Page 14 of Talk Wicked to Me

“Thank you.”

Just as he had earlier, Baz turned around while she got herself situated to nurse. She held her breath through the initial sting of the baby latching on to her nipple and glanced at the clock. That’s when she saw her bag on the chair and two framed photos from her cottage on the nightstand. One of her and Gwen holding their Best Bitches mugs and the picture from her bedroom of her and her parents. A lump lodged in her throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She hadn’t cried over her parents more than a handful of times in the last few years. It had to be her hormones, or sheer exhaustion, which made sense, considering it was one in the morning and she’d pushed a tiny human out of her body earlier.

Forcing those emotions down deep and erecting the walls she’d become adept at living behind, she took a calming breath and covered her breast with the hospital gown. “You can turn around.” He did, and the gentle look in his eyes brought another rush of emotion. “How long have you been here?”

“About an hour. Sorry I took so long. I got hung up.”

“That’s okay.” She didn’t mind that he’d taken a while, but she was curious whether maybe Evie wasn’t just a friend after all, and he’d met up with her. That was none of her business, but the fact that he’d been sitting there for an hour was. “Thank you for bringing my bag and the pictures, but you didn’t have to stay.”

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” His gaze moved over her face, and a slow smile brought out his dimples and a flutter in her chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired and sore, but good. Did you find the cookies and biscuits?”

“They were hard to miss. I gave some to the nurses when I got here, and they wanted to know where I bought them. You’re quite the baker. Do you have a side business or something?”

“I wish. I just do it for fun.”

“But you love it?”

“More than you can imagine,” she said as the door to her room opened, and an older nurse walked in. She propped the door open with her hip, crossed her arms, and looked down her nose at Baz.

“Hey, Val.” Baz’s voice oozed with charm. “You look beautiful this evening.”

The nurse scowled. “Don’t you try to sweet-talk me, Baxter Wicked. That might’ve worked on the new nurse, but you and I both know you’re not this young lady’s husband.”

“My husband?” Emerson’s eyes bloomed wide.

Baz cocked a grin. “They weren’t going to let me see you.”

“So you said you were my husband?” She couldn’t help but laugh. This guy was something else.

“It got me in, didn’t it?”

“And now he’s leaving.” The nurse pointed to the hall. “Out.”

“Come on, Val. I delivered her baby. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Don’t make me grab you by the ear like I did when you were little,” she said sternly.

Baz winced. “I hated that.” He gave Emerson’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll see you in the morning and give you a ride home.”

“You don’t have to do—”

“Save it, Lockhart. The car seat is already in my truck. It’s a double-cab, and safe—don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He headed over to Val, who was still holding the door open. “Give Saint and the kids my love.”

“Will do. Now, be safe getting home.” When the door closed behind him, Val came to the side of the bed wearing a warm smile. “That young man could charm the pants off a nun.”

Emerson was still processing the car seat being in his truck. “I don’t know him that well. Does he have a bad reputation?”

“Baz? Goodness, no. I’ve known him since he was just a boy. He’s a good, loyal man from a nice family, but much to the local ladies’ dismay, he doesn’t seem interested in settling down.” Her expression turned serious. “He didn’t bother you, did he, honey?”

“No. He’s been wonderful.” Maybe too wonderful.

She was looking forward to seeing him again.

Chapter Five

EMERSON SLEPT FITFULLY between feedings. It seemed like every time she found a comfortable position, Brennan woke up to nurse, and the few times she’d actually fallen asleep, her dreams were filled with images of her parents. She rarely dreamed about them anymore. Before finding out she was pregnant, it had been more than a year since she’d dreamed about them. The picture of them Baz had put on the nightstand must have caused a fissure in the walls she kept around those memories, because she’d dreamed about their daily life. She’d seen flashes of her mother editing at her desk in the den, cooking in the kitchen, and showing off a book she’d edited at a bookstore, and of her father coming home after work, reading on the couch, laughing at the dinner table, and playing Scrabble with her mother, the two of them eyeing each other challengingly.