Page 8 of Scotch: Unraveled

I wait, holding the door open for the both of them.

Duke takes Macie from my arms. “She needs changing.”

“I couldn’t find any women to help,” I admit, shrugging.

“You have the women change their diapers?” Caity asks.

“I didn’t know if it was allowed for a single man to change a baby girl’s diaper.”

Caity bites her bottom lip to keep from laughing at me. Duke shakes his head.

“Of course yer allowed. Their yer babies. Lay her on the bed. I’ll talk you through it,” he orders.

I take Macie back from him and lay her down on my bed. She has this purple onesie thing on that doesn’t match the knit cap neither of the babes is allowed off except for bath time, until I can tell them apart—though Mollie seems a bit more mellow. The onesie snaps at the crotch. I unsnap it, then wait.

“Peel the tabs,” he tells me, and I do. “Good, now grab her feet by the ankles in one hand and lift her butt to pull the wet one away.”

I do that too. But her bits are covered in an angry red rash. “Is that normal?” I ask Caity.

She moves past her husband. “No, Scotch. She’s got a diaper rash. Poor baby. No wonder she’s been crying. That’s got to burn.”

Now I feel awful. She’s been dealing with a rash on her most private bits. “I have this cream Elise had me buy. Should I use that?”

“Yes,” she says, exasperated. “For goodness’ sake, get it out.”

I walk over to the dresser where I keep their essentials and pull the unopened box out, then I walk it back over to Caity. “Here.” I offer it over.

“I’m not doing it. They’re your girls, Scotch.”

She’s going to make me touch her? Why couldn’t they have been twin boys? At least there are witnesses to prove my innocence should the baby police raid the compound for single men who have seen their daughter’s naked bum.

Caity stands to my side watching but not offering to help. Before doing anything else, I read the directions on the box.

It says there’s a foil piece under the cap that needs to be removed first, which I do—or I try to do. Picking with fingernails doesn’t work the ten minutes spent attempting what should be a minor task if the damn aluminum wasn’t spot-welded to the spout.

Finally, I give up and use my teeth. Macie, for her part, stopped screeching, taking it down to a basic cry.

I squeeze a big blob of the cold white goop on my fingers to keep enough of a barrier between me and her skin when I start spreading it. Nothing for it. Every red-dotted spot gets a coating. She startles when the chill meets her flaming skin, but it must feel good because for the first time since they’ve been with me, and she’s been awake—Macie stops crying.

Thank fuck.

I look to Duke and Caity with my mouth hanging open, shock clearly evident. “She stopped crying,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Put the dry diaper under her in case she pees,” Caity directs me. “But leave it off for a little while to help her air out and let the ointment begin working.”

Mid-diaper-under-the-bum slide, Duke gets to what he really came in here for. “The brothers are complainin’.”

“I know. But she’s stopped now.”

“They’re sleepin’ in car carriers. You don’t even have proper cribs for ’em. It ain’t good for ’em to be in a biker clubhouse. They can’t lie on the floor to roll and kick.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’ve lived here since I prospected.”

“We got them trailers on the property. Some are occupied, but we got empty ones, too. Hell, my kids’ got a fuckin’ playground in our backyard and there’ll be other kids to play with as they get bigger.”

“When do I need to be out?”

“Tomorrow.” He takes a ring of keys from his pocket. “These’re empty. Pick one. Bring me back the rest of ’em. Place’ll be yers long as you wanna live there.”

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