Winning Over Skylar

Holy cow.

This was her kid.

She winced as she shifted in the hospital bed. Giving birth sucked, but the result was kind of awesome.

“I’ll try to be a good mom,” she said. “Honest.”

The baby yawned and closed her eyes. She’d have to be fed again soon, and Skylar felt a twinge of worry. There were so many things a baby needed—doctors, food, clothes...roller skates. She’d never had roller skates herself, but her daughter was going to have them. She wanted her kid to have everything she’d never had. It wouldn’t be easy to do it working as a cashier at a hamburger stand, no matter how nice the owners were being to her.

Still, she’d have to find a way.

Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had thrown her a baby shower, so she had some stuff to start. She’d also picked up things at garage sales. She hadn’t liked doing it at first, but Mrs. Gibson had said that babies and toddlers grew so fast they didn’t have time to wear clothes out, so she may as well get them secondhand for a while.

Skylar carefully adjusted the bundle in her arms. She was renting a room from an older lady who’d offered to watch the baby in exchange for yard work and housecleaning. Mrs. Bealer was sweet and kind and a Sunday school teacher at her church, so it should be okay to trust her. Hopefully. A fierce protectiveness had filled Skylar the moment she first saw that tiny red face; she wasn’t sure she trusted anyone with her child.

“Karin Grace is Mrs. Gibson’s name,” Skylar whispered. “I like it. So if you don’t object, that’s what I’ll call you. Only she goes by Grace, and we’ll use Karin. Okay?”

The baby’s mouth worked sleepily. It might be silly to ask, but Skylar didn’t know much about being a mother and a name was awfully important.

“Karin,” she said, to see how it felt on her tongue.

The baby’s eyes opened and looked at her. It seemed like a good sign.

Skylar rested her head on the pillow and continued making plans. She’d have to do this alone. She didn’t want anything to do with her own messed-up parents or Karin’s father.

Her eyelids drooped. She was so tired. Her last thought before drifting off was that she wished she’d met Jimmie Gibson before she’d gotten herself in trouble and that Karin was his daughter.

* * *

SKYLAR WOKE WITH a start.

The baby.

She panicked before realizing her daughter was still in her arms, even though she’d fallen asleep holding her. Jeez, at the very least she should have put Karin on the bed first.

“Hello, hello,” called a voice from the door.

At first the only thing visible was a huge bunch of balloons, and then she saw Mr. and Mrs. Gibson...and Jimmie.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly. Jimmie had been so sweet to her since she’d moved to Trident to work for his parents, but now the baby was here and the whole thing was much more real than before.

Jimmie grinned merrily and her awkwardness disappeared. “Hey, Sky. You look great.”

He put a bouquet of flowers on the bedside table and tied the balloons to the chair in the corner. His parents piled gift bags on the end of the bed, but when Skylar tried to tell them they’d given her too much already, Mr. Gibson waved her concern away.

“Nonsense. Just a few small items.” He pulled a toy koala bear from his pocket. “Let’s see your big production,” he said. “I’ve been waiting months to meet her.”

“Me, too,” Jimmie and Mrs. Gibson chimed in unison. They crowded around and made cooing sounds as she pulled the blanket away from Karin’s face.

“May I hold her?” asked Mrs. Gibson.

Skylar nodded and watched as the three of them inspected Karin, counting fingers and toes and calling her the prettiest little girl they’d ever seen. Her eyes stung, and a funny sensation came into her throat. She hadn’t known there could be people like the Gibsons.

She’d grown up in a neighboring town, and all her life she’d been the daughter of “that drunken Naples couple.” They were the family that everyone detested, with weeds and trash and broken-down cars surrounding their shabby house. Once she’d planted a flower bed, but her father had stomped it down in a whiskey-soaked rage, knocking her halfway across the yard when she tried to stop him.

“Sky, have you decided on a name?” Jimmie asked.

“Karin Grace, if it’s okay with you, ma’am,” she said quickly, looking at Mrs. Gibson.

Mrs. Gibson blushed pink. “Oh, my... I’d be honored. Imagine having this lovely child named after me.”

Mr. Gibson beamed and seemed pleased, too.

As for Jimmie...he smiled and squeezed her hand. If Skylar hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he liked her as a girl, and not just as a friend. But it was dumb to get her hopes up. Jimmie had lots of girlfriends. He didn’t need one who already had a baby.

CHAPTER ONE

“I’LL HELP, MRS. GIBSON,” said Melanie Hollister as Skylar carried a bucket of soapy water to the eating area outside the hamburger stand.

“Me, too, Mom,” Karin added.

Skylar hid a smile. “Thanks, but study comes first.” She didn’t have any illusions—the girls were doing their geometry homework. According to Karin they had a bunch of “dumb-ass postulates” to learn and an equally “lame-o” set of problems to solve. They’d do anything to get out of the assignment, even scrub dried ketchup from tables and benches.

Well...Skylar looked at Melanie and changed her mind. The teenager was solemn, sincere and eager to please—she probably did want to help. She was a junior and high schoolers could be cruel to younger students, yet the two girls had formed a close bond since Melanie’s arrival in Cooperton, despite their age difference. Melanie had turned sixteen in August, and Karin would soon be fourteen, but they were in several classes together because Karin was in an accelerated program, a year ahead of her classmates, while her new friend had fallen behind from having moved around so often.

If Melanie hadn’t been a Hollister, Skylar would have been pleased they were friends. Thinking of which, a black Mercedes glided to a stop in front of the hamburger stand. It gleamed, without a speck of dirt daring to mar its perfection—a sharp contrast to her old pickup truck. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been washed...probably before her husband’s accident.

Skylar swallowed.

Actually, she knew exactly the last time it had been washed and waxed...the day Jimmie had died. He’d waxed both of their trucks that morning. The deep stab of loss was duller now, but it still hurt that he was gone. They were supposed to grow old together, and for months the sorrow and unfairness of it had kept her awake at night. The grief counselor had insisted it was anger at Jimmie for dying. Okay, maybe she was a little angry for a while, but it hadn’t lasted. Mostly she was angry with the driver of that 18-wheeler for running a stop sign, not her husband for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Uh-oh.”

The gloomy voice broke into Skylar’s dark thoughts. The girls were looking apprehensively at the Mercedes.

Aaron Andrew Hollister, or “Randy Andy” as he was sometimes called in high school, climbed out with a frown. “Melanie, I thought you were studying at the library this afternoon.”

“We went already.” She pointed to the pile of books next to her. “And Karin has some of mine in her bag ’cause there were more than I could carry. Don’t worry. Mrs. Gibson is taking me home. It won’t be long because we don’t want to miss the baseball game.”

“You already went to the library? School only let out an hour ago.” His tone strongly suggested that she hadn’t told the truth in the first place. “Your mother wants you to do better in your classes. She hopes your stay in California will make a difference, and you can catch up.”

“Yeah. She always says stuff like that when she dumps me somewhere.” The teen bit her lip, and Skylar could see the resentment in her eyes. The kid had been left with her half brother while her mother was off traveling the world with her second husband, or whatever it was the indolent rich did with their time.

“You weren’t dumped here.” Aaron’s protest rang hollow. By all accounts, Melanie had lived with a dozen or more different relatives and friends of her mother, rarely finishing the year in the same school. That’s how the Hollisters approached childrearing—as if it was someone else’s responsibility. But leaving her with Aaron? Oh, puleeze. That was scraping the bottom of the barrel.

“I don’t care what you call it,” Melanie muttered. It hadn’t taken long for her to transform into a sullen teenager with a chip on her shoulder. “You didn’t want to come here, either.”

His expression froze. “Our situations aren’t the same.”