Page 92 of The Guest Cottage
A big, official-looking dude dressed in khakis pointed her out to another, older guy. They both stared at her for a moment, and then the older man asked, “Pixie Nolan?”
The double-time beating of her heart stole the strength of her voice. “Yes?”
His brows came together. “I’m Aston Heddings. We need to talk.”
Dark spots danced before her eyes. Gasping, Pixie straightened away from the window, one hand blindly finding the wall for much-needed support. Her legs felt like rubber, her lungs strangled. Forget double-time; her heart launched into a frantic race that threatened to bring on a faint.
Dylan’s father.Here.
The knock came again, this time more of a pounding, and predictably, Andy woke up with a startled cry.
At least that sound sent new strength through her system.
Pixie demanded through the window, “What do you want?”
“Only to make you an offer.”
She shook her head. “What offer?”
“Considerable payment—if you’ll go away.”
Go away? Towhere?This place was home. Marlow and Cort were family.
Only . . . it wasn’t really her home, and though she could pretend all she wanted, they weren’t her family.
The truth settled heavily in her soul. “Just a minute,” she said, wishing she could go numb instead of feeling so much. Still carrying her phone, she rushed to the bedroom and picked up Andy. His face was red, big tears filling his eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Pixie cuddled him close, murmuring apologies in between kisses to soothe him. “I didn’t mean to make you wait. Everything is okay.” Only it wasn’t. “Shh, shh. Mommy’s here.”
His cries turned to hiccups, and he pressed his face to her shoulder.
She’d promised Marlow that she’d call if she heard from Dylan’s family, only she hadn’t heard from them. Finding them at her front door was different.
If she could get rid of them, she’d tell Marlow all about it afterward.
More pounding made her jump. They weren’t giving her time to make a call anyway.
If it was anyone other than Dylan’s father, Pixie might’ve been able to figure out what to do. But this was her baby’s grandfather. Worse, he was a ridiculously wealthy, influential man.
But did that excuse bad manners? No, it did not. So how dare he just drop in on her? And why keep banging on her door like that? So rude.
Disgruntled now, she snatched up a diaper and wipes and returned to the front room to another hard knock.Thank God for sturdy locks.
Andy cried anew, and that did it. Through the window, Pixie snapped, “Stop making so much noise! You’re upsetting my baby.” The second she said it, she sucked in an appalled breath, and then quickly retreated so they couldn’t see her.
Oh, no. Why had she said that? Their silence was deafening.
Andy, however, could no doubt be heard squalling.
She didn’t dare peek out again. Holding Andy closer, trying to soothe him, Pixie wondered what to do next.
She filled her lungs with a deep, slow breath. Her heartbeat slowed. Her spine stiffened.
Sooner or later, Dylan’s parents were bound to find out about Andy. They’d somehow located her at a motel, so of course they’d learn about a grandchild. She should have listened to Marlow and Cort, should have arranged a better meeting . . .
Too late now.
As calmly as possible, she returned to the window. The older man was pale and grim-faced; he almost looked in pain. The other guy was rigid with anger.
