Page 3 of Stay Wild Darlin’

Dalton

One Year Later

“Brooke,” I yelled, my voice echoing across the gravel drive. “You can’t drop a baby on my doorstep without any explanation.”

She was already backing toward the old truck parked at the far end of the driveway, her eyes wide and frantic.

“I-I’m sorry, Dalt,” she stammered. “You’re a good person. You have to take care of her. I can’t . . .”

“Brooke,” I shouted as I ran toward her. “How do I know if this baby is mine? What the hell are you doing?”

Everything in my brain was firing at lightning speed. “I haven’t seen you in twelve god damned months because I heard you ran off with some guy. I spent the entire year keeping my head down and working. I figured we were both busy, but clearly you were hiding. Where the fuck have you been?”

“I left,” she whispered, still walking backward. “I had to leave town because I couldn’t let you see me like this, and I needed help.” She slowed for a second, tears brimming in her eyes. “I-I can’t do it, Dalt. You’re a good person. I’ve been in love with you for years, but I can’t anymore.” She shook her head hard enough to send tears flying. “I’m sorry. I tried, okay? I tried for a couple months. But I’m not—” Her breath caught. “I’m not the mother she needs. You’ll do right by her.”

She ran toward the truck, where a greasy piece of shit was waiting.

Panic clenched my chest as I yelled after her, “How do I feed her?”

She paused, a sad little smile tugging at her lips. “I left instructions, bottles, and formula in her bag. Everything’s labeled.”

“Are you on drugs? What is going on? I can get you help, check you in somewhere⁠—”

“Stop,” she demanded.

My mind reeled. This wasn’t happening. I had no family around, no idea how to raise a kid on my own. “Brooke, stay with me. Be with me. We can handle this—together,” I begged.

“I—”

“Come on, baby,” the guy in the truck barked.

“Shut up,” I shouted, glaring at him. “If you’re taking her away, shut the fuck up and let her finish.”

Brooke looked down. “Take good care of her,” she murmured, slipping into the passenger seat and slamming the door.

“What’s her name?” I called as the engine roared to life. “Tell me that.”

“Cora. I named her Cora Culpepper,” she said, eyes flicking to mine for half a second before the truck peeled off down my gravel driveway.

Like that, she was gone—leaving me there with a baby and a storm of questions raging in my head.

I spun around and jogged back up to the porch. The baby was still there in her car seat, patches of blonde hair peeking out from under a tiny beanie, wide green eyes staring right at me. One look at that little face, and there was no denying it—she was mine.

She stared at me for a split second. “Hi, Cora,” I whispered. In the next moment, her tiny face scrunched up, and she let out a piercing wail that made my stomach lurch. “Fuck,” I muttered.

I wasn’t ready for this. How did I make her stop?

I grabbed the bag and the car seat and brought her inside my house. “Let’s get you settled and see what you got.”

I was sweating before I even made it to the damn barn. Hat crooked, shirt wrinkled, boots unlaced. One arm cradling a baby carrier, the other juggling the diaper bag that weighed more than a full saddle. I didn’t have the wipes or a backup bottle.

Fuck.

I was late—hours late—and still hadn’t figured out how to explain the screaming chaos that’d been my morning.

I’d changed her twice and stopped at a gas station for more formula because the grocery store didn’t open until nine. I was unshowered and underdressed, holding a baby nobody even knew existed.

A baby I hadn’t known existed until a few hours ago.