Love Inspired May 2015 #2 (5 page)

“It would be easier if I just dropped by to pick them up. Besides, I'd feel better if you weighed the little gal. To make sure she's growing okay.”

His concern made her stomach swoop. “I'll be happy to weigh her for you. Come by at noon.”

“Great, thanks.”

Jake carefully wrapped the blanket tighter around Abigail, every tuck of the fabric jarring loose more of the protective barrier from around Violet's heart, releasing the longing she'd held at bay for so long.

Longing for a husband of her own and a baby to love.

She worked with babies every day. Why was Abigail different?

Could the difference be Jake? What was it about him that gave her crazy notions of love and family?

He rubbed his big, strong hand over Abigail's tiny head. It hit her then why Jake affected her so. It was because he was a single guy suddenly stuck with a baby.

A guy who needed Violet's help.

Cold rushed through her veins. She absolutely could not allow herself to fall into the being-needed trap. That's how she'd gotten sucked into an inappropriately intense—and intimate—relationship with Hank in high school. And ended up pregnant.

She would never, ever again get sucked in by a needy man.

Jake's not really needy,
a little niggling voice said.
He's not manipulating you, demanding your total devotion. He's just a strong man in a temporary, unfamiliar situation.

He kissed the baby's forehead and then looked into Violet's eyes. The moment went on longer than normal—too long—and suddenly something flared between them.

Violet could barely breathe. “We're usually closed at lunch, so if no one is at the front desk, come on back to the first exam room.”

“Okay. We'll see you at noon.” His grateful smile did crazy things to her insides.

“I, uh, need to get to the office.” She shot toward the row of hedges between their houses, escaping the handsome babysitter who made her want things she feared wanting.

* * *

A grinning puppy with human-like teeth mocked Jake.

The pup was pictured on a giant, kid-friendly poster hanging on the wall in the pediatric exam room. This whole scenario—him in the former office of the family who raised him, being questioned about a baby who shouldn't be in his care by the woman who had “bought” the practice from them—was laughable. Sad, but laughable.

Violet, who'd been so helpful that morning, had turned back into serious doctor mode at the office. “Here are the samples.” She pointed to a bag. “Abigail's weight is good. She's gained a couple of ounces, which is right on target. Before we try changing her formula, I'd like to first consult with her mother or her regular pediatrician.”

“I have written permission from Remy to make decisions for Abigail.”

“Still, I'd like to find out what they've fed her in the past. Find out if she had any complications at birth.” She gave a tense smile and waited, refusing to retreat.

He felt as if the signed document was useless. The phone number Remy had listed on it was a dead end. Disconnected.

“I want to go ahead and try the samples,” he said.

“If you know the name of the regular pediatrician, I can give the office a quick call.”

“I'm afraid I don't.”

“Can you call Remy to ask?” On the rolling stool that had once been his uncle's perch, the doctor sat with a stethoscope around her neck, a pen in her hand and a disgruntled look on her face.

No wonder. None of the situation made a lick of sense if she didn't know the whole story.

He couldn't cover for Remy forever. But what if Violet chose to call in the authorities? Jake did not want Abigail put in the system. It had happened to him after his parents died, before his aunt and uncle agreed to take him.

Jake looked down at Abigail, who was once again nodding off, content for the moment. The quiet times, times when she looked so peaceful in his arms, settled inside him like a warm blanket.

Three nights with her, and already he was attached.

He looked up at Violet. “I haven't been able to get hold of Remy.”

“What do you mean?”

The thought of Remy never showing up made his lungs squeeze. How would he manage?

“Jake? How long will your cousin be gone?”

“I don't know when she'll return. Maybe never.”

Violet sucked in a breath through her nose, but the expression on her face remained neutral. A real professional. “Is this a new development?”

He nailed her with his gaze, praying she'd understand. “I thought she would come back by now. I'm going to have to find her.”

“Remy gave you this medical consent,” she said, waving the file folder, “but then decided not to return?”

What if he never found her? What if he found her, but she refused to take Abigail back? His heart slammed against his chest as he debated telling Violet the last piece of the story.

The doctor sat waiting.

“When Remy dropped off the baby, she said she wants me to raise her daughter.” He pulled the handwritten and signed piece of lined notebook paper out of the diaper bag and handed it to her.

Violet's professional aloofness cracked. Concern put a wrinkle in her forehead, which didn't do a thing to boost his confidence. “That's not official.”

“Maybe not. But it's all I know at the moment.”

“Why would she want to give up her child?”

Abigail let out a little whimper and stiffened her legs. He rubbed her tummy.

“My cousin has had some drug problems in the past.” Problems he'd tried like crazy to fix but had never been able. “Though she said she's been clean for over a year, I don't know what kind of situation she's in.”

“What about the father?”

“He died and has no family.”

Nodding, Violet rolled her stool closer and smoothed the baby's hair, almost as if she needed to comfort her for having a disappearing mom. The doc could be a kind, compassionate woman—when she wanted to be.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “For Abigail, and for you, Edith and Paul.”

“Thanks.”

Her hazel eyes met his, and the warm, tender look he'd seen was gone. “But the authorities should be involved.”

His insides froze. “I'm not letting Abigail go into the foster care system, not when Remy wants her with me. I'll find Remy and we'll work it out.”

“Do you really believe she's gotten clean?”

“She seemed different the other day. Almost as if she was truly sad to leave the baby but was doing what she thought best for her daughter.” Although she'd been hard as well, hard and still bitter toward him.

Violet chewed the inside of her lip as if unsure, as if weighing her options.

How would he possibly deal with handling a baby long-term? Pushing down the panic, he focused on keeping Abigail out of foster care. “My uncle is also trying to track Remy down. We need some time.”

Her gaze clashed with his. “I'm just thinking of the welfare of the child.”

“I can respect that. I promise you, if we don't find Remy soon, I'll contact a lawyer to figure out the next step.”

“What if you find her, and she's back on drugs?”

Jake had no idea what he'd do. Had no idea what Edith and Paul would want to do.

But he couldn't go there right now. “At this point, I have to assume the best outcome—that Remy is clean and will want to raise her child.”

Pain flashed in Violet's eyes. “Sometimes circumstances make that impossible.”

“I guess we'll find out. In the meantime, I'm going to make sure Abigail stays with family.” Jake slipped the girl back in her car seat and buckled the straps. Then he put the new formula in the diaper bag. “Thanks for the samples.”

Violet observed him through squinted eyes as if trying to see inside him, to test his character. “Call if she's not better in a couple of days.”

“I will.” A tense breath eased out of him. Would she let him deal with their family situation as he saw fit?

She drummed her fingers on the exam table, crinkling the paper covering, as she stared at the baby. “Abigail is well cared for, so I won't make any calls right now. I'll give you, Edith and Paul time. But I'll be checking on her.”

Sawing his teeth back and forth, he bit back the retort that nearly flew out of his mouth. “I may not know a lot about infants, but Abigail is my flesh and blood. You can rest assured I'll protect her.”

A knock sounded on the door, and the nurse, someone Jake didn't know, stuck her head inside. “Dr. Crenshaw, we're back from lunch, and your first patient is waiting for you.”

The young woman didn't look pleased that the man and baby who'd barged in during lunch were still there.

“Remember,” Violet said to Jake. “Keep in touch.” She snapped the medical file closed and zipped out of the room.

Jake had to get out of there and find Remy. And he had to do it before Violet changed her mind about calling the authorities.

Chapter Four

B
irds busily chirped and whistled as Violet finished her morning run. She bent over, resting her hands on her thighs and sucking in air, then forced herself up to walk two laps around the perimeter of the yard to cool down. When she reached the patio, she stretched her tired muscles.
How many patients will I see today?
She still needed to check the calendar and hoped this week would bring in more income than last week.

How much will the July electric bill be? It's been so hot this summer.

The sunrise lightened the sky from gray to a pale blue as she pulled in a slow, deep breath, held it, then released it, expelling worries that tried to intrude. She refused to brood over how Jake's grumbling around town had affected her ability to bring in patients.

Did Abigail have a good night?

No. Don't go there. She needed to use the early-morning time wisely.

Violet never needed an alarm clock. Hadn't since her teens. Something internal woke her every morning between four and five o'clock, and then her thoughts—of the past and of the present—kept her awake. In the beginning, the early rising frustrated her. But since moving into this house, she'd learned to battle the frustration by being productive. She'd usually run to burn off tension, then spend time outside preparing for the day by studying patient cases or reviewing her schedule.

If nothing else, she was a pro at taking old wounds and regrets and pushing them away.

She grabbed her water bottle and guzzled. Then she went inside, kicked off her shoes and socks and slipped into her favorite worn flip-flops. The aroma of coffee drew her to the pot that had brewed on a timer while she was out.

Drawing comfort from the rituals, Violet found routine helped control thoughts that invariably tried to intrude. She couldn't allow a moment of worry over her relationship with her parents, or what her son might look like, or when her practice would make a profit. She needed to work hard and push ahead.

With a cup of steaming coffee laced with hazelnut creamer, she went outside to sit on the patio. Touching the screen of her tablet, she pulled up her schedule for the day. The first patient was a four-year-old who'd had a persistent cough. She'd tried two rounds of the same antibiotic, so maybe she'd try a different class. She also needed to consider cough-variant asthma. And order a chest X-ray to make sure she wasn't missing something.

The sound of human voices joined in with the chorus of birds.

Or rather, the sound of one human. A male voice pitched into a high register.

She turned from her place at the table and spotted Jake in his backyard holding Abigail, cooing to her.

The silly tone made her smile. And put a dent in her concentration. She might as well go check on Abigail, one thing she could mark off her to-do list for the day.

As she walked across the dewy yard carrying her coffee mug, flip-flops snapping against her heels, she ran fingers through her hair. Hesitant, she slowed. She wore no makeup. Her hair was damp with perspiration. And her running clothes—shorts and a faded T-shirt—weren't exactly ideal for visiting neighbors. Especially a handsome, single neighbor.

With a huff, she tromped ahead. This wasn't a neighborly visit. And it certainly didn't matter that her neighbor was handsome or single. This was strictly a professional check on a patient.

Yeah, and you're looking real professional right now, Violet.

Jake sat squeezed into a swing attached to an old rusty swing set that had probably been his and Remy's when they were growing up. With Abigail in his lap, her head on his knees and her feet pressed into his belly, he leaned his face closer to her. “Come on, give ol' Jake a smile,” he said in the silly singsong voice.

“I'm afraid she won't give you a social smile until she's around six to eight weeks old.”

His head jerked up. “Oh. Good morning. You're out early again, I see.”

“I'm always out at sunrise year-round. Watching the sun come up, preparing for my day.”

“By design or insomnia?”

“By my internal clock, I guess. I haven't used an alarm clock since I was about eighteen.”

“Abigail is now my alarm and seems to favor waking at about five, an hour before my norm.”

She was pleased he didn't act frustrated. Seemed to take what Abigail threw at him. “Was she fussing like yesterday?”

“No. Just bright-eyed and ready to eat. Which, by the way, is going better so far. No more drawing up her legs.”

“That's good news.”

“Care to join us?” he asked, nodding toward the other swing.

“You think the old set can hold both of us?”

With a laugh, he quickly looked her over from head to toe, measuring her size. “I guess we'll find out.”

As she gently slid into the swing, she checked out the baby. “Abigail looks good this morning. Like you said, very alert and bright-eyed.”

“Yeah. She cried some last night, but not as long. I feel half human today.”

He definitely didn't look any worse for the wear. “You'll be amazed at how good you'll feel once she sleeps through the night. Of course, many parents panic when they wake and realize it's morning.”

“I can imagine.”

Would Remy return before that point? If so, would Abigail be safe with her mother? “How is the Remy search going?”

“Since the phone number on hospital records is disconnected, I'm going to check into the address this morning.” Jake tucked the blanket around the baby and lifted her to the crook of his arm. “I plan to call Grace Hunt, who rescued me during the service last Sunday, and ask if she'll help with child care.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Abigail settled nicely with her.”

“Yeah, a huge relief after we caused a ruckus.”

Violet bit back a grin and could relate to not wanting to make a scene—ever. “What if Grace can't babysit?”

“I'll ask her for recommendations.”

“I saw several potential babysitters on Sunday. And maybe I could help in a pinch,” Violet said before fully considering the offer. What was she thinking?

“Wouldn't that mess with your work schedule?”

With a push of her foot, she set the swing in motion, embarrassed. Sure, she needed to keep tabs on Abigail. But babysitting? “Well, my afternoons tend to be slow until after parents get off from work.”

“What about tomorrow?” he asked, a hopeful smile lifting his brows. “I really need to get to a couple of work sites. Without a baby.”

She sighed, wishing she hadn't already looked at the week's schedule. “Tomorrow afternoon is open so far.”

“I'm working from home today, putting together an estimate and calling suppliers. But I'd love to let the crew know I'll be there tomorrow.”

“I'll pencil that in. But please ask Grace first.”

“Will do. It's nice to have a backup plan, though.” He smiled, and the look of gratitude did funny things to her insides. Made her glad she could put that look on his face.

She popped off the swing, almost as dramatic as the midair dismounts she'd done as a kid.
What a dork.
Thankfully her mug was empty or she would have splashed the creamy mess all over herself. “Well, gotta go get ready for work.”

“Thanks,” he called to her back as she hurried toward home.

She'd already veered off her morning routine. Would feel behind and rushed for the rest of the day, thanks to a man and a baby.

A really sweet baby she might be babysitting tomorrow.

What had she potentially gotten herself into?

* * *

“Are you serious?”

“I am,” Jake said to Zeb over the phone. Because Zeb was there putting in flooring, Jake had asked him to cover for him—something Jake had never done. Had never even considered. Naturally, Zeb would be surprised.

“Until I can arrange for child care, I can't be there as much as I'd like,” Jake said. “I'll be by when I can.”

“You know I'm happy to help, but what's going on?”

Jake heaved a sigh. “I wasn't totally up front with you when I said I'm babysitting Remy's baby. She actually took off and left Abigail here with me.”

“Ah, man. That's tough.”

“I plan to locate Remy and talk her into coming home.”

“I've got you covered. Do what you need to do.”

“Thanks, Zeb. I owe you.”

When they hung up, Jake peeked in on a peacefully napping Abigail. He grabbed the baby monitor and sat at the kitchen table to open his laptop.

With Remy's papers beside him, he compared her address on the documents. All the same. An Atlanta address. He typed it in a search engine.

Several entries came up. The top of the search was something called Peace House. He clicked a link to take him to the site.

A domestic violence shelter? His heart thudded as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no.” Surely not.

Quickly searching the site, he discovered the address did match Remy's paperwork. The phone number matched, too.

The website said the number was for administrative offices. But previous calls had turned up a recording saying the number was no longer in service.

Could Remy have made up the address? Or chosen it to throw him off track? He could only hope so. Maybe she wanted to keep her real address private.

But why? Unless she was hiding.

A sick feeling of dread settled in his stomach. Could she have lied about Abigail's father being dead? Was she trying to keep Abigail from an abusive father?

Lord, I pray Remy is okay. Please protect her, and help her stay clean.

Jake searched the shelter's website further and found the director's name and email contact. He quickly sent a message to Florence Phillips.

His need to find Remy, to know the truth, had just doubled in urgency.

He had to know how to protect Abigail.

Until he heard back from the shelter email, the only thing he could do was to go in person to check it out for himself. Which meant he needed a babysitter for more than the couple of hours Violet could spare.

He picked up the phone to call Grace Hunt's number and got an immediate answer.

“Miss Grace, this is Jake West.”

“Oh, hello, Jake. How's that adorable baby doing?”

“She's doing better every day. In fact, that's why I'm calling. I was wondering if I could hire you to babysit for me.”

The kind, elderly woman let out a sigh. “I wish I could, dear. But I have a jam-packed schedule right now. How long are you keeping the baby for Remy?”

Now that he'd told Violet and Zeb about Remy's disappearing act, Grace would soon hear. News traveled quickly in their small town.

“Grace, I don't know when or if she'll be back.” He went on to explain the whole situation and about how Violet had shown him how to care for Abigail.

“Oh, you poor man. I'm sure you need a lot of help, what with your business to run and all.” She let out a huff. “I suggest you ask that pretty pediatrician to watch the baby whenever she can. Could be God brought you two together for a reason.”

Jake's neck radiated heat like a 100,000 BTU gas furnace. “I appreciate your advice.” But if he had to ask Violet for help, it wouldn't be because she was pretty or that God had brought them together for a reason.

In fact, he needed to be cautious. The woman might try to insert herself in his family matter. He had to keep her on his side.

“In the meantime, Grace, can you suggest any young women in the church I could possibly hire?”

“Well, that little Kelli Calhoun is in college now, taking summer classes. And the Brockett girl, bless her heart, works down at the IGA every weekday at 7:00 a.m., sometimes staying as late as 7:00 p.m. Hmm...let me see...” She paused for breath. “The Stephens twins are already babysitting full-time. That cute redheaded Emily is on the swim team, but maybe she'd have a bit of time?”

“She's only in middle school. What about some young moms?”

“Just between you and me, Liza could probably use the extra money. But, Jake, honey, she already has four small children, and I don't see how she could possibly care for another child as young as your Abigail.”

His shoulders felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds. “And you can't think of anyone else?”

“Not a single one right now. But I'll let you know if I do.”

Jake thanked her and hung up. If Grace and everyone else she knew were unavailable, it looked as if he was going to need Violet more than he'd anticipated. If he called on her too often or let her get too close, though, would she decide he wasn't capable of caring for Abigail and try to intervene?

* * *

Violet approached the homey bungalow with some trepidation on Wednesday just after noon. Could she really babysit Abigail while remaining a neutral bystander, offering assistance as needed without attachment?

The front door opened, and Jake appeared wearing work-worn jeans and a company-logo T-shirt. His hair stood up as if he'd been jamming his hand through it. And he certainly didn't look welcoming.

Maybe it wasn't too late to back out. “Do you still need me to babysit?”

“I do. I've got a situation and need to get to the work site pronto.”

Assistance without attachment.
“Where's Abigail?”

He motioned her inside ahead of him. As she brushed past him and filled her nose with his clean, woodsy scent, she had to admit that he was easy on the nose...and the eyes.

Every time she entered his house, she felt at home. Comfortable.

Maybe comfortable was okay. But she shouldn't allow herself to feel so drawn to him or to the baby. Not when the baby was most likely temporary.

Jake's not temporary, though.

Jake leaned down in front of her face and smiled.

She'd missed what he'd said. “Excuse me?”