Page 103 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“I’m gone. Thanks,” he added as he grabbed the to-go bag, his phone and his keys. During the drive to Lilah’s, he balanced on the line between unspecified dread that something was wrong at the cottage—based on the inconclusive evidence of two seemingly unintentional dials on her part—and prickly embarrassment at how he’d grasped at such a thin justification for driving out to check on her. To see her. A man hoping to deliver the kind of no-holds-barred apology she deserved, founded on the notion that she was, in fact, a capable, competent woman, probably ought not preface that with, “I worried you were in trouble you couldn’t handle on your own.”

But he was worried, dammit, even more so when he parked in front of the cottage, next to her Jeep, climbed out of his truck, and immediately heard Shayla crying. Not the kind of cry she made when she wanted to be fed or changed. This lung-straining cry he’d never heard from her before—the angry, desperate sound of an unattended baby. The kind of cry Lilah would never ignore. Bag in hand, he took the porch steps in one giant stride and made it to the door in time to see Lilah through the big picture window. She stood in the front room, talking with some guy…no. He focused on the profile. Not some guy. The guy from before. Can’t-take-no-for-an-answer guy. He watched through a slow-motion fog as she smiled her well-practiced welcome-to-Captivity smile at him and reached for something.

Trent handed her a bottle of champagne.

Shayla cried. All he could hear was the baby crying.

Lilah gripped the bottle by the neck and swung it into Trent’s shoulder.

Shit.He came through the door.

While the guy hunched sideways and tried to recover from the shoulder blow, she brought the bottle up between his legs, hard, and dropped him to his knees. By the time Ford stepped between them and gripped Lilah’s wrist before she brought the bottle down again, the fool was fetal on the floor, cupping the place where his balls had been before she’d slugged them into the stratosphere with help from her little friend Dom Perignon.

Sound clicked back on as Lilah’s cool gaze met his. “Can I be done with guys my age now?”

“Totally up to you.” He slid the bottle from her hand. “You can definitely be done with that one.”

She lifted her chin. Her green eyes turned a degree cooler. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s…hard to explain. I take it you had an uninvited guest?”

“Yes. I need to get Shayla, and then I need to call the sheriff.”

Good girl. “You get her. I’ll make the call.” And make sure this stalker stays down.

“No. Keep him where he is, but I’m making the call.” With that, she turned and hurried down the hall. Seconds later, Shayla quieted, comforted in her mother’s arms.

From the floor, Trent wheezed, “What the fuck? Call the sheriff, you crazy bitch. I’m pressing charges for assault and battery.”

He crouched down, champagne in hand, and brought the cork-end of the bottle into Trent’s line of vision. “Another word, a single move out of you, and I shove this up your ass. Nod if you understand.”

Golden boy nodded.

Lilah returned with Shayla and detoured to the kitchen to dig her phone out of the diaper bag she’d left on the table. Since Trent wouldn’t be mobile anytime soon, Ford crossed to Lilah and lifted Shayla from her arms. “I’ve got her. You make your call.”

He sat on the arm of the sofa, directly over Trent, and cuddled Shayla while Lilah spoke with dispatch. He rocked the baby to sleep and kept an eye on Trent-fucking-Kane while sirens screamed closer.

Once the deputies arrived, he snuggled Shayla into her crib and activated the musical mobile that hung over it while they took a disbelieving Trent into custody—Call my father!Don’t you know who I am?—and recorded Lilah’s statement. He returned to arm of the sofa to provide his own statement. Finally, the lawmen left with Captivity’s newest detainee, and they were alone.

Lilah sank to the sofa beside him, laid her head back and closed her eyes. “Jesus.”

Not touching her was not an option. He slid his hand behind her neck and tipped her head his way. Her lashes lifted and her pupils fixed on him.

“Are you okay?”

She lowered her eyelids and exhaled. “Yes.” Then she lifted her lashes and met his stare. “Stupid jerk.”

“Hey, now.”

That caused her lips to twitch, which reassured him that she really was okay. “Not you. Trent.” A reluctant sigh followed, and she looked away again. “You were right. He wasn’t going to hear ‘no’ from me no matter how often I said it.”

“You showed him. You’re not going to have to repeat yourself this time, I’m thinking.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You acted fast, decisively, and laid him out. Then you followed through by calling the sheriff and pressing charges. Proud of you, slugger.”

That earned him another small smile. “Slugger. Hmm. Could be he got me at the right moment—or the wrong one, for him. I guess I had some pent-up aggression, and he made himself the target.”

“He deserved it. Uh, anyone else you want to take a swing at?”

“Ha. Don’t tempt me.” She pierced him with a sharp look. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why are you here?”

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