Daddy Undercover (Crescent Cove 9)

“To meet you? That’s odd. Why wouldn’t he ride over with—” I broke off and charged ahead of them, pushing open the front door and striding into the chaos within.

He wouldn’t do it. Not without warning me or giving me a chance to tell my mother, so she didn’t disown me for lying to her or being evasive at the very least. Brooks was many things, but he wouldn’t blindside me like that.

Then Samantha’s cry rang out, a sound I already knew almost as well as if I’d been her biological mother. It had been just one day since I’d seen her, and I ached to hold her. Her tears set off a physical pang inside me, making me clutch my stomach.

I raced into the center of the melee—otherwise known as my parents’ formal dining room. Approximately twenty people that I cared about were staring at Jared and his sobbing baby girl, adorably dressed in the brown turkey onesie I’d bought her the last time I went shopping.

And Jared was staring at me.

Ten

I’d thought out this plan. True, it had been mostly formulated during my sleepless night last night, so I hadn’t been in the best frame of mind. I’d also been fresh from arguing with Gina and nursing a beer—all right, two, my personal limit except occasionally on Christmas Eve—so I’d been a little reckless.

Telling a whole town of people I was now a father without benefit of a visible gestation period or even a present mother wasn’t at the top of my list of fun things. But it needed to be done. Gina was correct that I’d delayed long enough.

Logic dictated the best way was to gather everyone I knew and share it at once. Briefly, I’d considered using a megaphone while standing in the gazebo by the lake, but I didn’t want Samantha to need therapy in later years when people teased her about it.

So, I’d settled on plan B.

I invited my family to the Ramos family Thanksgiving. And then, this weekend, I’d invite my friends over to my cabin while their womenfolk shopped or wrapped presents or whatever the female members of healthy family units did on holiday weekends.

What I’d forgotten to consider? That Gina might have the physical capability to render me mute by wearing items of clothing she’d never worn in my presence before.

Like strappy high heels. A skirt that flirted with golden, toned thighs and made my throat dry. And her top was—dear God, I was torn between wanting to wrap her up in the tablecloth and wishing I could shout to the world that she was the most beautiful woman on this entire planet and she was…not mine.

Fuck.

It didn’t stop there. She’d left her dark hair long and wavy and tumbling over her shoulders. Even her face was altered slightly. The same features were there, of course. Same snapping dark eyes. Same luscious lips. Same little star tattoo next to one eye, so small I didn’t usually notice it. But right now, everything about her was in Technicolor while everyone around her was in black and white.

And she was not greeting me in a standard way. I hadn’t heard the beginning of her monologue due to being struck dead, but at the moment, she was spewing a long string of curse words in Spanish that she saved for only the biggest of offenses.

Ones I had apparently committed.

I shifted the bellowing baby from one arm to the other and stood my ground until she got it out of her system. I would’ve preferred if we could have this conversation in private, but so be it.

Obviously, it was time that all the cards were fanned out over the Thanksgiving table.

As an aside, it looked lovely with its Irish lace tablecloth—from a distant relative on Bonnie’s mother’s side—and china place settings for about a hundred people.

Maybe just ninety-nine. Since I was one of them, I was okay with it. Assuming I didn’t get kicked out, which remained to be seen.

Maybe I could smuggle out some fresh buttered rolls in the baby’s hooded onesie. They wouldn’t deny a child food, right?

Even one without teeth.

“Dios, you are the most selfish, pigheaded male I have ever seen in my twenty-four years. Worse than that, you are a sorry excuse for a—”

Gasps sounded from the assorted family members and friends gathered around the table.

“Public servant,” she finished, making a hand gesture I’d never witnessed before and would have to investigate to learn its exact meaning.

Much later.

I passed off my squalling child to the nearest Ramos who wasn’t shooting laser beams of death at my head and strode around the table toward Gina, muttering apologies as I nudged people aside. I nodded at my brother and my father who had just joined the group, looking more than a bit perplexed. I’d explain it all later.

The only problem with doing a mass baby reveal was that there wasn’t a lot of time for speeches. Once they all saw the kid, the time for build-up was over. Maybe I should’ve brought her into the house in a more concealed fashion. For the next hidden baby unveiling, I’d work on my technique.

Wrong. I was never doing this again. Ever. Not in this life or any other.