His Baby No Matter What
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Melissa Senate
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18,2K
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16
Chapter One
Four-month-old Ryder let out a short, shrill cry.
Colt Dawson bolted up from his chair and went over to the bassinet by the window, studying the baby whoād been fast asleep just a minute ago. Ryderās blue eyes were half-open. The eyes fluttered closed again, then sleepily lifted.
Colt ran down the possibilities. Heād been reading the book Decoding Your Infant: A Primer for New Parents and apparently there were more than fifteen different cries that meant different things. Short, shrill, he thought, trying to remember what that signified as he watched Ryderās eyes drift closed again, then lift a quarter way.
Letās see: his diaper needs changing. Heās hungry. He has to burp. He has gas. He wants to be picked up. Heās bored. Heās still tired.
He wants his mother.
At that last one, Coltās heart felt so heavy he was surprised he didnāt slump over.
Life could change in an instant, heād always known. And it had.
Colt looked down at his son, eyes closed now, bow lips giving an Elvis Presley quirk, little chest covered in his Worldās Greatest Nephew pajamasāa gift from his aunt Haleyārising up and down. Ryder was fast asleep again.
Heās fine, Colt told himself as he sat back down at his late wifeās desk. Not every cry meant something, he recalled reading. Give your baby a minute to self-soothe before you rush in to save the day. Youāll teach valuable skills. Next time, Colt vowed. Heād get this right eventually.
Ryder was probably dreaming of the floppy stuffed monkey Haley had brought over yesterday and the cry was in happy anticipation of shaking it again like a rattle. Or the bottle he knew would be coming when he woke up from his morning nap.
Heās fine. Youāre fine. Everything is going to be fine.
Repeat.
One month had passed since theyād lost Ryderās mother to a car wreck. A month of shock and disorientation, a very sad funeral, of family over day and night, someone always leaping up from the sofa or guest room at 3:00 a.m. to check on Ryder when he criedāthe long criesāso that Colt could get some rest, not that he could sleep a wink.
The Dawsons had filled his pantry, refrigerator and freezer to overflowing with meals with easy-to-follow reheating directions. There was always a pot of coffee going. A carton of eggnog in the fridge because his sister knew he loved it and Christmastime meant the grocery store had it in stock. Ryderās tiny clothes and burp cloths and blankies and binkies were always washed and put away neatly. Cleaning, from dusting to vacuuming to the dishwasher filled and emptied, happened like magic.
His sister and cousins and their spouses were the best people on earth.
Not that it was so different when Jocelyn had been alive. Sheād taken care of everything. Colt was co-CEO of the company his grandfather had started with a partner fifty years ago. Godfrey and Dawson, run by Godfreys and Dawsons through this third generation, bought and sold companies across the West. Colt was often on the road or a plane and home only a couple of days a week, which had suited Jocelyn just fine.
And him, he thought, his collar squeezing his neck. A two-day-a-week dad. A put the phone to his ear so I can tell him good night dad. A milestone-missing dad. He shook his head.
He hadnāt felt ready to be a father, not when heād first gotten married at age twenty-four and not last year at thirty-three when Jocelyn had calmly said she was sick of his excuses and waiting for him to be ready and if he ever wanted sex again, they would not be using birth control. Sheād cried, sheād pleaded, sheād reminded him that heād said he would probably be ready to start a family when he was thirty. And so Colt had put aside his worries and given in to his wifeās most fervent want. A baby. But month after month, sheād been disappointed. A year of trying. Their sex life becoming about fertile days. And Jocelynās tears.
But their marriage had been in trouble for a few years by then, and when Jocelyn finally did get pregnant, nothing between them changed. The love, the tenderness, the sharingāall of it had slowly gone. Heād never forget the happiness on her face when sheād shown him the home pregnancy test stick with its bright pink plus sign. But the baby hadnāt brought them closer.
Whether heād been ready for fatherhood or not, though, at the sight of that plus sign, a surge of love and protectiveness had overtaken him, and with each passing day, heād vowed to be the dad his child deserved. A great dad. His own father had been a serious workaholic like Colt was now. His parents had had a very traditional marriage and that was what Jocelyn had wanted, as well.
He hatedāhated to the core of his beingāthat heād actually re-created the home life heād used to wish was different as a kid, as a teenager. That he hadnāt talked to Jocelyn about.
For better or worse, for better or worse, for better or worse.
Another short, shrill cry came from the bassinet. Colt stood, but then reminded himself to give the baby a moment. He waited.
Silence. Heād gotten that one right.
He sat back down at the desk, his gaze on the hot pink nameplate engraved in gold cursiveāJocelyn Dawson, Domestic Goddess. He wasnāt sure what to do with it. Heād put off sorting through her office and desk, but it was time. His sister and cousin Daisy had gone through her closet and donated most of it, packing away items that they thought Ryder might like to have one day, such as her favorite long cardigan that smelled of her perfume. Heād add the nameplate to that box.
His sister thought Jocelyn would have liked him to turn this room, her office on the first floor, into a playroom for Ryder, and that seemed like a good idea, but Colt had moved like molasses about going through her desk, the only thing left to do. He knew why, too.
Because deep down, he didnāt want to live in this houseāa stately white Colonial with a red door and black shutters, state-of-the-art everything, furnished down to the art on the walls by an interior decorator. The house, which had always reminded him of the one heād grown up in, had never felt like home, not in all ten years theyād been here. But how could he sell Ryderās legacyāthe house heād lived in with his mother, albeit for just three short monthsāout from under him?
Which reminded him of a kind and tempting offer heād gotten from his cousin Ford, a police detective here in Bear Ridge, the day after the funeral. Ford, a new dad himself with a six-month-old son, had stopped by with a giraffe rattle for Ryder and had found Colt in the nursery, putting Ryderās diaper on backward. That was when Ford had made the offer.
Come stay at one of the cabins at the ranch, his cousin had said. You and Ryder. Thereās one miles out from the dude ranch, nothing but land and sky and mountain around it. Take a leave of absence from that job you hate. Let your sonās needs guide you and youāll be a pro at fatherhood at your own pace. Just let yourself be. Stay as long as you want.
Colt had felt like hell for how little he knew about taking care of his own child. A helpless baby. He couldnāt even put on a diaper correctly? Colt had been a traveling workaholic for years and right back at it just a week after Ryder had been born. Right back at it again until a month ago when his entire world changed. But when Ford had given him that chance to take a step back, to spend more time with Ryder, to get out of this house, heād said not now, maybe later, time isnāt right, but thanks. Ford, to his credit and great patience, hadnāt said a word other than Just give it some thought.
Colt had opened up to Ford more than heād expected over the past year. Heād never been one to share much about his personal life. Or what kept him up at night. But over the months, heād told Ford a bit about his marriage and how rocky it was. How he hadnāt been ready to be a dad but loved Ryder so much he sometimes thought his heart would burst. How much he did hate his job and how heād ended up there in the first place. The weightāthe crushing weight of it.
And heād talked a lot about what heād once wanted to do with his life. His dream had always been to be a cowboy. A rancher with a good-sized spread, cattle and sheep, a few horses and, of course, a dog, the border collie heād always longed for as a kid. Black and white and running around smiling the way border collies did.
So yes, heād thought hard about Fordās offer.
But his responsibilities at Godfrey and Dawson were so far-reaching, affected so many people, that he couldnāt just take a month off to spend in the wilderness. Even a week off. His co-CEO had been recuperating from a bad case of the flu and there were mergers and acquisitions up in the air that Colt and his team needed to deal with and deal with well. So heād gone back to work, full speed.
Godfrey and Dawson are counting on you? his sister had repeated when he told her about Fordās offer and why heād turned it down. Come on, Colt. Thatās just years of pressure from Dad talking. Iāll tell you whoās counting on you: your son.
Knife to the heart.
Of course Haley was right.
But then heād hear his widowed fatherās deathbed questions, barely managed with the last of his voice during those final heartbreaking days in hospice. Colt had been just twenty-one years old, about to graduate with a business degree from the university Bertrand Dawson had insisted on, demanding Colt forget about this āranch nonsense.ā Colt had figured that if he was going to be a rancherāand hell yes, he was going to defy his father and follow his own pathāand run his own cattle operation, heād need those educational tools, so heād agreed to business school. Which had his father holding his tongue about Coltās insistence on spending his summers as a cowboy, where he learned the ranching business from the ground up. Heād never been so happy as when heād been herding cattle or sheep on a mare, fixing broken fence in the pouring rain, mucking out stalls and grooming the horses. Once he graduated from college, heād been planning on telling his dad that he was going to take an assistant foreman job at the prosperous Wild K Ranch a town over.
According to Bertrand Dawson, Colt was born to become CEO of Godfrey and Dawson, just as Bertrand had been. The way Colt saw it, he was born to work the land.
But then his fatherās heart started failing.
Colt, I can go at peace if I know youāre going to take over as the bright and shining new Dawson of Godfrey and Dawson, just like I took over from my father, his dad had said from his hospice bed, both frail hands holding on to Coltās. Itās your history. Your legacy. One day, your son will be the Dawson of Godfrey and Dawson...
That last part twisted his gut. There was no point arguing with a dying man that if Colt did ever have a child, boy or girl, that child would follow their heart. Besides, Colt wasnāt planning on having children. And that heād never brought up with his father. An heir was expected. Period. But at twenty-one, Colt figured anything was possible, that maybe heād change his mind.
Youāll take over for me at Godfrey and Dawson? his dad had asked just hours before he passed, uncharacteristic tears in his blue eyes. There had been desperate hope, the culmination of all his fatherās dreams, in that question. His sister, a few months shy of eighteen, stood shaking by the window, tears pouring down her face.
What else could Colt have said but Yes, Dad. Of course I will.
And mean it, accept it, become the bright shining new Dawson at Godfrey and Dawson.
I always knew I could count on you, Colt, Bertrand had said, a peace on his face, pride in his whisper.
And that had been that. Thirteen years ago, heād made a promise to his dying father. Heād needed to take care of Haley, just a senior in high school then. Heād turned down the assistant foreman job. Heād shadowed his fatherās counterpart, a good, honest manāwhose own son was now Coltās counterpartāat Godfrey and Dawson during twelve-hour days until he knew the business. Heād worked his way up to co-CEO within a few years, living and breathing the role.
Heād hung up his cowboy hat for his dadās expensive leather briefcase, which he used every day as a reminder of his promise.
So yes, heād thought hard about Fordās offer. A month at the Dawson Family Guest Ranch, a sprawling popular dude ranch a half hour outside town. He loved that place. Heād taken Jocelyn there once and stayed in their āluxeā cabin, but sheād hated everything about it. The dust. The bugs. The smell of the horses. There was something in that memory, combined with her sudden, shocking loss, and hearing his fatherās hopeful questions banging around his head. When Jocelyn died, heād taken two days of bereavement leave and then gone back to work.
But while heād been at Godfrey and Dawson this past month, Ryder was at the ranch. The place had a great day care managed by his cousin-in-law Maisey and there were many little Dawsons crawling and running around their huge space in the lodge. Every night, when heād arrived to pick up Ryder, heād breathe in all that wilderness and for just that moment, heād feel a peace he hadnāt experienced since his days as a cowboy.
Then every night this past month, heād bring Ryder back to the big house in town, trying to adhere to the schedule Jocelyn had kept magnetized to the fridge, trying to change Ryderās diaper without getting sprayed or putting the diaper on backwardāthat had happened two more times until he figured it outāhow to get through bath time without soaking the floor in water and BabyClean shampoo, which smelled heavenly. The schedule helped since he knew when to give Ryder his bottle, and his cousins had reminded him to pat him on the back to get him to burp. When they saw how he fumbled, the strain on his face, they took overāto Coltās relief.
Heād had a month of nights and weekends with his son, which, granted, wasnāt exactly a lot, but heād hoped heād get better at the basics of baby care and he hadnāt. Fatherhood just didnāt come naturally to him. Maybe because of how heād grown upāwith a father in the distance. And maybe because Jocelyn had wanted them in their traditional roles and always said no to his offers to help. Or maybe Colt just wasnāt comfortable.
All the above.
But now, the only thing that mattered was that he had a baby to raiseāright and wellāand he was trying. Every day. Thank God he had his sister and cousins. Colt and Haley had only a small extended family scattered across the West. Jocelyn had been raised in foster care, so Ryder didnāt have any family on his motherās side. Between Haley and the Dawson cousins, Ryder would grow up with a big, loud, loving clan, and that gave Colt no small measure of relief.
Thing was, Colt was now a single father. Working seventy hours a week, traveling, being away from Ryder when his mother was gone made Colt feel like hell, like he was doing something wrong. Very wrong.
And since thinking about it tore at his gut, whenever he did let it creep into his mind, heād make himself busy with necessary chores. Like right now. While his son slept, Colt should be sorting through Jocelynās desk, making file or shred piles.
He glanced over at the bassinet. Not a peep. Get it done, Colt, he ordered himself.
Colt opened the top drawer of the desk. Mostly suppliesāpens, pencils, paper clips, Post-itsāthe usual stuff. He dropped everything in a box, which he planned to donate to the local schools. He tried to open the side drawer but it was locked or jammed. He looked in the box to make sure he hadnāt dropped a key in without realizing it, then found it by accident when the top of his leg scraped against the underside of the desk. The key was taped there.
Interesting. A well-hidden key usually meant something to hide. Maybe heād find Jocelynās diaries, not that heād invade her privacy or even want to know more than he already did. He slid in the key and turned. Inside was only her stationery, a long narrow pad with her name in cursive at the top, and matching envelopes. The start of a letter to Avaāher best friendāwas on the top page in Jocelynās unmistakable handwriting. The letter was unfinished and stopped midsentence as if Jocelyn had either gotten interrupted or changed her mind about writing.
Dear Ava,
After all weāve been through and shared, I canāt believe you wonāt give me the assurance I need that youāll never tell Colt the truth. Have I ever asked you for anything other than your friendship before? No. Now Iām asking for something very important to me and you canāt do it? Screw you. Colt will never find out that Ryder isnāt his child. If you canāt promise never to tell him, our friendship is over. I wish youād
Colt froze, the letter fluttering out of his hands into the open drawer. What. The. Hell.
He snatched it back and reread it. Colt will neverāāneverā underlinedāfind out that Ryder isnāt his child...
He shook his head, shock and confusion overwhelming him, his brain warring against what was in black and white in his wifeās handwriting.
Ryder wasnāt his son?
What?
Jocelyn had had an affair?
The doorbell rang and he ignored it. He didnāt want to see anyone, couldnāt see anyone right now.
A second later, his phone pinged with a text. His sister, Haley.
You home? Your carās here. Iām on the porch. I have something adorable for Ryder but it might be too big.
Okay. Haley, he could see. Haley, he could talk to. He ran to the door and the moment he opened it, his sister rushed past him, a bag dangling off each wrist.
āIāve got todayās special from the diner and a really cute fleece winter suit with bear ears for Ryder,ā she said in a rush of words, Haley-style, heading for the kitchen, her long golden braid swishing behind her. āI think the saleswoman said it was called a bunting? Oh, this is shepherdās pie,ā she added, lifting her left wrist with the bag from the Bear Ridge Diner, where she worked as a waitress. āAnd thereās a slice of chocolate layer cake in there, too.ā
He slowly followed her into the kitchen on autopilot, watching her put the containers in the fridge.
āLow on eggnog,ā she said, giving the container a shake. āI donāt know how you can drink that thick, slimy stuff.ā She put it back in the fridge, taking out her phone and no doubt typing a note to pick up more eggnog for her older brother, whom everyone was doing way too much for at this point. āOh, and I was thinking that we should go to Abbottās Christmas tree farm, Colt. You still donāt have a tree up and, yeah, I get it, this isnāt exactly a festive time, but a trimmed tree will cheer this place up and itās for Ryder, really.ā
Haley was a talker. He loved his sister to pieces and right now, he was grateful that she was going a mile a minute, reaching into the other bag to pull out a tan-colored fleece snowsuit with bear ears, because he couldnāt form words yet. He could barely breathe.
āThink itās too big?ā she asked, holding it up. āItās size six to twelve months.ā She peered at him. āColt?ā
Nothing would come out of his mouth. He stood there, unable to speak.
She was staring at him now. āColt? Whatās wrong?ā
He closed his eyes for a second and then left the room, Haley hot on his heels.
āJesus, Colt, youāre scaring me to death. Whatās going on? Is Ryder sick?ā
He went into Jocelynās office. If he looked toward the bassinet, heād fall apart. So instead he just handed Haley the stationery pad, the unfinished letter in black ink.
Her eyes widened as she read. She looked up at him. āWhat. The. Hell?ā
āThatās what I said. I just found it. A minute before you rang the bell. I was going through her desk to clear it. The drawer was locked and I found this. Ryder isnāt mine?ā
āWe donāt know that for sure,ā she said, eying the letter with a wince, then dropping the padāfacedown on the desk. āWe donāt know anything for sure. Itās unfinished, and we donāt know when she wrote this or if she was sure herself or what.ā
āShe sounds very sure in the letter,ā he said. Chills ran up and down his spine.
Ryder let out another little cry and Colt instinctively rushed over. The babyās eyes were still closed, his little hand now raised by his head, which was covered in an orange-and-white cotton cap. He stared down at the baby he loved so much.
āHeās not my son?ā That canāt be true.
āHe is your son, Colt. Nothing changes that.ā
But life wasnāt the same as it was five minutes ago. And nothing would change that.
He sucked in a breath and paced by the window.
āWhat are you thinking?ā Haley asked gently.
He was thinking about Ava Guthrie, Jocelynās best friend, to whom sheād been writing the letter. Very soon after Ryder was born, Ava had inherited a ranch a couple of hours away, a falling-down mess, Jocelyn had called it, which was why she hadnāt been around.
Sheād come to Jocelynās funeral, though. He hadnāt noticed her until sheād suddenly appeared in the receiving line, her blond hair a stark contrast against her black dress, a small hat with a short black veil shielding her face, her eyes. Sheād offered quick condolences, which surprised him, given how close she and Jocelyn had been. Heād been holding Ryder in his arms, and sheād touched the babyās cheek, and then she was gone.
āIām going to see Ava for answers,ā he said. āRight now.ā
