The Doctor's Second Chance

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ulink_336891a7-c99e-517a-a12d-b93fa9b0e94c)

Surely this isn’t happening.

A baby, its tiny lips puckered, slept in a car seat at Jake West’s feet. The child suddenly whimpered and jerked as if startled.

Jake’s insides jerked in response.

He dragged his gaze back to his cousin with her hair in a messy ponytail and no makeup. His heart banged against his ribs. “You can’t do this, Remy.”

With red-rimmed eyes, she stared at the baby.

Had she been crying or— “Are you high?”

She sighed. “No, I’ve been clean for a year.”

“Then come on, don’t be talking crazy.”

“You owe me, Jake.”

He’d heard those words the last time she’d popped into town—long enough to steal his wallet. “I don’t owe you anything.” His conscience pricked. Maybe he did. Maybe he was the whole reason for her problems.

A freebie diaper bag plastered with hospital and baby product logos slid down her shoulder. She plunked it on the floor, the gesture so final he flinched.

“You’re not leaving that baby here with me,” Jake said. “Take her to your parents.”

“No, I want you to raise her, and I put a letter in her bag saying so.”

A quick glance at Remy’s stomach showed her as thin as ever. “You are her mother...aren’t you?”

She nodded.

“And the father?”

“He died. No family.” She drew in a stuttering breath. “All her papers are in the bag, including a medical consent form.”

“Come on. Let’s sit down and talk this out. You have other options.”

One tear slid down her cheek, and she slapped it away, her expression remaining stony. “Don’t you dare let her down.” She glared at Jake, her eyes full of agony. “You’re the responsible one, the good kid, remember?”

Words his aunt and uncle, who’d raised him, had always said about him as they’d measured their rebellious daughter against his be-good-so-they’ll-keep-me behavior.

Remy reached out as if she wanted to touch her daughter but shoved her hands into the pockets of her wrinkled jeans instead, her gaze so full of longing it made Jake’s chest hurt.

“Come on, let me fix you some dinner,” he said, trying to sound friendly, upbeat. “I’ll make your favorite. We’ll talk.”

“You can’t make everything all better with a peanut butter and banana sandwich anymore, Jake. Now I need you to take care of her.”

“Come on, Rem.”

“Promise me.”

“Remy.”

“I mean it.” Desperation flashed in her widened eyes. “Promise.”

What could he do? Refuse? “I promise.”

She turned and strode out the front door and down the steps toward an ancient beat-up sedan.

The hot July sun on the western horizon forced him to shield his eyes. “Where are you going?” he called. “You need help, Remy.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just not mother material.” She climbed in the car and started the engine.

Torn, he glanced back inside the house, afraid to leave the baby alone. He quickly went back to grab the carrier. By the time he made it outside, his cousin had peeled out of the driveway and sped down the street, too far away to catch the license plate number.

Tension in his neck sent throbbing pain to his head. With a palm mashed against his temple, he watched her vehicle slip into the distance.

He didn’t know a thing about babies. He had a construction company to run. Had to be on site the next day. Not a place for infants.

Loud squalling dragged his attention back to the child, her chin quivering, fists and feet pumping.

Yes, there was a nearly newborn baby in his grasp. A baby he was now responsible for. And she was crying her little head off, turning wrinkled and red.

“Lord, help me.” He headed back inside and set the carrier on the couch.

The little gal was buckled in some sort of car seat contraption with straps that looked like something from a race car. It took him a minute to figure out the harness. He finally worked her out of it and very carefully lifted her to his chest, gasping when he realized just how tiny she was. “You’re no bigger than a minute.”

She seemed so...breakable. As she cried, she rooted against his rough work shirt, dirty from the job site. He moved her to the crook of his arm, terrified he would lose his grip. Like holding a football, he reassured himself.

He rocked his arms a bit, and the crying stopped. She seemed to try to focus on his face, yet he wasn’t even sure she could see him.

Such delicate features. And that head full of wispy black hair so much like Remy’s made her seem even more vulnerable. His heart warmed. But fear, yes, fear prevailed. What would he do with a little baby?

“I don’t even know your name.”

With a mewl, she scrunched up her face again. Was she in pain? Was all this crying normal?

His heart jammed up in his throat. He needed help. Someone to check her out to make sure she was okay. Someone to tell him what to do—at least until he could track down Remy to insist she come back and get the baby.