Page 54 of Knocked Up in Alaska

Chapter Sixteen

“You dropped a stitch, you fat-fingered fuck.”

Wing’s accusation carried over the comfortable buzz of patrons at The Goose. Ford looked over to where Mad held up his half-finished bootie and protested, “I did not. Where?”

“Right there.” Wing reached across their round table and pointed to the defect. “Tell him, Rose.”

Rose got up from her seat between Archer and Trace, where she’d been refereeing some baby blanket brinksmanship between the two men, and came around to examine the bootie from over Mad’s shoulder. “Yes.” She fingered the yarn. “You dropped a stitch here.”

“Dammit.” He tossed the knitting to the table and scrubbed both hands over his head. “I said it when we started, and I’ll say it now. I can’t do this.”

“You’re doing very well,” Rose encouraged. “You’re halfway done with the first bootie.”

“But now I have to unravel…” He scrutinized the bootie in front of him. “Goddammit. A whole row. Jesus. The kid will be in college by the time I finish.”

“No, not a row. I can fix this,” Rose assured him. “Where is the hook?”

She referred to the crotchet hook she’d brought after the second knitting session when it had become evident they’d be dealing with dropped stitches. Particularly Mad.

The hook, Ford knew, was on the desk in his office, in the mug he used to hold pens and pencils. He’d stuck it there yesterday when he’d been knitting during his downtime. He was nearly done with his hat. Another day or so—contingent upon Rose being available to help him cast-off—and Shayla would have her first handknit item. Not that she needed it anytime soon. July had finally arrived and brought plenty of sunshine and mild temperatures. “It’s in my office. I’ll get it.”

He put his project aside, stood, and stretched, then glanced around his comfortably bustling business. Food orders tapered off by this time of the evening, allowing Silent Mike and Owen to man the bar while he took this Tuesday night for knitting circle. It wasn’t hard to break away if they needed an additional set of hands, but generally, by nine p.m., it was more about pulling taps and filling pints. The Spruce Goose and The Wild Goose Chase were official hits with the customers. A few out-of-towners had even asked about having orders shipped to their homes, which had given him thoughts about a brew-of-the-month club. A potential new revenue stream during the off-season, admittedly with some legal logistics around shipping, but worth looking into.

So yeah, life was good, he decided as he crossed the room. Mia and he had survived almost a month together, and while he had a lot to learn about being a dad, he absolutely wanted to. He’d always loved her, cared about her welfare, felt invested in her happiness, but it had been behind the scenes and from a distance. Now he enjoyed getting to know her, discovering their similarities and their differences. Soaking in every detail of her. September, and her return to Pittsburg, loomed on the horizon, but still comfortably far off.

Mad had predicted she’d bore of Captivity and its small-town offerings, but so far it hadn’t come to pass. Naturally outgoing, she’d made friends with the local kids. She seemed to enjoy being the sophisticated teen from the lower forty-eight as much as the new girl they got to introduce to adventures the rest of them took for granted—crabbing down at the cove, or day-crewing on Jorg’s fishing boat, or hiking trails around the base of Big Kat mountain—Captivity’s own craggy peak in the towering Chilkat range.

The other kids couldn’t keep her busy all the time, though, because most of them worked over the summer to earn money, contribute to a family business, or both. Smart and resourceful, she’d also found a purpose for herself that seemed to satisfy her. She accompanied him to The Goose most weekdays and helped him open. Then, at eleven thirty, when Lilah arrived with Shayla, she took over baby-care. They went for walks, or to the little park, or down to the General Store. After dinner, she snuggled up in his office with her laptop to complete an online summer course while Shayla lounged in her carrier and took an evening nap. She probably could have done the babysitting at his place, but for whatever reason, she seemed content to spend hours a day hanging out at The Goose.

You’re the reason.

Just thinking it sent a surge of paternal pride through him. His daughter wanted to spend time with him.

For all the stress that had gone into figuring out how they’d make it all work, it was working just fine. Mia seemed happy—happier than he’d dared hope, to be honest, but he was pretty damn happy himself having her in his life, so maybe it wasn’t so inexplicable. And Lilah? Lilah was…amazing. Making a home for herself and her daughter in Ray’s little cottage, balancing everything with her innate grace and boundless spirit. She radiated contentment, with the one exception of the continuing rift with Rose. Otherwise, she thrived right along with the baby. They all thrived.

True, he’d silently cursed Jen that night at the airport when Mia had handed her phone to him and Jen had said how, now that she knew Mia was safe, it might actually be better for everyone if their daughter spent some time getting to know him. He didn’t have to be a family-dynamics savant to understand Jen meant it would be better for her. She’d get a break from a rebellious teen going through a particularly tough time and enjoy her first kid-free stretch in years, unencumbered and available for spontaneous romantic getaways with her new guy. A new guy in Orlando, as it turned out. After all this time treating him like a loose end to be tucked away, suddenly she had a use for him. In this instance, he didn’t mind being used. He considered it a privilege, spending these weeks with Mia. A challenging privilege, occasionally, but a privilege, nonetheless.

By now Mia would be back at his place. Lilah would have dropped her off on her way home with Shayla. Secure in that knowledge, he swung into his office and…froze. Lilah sat there in the muted glow of his desk lamp, asleep in his not-terribly-comfortable chair. Her long, tan legs were propped on his desk, sneakered feet crossed at the ankles, a shadowy gap at the tops of her thighs where they disappeared under her khaki skirt, the sleeping baby cradled to her breasts. Her bare breasts. Her opulent, beautifully full, pale breasts exposed thanks to her having bunched her snug white Tipsy Goose T-shirt up and opened the front clasp of her bra to nurse.

The door swung closed behind him with a click that jolted him out of the breast-induced altered state he’d slipped into.

Okay. Okay. Mother and baby had conked out in the middle of a feeding. A normal thing. Probably. She often used his office at the end of her shift to sneak in a snack for Shayla and a diaper change before she left. He’d just back out as quietly as possible, close the door, and then knock before entering. Give her time to…cover up, protect herself from his intrusive gaze and unrelenting want and immoral fantasies about running his finger along the lush swell of her breast, teasing it over her pink nipple, filling his palm with the soft, warm weight.

“Ford?” Her sleepy, husky voice filled his ears, and while he wasn’t a man prone to prayer, he prayed his lust-ravaged mind had manufactured the haltingly seductive sound of his name on her lips.

Helpless to stop himself, he raised his gaze to her face and fell into the sheltering canopy of her slumberous, green eyes. “I…uh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in here, and…” Shit. He was staring at her breasts again. He squeezed his eyes shut, managed a final, “Sorry,” and had to wrestle his way out the door because the knob refused to turn in his sweaty hand. Once he closed it safely behind him, he let out a long, shuddering breath.

Fuck, that was…bad. With retreat at the top of his list of imperatives, he turned to walk down the hall, then stopped again. Dammit, he didn’t have the hook, and Lilah didn’t know her mother was sitting in the bar waiting for it. They still hadn’t spoken, and while he’d do whatever he could to change that, he didn’t want Lilah caught in an ambush if she followed him out there to…oh, maybe tear him a new one for staring at her tits like some deviant?

With a fatalistic sigh, he returned to his office door. Just as he raised his fist to knock, it opened. Lilah stood there, slightly flushed, big diaper bag over her shoulder, and the baby carrier in her other hand with the still-sleeping infant tucked inside.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“It’s okay. Really.” She rested her free hand on his arm. “I’m sorry I subjected you to that. She was fussy last night, so I’m extra tired, but that’s no excuse for falling asleep with my shirt up and the…uh…milk factory hanging out like a…” She shook her head rather than complete the sentence. “You should be able to walk into your office without worrying about what you’re going to find on the other side of the door.”

“No, no. I didn’t mind.” Holy shit. Stop talking.

The inane comment earned him an odd look. “You didn’t?”

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