Chapter 9
Brant strolled back to his car. If he’d ended up staying in Tennessee, he’d have missed running into the cute little shop owner.
Speaking of Tennessee, he’d give his brothers some time to get their feet under them, then give them a call, find out how things had gone at the shop while they’d all been gone. That would, undoubtedly, give him a quick reality check.
They’d expect a report on sites he’d scouted, and he had no good news there.
Through the open window, he snagged his dark glasses from the passenger seat and slid them in place. No sense advertising his red-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes. Striding to a vending machine, he dug for some coins and bought a copy of the Savannah Morning News. He tucked it beneath his arm, then retrieved the still-sleeping kid in his car seat and headed for the cozy red-and-white diner down the street.
A couple of passersby stared as though they thought they should know him. That happened more and more often since their Wylder Rides projects were featured on the car and bike restoration shows the TV crowd enjoyed.
Even though it gave him an itch in the middle of his back, he normally smiled and said hello. Today he ignored them and plowed into the small café, aiming for a back booth. He hoisted the bulky baby carrier onto one seat, then slid into the opposite one, facing the wall. For good measure, he kept his dark glasses on. If he couldn’t see anybody, they couldn’t see him, right?
The middle-aged woman who came bearing coffee wore a name tag that read Dee-Ann. Since that matched the name over the door, Brant assumed she must be the owner.
“What can I do for you today, sugar?”
“How about a cup of that coffee? Hot and black.” His stomach growled again, a reminder he hadn’t hung around the inn for breakfast, hell-bent as he’d been on a quick getaway. He should have grabbed one of Tommy’s ham biscuits.
She filled his mug. “Baby keep you up last night?”
He made a frustrated sound. “I think the kid’s got a sleeping disorder.”
“Doesn’t look like it now.”
“That’s because he knows I can’t catch a nap here.”
Dee-Ann chuckled. “He’ll get past that.”
“That’s what everybody tells me.” Brant stretched and decided against the fried eggs. “Got any apple pie?”
“I do. Made it myself earlier this mornin’.”
“Great! I’ll have a piece of that with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream.”
“For breakfast?” Her pencil hovered an inch above her order pad.
“You bet. Apple pie’s not really all that different from a piece of coffee cake or a scone, is it, Dee-Ann?”
“Guess not.”
“And the ice cream’s my glass of milk in its frozen state.”
“Point taken. Comin’ right up.” Her forehead creased. “Do I know you?”
Brant skirted the issue. “You might have seen me around. I was here for a wedding at Magnolia House a few months back and for another this past weekend.”
“Okay, that explains it. Thought I recognized you.”
When she left to place his order, he unfolded his newspaper. Halfway through the sports page, his food arrived.
“Thanks, Dee-Ann.”
“You’re more than welcome…” She hesitated, and he gave in.
“Brant. Brant Wylder.”
“Ah. Of course.” Recognition shone in her eyes as she warmed his coffee. “You fix up old cars.”
He almost choked at the simple understatement. “Yeah. My brothers and I.”
“Well, you let me know if you need anything else, honey.”
“Will do.” When he scooped up a forkful of her pie and brought it to his lips, he thought he might have died and gone to Heaven. “This is some of the best I’ve ever eaten,” he mumbled around his second bite.
The bell over the door jingled, and despite himself, Brant glanced over his shoulder.
“Cole, how the heck are you?”
“Thought you were leaving right after the wedding, Wylder.”
“You know what they say about those best-laid plans.” He sipped his coffee. “Your wife puts on one heck of a wedding.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Cole fairly swelled with pride. “When she first got it in her head to turn Magnolia House into a wedding destination, I had my doubts. But Jenni Beth doesn’t know the meaning of can’t.” He spread his hands. “So here we are.”
“Knee-deep in weddings,” Brant finished.
“Yep.” Cole pointed at the sleeping baby. “What’s this?”
Brant laughed. “It’s a baby.”
“Whose?”
Jax picked that moment to wake with one long wail, his fists clenched. Brant groaned.
“I’ve got it. Finish your breakfast.” Cole eyed the pie, then slid in beside the baby and hoisted him to his shoulder, patting and rocking. Jax’s wail tapered to a few whimpers, then silence as his thumb popped in his mouth. He sucked contentedly.
“Thank you.” Brant signaled for Dee-Ann to bring another coffee.
“Anything else this morning, Cole?” Dee-Ann set his drink in front of him and topped off Brant’s.
“Nope.” Cole raised his mug. “This is what I came for.”
Brant gave Cole the abridged version of how he’d become a temporary daddy, including Lainey’s upcoming rehab and legal issues. “I could go home, but I’d kind of like to stick close just in case. And that’s my sad tale.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a heaped plate.”
“Yeah. Believe me, I’d rather be up to my waist in oil and engine sludge than stinky diapers.”
Cole smiled. “Where are you staying?”
“That’s another problem. A big one. I’m still at Annabelle’s, but she has new guests coming who’ve reserved my room.”
“Not very kid-friendly, is it?”
“No. Believe it or not, Annabelle actually bent her rules for me. She has a strict no-kids policy.”
“She’s a feisty thing and a little eccentric—”
“A little?” Brant arched a brow. “Have you seen those purple, size-eleven sneakers she wears? On that less-than-five-foot frame? And those fifties housedresses?”
“Okay, okay.” Cole laughed. “A lot eccentric. But she’s got a heart of gold.” He winced. “It’s just buried a little deeper than most.”
“Tell me about it. The sun was barely up Monday when she came beating on my door to remind me I didn’t own the room.”
Cole grunted. “I know of a house for rent, if you’re interested.”
“I’m here short-term,” Brant reminded him. Guilt stabbed for not sharing his plans for a possible relocation. Still, if they couldn’t find the right site…
“Doesn’t matter. This place is sitting empty. Lem Gilmore owns it. Since it’s more of a tax write-off than anything else, there’s a chance he won’t charge you anything. But then, we are talking Tightwad Lem, so it’s hard to tell.” Cole made a face. “He’s not one for throwing money around, so it hasn’t had much upkeep.”
“I don’t need anything fancy. A bed and a shower where I don’t have to worry about the kid bothering anybody else will do it for me.”
“Then this definitely qualifies. It’s far enough out of the way that the cicadas are about the only things that will hear him.”
Jax, wide-awake now, eyed Brant’s breakfast.
“Want some of this?” He held up a spoonful of ice cream.
Cole laughed as Jax’s mouth worked. He strapped the baby in his seat, then took the spoon and fed Jax.
Cole shrugged. “I don’t know that I’m ready for a 24/7 thing yet, but I like babies.” He leaned across the table and refilled the spoon from Brant’s plate. “You want to take a ride and look at the house? If you don’t like it, just say the word. No skin off my back.”
“You bet.”
* * *
Brant and Jax followed Cole on a narrow two-lane road to the middle of nowhere. Jax, having had a long nap, jabbered the whole way. Every once in a while, Brant would wave over his shoulder and Jax would giggle.
“We’re on our way to look at a house, Jax. No more Annabelle. What do you think about that, huh?”
“Ba-ba-ba-ba.”
“Couldn’t agree more. Blah, blah, blah, blah.”
Jax cooed and blew some bubbles.
Cole pulled into a gravel drive beside the small house on Claggett Mill Road, and Brant followed with more than a few misgivings. If the yard was any indication of what the inside looked like, they were in trouble. If they did move in, the first order of business had to be getting somebody out here to mow the foot-high grass and weeds.
Jax slapped his hands on the car window.
“I know, I know. You want out.” Grabbing the carrier, Brant followed Cole down the sidewalk, worried this might turn out to be a wild-goose chase. He wouldn’t move the baby into a rat’s nest.
“You have a key?”
“Nah. Lem lost it a long time ago and never bothered to get another. Guess you could call a locksmith, but it would be cheaper to grab a new lockset at Beck’s.”
Cole leaned against the porch railing. “If you decide to do that, don’t toss the old one. A lot of people come into my architectural salvage place looking for doorknobs like this. I’ll talk to Lem about it.”
“Speaking of Lem, does he know I’m looking at the house?”
“I called him on the way.”
A minute later, Brant stood in the center of a boxy living room and missed his own house in Lake Delores. His own life. Jax burbled, and Brant stared down at him, feeling as though his life had been torn away from him. This wasn’t his kid, wasn’t his life. He was in a holding pattern, and he didn’t like it. Worse, he didn’t see any way out.
And that made him feel like a louse, lower than low.
Cole cleared his throat. “Not much, I know. You’re in a tough spot, aren’t you?”
Brant grunted.
“For what it’s worth, I couldn’t do what you’re doing.”
“Sure you could.”
“Nope.” He waved a hand. “What do you think?”
Quietly, Brant wandered through the rest of the house: two bedrooms, one bath, a small living room, and an eat-in kitchen. The decor could only be described as minimalist. It was surprisingly clean, though.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, his feet crossed in front of him, Cole said, “Lem’s wife comes by once every week or so and hits the surface. As long as it’s theirs, she insists it’s clean.”
Brant set Jax and his seat on the worn maroon sofa.
Not wanting to be left alone, Jax started whining.
“Okay, okay.” Picking him up, Brant again wandered from room to room. “You know what? This’ll work.”
“Good. One problem checked off.”
“I’ll collect my gear from Annabelle’s today, if that’s okay with Lem.”
“He said to consider it yours for as long as you need it. No cost.”
Brant ran the palm of his hand along a jaw that definitely needed a date with his razor. “This is the strangest town.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Everybody I’ve met—including the temperamental Annabelle—has gone out of the way to help.”
“Misty Bottoms is a small town, pal. We take care of each other.”
“While you’re here, you are.” Cole moved to the door. “I’ve got an appointment in Savannah, so I need to take off. You good here? Anything else I can do for you?”
“Don’t think so. I really appreciate this, Cole.”
“No problem. Welcome to your new home.” With a mock salute, he walked away, leaving Brant a little bit more impressed with Misty Bottoms.
* * *
Heading to Annabelle’s, he stopped in a small park and fed Jax, then changed him head to toe. It sure would cut down on the laundry if he got more food into his nephew and less on his clothes.
“Let’s take a minute, kid, and relax.” Pulling a blanket from the car, he spread it and freed Jax from the carrier. “There you go.”
The second Jax’s butt hit the blanket, he rolled onto his knees and took off. When he hit the grass, he stopped and looked up at Brant.
“Different, isn’t it?”
“Da-da.”
Brant sucked in a breath and reminded himself it was simply baby talk, exercising those vocal cords. The da-da had no meaning to Jax. He rubbed his chest and plucked a piece of grass. Sitting down, he held it in front of the baby. “Grass.”
“Ga-ga.”
“Good start.”
Jax pushed up and sat, bending over, his uncoordinated thumb and forefinger working hard to capture a single blade of grass. When he failed the fourth time, he started to cry.
“That, champ, is a mad cry. Got it.” He tossed his own piece. “I’d give you one, but it would go right in your mouth. Since you’re not a cow, that’s probably not a good idea.” He scooped up the baby and raised him high.
Jax’s tears turned to giggles.
“You like that?”
They played the game a few minutes, Jax giggling harder and harder. Finally, Brant said, “Enough. I don’t want you upchucking on me.” He snatched up the blanket and headed to the car.
On the outskirts of town, he spied Beck’s lumberyard. “Might as well pick up a lock.”
Jax gurgled his approval.
Stepping inside, he was impressed. Elliot’s wasn’t some small mom-and-pop, thrown-together store, but a thriving, well-organized business. He nabbed an empty cart. “Your chariot, Sir Jax.”
He lowered the baby seat inside and headed off to the hardware department.
Beck found him there with a lock in each hand. “The one in your right is plenty, unless you’re locking up Fort Knox.”
“It’s for Lem Gilmore’s place out on Claggett Mill Road.”
“You’re putting a lock on his house because—?”
“Jax and I are moving in. Temporarily. It’s past time to leave Annabelle’s.”
Beck cracked a grin. “I’ll bet it is. Back when I was a kid, I, uh, had some trouble with a tree branch in her yard. It didn’t quite hold my weight, and I spent an entire Saturday cleaning out her basement.”
“Ouch,” Brant said. “Speaking of trees, you don’t happen to know anybody who does yard work, do you? Lem’s needs some serious mowing.”
Beck crooked a finger, and Brant followed him to a huge corkboard. After searching it for a few seconds, Beck removed a business card. “Bubba’s your best bet. He does good work, and he’s reasonable. You ought to send Lem the bill.”
Brant shook his head. “It’s the least I can do, since he’s not charging me rent.”
Beck’s mouth dropped open. “That cheapskate never misses a chance to make money.”
“Seems he has this time.”
“We’ll see.”
As Beck walked away, Brant couldn’t help but wonder what he’d gotten himself into. A baby and a house…and, it would seem, a debt to Lem Gilmore.
The bubble that felt a whole lot like panic ballooned in his chest again.