Page 23 of Talk Wicked to Me

“I’m positive,” Ginger said. “We all love doing things like this. It gives us reasons to get together.”

Emerson glanced at Baz, his eyes imploring her to accept their help. “Okay, thank you. But I think I would feel better if it wasn’t too many people. How can I ever pay everyone back?”

“There is no paying back,” Baz said. “We pay it forward when we can.”

“And there’s no pressure to do that, either,” Ginger clarified.

“I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’ve either stumbled into some weird type of cult or some of the nicest people on earth.”

“Let’s go with nice people,” Ginger suggested.

“Yeah. Our Redemption Ranch chapter helped a girl who escaped from a cult, and I wouldn’t wish that environment on anyone,” Baz said.

“I think I remember seeing something about that on the news.”

“Those awful men got what was coming to them,” Ginger said. “And sweet Sully finally has the love and the family she deserves.” She handed one of the bags to Baz. “Honey, why don’t you dish out dinner before it gets cold, while I show Emerson the cute things I picked up for Brennan, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

As Baz unpacked their dinner and Ginger showed her several cute outfits and an adorable green-and-yellow baby blanket with tiny clouds and sheep on it, the room filled with the savory scent of home cooking, and Emerson didn’t feel quite so alone in the world.

Chapter Seven

BY THE TIME Emerson was discharged from the hospital, she was more than ready to go home. As nice as it was to be taken care of around the clock, she needed her space, and she wasn’t used to sitting around, even when she was exhausted. Although she had loved every minute she’d spent with Baz, and she’d really enjoyed meeting Ginger.

She glanced at Baz, handsome and relaxed behind the wheel of his truck in a snug T-shirt and jeans and those biker boots that she liked way too much. He’d shown up the minute visiting hours had begun again this morning and hadn’t minded waiting the three hours it had taken until she was discharged. He’d been so careful with Brennan and with her, making sure they were comfortable in the truck, and his truck smelled just like him. Like sandalwood and a warm hug on a cold winter’s day, only she couldn’t imagine feeling cold even in the thick of winter around the man. She was going to miss seeing him every day. But she had a lot to do once she got home. She’d already contacted the two editing clients whose manuscripts she’d hoped to finish before giving birth. One client had a firm deadline and had to hire someone else to finish the project, but luckily, the other had a few weeks of wiggle room. Emerson planned to work on it during Brennan’s naps. Unpacking would have to wait, as would putting together Brennan’s crib and the rest of his room, but that was okay. He’d sleep in her room for several weeks anyway. The only thing she needed to put together was the Pack ’n Play because it had a bassinet attachment that he could sleep in.

Even though she had a plan she felt good about, when Baz turned onto her street, she felt a flicker of panic and wished Gwen were there with her. From this moment on, it was up to her to keep Brennan healthy and safe.

“Home sweet home.” Baz parked in her driveway, and his gaze moved over her face. “Are you okay?”

Her pulse quickened, anxiety prickling her limbs. “Yeah, just a little tired.” I’ve got this.

“Stay put. I’ll help you out.”

He was out of the truck before she could argue. She practiced the calming breaths she’d learned in years of therapy and watched him walk around the front of the truck. She’d been thinking a lot about the things Ginger had said about the way they helped others and how they believed in paying it forward. Ginger reminded her of her own mother, the way she was kind and gentle and somehow also strong and stable. She didn’t know how she could ever pay it forward for Baz. What did you do for a guy who delivered your baby and then proceeded to take care of both of you every second he could?

He opened the passenger door and held out his hand. “Be careful. It’s a big step.” He helped her down and then opened the back door.

“I can get him.”

“You’re not supposed to carry anything heavier than the baby, and he’s sleeping. I’ll carry him in the carrier part of the car seat so you can rest while he does.”

“I’ve got too much to do to rest right away.” She grabbed her bag, but he took it from her and shouldered it.

“You can carry these.” He handed her the flowers he’d given her in the hospital and unhooked the carrier. He put a hand on her lower back as they made their way up the walkway. “Careful.” He motioned to the broken slates. “You should have that fixed. You’re not going to be able to get the stroller over this.”

“It’s on my to-do list.”

The muscles in his jaw bunched, and he unlocked the door.

“I’m sure it seems weird to you that I have so many locks in such a low-crime area.”

“Not at all. I’m glad you’re careful.” He placed the keys in her hand, then pushed open the door.

She stepped inside and stopped cold. All of her boxes were gone. Just as panic flared in her chest, she realized the contents of the boxes had been put away. The bookshelves flanking the fireplace were lined with her books and knickknacks, her pictures were hung on the living room walls, and the painting that had once hung above their family fireplace was hanging above the mantel. It was one of the few things besides her father’s recliner she’d asked Gwen’s parents to save for her. The changing table she’d bought had been assembled and placed against the far wall, the shelves underneath stocked with baby clothes, burp rags, diapers, wipes, diaper rash ointment, and petroleum jelly. Beside it was the diaper pail she’d bought.

Stunned, she took a few steps and saw her laptop on an unfamiliar, and beautiful, writing desk in the dining room with a matching bookshelf beside it. The bookshelf and the desk drawers and decorative legs were a distressed slate blue, and the desktop was a pretty shade of wood. Her office supplies were neatly organized on the bookshelves in the labeled baskets she’d used in New York. She glanced over the half wall into the kitchen and saw a plastic baby bath on the counter by the sink, a bottle of baby wash, and a set of folded towels on the counter. Emotions stacked up inside her.

“Did you do all of this?” she asked incredulously, setting the vase she was carrying on the end table by the couch.