LITMIR.BIZ

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used them all?”

      “There were only three, and I had good reason.”

      He seemed to grasp that she’d spared him a few messy changes and backed off. “Right. Okay.”

      Feeling slightly vindicated, she mentally measured what was left in the can from which she’d made Braden’s last bottle. “You also need more formula, or you will in another day or two. And it’d be nice if you could get a teething ring, a couple of baby spoons and a playpen. If you brought that stuff with you, I couldn’t find it.”

      “No, I—Maybe you should make a list,” he said.

      Dakota’s anxiety increased as she imagined her father revving the engine of his old truck, preparing to leave for the Honky Tonk. She’d hidden the keys, but he’d found them before. And Mrs. Duluth wouldn’t stop him. She’d be in bed by now. “A list. Sure.”

      This time he took the baby when she held him out, and she hurried to the desk to find a paper and pen.

      “Where can I get those items?” he asked, peering over her shoulder while she wrote.

      “Finley’s Market is open till ten. But it’s a forty-minute drive to town, so you’d better hurry if you plan to go tonight.” She ripped off the sheet and handed it to him. “You can follow me, if you leave right away. I drive right past there.”

      “Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”

      Braden squirmed and reached for her, which made Dakota hesitate. Tyson seemed tense, unsure of himself. And the way he was holding his son—out away from his body instead of cuddling him close—concerned her. What if Tyson really was taking drugs? “Are you on something?” she asked.

      Two deep furrows formed between his eyebrows. “What?”

      She glanced anxiously toward the door but stayed where she was. She couldn’t conscionably leave until she knew the baby would be okay. “I’m asking if you’ve been snorting coke, shooting heroin, swallowing pills…you know.”

      “Of course not! Do I look like I’m on drugs?”

      She refused to blanch at his angry response. “Sort of.”

      His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes narrowed. Obviously he wasn’t used to hearing the hard truth. But she had a responsibility to the baby. “I’m not,” he insisted.

      “Not even steroids?” Steroids affected behavior, sometimes caused undue anger, right? She’d read that somewhere.

      “Not even steroids.”

      She wasn’t sure he’d admit it to her even if he were. But she didn’t dare argue further. Braden was his baby. There wasn’t anything more she could do. “Good.” She headed for the door, her mind now fully focused on getting home to her father, but Tyson intercepted her.

      “What time can you be here in the morning?”

      “When would you like me?”

      “I’ll give you a key, so you can let yourself in at dawn.”

      Dawn? She almost protested. She’d have to get up before five to get back here that early. But the nine thousand dollars she’d earn working for him would stop the bank from taking possession of their home. They were nearly five months behind on their mortgage.

      Hopefully, her father would behave so she’d be able to get some sleep tonight.

      “Fine.” She waited for him to fish an extra key out of the desk. Then she gave Braden an affectionate pat. “If you want to follow me to Finley’s, you’ll have to keep up,” she told Tyson. “I’m in a big hurry.”

      But it didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t going to fall behind. While her 1992 rattletrap Maxima could barely do twenty-five miles an hour on the winding road, Tyson’s red Ferrari had no such limitations. His headlights never left her rearview mirror.

      Where he’d put Braden’s car seat in that sports car, she had no idea. Obviously Tyson Garnier wasn’t much of a family man. That Ferrari was as much of a chick magnet as he was.

      “You’re some father,” she muttered. But these days her own father wasn’t anything to brag about, and she grew more and more anxious as she drove closer to home.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Grandpa Garnier: If you want to forget all your troubles,

       take a little walk in a brand-new pair of high-heeled riding boots.

      DAKOTA WAVED HIM OFF at the small supermarket in the middle of town, but Tyson didn’t stop. First he wanted to see where his new nanny lived. Under her care he hadn’t heard the baby so much as whimper all afternoon; he wasn’t about to let her drive off without at least knowing where to find her.

      Two blocks later, she pulled onto the side of the road. “You missed it,” she called when he came up even with her and lowered his window.

      “I know.”

      “So where are you going?”

      “I was…” He couldn’t divulge too much, or she’d know how inept he was, and his inability to be a decent father was the last thing he wanted spread across the front page of tomorrow’s paper. He deserved a little privacy, didn’t he? But he knew from experience he had only as much as he could fiercely guard. “…curious to see where you live,” he finished.

      Her face filled with irritation. “Why?”

      “Because I’m trying to learn my way around.”

      Her car rattled and shook as if it was a struggle just to keep idling. “My place is not a landmark. Besides, you don’t have time to mess around. You’ll miss the store, and you can’t survive without diapers, remember?”

      “I’ve got thirty minutes.”

      “It’ll take you that long to do your shopping.”

      He thought he could get what he needed in fifteen. But whether he had time or not wasn’t the real issue. She obviously didn’t want him following her any farther. He couldn’t imagine what it’d hurt, but she was scowling as though it was out of the question. “Okay.”

      The tension in her face eased. “You have my phone number. Give me a call if you need anything.”

      Did she really mean that? “I will.”

      “Good night,” she said pointedly and maneuvered her heap of junk back onto the road.

      Tyson nearly turned the Ferrari around. He was being ridiculous. Surely he could make it through eight hours on his own.

      But then Braden started to fuss and pull at the harness restraining him, and fear that they’d pass another night like the last one slithered up Tyson’s spine. He couldn’t do it; he didn’t have the patience or the emotional reserves.

      Waiting until he could barely see Dakota’s taillights, he pulled onto the road and trailed her at a much more discreet distance. She’d said he could call her, but what if she was a deep sleeper and didn’t pick up? It wouldn’t hurt to see where she lived, just in case.

      Initially, he’d expected her to turn into the drive of one of the small brick houses surrounding the high school. It seemed that most folks in these parts lived there. When she passed those neighborhoods, however, he figured she had to live in one of the ranchettes on the outskirts of town. But he was wrong again. Beyond the cemetery, as buildings began to give way to the surrounding countryside, she entered a dusty trailer park that didn’t have so much as a patch of grass or a few trees to recommend it.

      Tyson crept forward. Cast-off tires, cardboard boxes and wine bottles littered the weed-filled spaces in between twenty or so single-wide trailers. A few cars rested on blocks, and red lava rocks had been used to spruce up those units whose owners had even bothered with

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