The Bad Boy's Baby (Hope Springs) (2 page)

Quinn wound her dark hair into a bun and secured it on the top of her head. Her Japanese heritage and rock star style gave her a unique look that made her stand out from the crowd, especially in their town, and the girl definitely knew how to kick back and have fun. She was still learning how to deal with mountain critters and the inevitable renovation hiccups, but she’d kept her optimism high, which made her an easy client to work for.

She poured four mugs of coffee, her steady stream of conversation filling the air. When she bragged up Emma and all she’d done for the property, Cam looked her way again. Heat crept across Emma’s cheeks, the attention making her squirm, and she ducked her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ve got a great crew, which makes it easy,” she said, waving off the skills she’d just been feeling proud of. She knew she needed to stop downplaying what she did in order to give off the air of confidence it took for people to take her more seriously, but it was hard to change old habits.

The rumble of truck engines started low but grew, and Emma set down her mug. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better go get to work so we can keep to our schedule.”

With a quick nod, she rushed outside.

At least once she had her long to-do list and a crew to focus on, she could stop wondering what in the world she was going to do about the fact that everything in her life just got a hundred times more complicated.

…

Through the large front window, Cam watched Emma greet the group of guys who’d pulled in. Being home was…weird. For ten years, all he’d known was military life. Orders and missions and, honestly, a lot of violence.

Ever since Heath had mentioned the Mountain Ridge property was up for sale, all he could think about was getting home and running camping and hunting expeditions with his brother. Mostly what he wanted to do was forget all the bad crap he’d lived through the past decade and escape from everything and everyone, until he remembered who he was. Especially who he was without the military.

But now that he was here, he could hardly sleep or sit or stand still. He’d only been out for a couple of days, though, and he hoped that in time he’d adjust. The other thing he hadn’t planned on was running into Emma. Years had passed since their last encounter—and man, had it been a hell of an encounter—and he wasn’t exactly sure what to say to her.

The truth was, he didn’t even know her. But their one amazing night together had played through his head several times in the past few years, even if the exact details were a bit blurry.

He’d been drinking at the Triple S with Heath, thinking about his upcoming deployment—and if he recalled right, ranting about Dad—and then he’d noticed her sitting a few stools down. Cam had remembered her from high school, the smart girl with the frizzy brown hair who had her hand up in every class, the right answer always on the tip of her tongue.

The girl had always intrigued him, his brain having a hard time wrapping around how someone could possibly be
that
into school. She was the sweet type of girl he knew to stay away from, because the townsfolk already blamed him and Heath for everything that went wrong, and he could only imagine the uproar it’d cause if he even dared to breathe her same air.

That night at the Triple S, though, she’d looked the same but different. Pretty in a classic way, her formerly frizzy hair transformed into sleek waves, her lips bright red and completely mesmerizing, and then there was the skirt that displayed a killer set of legs. And he’d decided he could risk offering the town’s good girl a drink, since he was on his way out of Hope Springs anyway. Only she’d offered him one first, and he’d gone from intrigued to fascinated and became more so as the night went on.

Today she had her brown hair up in a messy bun and her makeup was minimal, but she was still pretty in a classic, down-to-earth way, and those tight jeans showed off the fact that she still had a killer set of legs.

His heart thumped as he watched her lift a clipboard and point, sending one group one way and the other group off in a different direction. He tried to remember how long it’d been.

Let’s see…that was my third deployment, so right before my second tour in Afghanistan, and before I was stationed in Germany.
He counted off the years on his fingers, trying to remember if Afghanistan had been a fifteen-month deployment or a year—all of them blurred together in one long streak, a lot of camo and desert and the feel of his rifle in his hands and dudes crammed into tight quarters.

Three years. Three years since I convinced the cute girl who knew everything to take shots with Heath and me, and then the night somehow ended with us having sex in my truck.
His blood heated at the memory, and before he could remind himself that he should stay far away from good girl Emma Walker, he was out the door and down the porch steps, his toolbox in hand.

As he pushed through the door, Heath called out, “Wait up,” and Cam slowed his pace so that his brother could catch up. Then they walked over to the cabin where he’d seen Emma and the second crew head, the one that was still just a frame.

But when he got there, Emma wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He glanced back at the row of parked trucks, but the one she’d arrived in still sat in the driveway, the faded sign declaring it Hope Springs Construction missing enough of the P and E that it looked a bit like Ho Springs Construction. He laughed at that, then shook his head at his maturity level.

“Put us to work,” Heath said, and Tom, a potbellied guy in a yellow hard hat, gave them instructions to start on the north wall.

The two of them started in on putting up the Sheetrock. Swinging the hammer and working up a sweat in the hot sun helped take a bite out of the antsy feeling Cam had been experiencing since arriving back in town, and he decided that keeping busy was the key to transitioning back into civilian life.

After the guys called lunch, he couldn’t help looking around for Emma again. The sound of hammering, less noisy than what had been going on around him and coming from the next cabin over, caught his attention, and he wandered over to check it out.

Emma had parts spread all around her, the skeleton of a fireplace mantel taking shape inside.

“Lunchtime,” he said, and she jumped, the hammer in her hands dropping to the floor with a
thunk
. He quickly picked up the hammer and extended it to her. “Sorry. I just scared you for the second time today.”

“First time, actually. The other time…well, I expected the door to open, obviously, but…” She shook her head and then tucked that one strand behind her ear, like she’d done this morning.

“You didn’t expect
me
.”

Her chest rose and fell with a long exhale. Cam silently encouraged her to lift her big brown eyes so he could get another look into them—and so he could attempt to assure her that she had nothing to feel weird about—but he couldn’t think of a way to say those actual words without it coming across as weird. Especially since it would be practically admitting that he’d been thinking about their night together since she showed up on the porch this morning.

What the hell am I doing? I should just leave her alone.
The rarely used optimistic part of him argued that he was only trying to get back to normal small-town life, but nothing about this interaction felt normal. “Would you like me to help you?”

She winced, like that was the last thing she wanted. Apparently he completely failed at remembering how to do small talk. Or maybe he’d offended her.

“Not that you don’t have it under control. I thought maybe you just pointed and gave the orders, but obviously you know what you’re doing. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, give me a hammer and screwdriver and I can bang and screw with the best of them.” Her face flushed pink, the brown eyes he’d wanted another look at flying wide.

“Trust me, I remember,” he said, shutting his mouth too late to keep that thought from popping out.

She threw her hand over her mouth, but a laugh slipped out, and he couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Oh my gosh. I’m going to go die now,” she said, but then she laughed harder, and it triggered the memory of that night, when she’d been doing shots and started laughing at any and everything—the happy sound had warmed him from the inside out, the noise carrying off his worries as it drifted into the air, just like it did now.

She put her fingertips to her forehead and shook her head. “What I meant to say was that pouring the concrete and framework are a bit out of my league, but…” She shook her head again. “I’m the queen of saying the wrong thing, and this is just…”

Cam put his hand on his chest. “No, I said the wrong thing. Sorry. I think I was trying so hard to not mention that night that it sort of backfired. I’m usually good at keeping my thoughts inside.”

Her gaze had snapped to his when he said “that night,” and he suddenly couldn’t swallow.

She winced and glanced away. “Look, I—”

“Emma. There you are.” The guy who’d arrived about an hour ago, looking more suited to an office than a job site, stepped through the doorway. He got a silly grin on his face as he looked at Emma, and it made Cam wonder if they were more than coworkers.

His gut pinched, a sensation that felt suspiciously like jealousy.

Of course she’s involved with someone else, someone who’s actually suited for her. Not like she and I were even ever involved, anyway.
“I’ll catch you later,” Cam said, backing away.

Really, it was for the best. His head was nowhere close to a place where he could go out on a date and pretend that everything he’d experienced during his last mission didn’t follow after him.

Chapter Two

Emma hadn’t had another chance to talk to Cam since Pete, who’d arrived in town from Salt Lake for the week, had interrupted to ask if they’d received the tile to complete the next phase of the remaining kitchens yet.

Okay, that was a lie. She’d purposely kept busy and stayed out of the radius of both Brantley boys, her emotions such a mess that she’d put one of the mantel logs on raw side out and had to unfasten it and start over.

As she walked up the sidewalk to Happy Hearts Day Care, she let herself wonder what more Cam would’ve said if they hadn’t been interrupted. The words, “Trust me, I remember,” and the way he’d said them ran through her head on a continuous loop throughout the day. What would he have followed that up with?

Not that it mattered, because she should’ve stopped any conversation and…what? Just blurted out that he had a daughter? That
they
had a daughter.

The guilt that she’d pushed to the background broke through every barrier she’d erected and slammed into her full force, crushing her lungs in the process. Fear came right on its heels, even stronger than this morning. The most important thing in her life was Zoey. Keeping her safe and happy and taken care of, and most of all, making her feel wanted.

Suddenly she didn’t know how to do all that, not with Cam Brantley back in Hope Springs.

She knocked on the door, and the second she stepped inside, Zoey yelled, “Mommy!” and ran over and hugged her legs. Emma picked her up and kissed one of her chubby cheeks, hugging her even tighter than usual.

Tanya told her the highlights of the day, along with the fact that Zoey hadn’t eaten her lunch very well. When playing was an option, getting her to sit down and eat was a challenge that involved a mix of bartering and discipline. Plus ketchup. Zoey would eat almost anything with ketchup, including carrots and green beans. Emma had felt like quite the genius when she’d discovered she could actually trick her two-year-old into eating veggies.

The things she was proud of these days. Three years ago she’d been counting down the days until she could move to the city and become a big-time architect, one who designed homes that’d be featured in magazines. Of being the person people called, whether for new homes or remodel projects, and having a reputation for getting things done quickly and efficiently while sticking to a budget.

Once she found out she was pregnant, those plans were postponed. She’d barely graduated college, and had planned on taking the summer for a mini-breather and for applying for jobs. That got pushed back until she had time to recover from having a baby.

Right when she’d decided it was time to finally make the move to a big city and go after the career she’d trained for, Grandma Bev had mixed up her meds—probably added a bit of alcohol, too, although she still denied it—and fell and broke her leg. She claimed she was fine, and even proudly showed off her hot-pink cast around town, but Emma still worried about her. Grandma Bev had been the one to take care of Emma after her parents’ ugly, drawn-out divorce, and she couldn’t leave her to recover alone.

Then she’d been so busy balancing a new baby and her job, all while trying to get Grandma to slow down enough to let her leg actually heal. And when the only job offers Emma received were unpaid internships, it was hard to justify leaving. No doubt the internships built skills and would look great on a résumé, but she needed money more than experience at that point, so she’d asked her boss at Hope Springs Construction about taking on more responsibility and ways to move up. Each year she’d gained more responsibilities and another title until this opportunity with Mountain Ridge came up.

This was her chance to get her career back on track, but with Cam Brantley now in the picture, everything she’d worked for was suddenly at risk. He’d be so upset once he found out about Zoey, and she couldn’t blame him. While she’d like to use her couple of failed attempts to contact him as an excuse, she knew she should’ve tried harder, regardless of already knowing how he felt about having a kid.

Will he fire me from the Mountain Ridge job? Just make finishing it hell? What if I can’t even use those beautiful cabins in my portfolio? All that work, only to be thrown away…

During the drive home she played out the likely scenarios, trying to come up with a game plan for each one. But the short trip was hardly long enough, and she had a feeling she’d never feel prepared for what the next few days might bring.

On her way into the house from the garage, she nearly tripped on the giant rocking horse that Zoey must’ve moved in an attempt to reach the package of cookies on the counter.

After making a quick dinner and doing the dishes, Emma settled onto the couch with Zoey for what had to be their thousandth viewing of
Frozen
.

Thirty minutes from the end, Zoey’s eyelids grew heavy, and she quickly lost the battle to stay awake. Emma ran her fingers through her daughter’s fine blond curls and whispered, “I don’t know what to do.”

Her gaze moved to the stack of bills on top of the TV—the envelopes seemed to breed like bunnies. She could hardly keep up with her own bills, and while Grandma Bev kept telling her not to worry about her, Emma did. Each year another medication got added to the weekly pillbox, and she knew they weren’t cheap. Once she landed a job that made more money, Grandma would have to stop refusing her help and suck it up and deal with the fact that she was going to pay some of her expenses, like it or not.

The image of her tackling her surprisingly spry seventy-year-old grandmother and trying to force her to take money made her giggle, but honestly it was probably what it’d take for the stubborn woman to let her help. After all, Beverly Harris was invincible—according to her—and they were still involved in their ten-year battle over reducing fried foods to try to keep her cholesterol and blood pressure under control.

Zoey stirred when Emma turned off the movie, and she adjusted her grip, stood, and carried her into her room and laid her in bed.

Emma slipped off the tutu and decided the jammies could handle one more night, even if it was the third day and night she’d worn the outfit.

By the time she made it back to the couch, exhaustion tugged at her, but if she crawled into bed, tomorrow would start that much sooner, and she wanted to relax with a non-Disney show, perhaps some mindless television where the hero was ripped and occasionally shirtless, as it was the only action she got these days.

Unless you count Cam Brantley saving me from falling backward down the porch steps, his warm hand on my wrist, his body definitely ripped under that T-shirt.

She scolded herself for even thinking it when everything about Cam only brought a hundred complications, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning, his image from today crashing into past ones, namely that one fateful night.

When she closed her eyes, she found herself back at Seth’s Steak and Saloon—or the Triple S, as the locals called it—hair done in pin curls, wearing a dress that was tighter and shorter than she usually wore, along with bright red lipstick and a new, fiery attitude.

All because Ricky told me I was boring before he dumped me. How stupid.
That night, Cam Brantley had paid attention to her for the first time
ever
—and okay, part of that was because she’d been literally sitting three feet away—and she’d thought the sexy new look must be working.

At first he’d barely glanced her way, and then he’d gone right back to talking to Heath. They were discussing their father and their half brother, and she couldn’t help eavesdropping—not that they seemed to be trying to keep their voices low enough to avoid being overheard.

“Of course he’s ignoring the kid,” Cam had said. “He didn’t even raise us. Now he’s got another son with a woman half his age. The best thing that could happen to that kid is for Dad to stay far, far away.”

“But Oliver’s mom isn’t exactly stable, either,” Heath had said. “I’ll try to take care of him when I can, but I’m probably not much better than Dad.”

“You’d be way better than Dad. I’m the one who’s a mess. Which is why I don’t want kids.”

“You might change your mind someday,” Heath said.

“No, I won’t. If there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that I won’t ever put a kid through what we had to go through. The best way to make sure that happens is to never have a kid. Hell, if Dad and Mom never had me, they never would’ve gotten married, and think of how much better off the world would be.”

Emma had winced at that. Yes, it was a harsh thought, but it was one she knew all too well. She’d been the reason her parents married as well. Whenever things were bad between them—which was pretty much always, and they hid it less and less as she got older—Dad would bring it up. How Mom had to go and get herself pregnant, even though obviously she hadn’t gotten
herself
pregnant. How he would give anything not to be trapped with her, with a kid.

Mom just let him talk to her like that, and Emma could see that every time he said something harsh, it stripped away a little more of her self-esteem. It hadn’t exactly made Emma feel great about herself, either.

“Hey,” Cam had said, turning fully toward her. “It’s Emma, right?”

She’d nodded.

“You were in a few of my classes, and you always had all the answers. Do you still?”

The fact that he was staring at her, his gaze slowly moving over her body, made her heart skip a couple of beats. She’d crushed on him so hard in school, the bad boy she should know better than to want. She’d always thought he had a rough exterior but a deep soul. Whatever that meant. She gestured to the heavy-on-the-vodka drink she’d asked for and attempted a flirty grin, telling herself she wasn’t boring. She had on red lipstick and a short skirt, dang it, and Cam Brantley had noticed.

“I do,” she said, then she asked Seth Jr. to pour Cam a shot—and to put it on her tab, telling herself it was such a nonboring, ballsy move.

“You do,” he said, reaching for the tiny glass she slid his way. She got a little lost in the motion when he tipped it to his full lips, and she wondered what those lips would feel like against hers.

He slid the cup back toward Seth, asked him to refill it and pour Emma one, too—on his tab this time.

As she’d passed the shot glass back to Cam, he wrapped his fingers around it, catching hers, too, and an electric current traveled up from their touch and settled in her chest. “What should we drink to?” he asked.

“Oh, I…” Honestly, she’d planned on dumping the shot into her drink when he wasn’t looking and maybe only taking another sip or two, since she was already feeling buzzed. But then she realized that Carefree and Exciting Emma tipped back shots, no worrying about things like too drunk or hangovers. “To living in the moment.”

Cam grinned. “I’ll definitely drink to that.” He clinked his cup against hers and they downed the shots.

As soon as she blinked the stinging tears from her eyes, she leaned toward him, one arm on the bar, and flirted like she’d never flirted before. She couldn’t remember how many shots had followed. Only that she’d laughed a lot, and then Cam said something about getting out of there, taking her hand instead of waiting for an answer, and she’d blindly followed.

Once they’d reached the nearly empty parking lot, he slid an arm around her waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her. The alcohol haze lifted a bit, every inch of her body coming alive as he worked magic with his lips, the soft brush of them followed by the stubble on his chin.

She threw herself fully into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him and rolling her tongue over his. Somewhere along the way, they’d ended up in his truck. She protested his driving, because obviously they were way too drunk, and he’d tossed the keys to the floor, saying he didn’t plan on going anywhere for a while. Then he brushed his fingertips across her collarbone, eliciting a shiver and spreading goose bumps across her skin.

Another protest about making out in the truck was on the tip of her tongue, but they were in the back corner, where the tree branches hung down and created fair cover, and his windows were tinted black.

Then he kissed her again, like it was the end of the world and he planned on making every last second count.

Parts of the night were so fuzzy and parts were so sharp.

She distinctly remembered his ripped torso and running her fingers across his pecs and abs, awed at the way the muscles dipped and curved. She’d also traced the tattoo on his chest, although she couldn’t recall what it was now, only that it stood out from the ones on his arms. She definitely remembered when he’d slid his hands up her thighs. She even remembered the sex that followed, blips of kisses and his name on her lips. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember the condom, although she’d sworn he’d pulled one out at one point.

With that last memory—or missing memory, as it were—her eyes popped open and she was transported from his truck and the past into her messy living room, the TV currently playing a show no one was watching.

He said he didn’t want a kid—he couldn’t have been any clearer about it.

Still, right after she found out she was pregnant, she’d googled how to find military members’ email addresses. One site said there was a standard format for the army using the first name and last name, but that if there were more than one person with the same name, there’d be numbers added. Hoping he was the only one with the name, she’d sent an email to test the waters that said, “Hi, this is Emma Walker from Hope Springs. Are you the Cameron Brantley from there?”

But it’d bounced back, message undeliverable, and without knowing things like his unit or regiment, finding his real email address without involving a lot of people—including contacting the Department of Defense—was impossible.

For a couple of months, she’d left it alone. But halfway through her pregnancy, when everyone was asking about the father and she’d blurted out he didn’t want to be involved so please stop asking, she’d experienced another bout of guilt, even as she’d told herself it was true.