Charming Hannah (Big Sky #1)(46)

“I guess there’s a first for everything.”

She laughs and settles against me, and it feels like heaven to just hold her in my arms for a moment, enjoying the calm.

“How is work today?”

“Busy. There was a home break in last night, and a car accident this morning, with one fatality.”

Her arm squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. So, I’ll be busy this afternoon.”

“What do you have planned for this evening?” she asks.

“I’m open.”

“Good. I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

“We’ve discussed this. I buy dinner.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’d like to go out for dinner.”

“Done.”

“You’re difficult.”

“You just told me yesterday that I’m easy going and steady.”

“Until you’re difficult.”





Chapter Thirteen


Hannah

I’VE CLEANED THE HOUSE. Sadie and I walked to town to get my car.

I even cooked dinner.

Brad should be home any minute, and I feel about as domestic as I ever have in my life. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, I feel good about it, but it’s new. Should I be wearing an apron? Should I be naked except for the apron?

That would make him smile.

But then dinner would go cold because I’m quite sure he’d fuck me against the kitchen counter. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t.

So I’ll keep my clothes on for now.

Also, why am I overthinking this? It’s dinner. And by dinner, I mean chicken enchiladas that I slapped together because like I told him last night, I’m not a great cook.

It’s not a big deal.

The door to the garage opens, and Brad comes in, smiling, carrying a baby carrier.

I do a double take, and then frown.

“I knew it.”

“What?” He sets the carrier on the table and begins pulling blankets off of it, unearthing an adorable, dark-haired baby girl.

“I told Grace that I was sure that you had a secret baby somewhere.”

He just laughs and shakes his head as he pulls the baby into his arms and turns to face me. His eyes are soft, almost dewy, as he looks down at the little one. “She isn’t mine.”

“That’s a relief. And she isn’t mine because I definitely haven’t had a baby. So whose is she?”

“My detective’s little girl. Her name is Megan.” He smiles at her and she reaches for Brad’s nose.

“She’s cute.” I cross my arms over my chest, keeping a safe distance between me and them. “Why is she with you?”

“Her daddy wanted to take his wife out for dinner, but the babysitter cancelled, so I volunteered to take her.”

“It’s like I don’t even know you,” I reply and laugh. “This might be the very last thing I would expect.”

“She loves me,” he says in defense. “Look.”

At that moment, Megan stretches her arms out to me, whimpering.

“Or, she’s trying to escape.”

“You can take her,” he suggests, and I freeze.

“That’s okay.”

“She’s asking for you.”

I walk to the oven and open it, retrieving the enchiladas. “I’m finishing dinner,” I reply, not making eye contact. “And I’m not good with babies.”

“Why?”

“Why am I not good with babies?” I turn and stare at him. Megan smiles, a toothless smile and then sticks her fist in her mouth.

“Yeah. I mean look at her.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Brad’s phone rings in his pocket, and when he checks the caller ID, he frowns and holds the baby out to me. “Please take her, I have to take this call.”

He plants Megan in my arms and walks into his office, shuts the door, and I’m left with a baby.

“How old are you, Megan?” I ask, holding her stiffly. She’s watching my face, and then her own face crumples and she starts to fuss. “Oh no. Don’t do that.” I hold her closer to me and sway back and forth, hoping I’m doing this right. “You don’t have to cry. See? It’s okay.”

I’m swaying and patting her back, and Megan lays her little head on my shoulder, quiet now.

Thank goodness.

With the baby on my arm, I do my best to cover the enchiladas with foil and set them back in the oven on warm. They’ll keep for a while.

Five minutes later, Brad comes out of the office, looking preoccupied.

“Sorry about that,” he says and stops short when he sees me. “Well, look at you.”

“I admit, she’s pretty cute.” I’m still swaying her back and forth, and she’s tucked her little face in my neck. “Is she sleeping?”

“No, she’s just hanging out.” He grins and walks to us, pats Megan on the back, and then kisses me softly. “You look beautiful.”

“Barefoot in the kitchen with a baby on my hip?”

“No, just beautiful,” he says, then snorts out a laugh. “But that’s quite the description.”