The Single Dad (The Dalton Brothers 3)

That was a fucking eternity ago.

But did I really not use a condom?

I always used one.

Fucking always.

Had the whiskey made me careless?

It … was possible.

“I …”

“I realize you probably sleep with so many women that you can’t keep them all straight.” Her voice softened. “But that’s not the case with me, Ford. There was only you.” She looked down again. “And now, because of that night, we created her.” As she moved once more, now only a foot separated us, even less as she extended her arms across the open space. “Meet your daughter. She was born three days ago.” She lowered the blanket, showing me the baby’s round face, eyes closed with long, dark lashes that fluttered against her cheeks, like she was dreaming.

What?

I’m a fucking …

Father?

A feeling catapulted through my stomach.

A feeling I hadn’t been prepared for, a feeling that sucked all the breath out of my body.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Our eyes locked as she said, “Because, at first, I had no intention of keeping her.” A war of emotion was raging inside her eyes. “I made the appointment. I went to the clinic.” She took a long, deep inhale. “And I couldn’t do it.” She glanced down, but not at her daughter. She looked at the ground instead. “I just … couldn’t.”

My hands shook; my knees didn’t want to hold me up. “That was months ago, I assume. Yet you waited until now to show up. Why? I don’t fucking get it.” I took in the baby’s face, those chunky cheeks and plump, heart-shaped lips. “Why didn’t you tell me the second you found out you were pregnant, Rebecca? Why didn’t you tell me once you went to the doctor and had it confirmed? You’ve had forty weeks”—I sucked in some air—“forty goddamn weeks—and you’re here now? After?”

Does she want money? Is that why she showed up out of nowhere?

Is it something else?

My thoughts weren’t straight.

My head a cloudy mess of questions.

My chest a steady, relentless ache.

Rebecca pressed the baby against my stomach.

I immediately reacted, cupping my arms beneath her, taking the weight of this small, precious bundle, holding her so carefully that I didn’t wake her.

Rebecca took a step back and said, “The truth is, I never intended to tell you about her. I was just going to give her up for adoption, and you would have never even known she was born.”

I held the baby tighter, tilting her toward my chest. “What made you change your mind?”

“The social worker. I didn’t trust her and decided I wanted better for the baby.” She nodded toward my arms. “She wrapped her arms around our daughter, and I took her back.” Her eyes were getting misty. “It wasn’t right.”

“I don’t understand.” My head shook as I tried to process what I was hearing. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t want her, Ford. I want you to have her, raise her. Be the parent she needs. The parent I can’t be to her.” The tears started to well in her eyes. “You’ll be so much better than me.” She placed the bag on my shoulder and wrapped her arms around her still-swollen belly. “After today, you’ll never see me again.”

I glanced between Rebecca and the baby. “Let’s go inside and talk about this. I’m sure you’re just exhausted and—”

“I never wanted her, Ford. My feelings haven’t changed now that she’s born.” She held her hand out as though she was stopping me from coming closer. “Either you take her or I’m calling the social worker in the morning.” With her other hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “I kept her information.” Tears now dripped down her cheeks.

“Rebecca, you need to give me a minute to process this.” I looked at the baby again, my brain not computing that I was holding my child in my arms. I tried to connect the pieces of her that resembled me. The eyes? Nose? I couldn’t think; I couldn’t even breathe. “It’s the middle of the night; you woke me out of a dead sleep. You’re leaving me with a baby.” I swallowed. “My baby.” When I looked at Rebecca, the tears were wetting her lips. “I don’t know what to do. What to think. How to care for her. I have questions. I have …”

I wanted to take Rebecca by the arm and bring her into my house and tuck her into the bed in my guest room, giving her the sleep she needed. I would call a therapist in the morning, so we could figure out exactly what was going on here.

But those were just ideas, and all I had in this moment were words. Words that needed to be persuasive enough that I could convince her we could somehow do this—together. So far, it seemed like nothing I’d said was registering. She wasn’t hearing me; she certainly wasn’t listening.

She was just looking at the baby, crying.

“Rebecca, I’m sure it’s been almost impossible to get any sleep. You’re tired, your body is recovering from—”

“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling.” She pulled the sides of her jacket together, the material too small on her to close. “I know exactly what I’ve gone through and what I want, and my mind is made up.”

Our stare broke as she looked at her daughter, using the back of her hand to wipe the newest tears. “I failed you … I’m sorry.” Her voice wasn’t any louder than a whisper. “Your father will be everything you ever need.”

“What? Wait! Rebecca,” I called for her as she turned around and walked toward the gate. “You’re her mother. You can’t just hand her to me and tell me you don’t want her, and she’s suddenly my responsibility.”

Her stare intensified. “You’re her dad. Yes, I can.”

I held the baby toward her mother, trying to close the space between us, but at the same time, she was moving in the opposite direction. “Rebecca, we need to talk about this, rationally. We need—”

“Everything you need is in that bag. Birth certificate; a form from the attorney, giving you all parental rights; formula, bottles, and diapers. Notes for what you need for her and when to feed her.” She turned her back to me, taking several more steps, but looked over her shoulder to add, “Take care of her, Ford.”

She hurried out of the gate, and she was gone.