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The second we’re both situated and my head hits my pillow, I’m out like a light.
“You’re hogging the baby, Duke. Hand her over, it’s my turn to hold her.”
“You got to hold her for an hour, I just got this baby and I’m damned if I’m not getting me some snuggles.”
“Would both of you shut up? You’re gonna wake her up.”
The gruff whispers pull me from sleep. Instead of being confused this time though, I remember exactly where I am and what happened. My eyes blink their way open, the lights in the hospital room dim enough that the light doesn’t send a shard of glass through my brain.
I’m in a different room now, and there are more men than last time.
Did they go out and duplicate while I was passed out or something?
The warm weight of Audra isn’t at my side anymore, and I piece together that these men, these ferocious-looking bearded men are fighting over who gets to hold my six-month-old — for baby snuggles. If I wasn’t so fucking wrecked, it would almost be funny.
Lifting my head, the motion pings something in my neck and I groan. Fuck that hurts.
A warm finger brushes my knuckle and startles me enough that I turn to look at the offender. He has dark, messy, wavy hair, bright hazel eyes, and enough hair on his face to hide most of his features.
Good goddamn, he’s handsome.
“Hey, Ms. Williams. I’m Harlan Calhoun — Sheriff of Everette. How’re you feeling?”
Shit. Fuck. Dammit. This is not good. Any attraction I feel evaporates in a second.
“Fine,” I croak, my eyes looking around the dim room for which of these men have my daughter. A cop by my bedside is never a good thing — trust me — been there, done that.
Harlan tracks my gaze and says, “Duke. Maisie is awake, give her her daughter.”
Duke steps forward with my girl. Someone got her dressed in a purple onesie with leopard print leggings and she’s yanking and tugging at the guy’s beard while babbling.
Duke carefully unhooks her fingers from his facial hair and sets her down on my lap, waiting until I get her in my grip before letting go.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“A little after six in the evening,” Harlan says, his voice soft.
Holy shit. I slept almost eleven hours. Why the hell do I still feel so tired?
I start to sit up, but Harlan holds his hand up. “Hang on.” He reaches forward toward the bed, and I flinch back away from him.
Fuck. Flinching away from him is only going to make him suspicious, but having law enforcement — and not just any law enforcement, but the town big guns — in my hospital room is nerve-wracking.
“Has she eaten?” I ask the room, unable to meet Harlan’s gaze.
“Yep. We fed her about ten when she woke up, she nibbled on some baby cereal, ate more at one and then dinner at five. I hope you don’t mind, but I let myself into your camper to grab some stuff for her and you,” one of the men says.
“Who are you?” I ask, already having forgotten his name.
He tips an imaginary hat. “Jedd Calhoun, ma’am. At your service.”
I nod. The kindness in his tone making my face hot and eyes watery. He’s the one who towed my camper.
“How’s my rig?” I ask, holding my breath. I need the camper. Whatever is wrong needs to be fixable so I can keep moving. Keep us safe.
“Erm,” he hedges, looking to his brother sitting next to me.
“You feeling up to some questions?” Harlan asks, pulling my gaze away from his brothers. Now that I know they’re brothers, I can see the resemblance. All of them have heads of dark hair. All of them have similar builds and features. But the one sitting next to me is the scariest.
