “That’s what I thought. Small town, great people—even if they try to hide behind a mask of crankiness.” Brant turned the spoon over in his hand. “Shall we eat?”

  He took a bite of the French toast, his eyes closing. Annabelle might be crotchety, but the woman could cook. He poured the rest of the warm maple syrup over the golden slices. “Oh yeah, this is superb.”

  They settled into a rhythm. He took a bite of French toast, then fed a spoonful of porridge to Jax. Or tried to. As often as not, the baby turned his head at the last second and the cereal splatted on his cheek.

  Halfway through the second piece of toast, Brant slowed his pace. He watched as Jax followed the fork from his plate to his mouth and back again. The baby’s mouth worked as if he, too, were eating more than porridge.

  “Want a little taste of heaven? Hmm?” Brant swiped a finger through the maple syrup and laid it on the baby’s lips. “Here you go.”

  Jax sucked on Brant’s finger, bouncing for joy. Quiet, happy noises erupted from him. Brant dipped his finger in the syrup again and gave Jax another taste. “I doubt this is on your meal plan, but what the heck. Life’s not worth living if you can’t have a treat once in a while, right?”

  Instantly, his mind again veered toward Molly, a treat for all the senses. That long, dark hair and those incredible eyes. Her scent alone could drive a man crazy…and her skin. So soft. How the woman could look so innocent yet so hot blew his mind. Ms. Molly Stiles had the look of an angel. He grinned. One of Victoria’s Secret’s angels.

  Jax made an impatient sound, and Brant fed him another spoon of porridge.

  If he and his brothers actually moved their business to Misty Bottoms, could he hope for a little more time with Molly? He feared, though, that like Icarus, he might get burned if he soared too close to the heavens.

  Munching on a piece of crisp bacon, Brant pulled another bottle from the diaper bag. It was the last of the premade ones and gave him the feeling of having three laps to go in a big race with only enough fuel for two. He ate the rest of his breakfast one-handed while balancing Jax’s bottle with the other.

  When they’d both finished, Brant couldn’t fight it any longer. “What do you say, kid? Want to catch a nap?”

  Jax bounced up and down, fists waving in the air. He made soft gurgling noises and blew bubbles.

  “Yeah?” Brant unzipped his dress pants and let them drop to the floor. He eyed the pee stain. “I don’t know if those are salvageable, big guy. Guess only time and the dry cleaner will tell.” After he removed his cuff links, the shirt followed.

  In boxer shorts and a white T-shirt, he padded into the bathroom. When he came out, Jax let go with a stream of gibberish.

  “What?” With a grin, he leaned toward the baby, then pulled back. “Oh, you stink!”

  Jax whimpered.

  “Sorry, sorry.” He quickly held out a finger for the baby to grab. Jax popped it into his mouth and gummed it, while Brant tried not to breathe.

  Okay, he’d managed a wet diaper, but this? Way above and beyond his pay grade.

  Since this wouldn’t be the last messy diaper Jax offered him, he’d better figure out how to deal with it. If he could turn a rusted-out skeleton of a car into a thing of beauty, he could certainly change a dirty diaper.

  Jax grew more agitated; he probably couldn’t stand the smell, either.

  Keeping up a running dialogue, Brant spread out everything he figured he’d need. “
Okay, kid, we’ve got a diaper and a spare, a pack of baby wipes, ointment, and a toy to keep you occupied.” He shook the rattle.

  Hustling into the bathroom, he grabbed a big fluffy towel and spread it over Annabelle’s rug. The problem? A motor stayed still while he worked on it. Jax? A squirming wiggler. “Geez, kid, am I gonna have to calf-rope you to keep you still?”

  Finally, he managed to unsnap the outfit’s legs and crotch. Then he undid the tabs on Jax’s diaper and peeled it away.

  “Holy moly.” He gagged. “This stuff is toxic!”

  He fanned the air with a clean diaper. “We’re gonna need to fumigate this room.”

  Freed, Jax kicked happily until Brant grabbed his tiny feet. “No, you don’t, buster.” He made a mental note to send his mom a huge bouquet of flowers.

  He pulled the wastebasket close and grabbed a baby wipe. The baby stared at him solemnly.

  When he yanked too hard on the first diaper, the sticky tab broke loose.

  He worked the second diaper under the baby, who by now was like a wind-up doll gone haywire.

  Brant grasped a corner of the diaper, but before he could pull it up and over, Jax started to pee. The stream shot straight up like an oil gusher. After one shocked laugh, Brant covered him with the now-damp diaper.

  “Oh, my little man, you need to learn to control that thing.”

  Since the horse was already out of the barn, so to speak, Brant let Jax enjoy his nakedness for a few more minutes while he peeled off his own sodden T-shirt and tossed it in the direction of his ruined pants.

  Finally the job was complete. Jax was safely and securely covered. The meager stack of diapers had taken a hit, and only one jar of food remained, along with a few scoops of formula.

  The formula, at least, came with directions, but he’d need a couple more bottles. There had only been three in his diaper bag, and Jax didn’t care for the hospital’s bottles—the nipples were different.

  “Okay, so let’s see what the internet has to say about nipples, huh?” He leaned into the pillows and propped Jax up between his legs. The two of them started their web search. The touch screen jumped around when tiny fingers made contact. Brant slid it a fraction farther away. A bevy of links popped up, and Brant clicked on one. A video demonstrating breast feeding came to life.