Emergency Delivery (Love Emergency) (18 page)

“Hunter can take care of himself.” She squeezed Madison’s shoulder. “You did what you had to do to protect your daughter.”

The sympathy wrenched deeper sobs out of her ragged throat. She’d almost lost her daughter tonight because she’d been so focused on stupid things, like making Hunter see her in a new light, and making an impression on his friends, she’d dropped her guard. Because of her, Hunter could have been hurt…or worse. The same went for other wedding guests she’d seen in her rearview mirror, running toward him as she’d burned rubber out of the parking lot.

Making him see her in a new light? What a joke. Why would he see her as anything except a pathetic mess in need of rescue? As for making an impression on his friends, she’d inadvertently brought her deranged criminal of a baby daddy to their wedding, and endangered every one of them. She’d made an impression, all right.

A little wail sounded from the back seat. Right. This pity party was an indulgence she couldn’t afford. She needed to pull her shit together and take care of her daughter. The thought straightened her spine. She sat up and wiped her face. “Mama’s coming, baby.”

Nelle stepped aside and carried the diaper bag, while Madison got Joy out of her car seat and led the way to the door. Once inside, Madison keyed the code into the alarm and then flipped on lights. “I need to feed her.”

“You go ahead. I’m going to make us some tea. Be right back.”

Unpacking one of the bottles she’d prepared for the trip would have been easier, but she wanted—no, she
needed
—to nurse her daughter, so she worked the zipper at the back of the dress down until she could shrug out of one sleeve. By the time Nelle returned a few minutes later, carrying two mugs of tea, Joy was quietly nursing, and Madison was quietly figuring out how to get the train wreck of her life back on track without inflicting any more damage on Hunter.

Nelle sat next to her on the sofa and put the second mug on the coffee table in front of her. “I sent Hunter a text to tell him you and Joy are home, safe and sound.”

Safe? Yes. Sound? Debatable. But she simply nodded and offered Nelle a weak smile. “Thanks. Where is he?”

“He’s still in Magnolia Grove, talking with the police, giving a statement, or pressing charges, or whatever it is they need to lock that crazy fool up and throw away the key. When I spoke to him, I got the impression he’d be there a while.”

Madison cleared her raw throat. “Cody’s in jail?”

“I think he’s at the hospital, just now, but he’s in custody. They charged him with assault, battery, attempted kidnapping, driving under the influence, grand theft auto—the car was stolen—possession and consumption of illegal substances, breaking and entering, because Atlanta PD confirmed the prints, and…I don’t know…a whole bunch of other crimes. A judge will have to set bail, and that won’t happen before Monday, but it’s going to be hefty. Apparently he’s already told the police he doesn’t have a means of posting, so he’s going to be with them for the duration.” She gave Madison’s knee a reassuring pat. “He’s out of your hair.”

Madison let out a breath and nodded, but instead of relief, numbness started to set in. “Do I need to contact the police?”

“They’ll reach out to you next week for your statement.”

“I lost my phone.”

“Hunter has it, but it’s beyond repair. They’ll contact you here or at work.”

She nodded again. New phone. Another unbudgeted expense, but a small price to pay, all things considered.

“Do you want to use mine to call him?” Nelle asked gently. “I think you’d both feel better if you talked.”

“No.” She dragged her attention to her neighbor’s kind face. “It’s past time I let him off the hook.”

“Honey, I’m not sure why he hasn’t said so, but I think he likes being on the hook when it comes to you and Joy.”

But he
hadn’t
said so, which likely meant deep down he realized the timing sucked, and he didn’t need any hooks in him. The best way to thank him for everything he’d done for the Foley girls was to get out from under his roof. Starting now. Have the decency to do one thing to help him meet his goals. Mostly she’d taken over his home, imposed upon his time and resources, and complicated his life.

Madison Foley. Queen of only doing one thing right in every relationship.

“Nelle, there is a call I need to make. Could I borrow your phone?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Hunter got a bad feeling when he pulled up to his house and saw the empty driveway. At two thirty in the morning she probably hadn’t gone on a diaper run. Maybe she’d parked in the garage? He parked in the driveway, and because he didn’t want to disturb the neighbors with the sound of a garage door at this time of night, walked around to the front door.

As soon as he stood in the entryway, he knew. He sensed the stillness of the space even before more tangible clues hit his radar. Madison usually left the bathroom or hallway light on at night, so neither of them would run into a wall while attending to Joy in a half-asleep state. No light tonight. No little baby snores coming from Joy’s room. No nothing.

A cold, blunt inevitability hollowed out his chest. Still, he clicked on the living room light and tossed his ruined jacket on the sofa, barely noticing when the cufflinks, studs, and ring box spilled out and tumbled onto the rug. The baby swing was gone. He strode to the bedroom and turned on the light. “Madison?”

No. His neatly made bed sat empty. The bottle of lube and box of condoms on the night table offered up the only signs anyone besides him had ever been there.

Moving on autopilot, he reversed course and headed down the hall to the guestroom. The door hung open. He could see the baby bed was gone. For some reason he needed more proof, so he turned on the light and opened the closet door. Empty. Just like the surface of the dresser where Madison kept Joy’s baby supplies. The sight of the clear, organized study space left him sick to his stomach. He turned to leave, when a bit of pink sticking out from the other side of the daybed caught his eye. He walked over and looked down. The oversized pink bear stared up at him.

He wanted to kick it but picked the damn thing up instead, and then, because he was some kind of masochist, he buried his face in the plush fur and inhaled the scent of baby lotion. The cold, hollow feeling in his chest invaded his stomach. Fuck him. He put the bear on the bed walked away before he did something pathetic.

Madison wouldn’t leave without a word. She wouldn’t do that to him. He strode into the kitchen and turned that light on as well. Why not light the fucking place up like a carnival midway? It wasn’t as if he’d disturb anyone.

On the kitchen counter sat a small stack of mail—Saturday’s delivery—topped by a folded sheet of paper. He walked to the cabinet over the fridge and pulled down a bottle of Jim Beam. He opened another cabinet to get a glass then cursed and opened the one beside it. After washing and putting away his dishes for the better part of a month, she’d managed to rearrange things so nothing was ever where he remembered it living. On the third try he found a short glass, tossed three cubes of ice into it, and poured four fingers of whiskey on top. The air in the cubes cracked with a series of hard pops as the golden liquid flooded the gaps. He put the bottle on the counter but didn’t re-cap it, and drank, slamming it down fast so the ice hit his teeth and the alcohol burned his throat. Then he stepped over to the pile of mail, picked up the sheet of paper, and flipped it open. A handful of hundred dollar bills fell out.

Dear Hunter,

The list of things I have to thank you for is so ridiculously long, writing them out would take up all your printer paper, so I’ll just leave it at thank you, for everything.

I’m sorry the bad decisions I made in my past came down on you, especially what happened today with Cody. I would never have forgiven myself if you’d been hurt rescuing me. Again.

Which brings me to the other point of this letter. Hunter, it’s time to bring this rescue to an end. You need your life back, and I need to start handling mine on my own. I wanted to surprise you with this news at the wedding, (unfortunately, like too many of my plans, this one didn’t work out), but I made arrangements to move into a place with one of my coworkers. She has a little girl, too, and a safe apartment near work, and she suddenly found herself in need of a new roommate. I think it’s fate’s way of saying, “Okay, Madison, time to give up the safety net.”

It’s going to take me a day or two to get a new phone, but once I do, I’ll call you and let you know how we’re doing. Otherwise, I’m going to back off and give you your space. You’re going to hear from schools soon (see mail!). You have decisions to make and goals to pursue. I need to stand on my own two feet, which means I have to stop leaning on you.

Joy and I are so lucky to have met you. You saved us, plain and simple. I am forever grateful, but…I can’t help wishing we’d met under different circumstances. I like to imagine a tall, handsome paramedic comes into The Grind on a random afternoon and flashes a sexy smile at me as he orders. I get flustered and mess up the order. He laughs and says I can make it up to him by meeting him after work for a drink. I say yes. We date, take things slow, and get to know each other like two normal people would. Nobody’s in need. Nobody’s riding to the rescue.

But that’s not how it happened, and we don’t get a redo. I know that.

Please apologize to Beau and Savannah for me, for ruining their wedding reception.

Love always,

Madison

P.S. I know you didn’t want me to, but I kept track of the money you spent on Joy and me. Here’s about half of what I owe you. I’ll send the other half as soon as I can.

He poured another drink, downed it, and then read the letter again, hoping the start of a buzz would help him read between the lines. But no, it remained a fucking masterpiece of inscrutability. What did she want, other than to reject his gifts and turn them into loans, and…oh, right…for them to have met under different circumstances? Maybe this had started as a misguided attempt to rescue her, but things had changed. Yes, he was one persuasive son-of-a-bitch, but last time he checked, he had zero powers over the time-space continuum.

Helpless frustration had him considering heading straight through to the garage and pounding his bruised fists against the heavy bag until physical pain got too big and distracting to allow his mind to fixate on anything else. The embossed return address on the envelope under Madison’s letter stopped him from following the impulse. It came from the dean of admissions at his first choice school. He picked it up and weighed the envelope in his palm. One page.

Perfect, fucked-up end to a perfect, fucked-up day. He thought he had until March first to complete his application, but since it fell on a Sunday, apparently he should have advanced the deadline to Friday rather than assuming a Monday deadline? Either that, or they’d found some other grounds to reject him. They certainly hadn’t wasted any time kicking out a letter.

Might as well let the shit rain down. He tore the envelope open and unfolded the sheet of stationary inside. He scanned the opening.

Dear Mr. Knox, Thank you for your interest
…blah, blah, blah…. Wait. He backed up to the beginning, and read again.

…Based on your academic performance, test scores, recommendation letters and essays, we are pleased to offer you admittance to our program, commencing this fall.

Holy shit. Had Granger sent the rec letter after all? He skipped the rest of the template and moved down to a handwritten note beneath the signature block.

Dear Mr. Knox,

Congratulations on your admittance. We hope you choose to accept. I wanted to personally commend you on your letters of recommendation. We strive to select candidates who display an aptitude for academic and professional excellence, and the letter from Professor Bryant and the phone call we received from Miss Granger convinced us you possess these traits. We also, however, seek candidates with the capacity to take the concept of care to a higher level. To go above and beyond when the situation requires. This potential is more difficult to assess. The letter from Miss Foley demonstrated you embrace these qualities. Her heartfelt account of your actions on her behalf, and the sincerity of her words, compelled us to offer you early admission…

He dropped the letter on the counter and scrubbed his hands over his gritty eyes. Ashley had called the Dean of Admissions. No way could he have seen that coming, but more importantly…Madison had written him a letter. She’d secured his admission to med school, helped him over a crucial hurdle on the path to his goal. That had to mean something, right?

Beau’s words from the other day floated through his mind.
She wants to feel needed, not needy. She wants to respect herself and feel like she brings something important to the table. Find a way to get her there without loading up her car
.

Okay, he’d blown that goal. She’d loaded up her car. Her decision had something to do with feeling needy instead of needed. He understood that part and felt reasonably confident he could fix it. It also had something to do with the fact that they hadn’t met on a random afternoon in the coffee shop. He understood that part less, but hell, if it meant convincing her to stay, he’d fix it, too.

…

Madison used the lull in the flow of customers and the last twenty minutes of her shift to clean and re-stock the food case. Thanks to a good wiping down, the glass gleamed in the sunlight filtering into the shop from the partially lowered blinds. She picked up a long pair of tongs and turned her attention to switching out the lunch fare for the afternoon treats. Arranging the tea wafers, brownies, cookies, and mini-sandwiches usually lifted her mood, but not today.

Dropping Joy off at her brand new nursery school earlier in the day hadn’t helped, either, though Joy had seemed content and the caregivers attentive. She should have been proud of herself for providing a safe and nurturing environment for Joy without inconveniencing a dangerously charming but fundamentally decent man. Unfortunately, staying away from the dangerously charming but fundamentally decent man tore a hole in her heart. Yes, she’d known the emotional fallout would be bad. She’d braced for that, but she hadn’t expected three nights and two days away from Hunter to wear down her resolve and leave her fighting an exhausting, non-stop battle with herself to stick to the promises she’d made to him…and to herself.

The sleek, new cell phone she’d gotten this morning weighted the pocket of her apron. She’d been trying to hold off on calling him until tonight, because bugging the man at work hardly qualified as giving him space, but…

“Hey, sweetie.” Rachel waited until Madison turned. “I’m going to make sure the restrooms are clean and stocked before we clock out. Be right back.”

She mustered up a smile. “Thanks.”

Rachel had been a saint, helping her move her things into the apartment late Saturday night, listening with a kind ear as she’d spilled out the whole travesty of her ex and the confrontation at the wedding reception. Rachel had also spent the last two days prodding her to call Hunter, because, in her words,
Screw space, honey. You’re miserable
.

The bell jingled as customers walked into the shop. “Be with you in just a second,” she said as she closed the cover on a box of chocolate caramel bars. She wiped the tongs and rested them on the top of the box. Fixing a smile on her face, she moved to the register and looked up at…

Hunter. A heart rush nearly left her faint. Or maybe it was the sight of him in his uniform. Either way, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “My partner’s craving a…what the hell is it again?”

Her attention shifted to the dark-haired, uniformed woman beside Hunter, who rolled her eyes. “A non-fat, decaf, mocha-latte. What is so difficult about this, Knox?”

“Ash.”

“What?”

He pointed to a table in a far corner of the shop. “Go sit over there, and be quiet.”

“Order my drink right.”

“Ashley’s craving a non-fat, decaf, mocha-latte this random afternoon, and we happened to be in the area, so we came in.”

“He bribed me with a free drink to get me to drive five miles out of our way to come here,” she called from her corner table. “Get to it, Knox, before I decide to take back my recommendation.”

“God-
dammit
, I miss Beau,” Hunter said under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Good.”

Waves of hot and cold washed over her. “You drove all the way over here to get a latte?”

“I heard this place had a really cute girl behind the counter, and I wanted to meet her.”

“We’ve already met, Hunter.”

“Hey, it’s your fantasy.” He braced a hand on the counter and leaned closer. “Try to play along.”

His body pulled at hers like a magnet. She caught herself drifting toward him and pulled back. “I can’t.”

He smiled. The slow, charming smile that loosened the knots in her stomach and tightened them in a few other areas. “Why not?”

“Because you already know me.”

The smile disappeared. “I do already know you, Madison. I know you’re stubborn and you’ve got your pride. I know you don’t want anyone riding to your rescue. I know you want to prove you can take care of yourself and your daughter. What I don’t know is if whether you have it in you to take on more.”

“I—excuse me? More? What else should I take on?”

“Me. What if I need help? Can I rely on you to come to
my
rescue?”

“Of course,” she answered instantly. How could he doubt it? “Anything. Anytime. Whatever you need.”

Blue eyes pinned her. “Swear?”

“Hunter, yes.” Worry clawed at her chest. She reached across the counter and grabbed his arm. “What do you need?”

He closed his hand over hers. “You.”

“I don’t understand.”

A trio of ladies came into the shop, talking, but their discussion petered out as they approached the register, and their curious stares bounced between Hunter and her.

“I need you,” he went on. “And Joy. I need to spend my evenings gently rocking that drowsy little girl to sleep, and then not-so-gently rocking her mama to sleep. I need to wake up in the morning with your body tucked against mine, doing all kinds of justice to an old T-shirt. I need to ask you where my watch is, or my wallet, or my keys, when I could have sworn I left them on the coffee table.”