Hard to Hold (2 page)

His first impulse was to call the police. Logan picked up his cell and had actually started to punch in the number when a cold sweat broke out and nausea burned in his gut.

If he involved the authorities, what would happen? He wasn't sure, but he guessed that they would take the baby away and put her into foster care until they got this mess straightened out.

Even though he'd just met her, he felt fiercely protective of this little girl. So in spite of Sergio's surprise and amusement, he picked up the baby and the bag, paid the check, and headed for the door.

“Where are you taking her?” Sergio called out behind him.

“Home,” Logan replied.

As he settled the car seat into the passenger side of his 'vette, the enormity of his predicament was beginning to dawn on him. He had a baby, a real live baby girl! How was he going to manage until he found Desiree?

Cinnamon yawned, blissfully unaware that her fate was in the hands of a guy who ordered takeout five days a week, had a housekeeper who did his laundry and cleaned his place, and counted on a personal assistant who reminded him of his dentist appointments.

Thankfully, he didn't have far to go. Once inside his condo, he put the baby in the car seat on the brown leather sofa, and then dropped the quilted bag on the floor beside her. In the middle of the massive couch, she looked so little, so feminine in her pink romper, and so utterly out of place in the masculine surroundings that he almost smiled.

Except that there was nothing a damn bit funny about this situation.

He knew why he was so reluctant to involve the police.

The Whites.
His host family in England.

He had just turned sixteen, and the idea of going to the U.K. to play real soccer with an elite club was mind-blowing. He still remembered how excited he was, how he raced home to pack, counting down the days until he got on the red-eye and flew over the Atlantic. It was the adventure of a lifetime. Another country. An elite team. European soccer.

What he didn't expect was what happened with the White's son, Addison.

His host family made it clear from the get-go that he was a second-class citizen in their home. In the beginning it wasn't too bad; the family was eager to learn about the latest doings in America, although he soon realized the curiosity was more about scorn than real interest. They thought “the Yanks” were uncivilized, untalented, products of a Kardashian culture, comments they didn't bother to filter in front of Logan.

He didn't know what his parents were paying for him to live there, but he was pretty sure they had no idea that his bedroom was little more than a closet in the attic that was broiling hot in the summer, or that his meals consisted of the cheapest possible bangers and mash, alternated with tasteless ground beef.

All of that was annoying, but his life became unbearable when it turned out he was a hell of a better soccer player than Addison. He saw the faces of Addison's parents at the game, furious that their little darling was benched regularly while Logan stole the show.

It was then Addison developed a weird kind of obsession with him. He followed Logan around like a puppy dog, stared at him across the dinner table, and hung on his every word. He started showing up in the weight room where he worked out, offering Logan a towel or water, making it clear that he was the object of his hero worship.

He was amused and annoyed until Addison started coming into his room at night. The first time was during a storm, and Logan thought maybe the little shit was scared. But it soon became apparent that fear wasn't his motivation:

Logan awoke one night to find Addison groping him under his covers, trying to touch him.

Appalled, he kicked Addison out of the bed and promised him in no uncertain terms what would happen if he ever tried that shit again.

Not surprisingly, the boy told his parents that Logan was the culprit, and he was sent home in disgrace. Logan never told his own parents the truth or tried to explain what had really happened, and they didn't ask. It was clear they were uncomfortable and wanted to put the incident behind them. He never forgave that, or forgot.

Yet the experience changed him, made him become emotionally detached and cautious. For the first time in his young life he realized that some people were real assholes and couldn't be trusted to do the right thing when it came to a child. He understood now how people got away with abuse, how some kids tried to tell and weren't believed, how people just swept this shit under the rug.

It was the last thing he wanted Cinnamon to learn.

Logan snapped out of his thoughts as the baby began to stir, and he remembered Desiree saying something about instructions. Fishing them out of the bag she'd given him, he stared in bewilderment at the list. Feedings every four hours? Burping and diaper changes, vitamins, a pediatrician's card, a sleep schedule, and records of shots?
What the fuck!
Rummaging inside the sack again, he saw a couple of changes of clothing, some diapers, wipes, and a few more bottles of premixed formula.

Logan sank down on the sofa beside the baby, completely overwhelmed.

“Guess what, baby girl? You got the short end of the stick this time. You're cute, but I don't have a goddamn clue what to do with you.”

Cinnamon didn't answer but gave him a smile and blinked, as if understanding his every word.

He got up and paced the floor. He needed help. Much as he hated the idea of asking and letting anyone in on the details of his personal life, he knew he had no choice. It wasn't as if Desiree had dropped off a fucking kitten. This was a human being who required care, food, and God knows what else.

Logan toyed with the idea of calling his mother but dismissed it immediately. She would be all over the baby if she thought this was her first grandchild.

And all over my ass to keep her
…

Jessica
. Relief washed through him as he thought of his sister, and he pulled out his cell.

“Hey, Logan.” She answered after a couple of rings.

“Baby girl.” He used her nickname, one guaranteed to annoy her, but as he looked at the infant slumbering beside him, he knew there was now a new baby girl.

Cinnamon.

“I am not—”

“I know.” Logan cut her off. “Listen, I need your help.”

Something in his tone caught her attention and she lost the 'tude. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” he said flatly. “A girl I had a one-night stand with last year just dumped a baby on me. Says she's mine.”

He wasn't sure what he thought his sister would say; maybe she would offer suggestions or sympathy? What he didn't expect was a sound he heard a moment later that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

“Did you just say—”

“Yeah.” His voice was sharper than he intended. “What part of ‘a girl dumped a baby on me' didn't you fucking understand?”

“I'm sorry, Logan. It's just…”

This time she couldn't contain it. Jessica was rolling, giggling so hard she couldn't talk.

He almost hung up on her, but with considerable effort, she calmed herself enough to continue the conversation.

“So…you and a baby.” She cleared her throat. “What are you going to do?”

“Track Desiree down,” he said flatly. “I don't know why she pulled this shit. I plan to get to the bottom of this, find out who the real father is. I tried to call her, but her phone is disconnected. Until I get hold of her, I've got a baby.” He couldn't help the glance into the seat on the couch.

“Have you considered…you know, calling the authorities?”

That sickness in his gut returned. He had taken a picture of Desiree's tag but hadn't gone to the police. “I don't want her in a foster home,” he said determinedly. “Even though I don't believe for a goddamn second she is mine, I'd rather get her back with her mother, where she belongs.”

“How do you know she would take her back?”

It was a possibility he refused to consider. “Of course she wants her back. I think she must have had some kind of breakdown. You know, that postpartum depression or some shit? She's probably regretting what she did already.”

“Okay,” Jessica said doubtfully. “Then you know you're going to need diapers, wipes, formula, filtered water, and a place for the baby to sleep? I'm coming over, and I'll stop by the store on the way. And there's one more thing you're going to need ASAP.”

“What's that?” He could feel the panic beginning to leave him, replaced by relief. Jessica was going to help him.
Thank God
.

“A nanny. Take down this phone number. It's an agency a couple of the Sonics used.” She gave him the digits. “I'll be there shortly.”

She got there in less than an hour, and as he opened the door, Logan thought he had never been so relieved to see his little sister in his life.

“I think I have everything.” Jessica's head was barely visible above the bags and boxes she carried. “At least the necessities. Eventually, you'll have to furnish a nursery and get more clothes and food. But this should last for a while.”

“Thanks.”

His voice was thick with unexpressed emotion. Jessica put down the boxes, wiped her hands, and gave him a reassuring smile. “Everything's going to be okay.”

“Right.” Nothing would be okay, not until he straightened out this fucking mess. But he wasn't going to dump that on Jess. “I'm really glad you're here.”

“Me too.” She looked around the room. “Is that her?” She spotted the car seat.

“Yeah. I didn't have any place to put her to sleep. I was thinking about a dresser drawer, maybe throwing in a couple of blankets…”

“She can't sleep in that!” His sister looked momentarily appalled. “I got her a bassinet. It's in my car. Thank God Walmart's open late.”

“I'll go get it,” he volunteered, grateful for something practical to do. He caught her keys as she tossed them, and as he headed for the garage, he heard her cooing to the baby behind him.

The helpless dread that had filled him since Desiree left began to subside. It wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. He wasn't alone. He had friends, family, and resources. But it meant a lot to him that his sister would drop everything for him.

He would do that for her in a heartbeat, but he was far more accustomed to being the guy helping out than the one accepting assistance. And he hated the feeling of helplessness.

When he returned to the condo with the frilly bassinet in hand, she was already unpacking baby bottles, stocking his cabinet with boxes of what looked like cereal, and even had bottles of baby soap and shampoo.

“Jesus. What is this shit?” He picked up the box of Ivory Snow.

“Baby detergent,” she said in amusement, giving him a smart-ass grin. “So her clothes don't irritate her skin, dummy. Where do you want to put her?”

“I have two spare bedrooms. The larger is my guest room. I've been using it as my office.”

“We should probably go with the smaller one for the baby. The nanny will take the other.”

Logan hadn't thought of that. The caretaker for this child would have to live here, seven by twenty-four, especially with his travel schedule.

As if things aren't fucking complicated enough
. He was going from living alone to having two females sharing his place.
Christ.

“We can move the desk into the dining room. I'll pick up some linens. I assume you don't have much in that way, either? Guest towels, sheets?”

“No. Why the hell would I?”

Jessica did an eye roll as she entered the spare room, turned on the light, and began opening closets and inspecting the contents. “I can see another shopping trip's in order. By the way,” she said, moving behind his desk and grabbing the corners, “does she have a name?”

“Cinnamon.” He glanced at Jessica, and couldn't help noticing the similarity in their hair color. “I guess because she's a redhead.”

He expected her to laugh, but she frowned thoughtfully instead, and then indicated the front of the desk. “Let's get this out of the way. We have a lot to do before the next feeding.”

It took a couple of hours, but by the time Jessica left, Cinnamon was cozily ensconced in her new bed.

Logan sank down on the couch and reached for his beer. The whole process had been a considerable undertaking, and he had a new appreciation for single mothers. Between him and Jess, they had managed to get his office furniture set up in the dining room. And while it wasn't much of a nursery, little Cinnamon at least had a decent place to sleep, clean sheets, and a pink-and-white quilt.

She'd awakened halfway through the process, and his sister showed him how to feed her, burp her, and change her. Since it was so late, she'd skipped the bath but gave the baby a good wipe-down with one of the infant washcloths she'd picked up at the store. After dressing her in one of the little pajamas that Desiree had stuffed in her bag, she put the baby to bed and gave her a binky.

“Why does she need that?” Logan asked, observing the way the baby sucked on the plastic nipple.

“I think they have that instinct to nurse for a few months.” Jessica shrugged. “It does seem to calm them down, help them to sleep.”

When she turned off the light and walked out to the kitchen for her purse, Logan looked at her in amazement. “How did you learn all this shit? Are girls just born knowing?”

“Are you kidding?” She shoved him playfully. “I was more cut out to play football with you guys instead of all this.” She gestured toward the makeshift nursery. “But I used to babysit as a teenager, and a lot of the moms showed me what to do. And some of my friends read those books about taking care of babies. You can probably order one on Amazon.”