Page 33 of Shotgun Spouse

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“What’s her name?”

“Does he like snow?”

A little girl with a red scarf tilted her head, studying the baby with a critical eye. “She’s cute. But… she doesn’t look like you.” She squinted, as if trying to find some similarity. “You’re, like, dark brown. She’s super white.”

Out of the mouths of babes. Teddy laughed at the matter-of-fact observation. "I'm taking care of her until we find her parents."

"Like you come and take care of us after school?"

"Yes, exactly like that."

"You're a good dude, Mayor Carter. Wanna play snowball fight with us?"

"Thanks, but not right now. I've gotta keep watch over this little bundle."

"I'll babysit if you want. I'm good at watching my little brother."

"Thanks, I might take you up on that. You guys go and have fun. No ice balls."

Teddy watched the kids go. He couldn’t remember the last time a group of adults had made him feel so understood. The kids didn’t care about optics or gossip. They just saw a guy with a baby and decided that made him worth trusting. It was refreshing. Reassuring, even.

As the group of children scampered back to their snowball fight, Teddy straightened, his smile lingering. But when he turned toward the office, he noticed a man approaching from the sidewalk—a tall figure in a navy overcoat carrying a leather folder. His purposeful stride screamed ex-military. Teddy would know as an Army brat and a vet himself.

“Mayor Carter?” the man asked, extending a hand. “I’m Paul Redding, with Child Protective Services."

"Child Protective Services?" Frank placed a hand to his heart. It reminded Teddy of that oldSanford and Sonstelevision show his dad used to watch. The elder Sanford would dramatically place a hand over his heart and feign a heart attack whenever things weren't going his way.

"I'm here about the child left on your doorstep the other night," Mr. Redding continued, covertly ignoring Frank. "This is her?"

Teddy nodded, holding the baby closer to his chest.

"Why don't we step inside so we can talk about the baby’s placement?”

Teddy stepped into his office, the baby snug against his chest, her soft coos muffled by the thick knit of his sweater. The scent of formula was on her chin, a reminder of the early morning feeding he’d managed with only minor chaos.

Frank released his heart and turned toward the staff in the main room. Now that this crisis was averted, his campaign manager was on the hunt for a new one. The last thing Teddy heard was Frank’s voice was a drone of logistics as he rattled off calls, his pace slowing to a stop outside the door.

Paul Redding settled into a chair across from Teddy’s desk. He was a tall, no-nonsense man with sharp features and kind eyes. He opened his leather folder with practiced efficiency, the crisp sound of paper slicing through the quiet.

“We’re working to track down the parents. In the meantime, we can place her in foster care. We have families available who can take her immediately.”

Teddy shifted his hold on the baby, her tiny fingers clutching at his collar. “She hasn’t been a bother. I can?—”

“That's perfect.” Frank stepped into the room. “This solves everything. The baby goes to a safe home. The town stops buzzing with all this ridiculous gossip. No more rumors, no more shotgun wedding.”

Frank’s tone was so breezy, so matter-of-fact, that Teddy had to bite down hard on his response. The words “shotgun wedding” hit like a punch to the gut, but not for the reasons Frank assumed. To Teddy, the shotgun wedding wasn’t the problem—it was the solution. Because it meant Bunny. It meant keeping her by his side forever.

His gaze drifted to the door—and there she was. Bunny stood in the doorway. The fluorescent light above cast a soft glow on her. Her lips parted into a tentative smile that sent a jolt of warmth straight to his chest.

Then Frank spoke again, breaking the spell. “Now we just need to find a new communications director to replace Bunny, and this whole mess will be behind us.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Bunny ran out of the office, her vision blurred by tears she refused to let fall. Frank’s words rang in her ears, overpowering the other people in the office calling out to her. They were looking for a new communications director. Like she was some disposable cog, easily replaced.

Her chest tightened. Each breath was a struggle against the knot of hurt and anger building there. Outside, the cold air slapped her face, a cruel contrast to the heat of her emotions. At least it numbed her.

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