“Hey, you,” Dalton said, putting his face in near to Sabrina’s, his voice low, stern. No-nonsense. Ellie turned her focus away from him, trying not to notice the intensity of his blue eyes, the deep waves of his dark hair. The muted notes of his cologne. He said it again, a third time, each time waiting for a break in the baby’s cries. “Cut that out.”
Sabrina turned and looked at him. Then, to Ellie’s surprise, she snarfled, then paused, her chest still heaving, like she was about to burst into tears again. But didn’t.
“That’s right. We talked about this, didn’t we?” he went on. “None of that—not in my house.”
Ellie stared at him. A feeling of hurt filled her chest. He had done what she, as Sabrina’s mother, had not been able to do. In seconds. With a few words. And here she’d practically stood on her head, and gotten nowhere.
She was Bri’s mother, she was supposed to have a natural touch with her own baby. And here came this guy, a total stranger, who presto-whammo, calmed Bri with a few words and a look?
What did that say about Ellie? Had it gotten to the point where Sabrina was closer to her sitters than her own mother?
Was this the price she paid for working too much?
“You got her to stop crying,” Ellie said.
“I didn’t get her to do anything. I just told her to quit.” He scowled again—Ellie didn’t think the man had another facial gesture—and turned away. “Now that she has, you both can get out of my hair. And I can get back to work.”
Then he turned on his heel, and marched up the stairs. A second later, a door slammed upstairs.
Ellie’s jaw dropped. How rude.
She didn’t need his attitude, and Sabrina definitely didn’t need to be around such a disagreeable human being. Ellie grabbed the car seat and started to reach for the diaper bag. Then she stopped.
Where was she going to go? Back to work, Sabrina in tow?
That would never work. She’d tried that— once—when Mrs. Winterberry had been sick, and it had been a disaster. Sabrina was like any baby—needy and demanding—and bringing her into the chaotic, busy environment of Revved Up Productions just added to the office zoo. Lincoln, the epitome of stress, had become even more stressed, and nearly fired her on the spot. And now that Sabrina was starting to crawl, taking her to work would be an epic disaster.
Working at home didn’t fare much better. Every time a call came in, Sabrina would inevitably need a bottle, a diaper change or rocking at the same time. A screaming baby and a phone call—not a good mix.
Every day, Ellie was forced to make a choice, and inevitably, Sabrina was the loser, because in the end, what had to come first was paying for the roof over their heads, a roof she could barely afford on her own. She’d been trying so hard, and feeling like she’d failed every day. And now—
What was she going to do?
Lose her job?
Reality slammed into Ellie. Mrs. Winterberry wouldn’t be back for several days, at least. Ellie had no back-up plan—she’d had no time, in fact, to put one in place, and kept thinking tomorrow, tomorrow she’d find another sitter who could fill in if something like this arose.
Now that someday was here and Ellie was thrown into chaos. With Sabrina caught in the middle of the storm. Ellie buried her face in the sweet scent of that innocent, trusting face, a face that believed Ellie would do the right thing, would always keep the world on an even, perfect keel.
And once again, Ellie was alone, desperately navigating a rushing river with an oar-less boat.
How was she going to manage this? She clutched Sabrina tighter, trying to hold on to her emotions, her life, her sanity—and suddenly it all got away from her, escaping in a gush of tears as she realized Mrs. Winterberry’s absence meant one thing.
If Ellie Miller didn’t find a miracle in the next five minutes, she’d lose her job. And in the process, lose everything that mattered to her.
CHAPTER TWO
“WHAT the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dalton stared at the woman and her kid, standing in his sacred space. He’d stalked up to his office, figuring they would find their own way back out the front door. After all, she’d let herself in, she could damned well let herself out. But no, she’d gone and followed him.
“You…you can’t walk away…I need help.”
And worse, she was crying.
“I need to work. And you need to go home.” He turned back to his computer. Pretended he didn’t see the tears. But they bothered him all the same. If there was one thing Dalton Scott couldn’t take, it was tears.
He stood in front of his desk for the second time that day as helpless as a fish on dry land, while Ellie Miller held her baby and cried.
“You’re right. This is my problem, not yours.”
“Exactly.” He sat down in his chair. Pulled his keyboard closer.
She didn’t leave. He could tell. Because he could still hear her crying.
“It’s just…”
He let out a long sigh and turned around. “Just what?”
“I…” She bit her lip. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Hire a babysitter.”
“I did. She’s not here.”
“Hire another one.” He turned back to his computer. Looked at the words on the screen. They were all horrible. Every last one of them. Dalton started hitting the backspace key. In the last hour, this book had multiplied badness.
“It’s not that easy.”
She was still here? He spun back toward the woman and her kid. “I’m trying to work here.”
Aw, damn, the tears were really pouring down her face. They’d made rivers on her cheeks. Even the kid was staring at him, as if saying what are you going to do about this?
Well, he knew what he wasn’t going to do. He wasn’t going to let them stay here, in his office. This was his domain, and already Mrs. Winterberry had been here, disrupting his train of thought. He had enough problems writing, without adding these two into the mix.
“Let’s go back downstairs,” he said, practically shooing them out the door. “Get a cup of coffee or something.”
Why did he have to add that? His goal was to get them out the door, not serve hot beverages.
A moment later, though, the woman and her kid were in his living room. She lowered herself onto the leather seat, a whisper of relief flickering across her delicate features. She dropped the car seat to the floor, and propped the kid on her lap, holding the baby tight against her chest. Together, they looked like bedraggled street orphans. Dalton almost—almost—felt his heart going out to them.
Well, just for that he wouldn’t make any coffee. He dropped into the opposite armchair, watching the tears continue to stream down her face, still feeling about as comfortable as a porcupine in a roomful of balloons. He handed her a box of tissues from the endtable. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She paused, and then her big green eyes met his, watery lakes filled with an ocean of thoughts.
“Are you better