Page 66

The second Charlie's weight settles against me, my chest gives way entirely. Emotions crawl up my throat, and I have to swallow them down. She's so small. Smaller than I imagined a person could be, warm and solid and impossibly real. Her face is scrunched up in sleep, her fist loose near her chin.

I trace one finger along the curve of her cheek, and she stirs without waking, a tiny huff of breath escaping her that undoes me more than anything that's happened all day.

My eyes burn, and I don't bother fighting it. A few tears slip free before I even register they've started. I have a daughter. This impossibly small, impossibly perfect person is mine, half made of me and half made of the woman standing three feet away watching me fall apart over a sleeping baby like the whole world just cracked open.

"Hey, Charlie," I whisper, voice still cracking. "Hey, baby girl. I'm your daddy."

She doesn't stir again, sleeping straight through the single most important introduction of my entire life. Somehow, that makes it better instead of worse, like she already trusts me enough not to need to wake up for it.

I don't know how long I stand there, rocking her in my arms, memorizing the weight of her, the smell of her hair, the exact shape of the jaw she inherited straight from Mom and me. Then I just stare so long that my arms start to ache from holding in one position. But I'm too afraid to shift even an inch in case I wake her, in case I do something wrong on the very first try.

When I finally look up, Lainey's watching me with a raw, unguarded, yet scared expression all tangled together.

Whatever's left of my composure cracks a little further at the sight of it. "Thank you," I tell her, meaning it more than two words can carry. "For bringing her. For giving me this."

"I couldn't keep her from you forever." Her voice comes out quiet, guilty. "Now that I know…" She looks away.

I stay silent, not wanting to rehash anything just yet. So I focus on Charlie for a while. When I lift my eyes back to Lainey's, there's more fear than the softness from before.

I instantly harden, and I don't fully plan my statement before it comes out of my mouth. "You're not keeping her from me. Not now. Not ever again. Whatever we have to figure out between us, Lainey, that part isn't up for discussion."

She bites her lip.

Charlie sighs against my chest, small and warm and entirely unaware that the whole shape of both our lives just changed forever around her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lainey

Jagger settles onto the couch with Charlie tucked against his chest. My heart squeezes so tight, I have to look away before he catches whatever's written all over my face.

He's good at this.

Not clumsy-good. Not the stiff, overcareful way I expected from a man who found out he was a father only several hours ago. He shifts her weight without thinking, one hand cradling her head automatically, rocking her with a rhythm that seems like muscle memory rather than guesswork. And watching it tightens the unwelcome knot in my stomach, intensifying the careful, guarded emotions I've been keeping locked up since I walked back into this county.

I press my lips together and busy myself smoothing a wrinkle out of my jeans instead of staring. But judging by the look Jagger gives me when he finally glances up, I don't do a very good job hiding my nerves.

"You can sit," he says, tipping his chin toward the empty half of the couch. "I don't bite."

"I know." My cheeks heat, and I lower myself onto the cushion beside him, close enough to see Charlie's face but far enough that our shoulders don't touch. And the last, stubborn scrap of self-preservation keeps that inch of space between us. I blurt out, "You're just better at this than I expected."

"Better at what?"

"Holding a baby. Most men look like they're defusing a bomb the first time somebody hands them one." I nod toward Charlie, who's still sound asleep despite the low murmur of our voices. "You look like you do this every day."

Jagger huffs a quiet laugh, careful not to jostle her. "I've been around babies my whole life. I'm in the middle of eight, in case nobody's mentioned that particular horror to you yet."

I can't keep the shock out of my voice. "Eight Cartwrights?"

"Yep. Four sisters and three brothers. Several are married." He shifts Charlie a little higher against his shoulder, and she makes a small, sleepy sound that has both of us going still until she settles again. Then he adds, "By the time I was old enough to hold a baby without somebody hovering over my shoulder, I had about a dozen nieces and nephews already running around this ranch. You learn fast in a family that size, or you get handed a screaming infant at Thanksgiving and figure it out in front of everybody."

I smile. "That sounds terrifying."

"It builds character." His mouth curves. It's the first real ease I've seen on his face since he stormed through my mother's front door hours ago. "I changed my first diaper when I was five. My little sister Paisley was born. And the smell made me cry harder than the baby did."

A laugh escapes me. "Please tell me somebody has that on video."

"Mercifully, no. Though I'm sure Mama's got a story about it she'll be thrilled to tell you the second she gets the chance." He glances down at Charlie again, and his face softens. Then he locks his gaze on mine. "I'm not scared of two a.m. feedings or blowout diapers, Lainey, if that's what you're worried about. I've already done it."