Doorstep Daddy

“No better time than now,” she interrupted. “Well, dear. I have to get back to my sister. She’s in rough shape but she’ll be okay.”

“Oh, Mrs. Winterberry. I’m so sorry.”

“I probably have to stay a couple days. Maybe longer. I hate to leave you in a lurch, but—”

“Don’t worry. Stay as long as you need. Take care of your sister. I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give that little girl a kiss for me.”

Ellie promised to do so, then hung up. She gripped the steering wheel and prayed for strength for the days ahead. Without Mrs. Winterberry’s kindness, wisdom—and most importantly, her second set of hands—Ellie would be lost.

Stress doubled in Ellie’s gut. She could tick the worries off, worries that had multiplied minute-by-minute in the months since she’d been widowed. Being a single mom. Paying the bills, the mortgage, a mortgage she’d taken on when there’d been two incomes, and been left to pay with one. Raising her child alone, juggling late-night feedings and diaper changes, while still managing to get to work, and be a star performer eight to ten hours a day. At the same time, the even-more-powerful desire to be a star mom. To give her all to her daughter, who needed her, and depended on her for everything. Every morning, Ellie woke up to trusting blue eyes that believed in Ellie to be a supermom, who could do it all.

And here, Ellie felt like she was barely balancing any of it.

Finally, she pulled onto her street. She parked haphazardly against the sidewalk opposite to her house, then paused outside the two houses. 527 or 529?

She should have asked Mrs. Winterberry. Damn.

The crying answered the question for her. She could hear her daughter’s cries through the open windows of 529, a massive two-story contemporary with a brick front she had noticed from time to time. A beautiful house, one of the nicest in the neighborhood. Ellie pressed the doorbell, then rapped on the oak door, resisting the urge to just barge in.

No answer. Sabrina kept crying.

Anxiety pattered in Ellie’s chest. She rang the bell a second time, then knocked again, harder, more urgent this time. “Dalton? It’s Ellie Miller. Mrs. Winterberry left Sabrina here, and I’m her—”

“Go away. I’m busy.”

Sabrina cried louder.

Oh God. Was she hurt? What kind of guy was he? Despite Mrs. Winterberry’s endorsement, he sounded grumpy. A horrible babysitter. Ellie turned the handle, said a silent prayer it would open, and—

It did.

Throwing Ellie into sheer chaos. Sabrina crying, squirming, in her car seat. The scent of a dirty diaper filling the room like it had exploded, and taken no prisoners in doing so. And at the far end of the room, one hand pinching his nose, the other holding aforementioned diaper in the manner usually reserved for toxic waste, a tall, dark-haired man with a scowl.

“What are you doing to my baby?”

From far across the room, he stepped on a trash can pedal, tossed the diaper inside, then, once the can slammed shut, turned to her, his scowl deepening. “What am I doing? What is she doing is more like it. That kid should come with a condemned sign.”

Ellie shot him a horrified glare, then hurried over to Sabrina, unclipping the safety belt before taking her out of the seat, and brought the baby to her chest. The scent of baby powder met Ellie’s nostrils, sweet and pure. Ellie held her daughter tight, the warm, familiar body fitting perfectly into her arms. “Momma’s here, sweetheart, Momma’s here.”

Having her child against Ellie felt like coming home. As if the world had been careening out of control all day, and suddenly everything had been righted again. Ellie let out a breath, her nerves no longer strung as tight as piano wire.

And every time, Ellie expected Bri to simply melt into her mother’s touch, to calm gently. Coo and gurgle, like other babies. Be happy, content, like a commercial for motherhood, just like Ellie had dreamed during her pregnancy. But it never seemed to work that way.

As usual, Sabrina didn’t calm down. She kept on crying, the volume rising, rather than lowering. Ellie did everything the books and Mrs. Winterberry had recommended. Rubbed Bri’s back. Whispered in her ear. Started to pace. The baby, still worked up, continued to squirm and kick against Ellie’s midsection. Clearly, being in the hands of another hadn’t made Sabrina happy.

Ellie tried not to take the cries personally, but still…

She did.

“Come on, sweetie, it’s okay.”

Sabrina didn’t agree. Her feet kicked. Her fists curled into tight circles. Her mouth opened and closed, letting out cry after cry. Ellie walked back and forth, circling the burgundy leather sofa, her high heels sinking into the plush carpet, creating a rippled path in Dalton’s living room.

And still Sabrina didn’t quiet. “Shh,” Ellie soothed, nearly on the verge of tears herself. She tried so hard to be a good mother and still she had yet to connect, to get the baby to be happy. Was it because she was working too much? Because she came home too tired at the end of the day? Or was she simply a terrible mother? “Shh.”

“Can’t you get her to be quiet?” Dalton finished washing his hands, then exited the kitchen, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder and onto the counter as he did.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Ellie said, and kept pacing.

“By the way, even though I’ve seen you across the street, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Dalton Scott,” he said, extending a hand. “Reluctant temporary babysitter.”

Ellie shifted Sabrina to the opposite shoulder, hoping that would help. It didn’t. “Ellie Miller. Thanks for watching her.” She let out a gust. “I apologize for being hard on you earlier. I know how difficult it can be to balance a million things at once, especially with an eight-month-old. The diapers, the crying. It can get to the best of us, even me.”

“Yeah. Well, don’t ask me to do it again.” He gestured toward the baby with his head. “Unless you send earplugs.”

“Sorry. She’s not usually this difficult.” Well, maybe not for other people. Either way, Ellie wasn’t telling the truth and showing herself to be Completely Awful Mom of the Year. Ellie again changed Sabrina’s position, but if anything that made the cries intensify. Ellie drew in a breath, trying to work up some more patience into a day that had already been extra frustrating. “Come on, baby, calm down. Okay?” Sabrina kept on crying, nearly squirming out of Ellie’s arms.

“Hey, you,” Dalton said, putting his face in near to Sabrina’s, his voice low, stern. No-nonsense. Ellie turned her focus away from him, trying not to notice the intensity of his blue eyes, the deep waves of his dark hair. The muted notes of his cologne. He said it again, a third time, each time waiting for a break in the baby’s cries. “Cut that out.”

Sabrina turned and looked at him. Then, to Ellie’s surprise, she snarfled, then paused, her chest still heaving, like she was about to burst into tears again. But didn’t.

“That’s right. We talked about this, didn’t we?” he went on. “None of that—not in my house.”

Ellie stared at him. A feeling of hurt filled her chest. He had done what she, as Sabrina’s mother, had not been able to do. In seconds. With a few words. And here she’d practically stood on her head, and gotten nowhere.

She was Bri’s mother, she was supposed to have a natural touch with her own baby. And here came this guy, a total stranger, who presto-whammo, calmed Bri with a few words and a look?

What did that say about Ellie? Had it gotten to the point where Sabrina was closer to her sitters than her own mother?

Was this the price she paid for working too much?

“You got her to stop crying,” Ellie said.

“I didn’t get her to do anything. I just told her to quit.” He scowled again—Ellie didn’t think the man had another facial gesture—and turned away. “Now that she has, you both can get out of my hair. And I can get back to work.”

Then he turned on his heel, and marched up the stairs. A second later, a door slammed upstairs.

Ellie’s jaw dropped. How rude.

She didn’t need his attitude, and Sabrina definitely didn’t need to be around such a disagreeable human being. Ellie grabbed the car seat and started to reach for the diaper bag. Then she stopped.

Where was she going to go? Back to work, Sabrina in tow?

That would never work. She’d tried that— once—when Mrs. Winterberry had been sick, and it had been a disaster. Sabrina was like any baby—needy and demanding—and bringing her into the chaotic, busy environment of Revved Up Productions just added to the office zoo. Lincoln, the epitome of stress, had become even more stressed, and nearly fired her on the spot. And now that Sabrina was starting to crawl, taking her to work would be an epic disaster.

Working at home didn’t fare much better. Every time a call came in, Sabrina would inevitably need a bottle, a diaper change or rocking at the same time. A screaming baby and a phone call—not a good mix.