Lucky’s heart plunged to his stomach when Cruz shook his head. “No. I don’t have those kinds of resources. However, remember what Nestor told you when he helped you before?”
“He said a lot of things.” Many Lucky didn’t want to recall.
“He said he’d help you because you asked for someone other than yourself.” Cruz’s lips turned up into a smile. Not the seductive, flirty smile he used as a tool to get his way, or piss Lucky off, but a bittersweet one. “Don’t go ruining his reputation by letting people know he has a soft heart.”
“Never.” Lucky didn’t want his sonofabitch reputation tarnished either. “I thought, maybe Graciela…”
“I’ll let you know what I find out.” Cruz tossed a few bucks on the table for a tip and strolled out of the restaurant without looking back.
Now, if only he lived up to his promises.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lucky spent a lonely weekend after parting with Cruz. Charlotte and Ty left Saturday morning to visit their folks in North Carolina, and he found himself sitting on the couch, watching back episodes of South Bend Springs, his favorite soap opera addiction, one he’d never dare tell his sister and nephew about.
Moose lay on the couch, as much of him as possible in Lucky’s lap. Every once in a while, the Great Pyrenees made the air unbreathable.
“Damn, boy. We need to change your dog food,” Lucky groused after the third time. Cat Lucky lay behind Lucky’s head, purring like a freight train, while Lila, soap goddess extraordinaire, threw an impressive right hook at her latest baby daddy.
Baby daddy.
In the hospital lay a little boy with no father. Lucky texted Bo,“Where are you?”
Five minutes later, Bo replied,“With Walter. I’ll be home around six.”
Six. Giving Lucky four hours.
He nudged a disgruntled dog off his lap, and earned a low growl from Cat Lucky for letting the reclining sofa up, though the cat stayed put. Moose resumed his place on the couch without his human pillow. “Your concern is overwhelming,” Lucky grumbled.
Oh well. Them giving him pleading eyes and begging him not to leave might end his resolve. He snatched his keys off the table by the front door and paced out to his Camaro. A yellow film of pollen coated the car’s hood, top, and windshield. Ah, springtime in Georgia.
He backed out of the driveway, won a non-verbal argument with the cranky community gate, and drove toward Mercy General by way of Starbucks. Stepping out of character called for coffee.
He’d finished his cup of decaf by the time he found a spot in the hospital’s parking lot.
Visiting hours meant no one stopped him, questioned him, or even gave him a second glance. He took the elevator to the maternity floor and followed a grinning gray-haired man and woman to the nursery.
Glass windows separated clear bassinets from the visitor area, occupied ones crowded close to the front for better viewing. Pink and blue armbands marked babies as male and female. The older couple stopped and cooed, hugging each other as they stared through the glass. Here and there other people admired newborns, a young woman in a bathrobe and slippers among them. A man stood beside her, arm around her waist, leaning his head against hers.
A happy family. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find the child he sought. There! A shock of dark hair stood in all directions. He stopped in front of a sleeping baby wearing a blue armband.
Wow. Chubby. Healthy. Not nearly in as bad of shape as Lucky feared. While he stood there, a young couple approached. “There he is!” the man exclaimed, stepping up beside Lucky. The woman squeezed between them to get a better look at the yellow-wrapped bundle.
“Isn’t he adorable?” she gushed. “Hello, nephew! I’m your Auntie Anna!” The woman turned to Lucky. “Which one is yours?”
He spotted a nameplate on the front of the bassinet. Mora. What was Yolanda’s last name? Not Mora, apparently. “I haven’t found him yet.” He rushed away before the couple asked questions he couldn’t answer. Was the child so sickly he’d not been put into the nursery with all the other babies?
Lucky strolled toward the back of the room, staring through a layer of protective glass. Two incubators sat side by side, the first one empty. A curtain partially obscured the view.
The second held a tiny infant, so much smaller than the other babies on display. A blue armband declared him a boy. He wasn’t wrapped like the others. Instead he wore a diaper and tiny knit hat, white sensor dots on his chest, warming under lights. A tuft of dark hair peeked out from under the hat.
Tiny fingers curled into fists. While Lucky watched, the baby’s lower lip quivered in a sucking motion. Head to the side, the dusky-skinned bundle slept. So quiet. So peaceful.
So alone.
From this angle, Lucky couldn’t read the nameplate. Instinct said he’d found the right kid.
A door opened and a nurse swept through, followed by a dark-haired man in a hospital gown and mask. He sat in a rocking chair while the nurse freed the little one from his incubator.
