Page 5 of White Collar Rancher

Isaiah bunched in his arms and released a wallop of a wail. His tongue was flat, and his little throat had to be raw. The parenting magazines stacked on the end table by the rocking chair said crying didn’t hurt babies. Justin had no idea how that could be true. It was hurting him, and he wasn’t even the one throwing a fit.

He got up, patting Isaiah’s diapered bottom, cradling the boy in the crook of his arm, and wandered around the main floor of his house.

The whole idea that the nursery could be upstairs went down the shitter the second night Isaiah was home—after the fifth trip up and down the stairs.

Why hadn’t he cried this much in the nursery?

Priya said colic. He hadn’t read up on that yet. He’d seen it mentioned in that strike-fear-in-the-heart-of-new-parents kind of way. But what was it?

And where was Priya?

He did the walk-bounce to the door that was now automatic when he held his son and peered outside. She pulled in and he blew out a gusty breath. She was the calm in the summer hailstorm of his life, but tonight he hadn’t trusted calling anyone else. He wanted her opinion. She wasn’t a mom herself, but she was a doctor. A doctor whose straight advice and firm instructions he’d used as a lifeline to get him through the idea that he was going to be a dad.

She parked across from his front door, not doing the usual loop around to face out that everyone else did in high school. She hadn’t been out here since, and even then, Maisy had preferred to stay away if his parents were home. Mom and Dad had preferred it that way, too.

He flipped the porch light on. Priya shut her door and glanced over. The lift of her brows was clear in the glow of his yard light. Yeah, Isaiah’s screaming was that loud.

“Hi,” he said as he held the door open for her. For the first time since his parents had boarded the flight to Phoenix, he felt like he might survive this infant phase.

She smiled, inspecting him closer than Isaiah. He must look a mess. Gone were the suits of his corporate days, and even the neatly trimmed hair he’d kept up since moving home wasn’t happening anymore. He had a good week of beard growth, shaggy hair that was probably sticking out to the four winds, and plaid pajama pants with a fresh-ish blue T-shirt. A burp rag dotted with green turtles hung over his right shoulder. He’d learned the hard way to always have one ready.

While Priya always looked good, tonight she was an angel in front of him. Her sleek hair was piled over one shoulder. The long sweater she wore did nothing to hide her ample curves, and if it had, those forest-green leggings would have spilled the secret that she had an incredible body anyway.

“How are you doing, Justin?” He couldn’t tell if she’d spoken up or if reading lips was a new talent he’d developed. She didn’t wait for an answer. After she stepped out of boots fancier than this farm had ever seen, she gently pried Isaiah from his grip. “Let me peek at him, and if everything’s okay, I’ll take over and you can get some rest.”

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of sleeping through this noise. His logical brain, the deeply buried portion that used to close multimillion-dollar deals, said he had to try. But the parental instinct was strong. He was too attuned to his son. How could he drift off when there was nowhere in the house where he could hide from the crying?

Seeing his son in Priya’s capable hands eased a part of him that was coiled so tight. His mom was good with the baby, but she wasn’t a doctor. Priya had said several times that she wasn’t a family doctor or pediatrician, but he didn’t care. She had medical training and liked babies enough to help them enter the world.

She was cooing as she checked him over. “You’re just all a fuss, aren’t you? Giving Daddy a hard time.”

Isaiah had shushed at the new voice, but his volume was now ratcheting up again. Justin drifted closer, needing Priya’s comfort more than Isaiah.

“Is he okay?”

“Healthy as a…” Her lips curved. “Ram.”

A grudging smile tugged at his lips. He was a sheep rancher. That was what he’d always liked about her. She paid attention. She knew about his life and seemed to genuinely care about it. A breath of fresh air after the last couple of women in his life.

His ex, the one who had made him bitter enough to call Maisy a year ago, wasn’t mentally unstable like Maisy. She was calculating. A damn Jedi master at manipulation. Maisy’s actions had seemed comical after the way Gabrielle had screwed him over. But he had to give Gabrielle one thing: she never would’ve used a baby as a power play. In contrast, after one broken condom, Maisy had proved that she suffered from some undiagnosed mental disorder.

Now both women seemed like figments from another life. Both were lost to him in different ways. He had his son, who deserved all of his attention and best efforts. That, he was sure of. Just like he was 100 percent certain that he was done with women and the games they played.

Justin looked like hell and it wasn’t fair how handsome he still was.

Priya swaddled Isaiah, doing her best to secure him as snugly as possible. She’d reviewed all the education she’d had on colic and tried to recall every mom who lamented about the hard days and longer nights of raising a baby with it. She liked to think that one of the signs she was maturing as a doctor was that she listened and learned from those stories as much as from her teachers. She was focused on women’s health and not infant health, but Isaiah seemed healthy.

It was time to deal with the dad. The dad with the sinful stubble that looked better than when he was clean-shaven.

Since she’d moved home, he always seemed to have a few days of growth darkening his face and deepening the blue of his eyes. The contrast with his dirty-blond hair was intriguing and something she thought about way too much. His loose pants hung low on his hips and his lean muscles were too apparent through the thin material of his shirt. She’d be tempted to drool if the dark circles under his eyes and the hang of his shoulders didn’t snap her back to reality. A reality in which he was not just her best friend’s ex, but the ex of a friend who had recently died—under her care.

Tonight was about Justin, not her unresolved feelings for him. “Go lay down,” she said in her best authoritative tone, the one she used in the surgery suite. “I’ve got him.”

His look was a strange mix of hopeful, relieved, and terrified. “I don’t think I can.”

He’d better. Isaiah’s screaming wasn’t going anywhere and if the baby had colic, then this was Justin’s life until it passed.

“Doctor’s orders.” She waved him off.

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